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Learning to read in medieval Germany meant learning to read and understand Latin as well as the pupils’ own language. The teaching methods used in the medieval Abbey of St. Gall survive in the translations and commentaries of the monk, scholar and teacher Notker Labeo (ca. 950–1022). Notker’s pedagogic method, although deeply rooted in classical and monastic traditions, demonstrates revolutionary innovations that include providing translations in the pupils’ native German, supplying structural commentary in the form of simplified word order and punctuation, and furnishing special markers that helped readers to perform texts out loud. Anna Grotans examines this unique interplay between orality and literacy in Latin and Old High German, and illustrates her study with many examples from Notker’s manuscripts. This study has much to contribute to our knowledge of medieval reading, and of the relationship between Latin and the vernacular in a variety of formal and informal contexts. Anna Grotans is Associate Professor of German at The Ohio State University, where she teaches medieval Germanic Studies and has served as Associate Director of the Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies. She is co-editor of The St. Gall Tractate: A Classroom Guide to Rhetorical Syntax (1995) and De Consolatione Philologiae (2000), and has published in the fields of Old High German, medieval paleography and text editing.
Cambridge Studies in Palaeography and Codicology f o u n d in g e d i to r s Albinia de la Mare Rosamond McKitterick Newnham College, University of Cambridge gen er a l e d i to r s David Ganz King’s College London Teresa Webber Trinity College, University of Cambridge This series has been established to further the study of manuscripts from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance. It includes books devoted to particular types of manuscripts, their production and circulation, to individual codices of outstanding importance, and to regions, periods, and scripts of especial interest to scholars. The series will be of interest not only to scholars and students of medieval literature and history, but also to theologians, art historians, and others working with manuscript sources. a l rea d y p u bl i s h e d Bernhard Bischoff, translated by Michael Gorman Manuscripts and Libraries in the Age of Charlemagne Richard Gameson The Early Medieval Bible: Its Production, Decoration and Use Nancy Netzer Cultural Interplay in the Eighth Century: The Trier Gospels and the Making of a Scriptorium at Echternach William Noel The Harley Psalter Charles F. Briggs Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum: Reading and Writing Politics at Court and University, c. 1275–c. 1525 Leslie Brubaker Vision and Meaning in Ninth-Century Byzantium: Image as Exegesis in the Homilies of Gregory of Nazianzus Francis Newton The Scriptorium and Library at Monte Cassino, 1058–1105 Lisa Fagin Davis The Gottschalk Antiphonary: Music and Liturgy in Twelfth-Century Lambach Albert Derolez The Palaeography of Gothic Manuscript Books: From the Twelfth to the Early Sixteenth Century Alison I. Beach Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century Bavaria Yitzhak Hen and Rob Meens, editors The Bobbio Missal: Liturgy and Religious Culture in Merovingian Gaul Marica Tacconi Cathedral and Civic Ritual in Late Medieval and Renaissance Florence: The Service Books of Santa Maria del Fiore
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Aviis carissimis, Helenae, Antoniae, et Milae
Contents
List of plates Acknowledgments List of abbreviations Manuscript punctuation and other symbols
page ix xi xiii xv
Introduction
1
1 Medieval reading
15
Literacy and orality Grammatica and the classical past The monastic “present” Legibility and comprehension Reading and writing German
15 23 28 33 39
2 Education at St. Gall
49
The St. Gall “schools,” pupils and teachers Teaching methods and curriculum Primary education Secondary education Tenth-century curricular changes Reading Notker’s texts The readers of Notker’s texts
3 Language use and choice
53 67 71 76 79 91 101
111
Diglossia Ekkehard IV on language Languages of instruction The “natural method” The “eclectic method” Code-switching and Notker’s mixed prose
vii
112 121 131 132 138 145
Contents
4 The St. Gall Tractate
155
Tenth-century lectio Structural analysis Circumstances of action The ordo naturalis Sentence movement Performance analysis
158 161 161 164 173 179
5 Discretio in the classroom
199
Simplified word order Syntactical punctuation Performance cues and markers Verbal performance cues Graphic performance markers
200 223 226 228 235
6 Accentus
249
Notker’s accentuation “system” The “rules” Exceptions to the “rules” Sloppy scribes or shifting system? Traditions of accentuation The Latin context Vernacular accentuation Accentus applied to reading in Notker’s texts
7 Spelling for reading
250 253 254 261 267 267 275 277
285
Writing German Notker’s “Anlautgesetz” Classical and medieval orthographia and pronunciation Alcuin’s spelling reform Notker’s German spelling Reading from written texts The “Anlautgesetz” applied
Bibliography Index of manuscripts General index
285 288 293 297 300 302 307
311 355 357
viii
Plates
1. Latin/OHG grammatical terminology, St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 556, p. 401. Reproduced by permission of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek. page 141 2. Syntactical glosses to Boethius, De consolatione Philosophiae, I, m6. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 844, p. 33. Reproduced by permission of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek. 208 3. An example of syntactical punctuation from Notker’s translation/commentary of the Latin De interpretatione (Ni 4). St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 818, p. 144. Reproduced by permission of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek. 227 4. Interlinear verbal performance cues in Notker’s translation/commentary of Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii (Nc 80, 2ff.). St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 872, p. 80. Reproduced by permission of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek. 230 5. Marginal structural commentary in the hand of Ekkehard IV. The text is Eugyppius’ Thesaurus to Augustine. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 176, p. 55. Reproduced by permission of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek. 234 6. Graphic performance markers in Notker’s translation/commentary of Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii (Nc 154). St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 872, p. 154. Reproduced by permission of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek. 279 7. Correction of the “Anlautgesetz” in the copy of Notker’s translation/commentary of Boethius, De consolatione, III, m9 (Nb 149) in Zurich, Zentralbibliothek MS C121, f. 50r. Reproduced by permission of the Zurich Zentralbibliothek. 303
ix
Plates
8. Correction of the “Anlautgesetz” in the copy of Notker’s translation/commentary of Boethius, De consolatione Philosophiae in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825, p. 206 (Nb 206). Reproduced by permission of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek.
x
304
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to many friends and colleagues for their assistance, support, and encouragement throughout the course of this project. I owe a special debt of gratitude to my doctoral advisor and mentor, Evelyn S. Firchow, who first introduced me to Notker Labeo and has for many years encouraged and supported my research. Many a summer I spent with her in the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek and her summer cabin at “Fircoves,” discussing, debating, sharing and learning. Her guidance and friendship have been invaluable. Harold Anderson, Frank Coulson and David Porter offered their expert advice with difficult Latin and paleographical questions and provided valuable insights into early medieval pedagogy and glossing techniques. Frank Coulson, Nicholas Howe, Neil Jacobs, Hartwig Mayer, and Harry Vredeveld read parts of this study at various stages of its progress and offered helpful suggestions and comments. Conversations with Kathryn Corl, Rebecca Haidt, Nikolaus Henkel, Andrea and Wernfried Hofmeister, C. Stephen Jaeger, Christopher A. Jones, Anneli Luhtula, Haruko Momma, Malcolm Parkes, Harald Saller, Beat von Scarpatetti, Karl Schmuki, and Carin Ruff were insightful and encouraging. A special thanks to Ernst Hellgardt and the medievalists at the University of Munich for their support during my research year there. I would also like to thank Maartje Scheltens, Assistant Literature Editor, and Rosamond McKitterick, David Ganz and particularly Tessa Webber, my series editors at Cambridge University Press, through whose patience and expert criticism this book has been much improved. Thanks to Debby Banham for her expert copy-editing. I am indebted to the late Peter Ochsenbein and the late Werner Vogler, who opened for me the doors of the St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek and Stiftsarchiv and were always willing to help me with materials and queries; Cornel Dora, Ruedi Widmer and the staff at the “Stibi” gave not only their support but also friendship. Thanks also go to the following libraries and directors for extending their research courtesies: the Zurich Zentralbibliothek, in particular Christoph Eggenberger and Marlis St¨ahli, the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich, the Deutsche Staatsbibliothek
xi
Acknowledgments
in Berlin, and the Vatican Film Library at St. Louis University, in particular the late Charles Ermatinger. For research support I am grateful to the Council for International Exchange of Scholars for a Fulbright Research Grant, the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Mellon Foundation, the College of Humanities and the Department of Germanic Languages and Literatures at The Ohio State University. Finally, I want to express my deepest gratitude to many friends, both here and abroad, who have supported me throughout this project: Ingrida Cazers, Jutta Groll, Peter, Katti and Bonzi Firchow, Peter and Beatrice Kalberer, Henriette M¨aurer, Theresa Rabitsch, Jenny Shimp, Judith and Meinrad Unteregger, and Dorothea Waitz. The members of my family, in particular my parents John and Ilze Grotans, have been unfailing in their support and encouragement. This book is dedicated to my grandmothers, who did not live to see its completion.
xii
Abbreviations
CCCC CCCM CCM CCSL CSEL DA GL JEGP MGH
MLN MLR Nb Nc Ncom NcL Ndef Ndia Ndis Ni Nk
Corpus Christi College, Cambridge Corpus Christianorum. Continuatio Mediaevalis Corpus Consuetudinum Monasticarum Corpus Christianorum Series Latina Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Deutsches Archiv f¨ur Erforschung des Mittelalters Grammatici Latini Journal of English and Germanic Philology Monumenta Germaniae Historica Cap Capitularia Conc Concilia Epist Epistolae Poet Poetae SS Scriptores (in folio) SRGSch Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum separatim editi SRM Scriptores rerum Merovingicarum Modern Language Notes Modern Language Review Notker Labeo, De consolatione Philosophiae Notker Labeo, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii Notker Labeo, Computus Latinus volume to Nc Notker Labeo, De definitione Notker Labeo, De dialectica Notker Labeo, Distributio Notker Labeo, De interpretatione Notker Labeo, De categoriis
xiii
Abbreviations
NkS NkSL Nl Nm Np Nr Ns OE OHG PBB PL SGT ZfdA ZfdPh
Notker Labeo, Die kleineren Schriften Latinus volume to NkS Notker Labeo, De partibus logicae Notker Labeo, De musica Notker Labeo, Psalter Notker Labeo, De arte rhetorica Notker Labeo, De syllogismis Old English Old High German Beitr¨age zur deutschen Sprache und Literatur Patrologia Latina Notker Labeo, St. Gall Tractate Zeitschrift f¨ur deutsches Altertum Zeitschrift f¨ur deutsche Philologie
xiv
Manuscript punctuation and other symbols
When citing texts from manuscripts, I follow the punctuation practice adopted by the ATB edition of Notker Labeo’s works. The subdistinctio/media distinctio, a point on the line or slightly above the line, is represented by a period with a space before and after (e.g., “Subdistinctio est . punctus ad imam litteram”). A disctinctio finalis, a high point above the line, is represented by a period with no preceding space (e.g., “Haec sententia est plena.”). The punctus interrogativus < > is rendered with the modern punctuation mark in text passages. Other punctuation and symbols used in this study are: = = or =
punctus elevatus punctus versus = punctus (circum)flexus punctus interrogativus =
“heavy pointing” used at the end of paragraph
xv
Introduction
Nothing is more commonplace than the reading experience, and yet nothing is more unknown. Tzvetan Todorov1
In recent decades several pioneering studies have changed the way we look at literacy in the medieval West. They have provided important insights into the conditions for literacy, its extent, growth, function and social and political implications as well as discussing the transition from orality to literacy and the influences each of these had on the other.2 Closely linked with the topic of literacy is the history of reading and writing.3 What was read, why was it read and, important for the present study, how was it read? The history of writing, in addition to investigating the creative act of composition itself, also studies the actual act of inscription and the written culture which it produces. From the perspective of manuscript studies, it looks at what writing materials were used, how letter forms were developed, shaped and combined to form words, and how these words were organized into texts on the page and in a codex. The history of reading and writing are related, since how texts were written often influenced how they were read and, conversely, the prerequisites 1 “Reading as Construction,” in Susan R. Suleiman and Inge Crosman (eds.), The Reader in the Text: Essays on Audience and Interpretation (Princeton: University Press, 1980), p. 67. 2 For example, B¨auml (1997, 1993, 1980), Banniard (1992), Clanchy (1993, 1981), Copeland (1991), Graff (1987a, 1987b, 1981a, 1981b), Graham (1987), Green (1998, 1994, 1990), Grubm¨uller (1989), Haug (1983), Hellgardt (1996), Henkel (1988), Howe (1993), Illich (1990), Irvine (1994), McKitterick (1994a, 1994b, 1990, 1989, 1983), Mostert (1999a, 1999b), O’Brien-O’Keeffe (1990), Ong (1982), Parkes (1999, 1993, 1987, 1973), Reynolds, (1996), Saenger (1997, 1982), Schaefer (1993, 1992), Stock (1983), H. Wenzel (1995) and the work of the “M¨unster School,” “Der M¨unsterer Sonderforschungsbereich 231 ‘Tr¨ager, Felder, Formen pragmatischer Schriftlichkeit im Mittelalter’,” Fr¨uhmittelalterliche Studien 24–32 (1990–1998). A concise review of recent scholarship is provided in Charles F. Briggs, “Historiographical Essay: Literacy, Reading and Writing in the Medieval West,” Journal of Medieval History 26.4 (2000), pp. 397–420. 3 See M. Mostert, “New Approaches to Medieval Communication,” and the bibliography provided in M. Mostert (ed.), New Approaches to Medieval Communication (Turnhout: Brepols, 1999), pp. 15–37 and pp. 193–297.
1
Reading in Medieval St. Gall
of reading directly influenced developments in writing. Moreover, both are directly related to the study of how literacy was acquired. My study investigates classroom reading, or lectio, as it was practised in the Abbey of St. Gall at the turn of the second millennium. I concentrate on the teaching techniques of Notker Labeo (ca. 950–1022) and the Latin/Old High German translation/commentaries that he produced for instruction. My goal is to demonstrate how Notker facilitated primary access to texts by making them grammatically more straightforward, visually more legible and aurally more intelligible. Notker’s texts are unique in that they demonstrate an intersection and interplay between the traditional bipolarities of literacy and orality or Latin and the vernacular. In them Notker applied semantic, syntactic and graphic techniques that optimized lexical access and understanding and at the same time aided readers in correct oral performance. Notker’s approach to reading borrows from the traditional commentary practices of classical and medieval lectio and augments them in two significant ways. On the one hand, Notker made clear the syntax and structure of his texts by applying a code of disambiguation that may have grown out of the tenth-century curriculum of dialectic and, on the other hand, he applied a vernacular code of comprehension that met the needs of his German-speaking reading audience and the pupils he was teaching. The method seems to us today quite natural, but it was unprecedented at the turn of the millennium, for in following it, Notker made the extraordinary step of granting the vernacular a place, albeit it a small one, within the classroom linguistic hierarchy and textual culture. How one acquired the skills of reading and writing in the early medieval West still remains a largely unexplored field. The accomplishments of medieval scholars and their ability to interpret and comment upon texts as well as to compose poems of their own have been the subject of numerous studies. That these scholars first had to learn the skills of literacy and, in the non-Romance-speaking areas, Latin too is often taken for granted. For the Carolingian period we have numerous classroom texts but know relatively little about how they were actually put to use in schools. Direct statements describing medieval pedagogic techniques are sparse, and evidence must often be gleaned from commentary and annotations made by teachers and students. In many cases these are literally tucked away between the lines and have been ignored by editors who were more interested in establishing the primary texts upon which they comment. Vernacular glosses are an exception, but these too have often been isolated from their pragmatic context by historical linguists more interested in tracing the development of the European mother tongues. Well into the twelfth century, textual culture in Europe was primarily centered in religious institutions and directly related to activities in monastic and cathedral schools. The language of the written word – and of the Word of God – was Latin, a foreign tongue that had to be learned. In France, Italy and Spain the linguistic obstacle was perhaps not so forbidding given the similarities between the emerging 2
Introduction
Romance languages and the lingua latina. In the eastern Frankish kingdoms (and something similar can be said for Anglo-Saxon England and Ireland) the situation was quite different. Here most pupils were German-speakers who were confronted in school by a completely foreign idiom. For them, learning to read and write meant at the same time learning a foreign language. Not only did students have to struggle with a whole new lexicon and grammar, but they had to comprehend the difficult concepts covered in the subjects of the seven liberal arts and were soon expected to unravel, penetrate and imitate the often daunting rhetorical style of classical and patristic authors whose texts made up the bulk of the curriculum after the elementary level. The years between the Carolingian Renaissance and the beginning of the High Middle Ages had once been considered a dark, dreary and unimaginative period in Western culture. As one scholar put it, the tenth century was “a period which for sterility of every excellence may be called iron; for its luxuriance of vice, leaden; and for lack of writers, dark.”4 And yet scholars working in the tenth and eleventh centuries played a crucial role in the preservation and transmission of Carolingian and ultimately classical learning to subsequent generations. But they were not only curators. Classroom texts produced at St. Gall during this time are marked by a strong interest in dialectic and concerned with its integration with the remaining arts of the trivium, grammar and rhetoric. This shift in the curriculum was facilitated by a regulation of Latin and of fundamental theological texts that had been initiated by the Carolingian reforms. Once the language of scholarship and the Scriptures had been stabilized, scholars delved more deeply into the meaning of the texts themselves. The Carolingians’ stress on correct and readable texts gave way to other methods of facilitating comprehension, which were concerned with explicating the meaning of the written words and further clarifying their graphic representation. On the one hand, we find the issue of an extensive commentary tradition as exemplified in the works of Remigius of Auxerre, Johannes Scottus and others and, on the other hand, the further refinement of graphic techniques that enhanced the ability of readers to comprehend written texts more easily and quickly. In order to read a text correctly, one of course had to understand it. All texts, however, including introductory grammars and other classroom manuals, were written in Latin. It is unrealistic to assume that every pupil who had learned Latin as a second language had the linguistic ability of an Alcuin, Hrabanus Maurus, or Walahfrid Strabo. Not even a superficial understanding of a given text could be taken for granted. At the end of the tenth century, the practice of Latin arts 4 Caesar Baronius, Annales ecclesiastici, ed. Augustin Theiner, 15 (Paris: Bar-le-Duc, 1868), p. 467; trans. John J. Contreni, “The Tenth Century: The Perspective from the Schools,” Carolingian Learning, Masters and Manuscripts (Hampshire/Brookfield, VA: Variorum, 1992), XII, p. 380.
3
Reading in Medieval St. Gall
commentary with its stress on comprehension was taken one step further and extended to the vernacular. In those regions where Latin was a second and acquired language for those whose native speech was more probably a Germanic dialect, the vernacular became a valid vehicle for learning. In England, Ælfric produced an Old English grammar and Byrhtferth of Ramsey translated computus literature into Old English, and on the Continent in St. Gall, Notker Labeo commented upon and translated into German classroom texts used to study the seven liberal arts and theology. In Notker’s school the classroom stage was shared by Latin and the vernacular Old High German (OHG). Notker translated into OHG and commented upon several standard classroom texts, among them the Psalter (Np), canticles, and catechetical texts, Boethius’ De consolatione Philosophiae (Nb), Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii (Nc), and part of the new logical corpus (subsequently known as the logica vetus), the Boethian versions of Aristotle’s De categoriis (Nk) and De interpretatione (Ni). In addition to these translation/commentaries, Notker composed several shorter treatises dealing with dialectic, rhetoric, arithmetic and music, known collectively as his “kleinere Schriften” (NkS).5 Some of the dialectic treatises are in Latin, others in Latin with OHG translation and/or commentary. Notker’s “De arte rhetorica” is largely in Latin with OHG example sentences and sparse OHG commentary. His “Computus” is in Latin only; his “De musica” in OHG only. He was also probably the author of The St. Gall Tractate discussed below in chapter four. Ekkehard IV (980–ca. 1060), Notker’s pupil and successor in the school, writes that his teacher explained many books in German out of affection for his pupils (“teutonice propter caritatem discipulorum plures libros exponens”).6 Notker was concerned that his students acquire the basic knowledge provided by the seven liberal arts, which would eventually lead them to a better understanding of the Scriptures and would presumably lead their souls to heaven. Notker, like his contemporary Ælfric in England, was a pedagogue who realized the importance of Latin literacy in both his monastic community and the world outside of it. He also saw that his pupils, most of whom were native German-speakers, had a difficult time with the Latin texts they were reading. In order to make matters easier for them so that they might understand, Notker resorted to the vernacular and expounded Latin texts in German. The structure of Notker’s translation/commentaries clearly reveals their function as teaching texts. In each of them, Notker copied the original Latin but often 5 These texts appear in Notker der Deutsche, Die kleineren Schriften, ed. James C. King and Petrus W. Tax (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1996). They will be discussed in more detail below, chapters two and three. 6 Der Liber benedictionum Ekkeharts IV. nebst den kleineren Dichtungen aus dem Codex Sangallensis 393, ed. Johannes Egli (St. Gallen: Fehr, 1901), p. 230.
4
Introduction
transposed and simplified the Latin word order so that it was more transparent and straightforward than in the original. In a few cases this also involved adding syntactical commentary such as supplying implied subjects, objects or conjunctions. Next he punctuated the text according to easily manageable syntactic groups. The resulting Latin text/commentary could be studied in conjunction with and compared to the original text and used as a grammatical key to understanding the intricacies of classical and late classical Latin style. To this “classroom version” Notker appended an OHG translation, which in many cases is more of a free paraphrase with added commentary than a rigid, word for word rendering. On the next level Notker worked in Latin, OHG, or in a mixture of the two and added several additional layers of commentary to both the Latin text and the translations; these commentaries ranged from lexical to discursive, narrative, rhetorical and intertextual. He provided synonyms, expounded rhetorical figures and etymologies and interpreted mythological figures. The information is either his own or culled from medieval commentaries to the texts with which he was working. The entire translation/commentary was then also often punctuated rhetorically by means of verbal cues or graphic markers, which instructed the reader where to pause and modulate his voice in performance according to meaning and effect. The oral characteristics of the written text are further expanded in the OHG translation: words are provided with accent marks to help readers to identify correct word stress and vowel length and an amazingly detailed phonetic spelling of consonants, referred to as Notker’s “Anlautgesetz,” is applied, which helped pupils to pronounce the initial stops of words with the correct degree of energy. Notker’s students could rely on the vernacular to unlock the meaning of what they were reading. It is important to remember, however, that Notker never intended the German portions of his texts to displace the original Latin, as is the case with modern translations. The German commentary was just one integral component of an extensive classroom apparatus, all of whose parts led back to the primary text. Latin and OHG were experienced in a dynamic relationship, and the reader was expected to move back and forth constantly between the two.7 This linguistic synergy is also reflected in Notker’s frequent use of a “Mischsprache,” or mixed language, in which he switches back and forth between Latin and OHG, even within the same sentence or phrase. Notker’s mixed language may represent a variety of a contemporary classroom sociolect, which he himself confronted and used in school at the beginning and intermediate levels. In speech and in writing, the Latin and OHG are fused together in a dialogic interplay and create a masterful and practical tapestry of knowledge utraque lingua. 7 Petrus W. Tax introduces the term “translation-explanations” to refer to Notker’s OHG (“Notker Teutonicus,” Dictionary of the Middle Ages, 9 [New York: Scribner’s Sons, 1987], pp. 188–190). In my study I refer to Notker’s Latin/OHG texts as “translation/commentaries.”
5
Reading in Medieval St. Gall
According to Ekkehard, Notker was the first to write in the vernacular and make it pleasing (“Primus barbaricam [sc. linguam] scribens faciensque saporam”).8 Towards the end of his career, Notker himself wrote a letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, in which he refers to his translation venture as a res paene inusitata: Ad quos dum accessvm habere nostros uellem scolasticos ausus svm facere rem pene inusitatam . ut latine scripta in nostram conatus sim uertere et syllogystice aut figurate aut suasorie dicta per aristotelem uel ciceronem uel alium artigraphum elucidare. [Since I wanted my students to have an introduction to these texts, I presumed to do something almost unprecedented: I ventured to translate them from Latin into our language, and to elucidate syllogistic, stylistic, and rhetorical precepts according to the teachings of Aristotle, Cicero, or other authors of the artes.]9
What made Notker’s pedagogic method so “almost unprecedented”? After all, vernacular glosses and interlinear translations had been used in medieval monastic schools for over two hundred years by the time Notker wrote his letter. It was not so much that Notker dared to apply the vernacular, or that his translations are much more refined and complete than scattered lexical glosses or interlinear versions, or even that he included vernacular commentary. The novelty of Notker’s method is that he not only implemented the vernacular as a classroom language but that he also moulded it in an unprecedented manner to meet the standards that such a role required. In order for the lingua theutonica to be sapora, it, like the Latin it accompanied in the manuscripts, had to follow the basic rules of written culture, which were set down by grammatica. German had to be recorded consistently so that it could be read correctly and be pleasing to both the eyes and to the ears. The practical application of Notker’s texts in the tenth- and eleventh-century classroom has never been investigated in any depth. Rather than asking how and by whom Notker’s texts were used, past scholars have been more interested in other aspects of his work, such as proving Notker’s authorship, studying his dependence on or independence of sources, or praising the aesthetic merit of his translations. A majority of studies have concentrated on his language and on analyzing what Notker’s texts can tell us about the development of German. In their attempts to excavate Notker’s langue, linguists have often overlooked the original classroom function of the evidence upon which their studies are based and divorced Notker’s accomplishments from the medieval textual culture which they served. In order to understand Notker’s achievement fully and to appreciate its significance, it is necessary also to view his texts within developments in the St. Gall school and to see his language as a pragmatic component of a tenth-century St. Gall pedagogic parole. When seen from this perspective, Notker’s OHG translation/commentaries 8 Ekkehard IV, Liber benedictionum, ed. Egli, p. 230. 9 NkS 348, 9–12; trans. based on Rita Copeland, Rhetoric, Hermeneutics, and Translation in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: University Press, 1991), p. 98.
6
Introduction
provide an ideal source for investigating the complex interplay between orality and literacy and Latin and the vernacular and for gleaning useful information about medieval pedagogic and reading techniques in general. Over the past few decades several significant advances have been made in Notker scholarship. With the completion of the new Altdeutsche Textbibliothek edition of Notker’s works by James C. King and Petrus W. Tax, we now have readily available texts in an easily accessible modified diplomatic format.10 The editors have gone one step further and painstakingly investigated possible secondary sources that Notker may have used and collected them along with commentary in “Latinus” volumes that accompany his works.11 A further important textual source are the recently published diplomatic transcriptions and concordances to Notker’s major works prepared by Evelyn S. Firchow.12 Much of the primary evidence needed for analyses is now in place.13 In the past several years two exemplary studies of Notker’s important translation/commentaries of Boethius’ De Consolatione and Martianus Capella by Christine Hehle and Sonja Glauch have appeared.14 They provide excellent overviews of Notker’s method of text analysis, translation and commentary, carefully investigate his sources and how he used them, and contextualize his effort in the intellectual climate of the tenth and eleventh centuries. Each study also delves deeply and systematically into the contents of Notker’s work. Hehle carefully analyzes the themes and other systemic complexes that structure 10 Die Werke Notkers des Deutschen, ed. James C. King and Petrus W. Tax, 10 vols. (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1972–1996). Prior to this, some of Notker’s works, such as Ni, Nk and NkS, were available only in the nineteenth-century edition by Paul Piper (Die Schriften Notkers und seiner Schule, 3 vols. [Freiburg: Mohr, 1882–1883]). 11 Thus far the Latinus volumes to all of Notker’s works except for Nb have appeared. In the case of Ni and Nk, the information appears in a supplement published with the text volume. 12 Notker der Deutsche, Categoriae. Boethius’ Bearbeitung von Aristoteles’ Schrift ‘kategoriai’. Konkordanzen, Wortlisten und Abdruck der Texte nach den Codices Sangallensis 818 und 825, ed. Evelyn S. Firchow, 2 vols. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996); idem, De interpretatione. Boethius’ Bearbeitung von Aristoteles’ Schrift ‘peri hermeneias’. Konkordanzen, Wortlisten und Abdruck des Textes nach dem Codex Sangallensis 818, ed. Evelyn S. Firchow (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995); idem, ‘Die Hochzeit der Philologie und des Merkur’ (‘De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii von Martianus Capella’). Diplomatischer Textabdruck, Konkordanzen und Wortlisten nach dem Codex Sangallensis 872, ed. Evelyn S. Firchow ¨ (Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1999), idem, Lateinischer Text und althochdeutsche Ubersetzung der ‘Tr¨ostung der Philosophie’ (‘De consolatione philosophiae’) von Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius. Diplomatische Textausgabe, Konkordanzen und Wortlisten nach den Codices Sangallensis 825 und 844, Codex Turicensis C121 und Codex Vindobonensis 242, ed. Evelyn S. Firchow (Hildesheim: Olms, 2003). 13 An overview of Notker scholarship can be found in the bibliography by Evelyn S. Firchow, Notker der Deutsche von St. Gallen (950–1022). Ausf¨uhrliche Bibliographie, Studien zum Althochdeutschen 38 (G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2000). See also the recent review article by Ernst Hellgardt and Norbert K¨ossinger, “Notker der Deutsche. Handschriften- und Sachregister zur Bibliographie von Evelyn Scherabon Firchow,” ZfdA 133 (2004), pp. 363–380. 14 Christine Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen. Die Bearbeitung der ‘Consolatio Philosophiae’ durch Notker Teutonicus zwischen Tradition und Innovation (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 2002) and Sonja Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung Notkers des Deutschen, 2 vols. (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 2000).
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Reading in Medieval St. Gall
the Nb, thereby making clear how the work could be used in the classroom to teach the seven liberal arts as well as theology. In addition, she provides a close analysis of Notker’s interpretation of the all-important ninth metre of book three. Glauch investigates how Notker applied the first two books of Martianus’ text to teach not so much the trivium, but the abstract mathematical concepts of the quadrivium and what later came to be known as scientia naturalis, that is, the observation of things that actually exist in reality, the naturae rerum. A sixth chapter is devoted to the topics of mythography and allegory. In the second part of her study Glauch provides a translation and commentary to the first book of Nc – an invaluable resource for Notker scholarship that will help future scholars to understand better this very difficult text. I hope that my own study will not only complement the efforts of Glauch and Hehle but also bring the illustrious St. Gall teacher to the attention of scholars outside the field of Old High German and make his work more accessible to an English-speaking audience. My study is divided into two parts. Part one (chapters 1–3) contextualizes Notker’s bilingual approach to reading by reviewing (1) the nature of monastic reading, its classical roots, function and cultural practice; (2) the nature of medieval classroom learning; and finally (3) the domain of the vernacular in textual culture at the turn of the second millennium. Part two (chapters 4–7) deals with various aspects of classroom reading as they were practised in the St. Gall school and manifest themselves in Notker’s translation/commentaries, specifically syntactic analysis, punctuation, accentuation and spelling. In chapter one, I discuss the inherent orality of classical reading and its repercussions for medieval monastic learning and the reception of texts. I trace lectio to its roots in classical grammatica and show how it was adapted to and refined for monastic and clerical culture. Lectio enabled primary access to a text by providing the tools with which to distinguish letters, to combine them into words, phrases, clauses and sentences (discretio) and to perform texts correctly out loud (accentus, pronuntiatio and modulatio). Correct oral performance based on a correct written text was a sine qua non in the reading process, since it was the text not only as read, but as read aloud – either to a group or to oneself – that formed the basis for any further analysis. Early medieval reading still had this intrinsic oral/aural character. Texts were read aloud, be it to an audience or sotto voce to oneself and the act of reading involved not only the eyes, but in most cases also the lips and the ears. This functional orality of written texts was deeply rooted in a “classical past” with its grammatical and rhetorical traditions and a “monastic present” in which the correct oral performance of liturgical and other texts was a crucial component of everyday life.15 15 Cf. George Hardin Brown, “Latin Writing and the Old English Vernacular,” in Ursula Schaefer (ed.), Schriftlichkeit im fr¨uhen Mittelalter (T¨ubingen: Gunter Narr, 1993), p. 36.
8
Introduction
Although still largely oral in nature, medieval monastic lectio was also firmly anchored in a written “scripture,” most often the Scriptures. It was necessary to stabilize Christian beliefs and dogma in the Frankish kingdoms, and one way to achieve this was by writing them down. The written text became all the more important, for when written correctly, it could guard against misinterpretation; when written incorrectly in the worst cases it could lead to heresy.16 One of the major achievements of the Carolingian renovatio was to fix the written Word, the Scriptures and liturgy, by establishing canonical texts, normalizing Latin, and developing a common script, the Caroline minuscule. A further aspect was to avoid misreading and misunderstanding by making texts more legible and intelligible, by various means which M. B. Parkes refers to collectively as a “grammar of legibility.”17 Lectio was thus modified to meet the needs of the new class of literati, monks and clerics, and adapted to the uses of the liturgy and the lectio divina. In his study on word separation in medieval manuscripts, Paul Saenger argues that the period from the ninth to the eleventh centuries “emerges as an epoch of revolutionary changes” that influenced a fundamental restructuring of Continental reading habits.18 These changes are evident in the use of space in word separation, and the development of abbreviations, prosodiae, punctuation, terminal forms and other graphic innovations that facilitated word recognition and lexical access, thus enhancing the medieval reader’s ability to comprehend written texts rapidly and as a result silently. In the transitional phase, these new graphic techniques also aided readers in the oral performance of texts and are especially predominant in liturgical and other manuscripts destined for monastic reading, but are also frequently found in classroom texts that were used to train monastic and clerical lectors and future scholars. In the last part of chapter one, I place Notker’s practice within the context of medieval lectio and demonstrate how his venture was novel yet also deeply rooted in the traditions of grammatical and monastic culture. Chapter two provides a general historical overview of learning in medieval St. Gall and focuses on the question “what was taught to whom and how?” I review the debate over the existence at St. Gall of an “external” school for the training of clerics and laymen and describe the daily life of pupils, of teachers and the methods of teaching that were applied. In the tenth century major curriculum changes were introduced with a shift in focus from grammatica to dialectica and to some extent rhetorica. Notker was at the forefront of this movement and translated and/or 16 Cf. David Ganz, “The Preconditions for Caroline Minuscule,” Viator 18 (1987), 38–39. 17 “The Contribution of Insular Scribes of the Seventh and Eighth Centuries to the Grammar of Legibility,” in Alfonso Maier´u (ed.), Grafia e interpunzione del latino nel medioevo (Roma: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1987), pp. 15–31; repr. in M. B. Parkes, Scribes, Scripts and Readers (London: Hambledon Press, 1991), pp. 1–18. 18 Paul Saenger, Space Between Words. The Origins of Silent Reading (Stanford: University Press, 1997), p. 21.
9
Reading in Medieval St. Gall
compiled several treatises designed for an introductory study of these subjects. In doing so, he provided his students with the basic concepts needed to understand language and to move on to a more fruitful study of grammar and its complexities as well as of theology. Dialectic also had a significant impact on the way in which Notker and his contemporaries viewed language in general, and sheds important light on innovative methods for textual analysis developed in this period to grapple with the new material. The last section of chapter two presents a revised model for the function and application of Notker’s texts based upon our knowledge of medieval classroom practices. In particular, I discuss how Notker’s work could have served for instruction at various levels to teach pupils in the all-important subjects of grammar, dialectic and rhetoric. Finally, I address the logistics of using Notker’s translation/commentaries in the classroom, for private tutoring and perhaps for individualized study and private reading. Chapter three is devoted to the social history of language and to the sociolinguistic context needed to understand the feasibility and impact of Notker’s bilingual teaching venture. An important premise for my study is that German was not only used but also read and performed in the tenth-century St. Gall schools. It is often assumed that all monastic education took place in Latin and that the vernacular, if present at all, was a crutch to be used as a last resort. Latin was, after all, the sine qua non of monastic life; monks communicated not only with God but also with one another in Latin. By applying the sociolinguistic framework of diglossia, I review the linguistic situation that pertained in early medieval St. Gall. A review of the historical evidence suggests that although Latin was perceived to be the prestige variety, in reality not all monks and clerics spoke it or even knew it very well. A unique source of evidence for everyday language use at St. Gall is found in the Casus sancti Galli, a history of the Abbey composed by Ekkehard IV. Ekkehard’s comments provide important clues for how he and his contemporaries, including Notker, may have perceived Latin, the vernacular, the similarities and differences between the two and the functional domains of each. A review of the evidence shows that St. Gall was a multilingual community, in which in addition to Latin several other vernaculars were present and used in different functions. The second part of chapter three reviews specifically the linguistic climate in early medieval classrooms and the function of Latin and the vernacular in teaching depending upon the goal of instruction. Medieval sources often recommend that instruction be carried out using a “direct method.” Teachers are encouraged to speak Latin and to require the same of their students – inside and outside the classroom. Other sources testify, however, that this goal was difficult to realize and that many teachers resorted to an “eclectic method” in which recourse was made to the vernacular. Many early medieval classroom manuscripts contain both Latin and vernacular glosses that comment upon the meaning of words, their grammar and the syntax of sentences. Classroom glossing represents the written 10
Introduction
vestiges of a much fuller reading practice that was delivered orally. In his translation/commentaries, Notker expands upon and develops the traditional glossing practices and moves them to within the text proper. In a final section I review Notker’s frequent use of a German/Latin mixed language and analyze it according to a modified sociolinguistic model of code-switching. The first two chapters of the second part of my study focus on discretio, the first step in grammatical lectio. Discretio involved analyzing the syntax of a text and punctuating it so that it could be performed with a clear understanding. I begin by discussing a unique and quite revolutionary late tenth-century pedagogic treatise produced at St. Gall, in all likelihood by Notker himself. The St. Gall Tractate (SGT) draws upon and combines concepts from the three arts of the trivium in order to establish a methodology for classroom reading and text analysis. On a first, grammatical level, the author explains how to rearrange the sentence constituents of a clause according to a “natural order” (ordo naturalis) of grammatical units such as noun, verb and adverb, which basically corresponds to a S(ubject) + V(erb) + O(bject) typology. On a second, logical or pragmatic level, Notker demonstrates how these grammatical units are interpreted according to the meaning they express. Instead of using categories such as “noun” and “verb,” he now tackles the problem with logical templates such as “subject,” “predicate,” and “adverbial circumstance.” On the one hand, the ordo naturalis is extended to refer to a natural order of ideas, which is established according to logical criteria, for example, the subject precedes the predicate and, on the other hand, to a chronological and logical order of events (ordo rerum), which takes into consideration factors such as temporal sequencing and functional sentence perspective, or iconic word order. The third level examines the rhetorical composition of a prose text and demonstrates how a narrative passage is constructed from rhetorical segments roughly corresponding to clauses, phrases and sentences, and how these are distributed according to rhythmical and semantic criteria. When reading a text out loud, it is important to be aware of the boundaries between the segments and to pronounce them correctly in order to allow for maximum aural comprehension. In this last aspect, lectio involves not only the reader but also his audience, the listener. Notker applies lexical voice cues that prescribe the correct intonation to use at cadences, for example, suspensio vocis (“a suspension of the voice”), remissio vocis (“a lowering of the voice”) and depositio vocis (“a laying down of the voice”). These cues are an expanded form of punctuation marks which were frequently used in liturgical manuscripts and have their roots in classical and patristic grammatical theory. In chapter five, I demonstrate how Notker applied the SGT reading methodology in his own classroom texts. In the Latin sections of some of his texts Notker varies the traditional and prescribed “natural order” according to the passage at hand, taking into consideration the level of textual difficulty and pedagogic relevance as well as the text building strategies of the original. Sometimes the grammatical 11
Reading in Medieval St. Gall
ordo naturalis was overshadowed by the ordo rerum. In a few instances Notker even combined the natural order of rhetorical/grammatical theory with the practical, and – at least for his pupils – natural order of OHG. In effect, Notker expanded upon and modified tradition with his own pedagogic common sense, thus tailoring his teaching materials to the needs of the St. Gall pupils. In the second part of chapter five, I discuss how syntactical and rhetorical punctuation are used in Notker’s texts in order to help the reader distinguish phrases, clauses, sentences and paragraphs. Punctuation is used to break up sense passages, called sententiae, into smaller, more easily manageable units that are defined according to semantic criteria. A low to mid dot serves to mark commata and cola – similar to our modern-day phrases and clauses – and a high dot to mark the end of a sentence. In many cases Notker distinguishes one Latin sententia from the next by breaking them up with intervening OHG translation/commentary. A sententia thus “distinguished” is then often further encoded with graphic markers that serve to guide readers in its oral performance. These markers note the length and type of pause and perhaps corresponding cadential intonation to use at the end of each comma, colon or sententia. In some cases the cues are expanded to the verbal cues prescribed in the SGT. Chapters six and seven discuss how Notker implemented accentuation and spelling in the German portions of his texts to serve the demands of classroom reading. Notker’s texts were read aloud in school by teachers, assistants and pupils and were thus inscribed into the oral ritual of daily grammatical lessons and lectio. Both texts – the Latin and the OHG – needed to be enunciated correctly in order to be heard, understood, and copied correctly for memorization. If German was to be written, read/pronounced, listened to and become a vehicle of learning, it too needed to conform to grammatica and be recorded and performed according to its rules. Words needed to be spelled consistently and read aloud clearly according to the guidelines of lectio. In his letter to Bishop Hugo, Notker remarks that all German words except for “articuli” are to be written with either a circumflex or acute accent, and this practice is followed in the preserved copies of his works, but, as my analyses show, not without variation. Scholars have undertaken numerous studies in order to establish at times quite complex rules for Notker’s accentuation and to reconstruct a possible underlying “system.” In their attempts to systematize Notker’s practice and mine it for linguistic data, most have overlooked its original classroom function as a reading commentary. The accents in Notker’s texts serve to guide lectores in textual performance and auditores in comprehension. The practice is based on a combination of classical lectio theory and medieval monastic practice. In monastic manuscripts produced for liturgical and other public reading, accents were often used to mark stress, vowel length and word division. Notker adopted this practice
12
Introduction
and implemented it on a much larger scale in the German portions of his texts, thus bringing them up to the standards of grammatical culture. Chapter seven discusses the importance of German spelling for classroom lectio. OHG was a language that had only recently – and with considerable effort – been recorded on parchment. Although it was the native tongue of most of Notker’s pupils, it was not a language that they were used to reading or writing. There was no OHG Duden, no orthographic treatises like those for Latin by Bede or Alcuin, nor were there many other written texts one could refer to as models (as was the case with the standard auctores for latinitas). One aspect of Notker’s spelling that has particularly fascinated and impressed linguists is his ‘Law of Initial Consonants’ or “Anlautgesetz.” In Notker’s texts the graphs alternate in word-initial position and word-medially in compounds with the graphs depending on the preceding phonetic environment ( if preceded by a graph representing a fortes sound or pause, if preceded by a lenes sound). Previous studies have been concerned with determining what Notker’s spelling can tell us about the phonetic and/or phonemic qualities of spoken Alemannic at the turn of the millennium. Why Notker bothered to devise such a detailed orthographic system has seldom been asked. I suggest that the “Anlautgesetz” – like other aspects of Notker’s texts – is directly related to oral reading and pronunciation norms that Notker tried to enforce in classroom training. In order to understand Notker’s motivation for devising a system like the “Anlautgesetz,” it is necessary to take into account the context of Latin literacy in which it was created. Notker not only borrowed the letters of Latin but perhaps also some of the theories and models of orthographia current in his day, in particular spelling and pronunciation reforms initiated by Alcuin. Alcuin, by fixing written Latin and prescribing that reading be done phonically, severed written language from spoken language. Notker based his spelling on spoken language. He fixed the written form of German and prescribed that it too be read phonically. Whereas Alcuin based his practice on tradition, Notker created a tradition, and integrated German orthographia into the bilingual lectio commentary practised in his classroom. Notker’s “Anlautgesetz” and accentuation represent just two components of the extensive grammatical commentary that Notker provided and that includes syntactical punctuation and grammatical, rhetorical and lexical glosses, in addition to an OHG translation. In combination, these pedagogic aids served to facilitate reading (ad legendum) and ultimately comprehension (ad dinoscendum) so that the verba theutonica too would be sapora.
13
1 Medieval reading
l i t e rac y a n d ora lit y The old understanding of the relationship between literacy and orality in the early Germanic Middle Ages could be summed up as follows. Beginning in the first centuries AD, literacy slowly spread into the hitherto preliterate regions of northern Europe. Germanic cultures first came into contact with literacy through the Romans and their language, Latin. With the fall of the Roman Empire and the rise of Christianity, custody over literacy was secured by the Catholic Church, and Latin soon became the vehicle of the only established literary culture in the West. In Charlemagne’s Empire, the lingua franca was the lingua latina. The caretakers of literary culture were monks and clerics, many of whom were also politically active at the royal courts. They were entrusted with the care and propagation of the written word, primarily of God but also of classical authors, which provided an educational framework and normative model for written Latin that was soon to be adapted by Church and government for their own purposes. Combined, these two Latin “scriptures” – the sacred and the profane – formed the canon upon which learning was based for many years to come. The vernacular languages were at first excluded from the sphere of literacy, but were cultivated by those lay people who continued to practise their own oral traditions. The general situation in the Germanic-speaking areas has in the past been summarized by means of three basic dichotomies: (1) the Latin “father script” vs. a vernacular “mother tongue” (e.g., a dialect of Old High German, such as Alemannic, Franconian, or Bavarian); (2) Christian vs. indigenous secular; and (3) clerics vs. laity.1 These bipolarities, which are essentially ones of language, culture and agent, can also be read vertically to form 1 Walter Haug, “Schriftlichkeit und Reflektion. Zur Entstehung und Entwicklung eines deutschsprachigen Schrifttums im Mittelalter,” in Aleida and Jan Assmann and Christof Hardmeier (eds.), Schrift und Ged¨achtnis: Beitr¨age zur Arch¨aologie der literarischen Kommunikation (Munich: Fink, 1983), p. 142. Haug lists five dichotomies: Latin vs. vernacular, written vs. oral, sacred vs. profane, clerics vs. laity and learned vs. unlearned.
15
Reading in Medieval St. Gall
two at first conflicting spheres. Slowly these began to interact during a transitional period that was followed by the eventual displacement of orality by literacy. As practical as this older scheme may at first appear, it, as well as the above-related course of events, is of course a gross over-simplification, as has been demonstrated by more recent studies.2 One must keep in mind that in the transitional period between predominantly oral and predominantly written culture, the horizontal, vertical and diagonal relationships between the bipolarities were marked by a continuous intersection. As M. Mostert points out, the situation is better described using terms such as “more or less” rather than “either or.”3 Latin texts were influenced by aspects of a substrate, vernacular “primal” orality, and vernacular oral poetry was influenced by classical rhetoric.4 Latin literacy and vernacular orality were never mutually exclusive to begin with: the vernacular was recorded in runes long before Roman colonization and, as I will demonstrate below, written Latin continued to retain aspects of orality well into the Middle Ages. Moreover, the transition from orality to literacy was a long process that extended well beyond the advent of print culture. Further arguments against setting up strict bipolarities can be posed with respect to the “agent” categories. Not all monks and clerics were literate nor all lay people illiterate.5 All members of the Carolingian clergy had to learn written Latin. They were not, as McKitterick puts it, “an elite operating in a foreign language,” but “an elite of academics expressing themselves in the formal written language of their own culture, whatever their native speech may have been.”6 Some members of the laity also knew Latin and they used it for writing, it just was not Classical Latin. The areas to the west of the Rhineland were Latin-based or Romancespeaking, and the distinction of a “mother” language equated with the vernacular and a “father” language, Latin, was never valid there. As studies by McKitterick, Banniard, Richter, Wright and others have shown, for these Franks, Latin may not 2 See in particular the work of Rosamond McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word (Cambridge: University Press, 1989), and her essays collected in Books, Scribes and Learning in the Frankish Kingdoms, 6th–9th Centuries (Aldershot, Hampshire: Variorum, 1994). See also the collection of essays in eadem (ed.), The Uses of Literacy in Early Medieval Europe (Cambridge: University Press, 1990) and eadem (ed.), Carolingian Culture: Emulation and Innovation (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994). Further references are provided in the introduction above and throughout my discussion below. On specifically German literature in the early period, see Dennis H. Green, Medieval Listening and Reading: The Primary Reception of German Literature 800–1300 (Cambridge: University Press, 1994), pp. 20–54. 3 Marco Mostert, “New Approaches,” p. 33. 4 Cf. Jackson J. Campbell, “Learned Rhetoric in Old English Poetry,” Modern Philology 63.3 (1966), pp. 189–201, especially 191; and Ursula Schaefer, Vokalit¨at. Altenglische Dichtung zwischen M¨undlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit (T¨ubingen: Gunter Narr, 1992), p. 40. 5 On the literacy of the laity in the early and Carolingian periods, see Rosamond McKitterick, Carolingians, especially chapter six. 6 McKitterick, “Latin and Romance: An Historian’s Perspective,” in Roger Wright (ed.), Latin and the Romance Languages in the Early Middle Ages (London/New York: Routledge, 1991) p. 136.
16
Medieval reading
have been a foreign or second, learned language at all, but their native tongue in a regularized and conventionalized written representation.7 Instead of two distinct languages, the spoken and written forms of Latin must be seen as two registers of the same language which differ from each other less phonetically than lexically, syntactically and morphologically.8 Up until the Merovingian period (and in some cases even into it) Banniard argues for what he calls a “communication verticale” – a situation in which educated people could write in such a way as to be intelligible to the illiterate when their works were read aloud.9 Being “illiterate” may have meant that one could not read, but it did not mean that one could not become educated. It was as a result of the subsequent Carolingian reforms that a state of diglossia began in the Romance West.10 The linguistic situation in the eastern Frankish kingdoms was more complicated. Here the native tongue was a Germanic dialect and Latin was a foreign language. Nonetheless, Latin had long been accepted as the medium for law, religion and written texts. McKitterick suggests that, as far as the spoken word was considered, one must assume bilingualism on the part of those involved in public life at every level.11 Research over the past twenty years has shown that using the terms “literacy” and “orality” in the medieval context can in itself be problematic.12 For example, the opposite of medieval “literacy” was not necessarily “illiteracy,” but given the social conditions of the time the term “preliteracy” may be more appropriate. In German, the term “Schriftlichkeit” is often used for “literacy” and refers to the degree to which the written word was used. Some scholars, such as B¨auml, prefer using the English neologism “writtenness” since it avoids ideological connotations associated with the English term “literacy.” Different types of literacy must also be considered. The term “functional literacy” has been used to describe situations common in the 7 McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 13. See McKitterick’s discussion on pp. 7–22 and the references provided there, as well as eadem, “Latin and Romance,” pp. 130–145. See also Michel Banniard, Viva voce. Communication ´ecrite et communication orale du IVe au IXe si`ecle en occident latin (Paris: Institut des e´tudes augustiniennes, 1992); Michael Richter, “Die Sprachenpolitik Karls des Großen,” Studies in Medieval Language and Culture (Dublin: Four Courts, 1995), p. 105; Roger Wright, Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain and Carolingian France (Liverpool: F. Cairns, 1982), idem, A Sociophilological Study of Late Latin (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002) and the collection of essays in idem (ed.), Latin and the Romance Languages. 8 McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 21. 9 Michel Banniard, Viva Voce, pp. 253–303. See also Roger Wright, “Viva voce,” A Sociophilological Study, pp. 50–54. 10 Banniard, Viva voce, pp. 506–507. 11 McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 22. Elsewhere McKitterick points out that in the case of government records, there are only few references to the need for translations into German. Latin was the language of government and it transcended any linguistic divide between West and East Franks (“Latin and Romance,” p. 141). The areas in the middle region (so the northern Moselle region), were linguistically mixed and polylingualism may often have been the case; one must also reckon with “pockets of Romance” in Germanic areas (Carolingians, p. 7). 12 Franz B¨auml, “Scribe et impera: Literacy in Medieval Germany,” Francia 24.1 (1997), pp. 123–125, and Mostert, “New Approaches,” pp. 22–28.
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Reading in Medieval St. Gall
Middle Ages such as those in which a person was able to read, but not write. Distinctions must also be made between the function the written word served, namely between “official” or “professional” literacy (that of the scholar or professional man of letters), “recreational” literacy (that of the cultivated reader) and “pragmatic” literacy (that used by one in the course of transacting business).13 The term “orality” is also complicated. B¨auml, for example, suggests that it is important to distinguish between “orality” and the “oral narrative tradition.” Thus, for example, if a written text is composed in the stereotypical style of oral narrative and then read aloud, this can be called a “reoralization.” Likewise, reading a written text out loud is an “oralization” of that text and was an important characteristic of medieval vocality, the practice of vocalizing while reading or writing.14 Finally, with respect to the chronology of the transition between literacy and orality, W. Graham reminds us that there has always been a dynamic tension between oral and written modes of expression and that we must imagine a temporal continuum of change, a long span of time over which “visual literacy and facility with written language progressively displaced oral literacy and facility with spoken language.”15 The activities of text production and reception provide good examples of how complex the relationships between orality and literacy can be. In addition to a clearcut division of activities such as writing/reading, composing orally/listening and reading/copying, combinations such as writing/performing/listening, reciting texts that have been memorized/listened to, and dictating/writing were very possible and indeed often the case.16 A well-known early medieval colophon describes a scribe’s job of copying a text as an active, energetic exercise, in which the fingers write, the eyes see, but the tongue also speaks: “tres digiti scribunt, duo oculi vident, una lingua loquitur, totum corpus laborat.”17 Writing, like reading, involved at some stage reproducing the text orally. Reading involved not only the eyes, but also the lips and the ears. All texts were usually read aloud, be it to an audience 13 Malcom Parkes, “The Literacy of the Laity,” in D. Daiches and A. K. Thorlby (eds.), Literature and Western Civisization: The Medieval World (London; Aldus, 1973) pp. 555–576; repr. in idem, Scribes, Scripts and Readers, pp. 275–297, esp. p. 275. See also Richard Britnell, “Pragmatic Literacy in Latin Christendom,” in Richard Britnell (ed.), Pragmatic Literacy, East and West 1200–1330 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell and Brewer, 1997), pp. 3–24. 14 B¨auml, “Scribe et impera,” p. 124. 15 William A. Graham, Beyond the Written Word (Cambridge: University Press, 1987), p. 31; cf. also pp. 11–18 and 30–44. 16 Franz B¨auml, “Verschriftlichte M¨undlichkeit und verm¨undlichte Schriftlichkeit: Begriffspr¨ufungen an den F¨allen Heliand und Liber Evangeliorum,” in Ursula Schaefer (ed.), Schriftlichkeit im fr¨uhen Mittelalter (T¨ubingen: Gunter Narr, 1993), pp. 257–258. See also the analyses presented by Green in Reading and Listening. 17 “Three fingers write, two eyes look [at the page]; one tongue speaks, the whole body toils.” This version of the widely diffused colophon is found in Rome, BAV, MS Pal. lat. 46 (s. ix). Cf. W. Wattenbach, Das Schriftwesen im Mittelalter, 1871 (repr. Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1958), pp. 495–496.
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or sotto voce to oneself, and as a result, hearing rather than sight dominated in the reading process.18 The only conceivable reception of a written text was in its spoken form, and every reader was at the same time a lector, who by means of his voice gave life to the recorded letters.19 Saenger argues that it is only with the appearance of new genres of university literature, such as the summa and tractatus, that private visual reading really took hold. Up until this point, books were intended as much for the ears as for the eyes, and authors wrote them with this reception explicitly or implicitly in mind.20 According to many classical and early Christian grammarians and philosophers, written language was subordinate to speech.21 In the treatise De dialectica, which was often attributed to Augustine in the Middle Ages, it is explained that: Omne verbum sonat. Cum enim est in scripto, non verbum sed verbi signum est; quippe inspectis a legente litteris occurrit animo, quid voce prorumpat. Quid enim aliud litterae scriptae quam se ipsas oculis, praeter se voces animo ostendunt . . . Quae legimus igitur non verba sunt sed signa verborum. [Every word is a sound, for when it is written it is not a word but the sign of a word. When we read, the letters we see suggest to the mind the sounds of the utterance. For written letters indicate to the eyes something other than themselves and indicate to the mind utterances beyond themselves . . . Therefore what we read are not words, but the signs of words.]22
The triad “that which is heard – that which is written/seen – that which is understood” can be traced back to Aristotle’s De interpretatione, which was known to the early medieval world through Boethius’ Latin translation. The passage in question reads: Sunt ergo ea quae sunt in voce earum quae sunt in anima passionum notae, et ea quae scribuntur eorum quae sunt in voce. 18 Walter Ong asserts: “Manuscript culture in the west remained always marginally oral . . . Written material was subsidiary to hearing in ways which strike us today as bizarre. Writing served largely to recycle knowledge back into the oral world” (Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word [London/New York: Routledge, 1982], p. 119). 19 Graham, Beyond the Written Word, p. 32. 20 Paul Saenger, “Silent Reading: Its Impact on Late Medieval Script and Society,” Viator 13 (1982), 391. Cf. Graham, Beyond the Written Word, p. 38, and Michael T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307, 2nd edn. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993), pp. 216–217. 21 Martin Irvine, The Making of Textual Culture: ‘Grammatica’ and Literary Theory, 350–1100 (Cambridge: University Press, 1994), pp. 69–70; Malcolm B. Parkes, “Reading, Copying and Interpreting a Text in the Early Middle Ages,” in Guglielmo Cavallo and Roger Chartier (eds.), trans. Lydia G. Cochrane, A History of Reading in the West (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1999), pp. 92–96, and David Ganz, “The Preconditions,” p. 40. 22 Ps.-Augustine, De dialectica, iv, 7, ed. and trans. B. Darrell Jackson (Boston: Reidel, 1975), pp. 86–88. The Maurists regarded the attribution of the text to Augustine as spurious; cf. however Jackson’s arguments to the contrary in his introduction.
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[Thus those things which come into being by means of the voice are the “notes” of the experiences which are in the soul. And those things which are written are the signs of those which are in the voice]23
The written letters serve only to signify sounds, which are the true representatives of thoughts. In his dialogue, De magistro, Augustine explains: [C]um uerba scripta inuenimus, num verba non sunt? An signa uerborum uerius intelleguntur, ut uerbum sit, quod cum aliquo significatu articulata uoce profertur – uox autem nullo alio sensu quam auditu percipi potest. Ita fit, ut cum scribitur uerbum, signum fiat oculis, quo illud, quod ad aures pertinet, ueniat in mentem. [When we are confronted with written words, they are not words, are they? More truthfully they are understood to be the signs of words, such that a word is that which is realized by the articulated voice with some meaning; the voice however cannot be perceived by any other sense than by hearing; so it happens that when a word is written, it becomes a sign for the eyes, and that thing, which reaches the ears goes into the mind.]24
The activities thus progress from legere (reading with the eyes) to audire (hearing with the ears) to intellegere (understanding). In his own Confessions, the young Augustine expresses his surprise at seeing Ambrose reading silently: “But when he [sc. Ambrose] read, his eyes swept across the pages, and his heart sought out the sense, but his voice and tongue were at rest.”25 This passage, a locus classicus for the phenomenon of oral reading, suggests that silent reading may indeed have been an exception during Augustine’s time.26 In the study of language philosophy, the sound–meaning relationship put forth by Augustine was later rejected by scholars such as Isidore, who regarded letters as signs with the power to convey meaning silently without sound (sine voce).27 Isidore in fact argues that silent reading can lead to a better comprehension of the text, since when the lips moved in silence, the lectio could more easily penetrate the mind.28 As a result the written medium soon came to be seen as an autonomous manifestation of language. Vivien Law has demonstrated that, beginning in the 23 Aristotle, De interpretatione vel Periermenias, ed. Laurentius Minio-Paluello, Aristoteles Latinus, II, 1–2 (Bruges/Paris: Brouwer, 1965), pp. 5,4–6. 24 Augustine, De magistro, iv. 8, ed. Klaus-Detlef Daur, CCSL 29 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1970), p. 165. 25 “Sed cum legebat, oculi ducebantur per paginas et cor intellectum rimabatur, uox autem et lingua quiescebant” (Augustine, Confessiones, iv. 3, 3, 15–16, ed. Lucas Verheijen, CCSL 27 [Turnhout: Brepols, 1981], p. 75). 26 A. K. Gavrilov has recently reinterpreted this passage to argue that silent reading in antiquity was not felt to be extraordinary, but that most people read aloud because they loved the sonorities of the language (“Techniques of Reading in Classical Antiquity,” Classical Quarterly 47.1 [1997], pp. 56–73). 27 “Litterae autem sunt indices rerum, signa verborum, quibus tanta vis est, ut nobis dicta absentium sine voce loquantur” (Isidore, Etymologiarum sive originum, I, iii, 1, ed. W. M. Lindsay [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1911]; see also Parkes, “Reading, Copying and Interpreting,” p. 93). 28 “Acceptabilior est sensibus lectio tacita quam aperta; amplius enim intellectus instruitur quando uox legentis quiescit et sub silentio lingua mouetur. Nam clare legendo et corpus lassatur et uocis
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early Middle Ages, the mode of conceptualizing language from a primarily aural one to a primarily visual one began to change.29 In the grammars of late Antiquity the aural mode of perception is apparent from doctrine, metalanguage and layout of texts. The Ars Ambrosiana, a commentary to Donatus’ Ars maior that originated in the northern Italian monastery of Bobbio in the seventh century, begins to use visual forms such as litteratura “graphic form” and superficies “surface” in addition to the traditional aural forms such as uox, sonus and nuntiatio to refor to “word-form.” These visually oriented terms were later adopted by other authors of commentaries to Donatus dating from the first half of the ninth century. Further evidence for the paradigm shift from aural to visual conceptualization of language is demonstrated by Law in a sampling of the use of tabular forms in the layout of forty manuscripts dating from the eighth and ninth centuries. Although running text with no form of visual distinction (such as grade of script or rubrics) is still most common and found in approximately two-thirds of the manuscripts surveyed, other manuscripts show the use of columns for lists of examples and paradigms. In a few manuscripts, which represent a transitional phase, the columns were not planned from the outset, and the idea appears to have come to the scribe while copying. In other cases the tables are “controlled” and were planned from the beginning. In addition, Law argues that the manner in which morphological anlysis was carried out also begins to change from the ninth century on. Thus, instead of using phonological units such as speech sounds and syllables, authors shift to a stem-ending analysis, which is apparent in scribal abbreviations of paradigms. Instead of abbreviating according to syllables, they abbreviate according to stem + ending. Such a consistent form of segmentation would become the norm, but not until the twelfth century. In the monasteries of Germanic-speaking regions, Latin was practically synonymous with literacy. Nonetheless, reading Latin, albeit anchored in a written text, was still largely oral in nature – both out of habit and necessity. As Brown has demonstrated for the Anglo-Saxons, Latin also carried with it elements of orality from its “rhetorical past and monastic present.”30 On the one hand, classical grammatical and rhetorical tradition dictated oral reading and, on the other hand, oral reading had an important function in the liturgy and daily monastic routine. Practice in oral performance was a vocational training for future monks and clerics so that they could conduct the liturgy, promote Christian doctrine and themselves take part in the lectio divina. This vocality of monastic Latin literacy was transferred to the vernacular as well. B¨auml refers to the process as “verm¨undlichte acumen obtunditur” (Isidore, Sententiae, iii.14, ed. Pierre Cazier, CCSL 111 [Turnhout: Brepols, 1998], p. 240). 29 Vivien Law, “From Aural to Visual: Medieval Representations of the Word,” Grammar and Grammarians in the Early Middle Ages (London/New York: Longman, 1997), pp. 250–259. See also eadem, The History of Linguistics, pp. 132–136. 30 Brown, “Latin Writing and the Old English Vernacular,” p. 36.
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Schriftlichkeit” (“oral literacy” or “oral writtenness”) and argues that it was an important characteristic of some early German literature. A prime example he gives is Otfrid’s Evangelienbuch, the two ninth-century copies of which were provided with forms of notation meant as a guide for the text’s oral performance. Otfrid was interested not only in establishing a canon for the written text, in making his Franconian tongue more palatable on parchment, but also in laying down guidelines for the oral performance of his text.31 Otfrid applied the model of liturgical performance in order to secure for his work performative canonicity fixed in writing – in this case also a “musical writtenness.” His reasons for doing so were tactical, as B¨auml points out: [I]f Otfrid intended his work to drive out the secular songs of oral tradition, as he says in his letter to Liutbert, his production would have to compete with them on the same basis – as song. But this early attempt at establishing a vernacular literary canon, combined with the contemporaneous development of musical writtenness is nothing less than an attempt to establish, not only a canon for the text, but also a canon for performance. And in doing this, Otfrid’s work reaps the advantage of three kinds of institutional canonization; 1) it meets the stated requirements of the Frankish Church, and can therefore count upon its institutional support . . . 2) in making possible its performance as a chant, it takes advantage of the institution of the liturgy; and 3) by thus entering liturgical practice, it gains the benefit of the canonical reception of the liturgy itself.
According to B¨auml, if a canon can be seen as an exercise of power, Otfrid’s translation was a very large step toward gaining the power of the Church for the vernacular, and the vernacular for the extension of the power of the Church.32 Was the demonstrated orality of liturgical and literary texts applied to propaedeutic texts as well? Was the classroom reader also a lector, who by means of his voice gave life to the recorded letters? One of my goals in the following chapters is to demonstrate that in some cases he indeed was. Notker’s translation/commentaries used at the school of St. Gall are unique in that they demonstrate a dynamic interplay not only between Latin and the vernacular, but also between orality and literacy. One could argue that Notker’s texts were not liturgical texts and were never meant to be performed in the opus dei or during readings in the chapter house. 31 In addition to the punctus circumflexus (media distinctio), punctus elevatus (subdistinctio), punctus versus (plena distinctio) and punctus interrogativus, the copies in Wolfenb¨uttel, Cod. Guelf. MS ¨ 26 and Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 2687 also include accent marks and the “romanus” letters and . The latter dictate the tempo of speech with which a passage is to be read. According to Notker Balbulus in his letter to Landbertus of Metz, = cursim, celeriter and = tenere, trahere. The accent marks denote not stress, but the tone level of the lectio and their function is very similar to that of the neumes, which are also found in the Wolfenb¨uttel ¨ copy (Wolfgang Kleiber, Otfrid von Weissenburg. Untersuchungen zur handschriftlichen Uberlieferung und Studien zum Aufbau des Evangelienbuches [Bern/Munich: Francke, 1971], pp. 235–242). On the meaning of the distinctiones, see below, chapters four and five. 32 B¨auml, “Scribe et impera,” p. 127. See also idem, “Verschriftlichte M¨undlichkeit,” pp. 260–261.
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Even his translation of the Psalter was intended more for classroom instruction and perhaps for meditative reading than for liturgical performance. Nor are Notker’s texts “literary” in the sense that they are not poems like Otfrid’s Evangenlienbuch: they are pedagogic texts to be used for the purposes of edification. However, with Notker’s translation/commentaries, for the first time in the history of the German language, the vernacular was used as an official medium alongside Latin to promote classroom learning. Just as in Otfrid’s literary text, a very important aspect of Notker’s classroom texts is the canonization of oral performance and recte loquendo. The oral performance of texts in the classroom, beyond tradition and sheer practicality, served a twofold social function in early medieval society. It prepared servants of the Church and it maintained and defended the traditions of textual culture. On the one hand, practice in oral performance was a vocational training for future monks and clerics so that they could conduct the liturgy and promote Christian doctrine. On the other hand, oral performance promoted the transmission and adaptation of classical learning that were used to validate medieval Christian learning. The framework within which Notker worked was Latin texual culture and the guidelines he followed were those supplied by grammatica.33 Notker was well acquainted with the works of the grammarians – both classical and Carolingian – and he used them as a foundation for his own practice of making German “schoolworthy.” In Notker’s view, German did not necessarily have to become Latin, but it was important that it abide by the rules of the established textual culture as far as these could be adapted to the new linguistic medium.
g r a m m at i c a a n d t h e c l a ssica l pa st me legat, antiquas vult qui proferre loqueles, me qui non sequitur, vult sine lege loqui.34
The basis for learned textual analysis in the Middle Ages was the discipline of grammatica, the first of the arts of the trivium. Grammatica involved much more 33 As Suzanne Reynolds points out: “Any attempt to delineate the relationships of Latin and vernacular discourse in this period, whether they be conceived in broadly political, functional or philological terms, must acknowledge the fundamental role played by grammatica in mediating and shaping those relationships” (Medieval Reading: Grammar, Rhetoric and the Classical Text [Cambridge: University Press, 1996], p. 72). 34 “Let the one who wishes to pronounce spoken words as the antiqui did, read me; he who does not follow my precepts is speaking wrongly” (Alcuin, De orthographia, ed. S. Bruni [Florence: Sismel, 1997], p. xxiii). This version of the couplet often accompanies Carolingian copies of Alcuin’s De orthographia and Priscian’s Institutiones. Wright argues that Alcuin placed the couplet at the beginning of his work on purpose to stress the importance of “correct” Latin pronunciation (Roger Wright, “Late Latin and Early Romance: Alcuin’s ‘De orthographia’ and the Council of Tours [AD 813],” in Francis Cairns [ed.], Papers of the Liverpool Latin Seminar 3 [Liverpool: Francis Cairns, 1981], p. 346, rev. in idem, A Sociophilological Study of Late Latin [Turnhout: Brepols, 2002], pp. 127–146, here pp. 129–130). See my discussion of Alcuin’s pronunciation reform below, chapter seven.
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than what we understand by “grammar” today; in addition to referring to “the structure of the Latin language” or “a handbook that discusses that structure,” ars grammatica designated the study of Latin language and literature in general.35 Basically, it provided the rules for reading, probing, producing and understanding texts. Grammatica was present at all levels of instruction in monastic and episcopal schools. On the one hand it meant learning Latin and on the other gaining the knowledge contained within texts (the majority of which were written in Latin) and applying that knowledge to an understanding of the Scriptures, the goal of all education. At the very basic level, grammatica taught one how to decipher the letters of the alphabet, to join them into syllables and words and finally to be able to connect the words themselves into meaningful discourse. At the more advanced levels, grammatica provided the guidelines for prosody and the production of texts and, finally, their interpretation and criticism. Grammatica even often overlapped with the other arts of discourse, rhetorica and dialectica. With rhetorica it shared subjects such as style, figurative language, and composition; with dialectica it shared the subject of language philosophy.36 In an excursus in his translation of Boethius’ De consolatione, Notker describes the difference between grammar and rhetoric as follows: qu i d si t r heto ri ca . Rhetorica ´ıst e´in dero septem liberalium artium . d´az chˆıt tero s´ıben bˆuohl´ısto . dˆıe u´ nm´anige gel´ırnˆet h´abent . u´ nde a´ber m´anige gen´emmen ch´unnen. T´ero s´ıbeno ´ıst grammatica diu eˆrista . d´ıu u´ ns´ıh lˆeret rectiloquium . d´az chˆıt r´ehto spr´echen . t´az i´oh ch´ınt kel´ırnˆen m´ugen . sˆo uu´ır t´agoliches hˆorˆen. Tiu a´nder´ıu ´ıst rhetorica . t´ıu u´ nsih f´errˆor l´eitet . uu´anda sˆı g´ıbet u´ ns tˆıa gesprˆachi . d´ero man in d´ınge bed´arf . u´ nde in sprˆacho . . . T´ara zˆu diu ch´ınt neh´ein n´uzze s´ınt . n´ube frˆuote l´ıute. [Quid sit rhetorica? Rhetorica is one of the septem liberalium artium, that is of the seven book sciences, which not many have learned but which some are able to name. Of those seven, grammatica is the first, which teaches us rectiloquium, that is to speak correctly and something that even children can learn, as we hear daily. The second (art) is rhetorica, which leads us further, because she provides us with the eloquence that we need in assembly and public speaking . . . Children cannot be used in such matters, only experienced persons.]37 35 Martin Irvine, Textual Culture, p. 5. 36 Irvine, Textual Culture, p. 7. A gloss to Dionysius of Thrax explains the difference between the three disciplines: “Both dialectic and rhetoric are concerned with the common statement (logos), but they differ in their ends. For the end of dialectic is truth, and the end of rhetoric is persuasion, but the end of grammatike is the comprehension of meaning, that is, to teach what is signified and how it is signified, through which the meaning (logos) is made clear” (GG 3.1, 115; translated by Irvine, p. 46). As printed in Lindsay’s edition of the Etymologiae, Isidore devotes 58 pages to grammatica, and only 20 to rhetoric, 21 to dialectic, 10 to arithmetic, 8 to geometry, 6 to music and 17 to astronomy (Ernst Robert Curtius, “Das mittelalterliche Bildungswesen und die Grammatik,” Romanische Forschungen 60.1 [1947], p. 9). On the integration of the three arts of the trivium in the tenth century, see below, chapter two, pp. 85–91. 37 Nb, i, 54, 21–55, 2.
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In Notker’s scheme, grammar is the first of the “book sciences,” which teaches one how to speak correctly (r´ehto spr´echen) and can be mastered by even a child as one hears daily (in Notker’s case, perhaps in the classroom). The second art is rhetoric, which leads one further, because it provides the eloquence one needs in legal argumentation and in public speaking. According to the classical models that were adapted to the medieval curriculum, grammatica had two branches: the science of interpreting (scientia interpretandi) and the rules for writing and speaking correctly (latinitas).38 Interpretation was broken down into four categories: lectio, enarratio, emendatio and iudicum. Diomedes’ definition of the art was influential well into the Middle Ages: Grammatica est specialiter scientia exercitata lectionis et expositionis eorum quae apud poetas et scriptores dicuntur, apud poetas, ut ordo servetur, apud scriptores, ut ordo careat vitiis. grammaticae partes sunt duae, altera quae vocatur exegetice, altera horistice. exegetice est enarrativa, quae pertinet ad officia lectionis: horistice est finitiva, quae praecepta demonstrat, cuius species sunt hae, partes orationis vitia virtutesque. tota autem grammatica consistit praecipue intellectu poetarum et scriptorum et historiarum prompta expositione et in recte loquendi scribendique ratione. [Grammatica is particularly the practical knowledge of reading and explaining things said by poets and [prose] writers – by poets, so that style (ordo) may be preserved, by [prose] writers, so that style may lack faults. There are two divisions of grammatica: one is called exegetical, the other definitive. The exegetical part is interpretation, which pertains to the office of reading. The definitive part makes definitions which demonstrate precepts of this kind: the partes orationis and the faults and ornaments of style. But the whole of grammatica consists primarily in the understanding of the poets, [prose] writers, and histories by ready exposition, and in the principles of speaking and writing correctly.]39
In his commentary to the Rule, the ninth-century writer Hildemar of Corbie draws upon Diomedes, Victorinus and Audax to define further the exegetical parts of grammatica as follows: Quot sunt officia grammaticae artis? Quatuor. Ut Victorinus dicit, grammaticae officia sunt quatuor. Quae sunt? lectio, enarratio, emendatio, judicium. Lectio quid est? Secundum accentuum et sensuum necessitatem propria pronuntiatio, sive, ut alii dicunt, lectio est varia cujusque scripti enuntiatio serviens dignitati personarum exprimensque habitum animi cujusque. Enarratio quid est? Secundum poetae voluntatem uniuscujusque descriptionis explanatio vel, sicut dicunt caeteri, enarratio est obscurorum sensuum quaestionumque explanatio. Emendatio quid est? Errorum apud poetas atque figmentorum reprehensio, sive, sicuti quidam ajunt, emendatio est correptio errorum, qui per scripturas actionemve fiunt. Judicium quid est? bene dictorum comprobatio, vel, ut nonnulli dicunt, judicium est aestimatio, qua bene scripta perpendimus. 38 Quintilian divides grammatica into recte loquendi scientia and poetarum enarratione (The Orator’s Education, 1.4, 2, ed. Donald A. Russell [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001], p. 102). 39 GL 1, p. 426, ll. 13–20; trans. by Irvine, Textual Culture, p. 66.
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[How many are the duties of the grammatical art? Four (as Victorinus says, the duties of the grammatical art are four). What are they? Lectio, enarratio, emendatio, judicium. What is lectio? Correct pronunciation according to the accent and the need of the meaning, or as others say, lectio is the varied enunciation of whatever kind of writing, keeping the dignity of persons and expressing the habit of mind of each one. What is enarratio? According to the will of the poet the description of each thing, or as others say, enarratio is the explanation of obscure meanings and questions. What is emendatio? The censuring of the errors and images of poets, or as others say, emendatio is the correction of errors which are made in writings or actions. What is judicium? The proper evaluations of sayings, or as some say, judicium is the estimation we give to what is written well.]40
A fifth component could be added to the fourfold scheme of the medieval scientia interpretandi, at least in places like Germany, England and Ireland, namely translatio. In order to understand a text, to read it correctly, interpret it, correct it and exercise criticism on it, one first had to understand what the words said. One way to achieve this was to resort to the vernacular. Depending upon how it was applied, translatio could function as a part of each of the four traditional categories, as an individual branch, or even as the object of grammatica. When used to gloss individual words, the vernacular facilitated grammatical activities such as lectio, or enarratio; an accompanying translation of the primary text could be used to reinforce the mastery of the other four. In the form of translation/commentary, as in the case of Notker’s works, the translatio text rewrites the primary text and becomes itself a discourse, to which the tools of grammatica could be applied. Grammatica began with lectio, which provided the foundation for all further textual interpretation, since through it the letters (litterae) of a text were transformed through a synthetic recognition into syllables, words and finally into connected discourse (oratio). In its preliminary phase, praelectio, reading included deciphering the graphemes on the manuscript page, construing words and determining their syntactic relationships, defining their meaning and finally reciting the text aloud according to a correct understanding of it. This last step was particularly important, for it was only through actual vocal performance that a text became discourse and was realized as such. Thus the spoken word (as based on the written text) became the object of further analysis, which included interpretation (enarratio), correction (emendatio) and criticism (iudicium). Lectio itself was divided into four parts: accentus, discretio, pronuntiatio and modulatio. Accentus insured correct word stress and intonation; discretio involved dividing up the text into smaller segments and included syntactical analysis and punctuation; pronuntiatio set the rate of speech and included sentence intonation and imitating the voice of the character speaking; and modulatio controlled the 40 Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ed. R. Mitterm¨uller (Regensburg: Pustet 1880), p. 428; trans. Ganz, “Preconditions,” p. 39. For Diomedes’ text see GL 1, pp. 426–427; for Audax, GL 7, p. 322.
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appropriate modulation of the voice. Hildemar, relying on the work of Maximus Victorinus, defines the divisions of reading as follows: Quia enim officium grammaticae artis lectio est, et nunc de ipsa lectione agimus, dicendum est nobis tam ex auctoritate grammaticorum atque doctorum, quam etiam ex traditione modernorum magistrorum, quot partes, i.e. divisiones lectio ipsa habeat, vel qualiter legi debeat aut secundum quorum accentuum sonos sonare debeat, quotque divisiones habeat lectio. Dicit enim Victorinus grammaticus: quatuor sunt partes lectionis, i.e. accentus, discretio, pronuntiatio, modulatio. Accentus est uniuscujusque syllabae pronuntiandi in sono qualitas. Discretio est confusarum significationum per plana significatio. Pronuntiatio est secundum scriptorum personas accomodata distinctione similitudo, ut puta aut senis temperamentum aut juvenis protervitas aut feminae infirmitas aut qualitas uniuscujusque personae ostendenda et mores uniuscujusque habitus exprimendi sunt. Modulatio est continuati sermonis in jucundiorem dicendi rationem artificialis flexus, (in) delectabilem auditus formam conversus, asperitatis vitandae gratia. [Since the business of grammar is reading, we must now say, from the authority of grammarians and learned men and from the teachings of modern masters, what parts or divisions reading has, or how one ought to read, or according to what accents the sounds should sound. Victorinus the grammarian distinguishes accentus, discretio, pronuntiatio, and modulatio. Accentus is the quality of pronouncing the sound of each syllable, discretio is the full meaning of confused meanings, pronuntiatio is the likeness of writings fitted to the person of the writers, such as the temperament of an old man or the rashness of youth or the weakness of woman. Modulatio is a changing of speech into a more charming way of speaking, a more pleasing form to avoid harshness.]41
Lectio thus had a very practical twofold function: (1) to establish meaning from the individual letters (discretio) and (2) to ensure correct performance according to the phonetic conditions of the individual words (accentus) and their meaning in connected discourse (pronuntiatio and modulatio). In his Institutiones, Hrabanus Maurus draws upon the traditional definition of grammatica as provided by Cassiodorus and in particular Isidore, who says that grammar is the foundation of liberal letters. It is for this reason, according to Hrabanus, that it is appropriate to study grammar in ecclesiastical schools and he adds: Quomodo ergo quis vim vocis articulatae seu litterarum et syllabarum potestatem cognoscit, si non prius per eam id didicit aut quomodo pedum, accentuum et positurarum discretionem scit, si non per hanc disciplinam eius scientiam ante percepit? [How can he recognize the flow of the articulated voice or power of letters and syllables, if he has not learned it first through grammar and how can he know how the foot, the accent and the division of the punctuation mark function, if he has not first comprehended its knowledge through this art.]42 41 Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ed. Mitterm¨uller, pp. 428–429; trans. Ganz, “Preconditions,” p. 39; Maximus Victorinus is found in GL 6, p. 188. 42 Hrabanus Maurus, De institutione clericorum libri tres, III, 18, ed. Detlev Zimpel (Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 1996), p. 468, ll. 9–12.
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Hrabanus lists the aspects of lectio – accentus and discretio – first in his arguments for the importance of grammar. The fundamental vocality of lectio is foreign to modern readers who read silently with their eyes. As I discussed above, however, classical and much medieval reading was usually a vocal performance to an audience or subvocalized to oneself. Roman texts were written in scriptura continua, and there was no word division, paragraphing or other formatting that allowed readers to scan a text visually. They had to puzzle out the words and phrases syllable by syllable using the tools of discretio and then vocalize them in order for them to become meaningful. Saenger argues that ancient readers had to read orally – out loud or with subvocalization – since actual physical pronunciation helped the lector to retain in memory phonemes which had an ambiguous meaning.43 Essentially, reading was a process whereby memory deferred in sound was reactivated. As Graham points out for the medieval period, “. . . a written text was something conceived as realizable only in the vocal act of reading aloud: the reader was inevitably a lector, one who gives life to the written word by voicing it.”44 In many ways classical and early medieval readers approached the written text in the same way that most of us today react to a page of music. We know that the notes indicate things such as time and pitch and we may even be familiar with the whole scheme of musical notation and perhaps be able to perform it vocally or with an instrument. For many of us, however, a musical score does not mean much at all on paper. Not until we ourselves, or some person more skilled, translates the characters into sound can we gain some understanding of the composer’s intention.45 Medieval readers saw in a written text a score – letters that needed to be interpreted and vocalized before any meaning could be made of them.
t h e m o n a s tic “presen t ” The oral component of classical lectio, which was originally intended for the training of young Roman statesmen, served a very important function in the monastic curriculum by providing the practical training necessary to take part in the various types of monastic reading, for example, during mass, private meditation and in the chapter house. The ability to enunciate readings correctly – whether reading from a text or reciting a memorized passage – was essential for anyone following the monastic life. Here, the grammatical lectio, as it was practised and perfected 43 Paul Saenger, Space, p. 8. 44 Graham, Beyond the Written Word, p. 32 45 G. L. Hendrickson, “Ancient Reading,” The Classical Journal 25 (1929/30), p. 184; cf. Ulrich Knoop, “Zum Verh¨altnis von geschriebener und gesprochener Sprache. Anmerkungen aus historischer Sicht,” in J¨urgen Baurmann, Hartmut G¨unther and Ulrich Knoop (eds.), Homo scribens. Perspektiven der Schriftlichkeitsforschung (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1993), pp. 221–222.
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in the classroom, was put to practical use. When discussing monastic lectio in his commentary to the Rule, Hildemar calls upon the authority of the Church Fathers as well as that of the grammarians. “Scripture” functions as an oral text that must be pronounced clearly: Et hoc sciendum est, quia regula dicit, illos legere, qui aedificent audientes, ideo necesse est, ut auctoritates diversorum sanctorum patrum, quae docent, qualiter legendum est, hic subjungamus, videlicet ex dictis Augustini et Ambrosii, Bedae necnon et Isidori, sive etiam Victorini et Servii et aliorum grammaticorum collectae existunt, quae docent recte et distincte obscurorum sensuum secundum accentuum sonos legere atque distinguere. [And note this, since the Rule says that they should read who can edify the listeners, we must add those authorities of the holy fathers who teach how one should read, that is, from the teachings of Ambrose and Augustine, Bede and Isidore, and also Victorinus and Servius and others collected from the grammarians who teach how to read and punctuate the obscure sounds of meaning correctly and clearly according to the accents.]46
Hildemar follows this up with a long section in which he discusses the parts of lectio, with particular emphasis on punctuation (distinctio) and accentuation (accentus). As I shall demonstrate in chapters four through six of my study, these two aspects of reading were important components of the lectio codes put forth by Carolingian reformers and are often discussed in scholarly treatises from the late eighth well into the eleventh century. The opus dei was the noblest of liturgical occupations. It began in the early morning with the nocturns or matins and was followed in the course of the day by seven additional services.47 Each of these began with an invitatory and a hymn, followed by three to six psalms or canticles, three to four lectiones or readings from the Gospels, a responsory, and on Sundays and feast days, a mass. On Sundays and holidays, there were three nocturns, each with four lectiones, with a total of twelve readings before the day even began. In the first two nocturns, passages were usually read from the Bible, patristic literature, or on saints’ feasts, from hagiographic literature. In the third nocturn the daily gospel reading was performed along with 46 Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ed. Mitterm¨uller, p. 428; trans. D. Ganz, “Preconditions,” p. 39. Hildemar quotes extensively from classical grammarians as well as from patristic and near contemporary authors, whom he refers to as “moderni.” I list them here in order of appearance: Cassian, Victorinus, Isidore (De ecclesiastici officiis); Augustine (De doctrina christiana, De Genesi ad litteram and Enarrationes in Psalmos), Ambrose (De Officiis), Bede (De schematibus et tropiis and his commentaries on Mark and Luke) Sergius (commentary on Donatus), Pompeius, Virgil, Priscian, Alcuin (De littera), Donatus and Censorius. Hildemar often illustrates a point by citing Scriptures, but he also cites classical authors such as Vergil and Horace. The excerpts from other authors that are found on ff. 104vb, l. 43–116vb, l. 4 of the copy in Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Clm 18103 are not reprinted in Mitterm¨uller’s edition. 47 Benedicti Regula, VIII–XVIIII, ed. Rudolph Hanslik, CSEL 75 (Vienna: Hoelder/Pichler/Tempsky: 1960), pp. 52–75. See also Ernest Horn and Walter Born, The Plan of St. Gall, vol. 1 (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1979), p. 339.
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three readings from the corresponding patristic homily. Children had their own role in the hierarchy of the oratory and they played a particular role in the liturgy on Sundays and feast-days. The first of the twelve lessons were sung by four children, followed by four priests, three deacons, and finally the abbot. During the festive office, specially appointed monks intoned the Psalms. To do this, they moved to the front of the choir. If an adult monk was believed unworthy of this task, his place was taken by the child who ranked highest in the ordo infantum. Reading also played an important role in the lectio divina. The Rule set aside a period of time each day for sacred reading which consisted of a combination of meditative reading (meditatio) and prayer (oratio). During this time, the monks would read the Scriptures, early monastic literature and the writings of the Church Fathers, or they would meditate on and/or chant texts they had heard and committed to memory. Those monks who had proven themselves to be intellectually advanced could also devote this time to copying manuscripts or to private study.48 In his commentary to the Rule, Hildemar notes that during the daily period of lectio, the literate adult monks read for themselves, while the youngsters still under supervision read as a group in the presence of their mentors. In the Reguli Magistri children are ordered to use their time wisely by busying themselves with their wax tablets, that is, by practising their reading and writing.49 It is unclear whether monks read and prayed out loud or silently during the lectio divina. In the Rule we read that when the brothers rise from the table after the sixth hour, they should retire to their beds and rest in silence. If someone wants to read at this time, he should do it to himself, in order not to disturb the others.50 Leclercq and others have argued that the monastic activity of meditatio was a ruminatio in the literal sense of the word. It involved not internal mental reflection or focusing the consciousness on a particular idea, but the physical murmuring, recitation or repeating aloud of a text that had been memorized. Although done in private, the individual monk still mouthed the words with his lips, and the muscles of the mouth had to be active.51 Reading also took place in the refectory during mealtimes and in the chapter house at collatio. In several St. Gall manuscripts we find the notation “pro mensa” before a text, indicating that it was meant to be read during meals.52 In his Casus 48 Ibid., p. 339. 49 Mayke de Jong, “Growing up in a Carolingian Monastery: Magister Hildemar and his Oblates,” Journal of Medieval History 9.1 (1983), p. 115. 50 “[P]ost sextam autem surgentes a mensa pausent in lecta sua cum omni silentio aut forte, qui uoluerit legere sibi, sic legat, ut alium non inquietet” (Benedicti Regula, XLVIII, 5, ed. Hanslik, p. 115). 51 Jean Leclercq, L’amour des lettres et le d´esir de Dieu (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1957), p. 72. Cf. Graham, Beyond the Written Word, p. 133. 52 Before each reading, the lector would request the abbot who was leading the officium, “Iube, domne, benedicere” whereupon the abbot would give a blessing (benedictio super lectorem). Ekkehard IV wrote an entire collection of such benedictiones for use before various readings (Ernst Schulz,
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sancti Galli, Ekkehard IV recounts the visit of Emperor Conrad to the Abbey in the year 911.53 During mealtime in the abbey refectory, young pupils from the school were allowed to do the readings in order to impress the King. He was very pleased with their performance and as a reward placed a gold coin in the mouth of each as he stepped down from the lectern. The role of the monastic lector was considered so important that mistakes in pronunciation during the liturgy were severely punished.54 Knowing the skills of discretio, accentus, pronuntiatio and modulatio was as crucial for a cleric as it was for a monk, since through his reading the cleric was expected to move the minds of those listening to him. Each lector was expected to have the proper training and to take his job seriously. The following passage from Isidore’s De ecclesiasticis officiis, was later integrated by Hrabanus Maurus and the Anonymus ad Cuimnanum: Qui autem ad huiusmodi promouetur gradum, iste erit doctrina et libris inbutus, sensuumque ac uerborum scientia perornatus, ita ut in distinctionibus sententiarum intellegat ubi finiatur iunctura, ubi adhuc pendeat oratio, ubi sententia extrema claudatur. Sicque expeditus, uim pronuntiationis tenebit ut ad intellectum mentes omnium sensusque permoueat, discernendo genera pronuntiationum atque exprimendo proprios sententiarum affectus. [However, whosoever is to be promoted to a rank of this kind [scil. of the lector] shall be deeply versed in doctrine and books, and thoroughly adorned with the knowledge of meanings and words, so that in the analysis of sententiae he may understand where the grammatical boundaries occur, where the utterance continues, where the sententia concludes. In this way he will control the technique of oral delivery (vim pronunciationis) without impediment, in order that he may move the minds and feelings of all to understand by distinguishing between the kinds of delivery, and by expressing the feelings of the sententiae.]55 ¨ “Uber die Dichtungen Ekkeharts IV. von St. Gallen,” Corona Quernea [Leipzig: Hiersemann, 1941], p. 230). 53 Ekkehard IV, St. Galler Klostergeschichten (Casus Sancti Galli), chapter 14, ed. and trans. Hans F. Haefele (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1980), pp. 40–42. 54 “Si quis dum pronuntiat psalmum, responsorium, antiphonam uel lectionem, fallitus fuerit, nisi satisfactione ibi coram omnibus humiliatus fuerit, maiori uindictae subiaceat, quippe qui noluit humilitate corrigere, quod neglegentia deliquit. Infantes autem pro tali culpa bapulent” (Benedicti Regula, XLV, 1–3, ed. Hanslik, p. 112). If a child made a mistake in singing or reading and refused to beg for forgiveness, or if he made the same mistake repreatedly, he was beaten by one of the masters. The punishment was usually deferred until after the office, and took place in private (de Jong, “Growing up in a Carolingian Monastery,” p. 113). 55 Isidore, De ecclesiasticis officiis, II. xi, 8–12, ed. Lawson, p. 70. See Hrabanus Maurus, De institutione clericorum libri tres, II.52, 19–24, ed. Zimpel, p. 412. The author of the Anonymus ad Cuimnanum cites Isidore and points out: “Nam et Spiritus sanctus docet nos psallere sapienter, et lector in aeclesia catholica ordinari non sinitur, nisi qui legere et scire potest syllabas et accentuum rationem et species et naturas dictionum et distinctiones sententiarum, ut Essidorus dicit in libro de officialibus aeclesiae catholicae” (Anonymus ad Cuimnanum, Expositio latinitas, I, 532–537, ed. Bernhard Bischoff and Bengt L¨ofstedt [Turnhout: Brepols, 1992], p. 17).
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Hildemar discusses the various customs and rules for reading in the monastic refectory and in the lectiones: who should read, when they should read, and how they should read. In the refectory, for example, the abbot should select those qualified; the number given is from twenty to four, who are to read in turn.56 If a lector is not able to carry out his responsibility correctly, Hildemar suggests that a brother should be appointed to him, who can sit next to him and correct him in a low voice.57 During matins, it is preferable that one brother, who is a good lector, read several lessons. The prospective reader is appointed a teacher (magister), with whom he can practise his reading and who can correct the book for him, if necessary.58 The reader is not held responsible if he reads badly because the book is incorrect. If the book is correct and the lector still makes mistakes when reading a few verses, the magister is to be patient. If he continues to make errors, however, he is to be punished (“corripiatur pro hoc in capitulo”).59 That the lector’s job was also taken seriously at St. Gall is attested to by Ekkehard IV, who in his Casus sancti Galli reports that even the slightest blunder in reading by the lector was considered a grave offence.60 The importance of reading well was taken so seriously that soon a devil by the name of Titivillus was created, whose job it was to watch for lapses in pupils’ reading performance. He carefully collected all words skipped over, mumbled or mispronounced in religious readings, saving the incorrectly performed syllables in a bag, in order to hold the young lectors accountable later.61 In sum, medieval monastic and clerical lectio had various aspects. It was an integral part of the opus dei, of the liturgy and its offices of reading, of the lectio divina with its meditatio and ruminatio and of edification during public readings in the chapter house. Finally, lectio served as a key to unlocking the writings of the 56 Regarding who should read, Hildemar explains: “Isto enim modo ista ratio debet peragi: debet enim abbas eligere hos fratres, qui bene possint legere, sive viginti, sive duodecim, sive octo, sive sex vel quatuor, et ipsi postea ordine suo legant. In ecclesia autem die dominico prius debet legere ille infans, qui pejus sapit, deinde qui melius, deinde postmodum gradatim crescendo in melius, in ultimo uero debet legere abbas . . . quia melius est, ut unus legat res vel quatuor lectiones aut quinque aut sex, qui aedificat, quam multi legant, qui non aedificant” (Expositio regulae, ed. Mitterm¨uller, pp. 427–428). 57 “Hoc notandum est, si forte male legit lector, debet abbas cum consilio fratrum constituere fratrem, qui possit reprehendere et corrigere rationabiliter, isto modo: Ecce fratres mei boni, volo per vestrum consilium eligere talem fratrem, qui sit doctus et bonus et possit reprehendere lectorem nostrum in refectorio, necnon etiam volo, ut sedeat prope lectorem et sic reprehendat illum isto modo, i.e., erigat se et aspiciat in libro, et sic reprehendat illum leniter” (ibid., p. 426). 58 “Debet abbas constituere talem fratrem, qui corrigat librum, et debet illi jubere, ut vadant et legant ante illum” (ibid., p. 469). 59 Ibid., pp. 469–470. 60 “In refectorio coram patribus, ubi vel in puncto peccare capitale erat” (Ekkehard IV, Casus ch. 57, ed. Haefele, p. 124). 61 See M. Jennings, “Tutivillus: The Literary Career of the Recording Demon,” Studies in Philology 74.5 (1977), pp. 1–95, especially “The Recording Demon,” pp. 10–34.
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Scriptures, of the Church Fathers, and of the seven liberal arts, which paved the way for a more complete understanding of theology. In the Germanic-speaking areas, lectio was a key to the initial stages of learning the Latin language, the linguistic medium in which all texts were composed. It taught the skills with which to decipher a text and perform it. The functional orality of classical lectio, the necessity for vocal performance in order to puzzle out the written text and endow it with meaning, was adapted to the needs of Christian textual culture. As Graham remarks “for all of their bookishness, [monastic] readers read for the most part audibly.”62 Although the basis of faith was secured in the written Word, this word was voiced. Monastic pupils spent a great deal of time listening to texts, whether during church services, during readings in the chapter house or in the classroom. In the classroom vocality was not only the rule because of the tradition of a “classical past” or the training for a “monastic present,” but also out of sheer necessity. Due to the high cost of producing a manuscript, it was impossible for every student to own a copy of a text being discussed in class. In most cases only the teacher had a book, from which he would read aloud. Pupils would then repeat the lesson until they had understood it, or they would copy it onto their wax tablets and then repeat it and learn it by heart.63 Students could also be asked to read a new passage or recite one learned in front of their classmates. Texts were performed, be it in the liturgy, during private meditation or in the classroom, and as a result, training in the oral aspects of lectio was an integral part of monastic education.
l e g i b i l i t y a n d com p reh en sion quod loquimur transit, quod scribimus permanet. Gregory the Great64
Monastic orality, here in the sense of ‘vocality’, was anchored in the written text, in the two scriptures of the time, the sacred and the profane. In order to perform a text correctly, one needed a correct written script, the notes of the reading “score” discussed above. Fixing that score was one of the main endeavours of Carolingian rulers, scholars and clerics. Stable and accurate texts had political implications, since they could serve to secure and promote both secular and religious power. A text 62 Graham, Beyond the Written Word, p. 37. 63 Gernot Rudolf Wieland, The Latin Glosses on Arator and Prudentius in Cambridge University Library MS Gg.5.35 (Toronto: PIMS, 1983), p. 193, and James J. Murphy, “Roman Writing Instruction as Described by Quintilian”, in James J. Murphy (ed.), A Short History of Writing Instruction (Davis, CA: Hermagoras, 1990), p. 42. See also the discussion of classroom techniques below, chapter two. 64 Gregory the Great, Moralia in Job, XXXIII, iii, 64–65, ed. Marcus Adriaen, CCSL 143B (Turnhout: Brepols, 1985), 1675.
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fixed on parchment had permanence, and the slightest slip of the pen could result in grave misunderstandings.65 Charlemagne and his chosen group of scholars began a number of reform projects which aimed at standardizing and making more uniform key liturgical and monastic texts, and even included redesigning the handwriting used for copying books. It was important that scribes write well. In the Admonitio generalis of 789 it is stated that care must be taken in the copying of liturgical texts in order to worship God correctly.66 Louis the Pious preferred that the decrees of his reform council be copied clearly and openly, lest they be corrupted by the error of the scribe or abridged by anyone.67 The attention given to producing correct texts was also of utmost importance for the Church. In his statutes for priests, Archbishop Herardus of Tours asks that schools be established to train priests and that corrected books be on hand.68 Alcuin’s Titulus for a scriptorium expresses the following wish: Hic sedeant sacrae scribentes famina legis, Nec non sanctorum dicta sacrata patrum; Hic interserere caveant sua frivola verbis, Frivola nec propter erret et ipsa manus, Correctosque sibi quaerant studiose libellos, Tramite quo recto penna volantis eat. Per cola distinguant proprios et commata sensus, Et punctos ponant ordine quosque suo, Ne vel falsa legat, taceat vel forte repente, Ante pios fratres lector in ecclesia . . . [Let those who copy the pronouncements of the holy law and the hallowed sayings of the saintly fathers sit here. Here let them take care not to insert their vain words, lest their hands make mistakes through such foolishness. Let them resolutely strive to produce emended texts and may their pens fly along the correct path. May they punctuate the proper meaning by cola and commata and put each point in its proper hierarchy so that the lector reads nothing false nor suddenly falls silent when reading before the pious brothers in church . . .]69 65 Ganz, “Preconditions,” p. 41. See also Hans-Werner Goetz, “Verschriftlichung von Geschichtskenntnissen. Die Historiographie der Karolingerzeit,” in Ursula Schaefer (ed.), Schriftlichkeit, pp. 229–253, and Richter, “Die Sprachenpolitik,” pp. 95–96. 66 “Et pueros vestros non sinite eos vel legendo vel scribendo corrumpere; et si opus est evangelium, psalterium et missale scribere, perfectae aetatis homines scribant cum omni diligentia” (ed. Boretius, MGH Cap regum Francorum I, 1883 [repr. Hanover: Hahn, 1984], p. 60). 67 Ibid., p. 339. Cf. Ganz, “Preconditions,” p. 38. 68 “Ut scholas presbyteri pro posse habeant et libros emendatos” (Capitula Herardi, chapter 17 [PL 121. 765C]). Cf. John J. Contreni, “The Pursuit of Knowledge in Carolingian Europe,” in Richard Sullivan (ed.), The Gentle Voices of Teachers (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1995), p. 111. 69 Carmen XCIV, ed. Ernst D¨ummler, Poetae latini aevi Carolini 1 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1881), p. 320; trans. by Ganz, “Preconditions,” p. 33.
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Alcuin, who stood at the centre of the Carolingian renovatio and, in the opinion of some, served as its architect, was above all interested in codifying biblical and liturgical texts. He himself emended the Vulgate by judging which of Jerome’s versions should be included and by cleaning up punctuation, grammar and orthography. His words above remind us that many of the texts produced in scriptoria at this time were destined to be performed orally. In the list of datable manuscripts which document the early development of the Caroline minuscule, liturgical manuscripts predominate.70 It was precisely the texts destined for public worship that needed to be corrected and clarified in order to avoid any ambiguity. Some time in the late 790s the De litteris colendis supplement to the Admonitio generalis was issued. The title can be translated “On the necessity for learning litterae” and begins as follows: . . . nos una cum fidelibus nostris consideravimus utile esse ut episcopia et monasteria nobis Christo propitio ad gubernandum commissa praeter regularis vitae ordinem atque sanctae religionis conversationem etiam in litterarum meditationibus eis qui donante Domino discere possunt secundum uniuscuiusque capacitatem docendi studium debeant impendere, qualiter, sicut regularis norma honestatem morum, ita quoque docendi et discendi instantia ordinet et ornet seriem verborum, ut, qui Deo placere appetunt recte vivendo, ei etiam placere non negligant recte loquendo . . . [ . . . together with our fideles we have deemed it beneficial that, in addition to a way of life based on a rule and the practice of holy piety, the cathedral clergy and monastic communities entrusted, with Christ’s favour, to us for governing ought also to devote themselves zealously to teaching the study of letters to those who by the Lord’s gift are able to learn, each according to his capacity, so that, as the precepts of a rule provide the dispositions and furnish what is necessary for propriety of conduct, so also devotion to teaching and learning may do the same as regards the construction of language that those who seek to please God by right living may not neglect to please Him also by right speaking.]71
Stress is placed on having those trained in episcopal and monastic schools speak correctly – “recte loquendo.” Specifically the reference is to avoid mispronouncing the liturgy, in order to please God.72 The phrase itself is borrowed from the traditional definitions of grammatica. McKitterick has demonstrated that the Carolingians’ efforts to establish the use of correct Latin are manifest in the numerous copies of grammatical texts produced in the ninth century. In the western Frankish kingdoms, the goal was to promote the study of Latin grammar as part of a “formalization and reform of a native 70 Ganz, “Preconditions,” p. 28. 71 Ed. Boretius, MGH Cap regum Francorum I, p. 79; trans. P. D. King, Charlemagne: Translated Sources (Kendal: P. D. King, 1987), p. 232. 72 Wright, “Late Latin,” pp. 351–352.
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tongue; the study of Latin was used to improve the use of a known language.”73 In the Germanic-speaking areas the situation was quite different. Knowledge of Latin could not be assumed. Indeed, in some cases the ability to read did not even imply knowing the language. Just because a monk was practised in reading, this did not necessarily mean that he understood what he read. In Liudger’s Life of St. Gregory of Utrecht we read that in 721 the Anglo-Saxon monk Boniface was visiting the Abbess Adela in the monastery of Pfalzel. Gregory, who was at this time fifteen and a pupil in the palace school, also happened to be visiting his aunt Adela and met Boniface. Gregory was given a book and asked to read it. He graciously accepted, and when he finished his reading and prayer, Boniface remarked: “Bene legis, fili, si intelligis quae legis” and asked Gregory if he had understood what he had read. Gregory answered by beginning to read the Latin passage again as he had done before. Boniface, however, interrupted and replied: “Non ita, fili, quaero, ut mihi dicas modo lectionem tuam, sed secundum proprietatem linguae tuae et naturalem parentum tuorum locutionem edissere mihi lectionem tuam” [“Not so, young man, I’m not only asking you to read your passage but to explain it to me using the language which is your own and which your parents speak”]. Boniface asked Gregory to repeat what he had read in his own words using his mother tongue. Gregory responded that he was unable to do so. Boniface then asked the boy to repeat his lesson from the beginning and to read carefully: “Repete,” ait, “ab exordio lectionem tuam et discrete lege!”74 Gregory at the age of fifteen was able to read Latin, but not discrete; he could produce the sounds on the manuscript page, but he was not able to apply the skill of discretio and read based on meaning. Here a clear distinction is made between legere and intel-legere and the two do not necessarily overlap. Knowing how to read Latin without understanding the meaning could lead to grave consequences. Bishop Meinwerk of Paderborn was the object of a cruel joke played by Henry II. Henry had the first syllable “fa” erased from Meinwerk’s text “famulis et famulabus” of the Missa pro defunctis; poor Meinwerk did not notice and dutifully sang the words “mulis et mulabus.”75 Thus 73 McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 20. McKitterick, however, stresses that one should be careful in praising the Franks for getting closer to Classical Latin than their predecessors were in the eighth century. Such a view is “an essentially humanistic judgement, a reation against ‘Gothic barbarism’, and anachronistic.” The Carolingians strove to correct the written form of Latin “because they perceived that it was in danger, through lack of clarity and error, of failing to serve as a means to communicate as it should,” not because they returned to classical norms (“Latin and Romance,” pp. 132–133). 74 Liudger, Vita Gregorii abbatis Traiectensis, ed. O. Holder-Egger, MGH SS 15.1, 1887 (repr. Hanover: Hahn, 1992), p. 68. Cf. Michael Richter, “Die Sprachenpolitik,” pp. 93–94, and Rosamond McKitterick, The Frankish Kingdoms, p. 148. 75 Das Leben des Bischofs Meinwerk von Paderborn, ed. Franz Tenckhoff, MGHSrGSch 59 (Hanover: Hahn, 1921), pp. 106–107. The author downplays Meinwerk’s blunder by pointed out that the bishop was more used to speaking than reading Latin, and hence didn’t catch the error (“multipliciter occupatum tam in latinitatis locutione quam in lectione barbarismi vitia non semel incurrere . . .”). Perhaps the reference here is to Meinwerk’s bilingualism in Romance.
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instead of singing of the deceased ‘servants of God’ Meinwerk unknowingly sang of ‘mules’! Although he recognized the letters as words, his reading knowledge of Latin was not good enough immediately to discern their meaning. In a letter sent to various monasteries throughout the empire, Alcuin entreats the monks to read regularly the Rule of St. Benedict and if necessary to explain it in the local tongue, should some have difficulty understanding it.76 In the so-called “Statutes of Murbach,” stress is placed on the importance of brethren reading, understanding and, if possible, memorizing the Rule. The text is a commentary on the discussions carried out at the Council of Aachen in 816/817. Haubrichs argues that it may have been written by Abbot Haito of Reichenau for his brothers back home.77 In his commentary to the second capitulum, the author writes: Secundo, ut qui possent regulam memoriter discerent. Ubi iungendum putauimus, ut, cum ex corde recitanda discitur, a dictatoribus ordinatis discentibus interpretetur. [The second, that those who are able should memorize the Rule. Here we think should be added, that when it is learned by reciting by heart (instead of by reading), it should be interpreted/translated by appointed dictators to those learning.]78
Haubrichs translates the verb interpretare to mean “to translate,” which was probably the case if the text was meant for the Alemannic abbey of Reichenau. The target audience was probably the novices, who had joined the monastery later in life and had not had the opportunity to study Latin like the oblates.79 Such a scenario also assumes that translations of the Rule were available (unless, of course, the translation was done ex tempore). Haubrichs suggests that at Reichenau Haito’s words were heeded and that a learning program was established, which included the production of OHG translations of the Rule and others texts, which were then disseminated to other closely allied abbeys, including St. Gall. The sole surviving copy of the Old High German translation of the Rule of St. Benedict was copied at St. Gall; two additional translations owned by St. Gall are now lost.80 Once the formalization of written Latin in the Carolingian period was well under way, the next logical step was to make the contents, the meaning of the texts, more 76 “Saepiusque regula sancti Benedicti legatur in conventu fratrum et propria exponatur lingua, ut intellegi possit ab omnibus” (“Epistola ad fratres Wirensis et Gyrvensis ecclesiae,” ed. Ernst D¨ummler, MGH Epist 4, 1895 [Repr. Munich: Monumenta Germaniae Historica, 1978], p. 54. 77 Wolfgang Haubrichs, “Das monastische Studienprogramm der ‘Statuta Murbacensia’ und die altalamannischen Interlinearversionen,” in Albrecht Greule and Uwe Ruberg (eds.), Sprache, Literatur, Kultur (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1989), pp. 237–261, esp. pp. 247–248. Haito’s authorship was originally ¨ proposed by O. Seebass (“Uber die Statuta Murbacensia,” Zeitschrift f¨ur Kirchengeschichte 12 [1891], pp. 322–332), but later called into question by scholars such as Semmler. 78 Actuum praeliminarium synodi primae Aquisgranensis commentatione sive Statuta Murbacensia, ed. J. Semmler, CCM 1 (Sigburg: Schmitt, 1963), p. 441. 79 Haubrichs, “Das monastische Studienprogramm,” pp. 242–244. 80 Ibid., pp. 260–261. See also idem, Geschichte, pp. 199–200. The translator of the OHG Rule referred to the Reichenau Glossary Rb and the old-Alemannic Psalter translation.
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accessible. This was especially important for artes literature. Even in the Romancespeaking areas, where speakers’ native tongues were still very close to Latin, the subject matter of texts would have been difficult to understand. In Germanicspeaking areas the meaning was particularly hard to penetrate. The ninth and tenth centuries saw a resurgence in the production of Latin commentaries to classical, biblical and patristic texts. Among these are the works of scholars such as Hrabanus Maurus, Johannes Scottus, and Remigius of Auxerre. Certain commentaries were intended for advanced readers, yet others were clearly meant to serve a classroom function and aid students in dealing with the difficult subject matter. Some of the commentaries are anonymous and represent compilations of marginal glosses and scholia, which were collected and augmented by one or several individuals.81 In addition to providing grammatical, rhetorical and etymological information, the commentaries aided the reader in the exercise of Christian hermeneutics and helped him to understand the text historically, morally and mystically. Commentaries were especially useful for the teacher. Although he was the magister and could presumably read the original without the help of a commentary, he nonetheless depended on it when explaining a text in class. It presented him with a type of lesson plan – it reminded him what points to explain, what questions to ask, and supplied him with information that he might otherwise not think of.82 Unlike glosses, which appear on the same page as the original text, commentaries were meant to be used alongside the original, although they can be found in the same codex as the main text. Their format allowed for greater flexibility than was the case with marginal glosses, since a comment could consist of one word or of an entire page. Remigius, in his commentary to Martianus Capella’s complex De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, for example, often explains mythological characters and explicates the grammar of Martianus’ text by providing a simplified word order in the form of ordo-est glosses and furnishing grammatical pronouns that are implied in the original text.83 Remigius wrote his commentary in Latin probably with Romance speakers in mind. Although the fact that it was in Latin made it accessible to a reading audience that crossed linguistic borders, in the Germanic-speaking east its classroom function was restricted, since it could only be used by a litteratus, often the teacher, whose knowledge of Latin was good enough to understand it. For students, the linguistic hurdle remained, and translation was required at some point, either by the teacher or by the student himself. Presumably the translation was done ad hoc in the classroom and existed in the oral sphere of instruction that never made it to parchment. In St. Gall at the turn of the millennium, Notker Labeo 81 Gernot Wieland, “The Glossed Manuscript: Classbook or Library Book?” Anglo-Saxon England 14 (1985), p. 154. 82 Ibid., p. 163. 83 See Remigius, Commentum in Martianum Capellam, ed. Cora E. Lutz, 2 vols. (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1965).
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undertook a rem paene inusitatam by actually fixing the vernacular commentary component in writing.
re a d i n g a n d w ri t i n g g erma n Legere libros et non intelligere neglegere est. Disticha Catonis84
Notker Labeo borrowed traditional methods of reading and commenting and made the next logical step in simplifying the reading experience for his students by integrating the vernacular. The step was a bold one, for by translating Latin artes texts into Old High German and commenting upon them, Notker broke through the traditional borders of Latinity and integrated the vernacular into classroom textual culture. In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, he refers to his venture as a res paene inusitata – a “nearly unprecedented task.” He gives a twofold reason for translating and commenting: (1) he feels that an understanding of certain profane texts is crucial for a better understanding of theological texts, the ultimate goal of study; and (2) it is easier to understand texts in one’s native language than in a foreign one. This important passage deserves quotation in full: Artibus autem illis quibus me onustare uultis ego renunciaui neque fas mihi est eis aliter quam sicut instrumentis frui Sunt enim ecclesiastici libri et præcipue quidem in scolis legendi quos impossibile est sine illis prælibatis ad intellectum integrum duci Ad quos dum accessvm habere nostros uellem scolasticos ausus svm facere rem pene inusitatam . ut latine scripta in nostram [linguam] conatus sim uertere et syllogystice aut figurate aut suasorie dicta per aristotelem uel ciceronem uel alium artigraphum elucidare . . . Horum nescio an aliquid dignum sit uenire in manus uestras Sed si uultis ea . sumptibus enim indigent mittite plures pergamenas et scribentibus præmia et accipietis eorum exempla Qve dum fuerint ad uos perlata me præsentem aestimate Scio tamen quia primum abhorrebitis quasi ab insuetis sed paulatim forte incipient se commendare uobis et præualebitis ad legendvm et ad dinoscendvm quam cito capiunter per patriam linguam. quæ aut uix aut non integre capienda forent in lingua non propria. [Those arts, however, with which you wished to burden me I have renounced and it is right for me to profit from them only as instruments [for another purpose]. These are Christian books – and those principally read in the schools – which cannot possibly be fully comprehended without introductory study. Since I wanted our students to have an introduction to these texts, I presumed to do some things almost unprecedented: I ventured to translate them from Latin into our language, and to elucidate syllogistic, stylistic, and rhetorical precepts according to the teachings of Aristotle, Cicero or other arts authors . . . I do not know whether any of these things are worthy of your attention. But if you want to see them – they are costly to produce – send several skins of parchment and rewards 84 Poetae Latini Minores, ed. Aemilius Baehrens, vol. 3 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1881), p. 205.
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for the scribes, and you will receive copies of them. When they have been delivered to you, think of me as present. I know that while at first you will recoil from them as if from things unfamiliar, nevertheless they will, by degrees, begin to commend themselves to you forcefully, and you will be able to read and construe them. Things which are understood only partially and with difficulty in a language that is not one’s own are quickly grasped in one’s native tongue.]85
Notker focused his effort on not only making texts legible but also intelligible. He clearly realized that his students had problems reading and understanding what they read, since Latin was for them a foreign language. With every reading they had to decipher the meaning of the individual words and their grammatical function and make sense of the syntax. Of course punctuation, paragraphing and word division were helpful, but only somewhat eased the struggle. The only way to get around the problem was to use the students’ propria lingua, the vernacular. As prudent as his words may seem to us today, Notker faced a difficult situation. German had only recently made its way onto parchment and there were few precedents he could follow. He even anticipates that the bishop, a man learned in Latin, will at first find the whole undertaking somewhat strange. Notker however urges him to give the new texts a chance, for he will soon see how practical a medium the vernacular can be. What exactly does Notker mean when he refers to his translation effort as a res paene inusitata? The qualifier paene is problematic. Did a tradition already exist, or was the venture truly unprecedented, and is the adjective paene meant to be understood as litotes, a rhetorical flourish of modesty on Notker’s part? The concept that students had difficulties with Latin was not a new one, nor was it all that innovative to resort to the vernacular for explication. German interlinear translations and glossing had already been in use some two hundred years by the time Notker wrote his letter. Kelle and others have argued that it was the degree to which Notker used and recorded German that was so unprecedented. Notker was familiar with the practice of vernacular glossing and may have known of interlinear versions like the Tatian, but considered them insufficient for his classroom purposes, since they slavishly followed the Latin text.86 De Boor, on the other hand, held that Notker worked independently of any previous traditions and that for him simply using the vernacular in the classroom was a remarkable 85 NkS pp. 348–349. Translation based on Copeland, Rhetoric, p. 98. 86 Johann Kelle, Geschichte der deutschen Litteratur von der a¨ ltesten Zeit bis zur Mitte des elften Jahrhunderts, vol. 1.2 (Berlin: Wilhelm Hertz, 1892), p. 268; see also idem, “Die S. Galler deutschen Schriften und Notker Labeo,” Abhandlung der philosophisch-historischen Classe der k¨oniglich bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 18.1 (1886), pp. 267 and 270–271. On Notker’s knowledge of the Tatian translation, see Ekkehard Feist, “Der religi¨ose Wortschatz der althochdeutschen Tatian¨ Ubersetzung in seiner Abh¨angigkeit vom Latein der Vorlage,” PhD thesis, University of Freiburg, 1953, pp. 178–179.
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effort.87 Whether Notker was aware of his predecessors or not, his work has been seen as the last stage in a long struggle to free the German language from the fetters of Latin, and the focus was often on Notker the “German” author whose goal was to produce a “German” translation.88 Schr¨obler, who had analyzed Notker’s reception of Augustine and other patristic and late classical authors, interprets the res paene inusitata in Notker’s work as meaning that he did not simply translate, in other words, use the vernacular, but that he commented and thus applied the vernacular to an established expository method.89 In addition to the verb uertere in Notker’s letter one also needs to consider his reference to elucidare. Recent studies have supported Schr¨obler’s hypothesis and placed Notker’s technique within the commentary tradition discussed above. In essence, the novelty of Notker’s texts is the way in which he combines translation with commentary and incorporates the vernacular into the classroom lesson plan.90 The focus has moved away from Notker the “German translator” to Notker the “medieval commentator.” All of the explanations summarized above are, at least to some degree, correct. The extent to which Notker applied the vernacular to learning and recorded his practice was certainly unusual for his time. He may or may not have been aware of previous endeavors to use the vernacular beyond simple lexical glossing. In any case, his venture clearly improved upon his predecessors’ methods and was much more independent of the Latin text. Notker’s goal, however, was not to produce a 87 Die deutsche Literatur von Karl dem Großen bis zum Beginn der h¨ofischen Dichtung 770–1170, 9th edn., ed. Herbert Kolb (Munich: Beck, 1979), p. 33. De Boor’s statement must be taken within the context of his view of literary history. Notker wrote at the end of the tenth century, which for de Boor was a period of decline in German literature. 88 An extreme stance was taken by E. G. Graff who, in his editio princeps of Notker’s translations of Boethius’ De consolatione Philosophiae, of the Latin versions of Aristotle’s De categoriis and De interpretatione, and of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, simply extracted the OHG from the Latin context and reassembled it in such a way that it formed a continuous and seemingly autonomous text edition. The Latin passages were emended to conform to readings of texti recepti and then relegated to the bottom of the page where, in small print, they appear as a gloss to facilitate an understanding of the German (ed. E. G. Graff, Althochdeutsche, dem Anfange ¨ des 11. Jahrhunderts angeh¨orige Ubersetzung und Erl¨auterung der von Boethius verfassten f¨unf B¨ucher “De consolatione Philosophiae” [Berlin: Nicolai, 1837]). Graff’s editions of Notker’s translations of the Latin renderings of Aristotle’s De interpretatione and De categoriis and of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis appeared in the same year. 89 Ingeborg Schr¨obler, “Die St. Galler Wissenschaft um die Jahrtausendwende und Gerbert von ¨ Reims,” ZfdA 81 (1944), p. 32 and eadem, Notker III. von St. Gallen als Ubersetzer und Kommentator von Boethius’ De consolatione Philosophiae (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1953) chapter three and especially pp. 152–153, where she argues for Augustine as Notker’s model. 90 Sonja Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 5 and Nikolaus Henkel, Deutsche ¨ Ubersetzungen lateinischer Schultexte. Ihre Verbreitung und Funktion im Mittelalter und in der fr¨uhen Neuzeit (Munich/Zurich: Artemis, 1988), p. 74; cf. also Georg Braungart, “Notker der Deutsche als Bearbeiter eines lateinischen Schultextes: Boethius ‘De consolatione Philosophiae’,” ZfdPh 106 (1987), pp. 2–3, and Gerhard Meissburger, Grundlagen zum Verst¨andnis der deutschen M¨onchsdichtung im 11. und im 12. Jahrhundert (Munich: Fink, 1970), p. 249.
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German translation, but a classroom text which built upon and developed the Latin commentary tradition, and in which exposition and translation are integrated and understanding takes place utraque lingua.91 Why would Notker’s texts have appeared so strange to the bishop? Was it because Notker dared to revert to the vernacular? Was it that the bishop would not have been used to seeing so much German on parchment, and particularly not in this format? Certainly these are aspects of the problematic reception Notker anticipated. It is important, however, not to lose sight of Notker’s goal in producing his classroom texts. We have to remember why Notker added a German translation and commentary in the first place, namely so that his students would understand the texts. Notker’s goal in teaching the seven liberal arts was not only to teach his students Latin. That the students’ Latin skills improved the more they read and studied is obvious, and the structure of Notker’s texts demonstrates this function. But learning Latin was not the only goal in Notker’s program. It was not necessary always to go through Latin to learn; the vernacular could also serve as a direct conduit for knowledge. In essence, the two goals could be met simultaneously.92 In his letter Notker states the accepted view that the liberal arts are to be used as a tool better to understand sacred texts. Augustine writes that in order to study the divine truth, it is first necessary to study grammar, dialectic, rhetoric and arithmetic. In his De ordine he begs that the pupils be forced to begin with these subjects already at a very young age.93 Alcuin explains that the seven liberal arts are the seven steps which lead the human soul to knowledge; they are the paths upon which the young students must run daily, until they have advanced in their studies and become mature enough to devote themselves to the higher tasks of literacy.94 Notker heeds this advice and develops the thoughts one step further: why must the students stumble on rocky paths, if one can make their journey smoother with the help of commentary and of the vernacular? For the more quickly the paths are traversed, the sooner divine knowledge will be reached. In his Liber Benedictionum, Ekkehard IV includes a poem “Item de aliis sincellitis amborum.” In lines 62–67 he touches upon the accomplishments of his teacher Notker Labeo and provides us with a near contemporary comment on the German language.95 Ekkehard makes three main points: (1) Notker both translated and commented; (2) Notker’s translation/commentaries can be savoured; (3) the religious 91 Cf. Stefan Sonderegger, “Gesprochene Sprache im Althochdeutschen und ihre Vergleichbarkeit mit dem Neuhochdeutschen,” in Horst Sitta (ed.), Ans¨atze zu einer pragmatischen Sprachgeschichte (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1980), p. 85. 92 Braungart, “Notker der Deutsche,” p. 2. 93 Augustine, De ordine, II.xxi.44, ed. W. M. Green (Turnhout: Brepols, 1970), p. 131. 94 Alcuin, Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis, PL 101.853–854. 95 The text is printed in Ekkehard IV, Der Liber benedictionum, ed. J. Egli, pp. 230–231. Cf. the excellent analysis of this passage provided by Peter Osterwalder, Das althochdeutsche Galluslied Ratperts und ¨ seine lateinischen Ubersetzungen durch Ekkehart IV (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1982), pp. 222–226.
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texts can be enjoyed by those who are able to read German. I cite the text here as it appears in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 393 with interlinear glossing by the author: Teutonice propter caritatem discipulorum plures libros exponens 62 Primus barbaricam scribens faciensque saporam Ipsa die qua obiit librum Iob finiuit opus mirandum. 63 Notker mox obiit ubi Iob calamo superauit Confessionem palam faciens cucullatus . non multum dolens in corpore 64 Facta palam fassus . residens . neque grandia passus . librum Iob in quartam linguam exponens . nimis . 65 Quem uas in quartum transfundens fecit apertum. moralia. teutonice. ab illo . 66 Gregorii pondus dorso leuat ille secundus psalterium in quo omnes qui barbaricam legere sciunt . multum delectantur; Kisila imperatrix operum eius auidissima . Psalterium ipsum et Iob sibi exemplari sollicite fecit 67 Post Dauidis dicta simili iam robore victa. [He was the first [scil. Notker] who wrote German and made it so savoury . Notker soon died, after he had conquered ‘Job’ with a pen , confessing publicly, remaining calm, not suffering greatly pouring it [the text of Job] into a fourth vessel, he made it exceedingly clear. <expounding the book of Job in the fourth language> From Gregory’s shoulders he took upon himself the task as his successor , after David’s verses had been overcome with similar vigor .]
We read that Notker was the first to write German and make it “savoury.” The stress here is not on the fact that he used the vernacular, but that he used it in such a way that it was refined and elegant. The connotations of saporam (“sweet, savoury”) refer also to the sound of the language; the text is to be savoured by the eyes, mouth and ears. On p. 246 of the same manuscript, a 15th-century hand has added the following verse, which may originally also stem from Ekkehard: Panditur ecce liber, soluit signacula notker. Abdita perspicuis septem speculatus ocellis. Gusta quam sapiant, quia quarto vase nec obstant . . . [Behold the book is opened, Notker broke the seals. He explored the seven mysteries with his sharp little eyes, in as much as they taste good, because in the fourth vessel they do not hinder (understanding)]96 96 An edited version of this passage is cited in Bernhard Hertenstein, Joachim von Watt (Vadianus), Bartholom¨aus Schobinger, Melchior Goldast. Die Besch¨aftigung mit dem Althochdeutschen von St. Gallen
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Here again mention is made of the knowledge that is gained through savouring the text. The repeated reference to the “sweetness” of Notker’s German is no standard or trivial compliment. It refers specifically to the fact that Notker was not only able to “tame” German, but that he was also able to bring it up to a standard equal to that of Latin. That German too could be made “sweet” was truly a remarkable accomplishment for the time. A good point of comparison is offered in a comment made by Lupus of Ferri`eres in the middle of the ninth century. In a letter to the Abbot of Hersfeld, Lupus writes about his Life of Saint Wigbert, which he had composed on the abbot’s insistence. He hopes that the abbot will like the first draft of his work and not be offended by the fact that he has included German proper names in the Latin text, which render it harsh.97 Lupus was aware that the two languages do not stand well side by side and that the harsh sound of German clashes with the sweetness and smoothness (lenitas) of Latin, but insists that it cannot be altered in order to ensure historical veracity. Notker’s accomplishment some 150 years later was to have made the “lingua vernacula modice fera” into something sweet. According to Ekkehard, Notker translated out of love for his students. He cared that they understood the texts they studied in school and that they would eventually understand the deeper meaning of divine writings. Notker expounded the Book of Job in the fourth vessel, that is, he used German, the fourth language after Hebrew, Greek and Latin. Ekkehard twice uses the verb expono to describe Notker’s activity. It is more than just a translation – it is a means for getting at the text. Ekkehard’s comment above line 67 is particularly significant: “in quo omnes qui barbaricam legere sciunt multum delectantur.” It is not clear what Ekkehard means by “knowing how to read German.” He may be referring to the fact that knowledge of German, unlike Latin, is not a given for someone who is a litteratus. Knowing how to read – in the medieval context, to read Latin – did not necessarily make one capable of reading German. On the other hand, he may also mean that reading German is not something that one can do automatically, just because one “knows” the language. The latter interpretation seems more likely, given the fact that Ekkehard explicitly refers to the act of reading German vs. simply knowing German: he does not in Humanismus und Fr¨uhbarock (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1975), p. 263. See also Alfred Wolf, “Ekkehard IV. und Notker Labeo,” Studia Neophilologica 33 (1961), pp. 145–158. 97 Lupus of Ferri`eres, Epistulae, ed. Peter Marshall (Leipzig: Teubner, 1984), p. 121. Cf. Paul Meyvaert, “‘Rainaldus est malus scriptor Francigenus’ – Voicing National Antipathy in the Middle Ages,” Speculum 66 (1991), p. 753–754. Meyvaert lists several other medieval examples, in which the barbaric sound of German is mentioned, especially in connection with chant. An eleventh-century Beneventan manuscript from St. Maria di Albaneta, for example, vividly relates: “The Germans (Teotonici) came, and since their language is barbarous German and Guandala [German and Walloon?], they rendered the sweet Gregorian melodies as if they were howling like wolves (ceperunt ululare sicut lupi)” (Meyvaert, p. 754).
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write “qui barbaricam sciunt,” but “qui barbaricam legere sciunt.” It appears that reading German also had its own rules that needed to be followed and that these rules in turn made it intelligible. Finally, these lines also tell us about the reception of some of Notker’s texts outside of the St. Gall schools. The Empress Gisela was very impressed with his Psalter and translation of Job and had copies made for herself. Ekkehard mentions only the religious texts in Notker’s corpus and remains silent about the profane translations. Perhaps the religious texts, especially the Psalter, had a wider reading audience and thus a broader impact than the artes texts, which were destined specifically for the school. His selectivity may also be related to the monastic reforms underway in the Abbey at the time he wrote the comments.98 In sum, it is a combination of factors that make Notker’s venture “almost unprecedented.” It is not completely unprecedented because his method is based on accepted views about using secular texts to understand divine knowledge and because it integrates the established grammar of legibility and the codes of comprehension to make texts easier to understand. Simply using German was also nothing new. What was new is Notker’s attitude toward the status and function of the vernacular within the paradigm of textual culture and the effect that this had on the way in which he recorded the vernacular onto parchment. At the same time, it is important not to overstress Notker’s role as a German author. As Ehrismann points out, Notker was not interested in producing a medium of scholarly discourse – a “Gelehrtensprache” – nor for that matter a medium for literary discourse – a “Literatursprache.”99 Notker molded German so that it could be used for learning and understanding. The language of scholarly discourse remained Latin. What changed was the extent to which one could apply the vernacular to understand this discourse, both the language in which it was written as well as the knowledge that it contained. The framework of textual culture remained the same, but now the vernacular had to be refined to fit into it. German had to be refined to serve as a classroom language. Notker’s attitude toward the potential of German in the classroom is certainly revolutionary when compared to Lupus’ comments on the language cited above and to Otfrid, who wrote some 100 years before Notker. In his letter to Liutbert, which prefaces the Evangelienbuch, Otfrid comments on the ungrammatical character of his native tongue: Hujus enim linguae barbaries ut est inculta et indisciplinabilis atque insueta capi regulari freno grammaticae artis, sic etiam in multis dictis scriptio est propter literarum aut congeriem aut incognitam sonoritatem difficilis. 98 See below, chapter two, pp. 64–65. 99 Ehrismann, Geschichte, p. 456.
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[The barbarism of this language you see, for it is uncultivated and undisciplined and unaccustomed to being held in by the curbing rein of the art of grammar; thus, for example, in the writing of many words it is difficult to spell because of the piling up of letters or the unknown sound.]100
Otfrid draws attention to the differences between his Franconian mother tongue and Latin and lists nine points in which his language differs from Latin, among them spelling, hiatus, verse form, double negation and gender.101 He considers the discrepancies a matter of barbarismus and soloecismus, i.e., as deviations from what is correct, from what is Latin; he explains each in detail, so that his reader can note and understand the nuances and perform his text correctly. It was natural that Otfrid, a man educated in Latin grammatical theory, would hold up the rules of Latin as a standard against which to measure his own native tongue. He saw Franconian through Latinate eyes, not because he was prejudiced against his mother tongue or unable to appreciate its value or uniqueness, but because tradition and the educational system in which he had been trained expected it of him. Perhaps Otfrid even believed that with time and practice his Franconian dialect would eventually be tamed and conform to latinitas.102 In Notker’s model, the vernacular is not an aberration of Latin, but an autonomous language. It is no longer a lingua barbara, a lingua modice fera, but a lingua nostra, a patria vox. Notker did not expect the grammatical structure of German to be like that of Latin, nor did he expect it to become more like Latin with practice. However, the linguistic newcomer, even though it was different from Latin, did have to respect the basic codes of textual culture. This is especially true in Notker’s texts, in which German functions hand in hand with the Latin primary text. For a start, this meant that the vernacular needed to be written, read and performed correctly. The codes of lectio and the grammar of legibility needed to be applied to the vernacular as well as to the Latin. The graphic markers for reading instituted by the Carolingians could be applied to make the texts more legible and intelligible: word division, punctuation, and textual layout were adapted. Correct vocalization of the German sections could be further ensured by manipulating orthography and utilizing suprasegmentals, such as accentuation. The written form of Notker’s German is the direct result of two demands of reading 100 “Ad Liutbertum,” ed. Oskar Erdmann, Otfrids Evangelienbuch (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1957), p. 5. 101 Hartmut G¨unther, “Probleme beim Verschriften der Muttersprache: Otfrid von Weissenburg und die lingua theotisca,” LiLi 59 (1985), p. 37; Walter Haug, “Die Vulg¨arsprache als Problem: Otfrid von Weissenburg und die literaturtheoretischen Ans¨atze in althochdeutscher Zeit,” Literaturtheorie im deutschen Mittelalter von den Anf¨angen bis zum Ende des 13. Jahrhunderts (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1992), pp. 25–45. 102 Otfrid writes that his Franconian dialect has not yet been tamed by the rules, “N´ıst si so gis´ungan mit r´egulu bitu´ungan” (Evangelienbuch , ed. Erdmann, 12, l. 35; cf. G¨unther, “Probleme,” p. 52).
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that integrate classical and monastic tradition with pedagogic innovation: (1) the need to fix the written form of the vernacular, the ‘script’, for classroom instruction and (2) the need to make this “script” a “score” as well for the purposes of reading, be it in the classroom or privately. Before it could take its place alongside the Latin, its partner in the reading process, German had to rise to and meet these standards.
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2 Education at St. Gall
´ ih in scˆuolo gel´ırneta, Also sˆo geh´ugo ´ıh is n´oh.1
In a letter to the monks of Reichenau, the renowned Latin grammarian Gunzo of Novara relates a personally embarrassing yet telling incident concerning the status and level of Latin instruction at nearby St. Gall, where he had a chance to visit on his way from Italy to Flanders in the year 960.2 During conversation after the evening meal, it appears that Gunzo had in one instance used an accusative instead of an ablative case ending. His St. Gall hosts did not let the apparent grammatical slip pass lightly and without comment. One young monk, probably in the name of fairness, suggested that such a crime against Latin grammar deserved the rod, and another composed a verse on the spot to mark the occasion!3 It is not surprising that the St. Gall monks prided themselves on the correctness of their Latinity. The school at St. Gall was an acclaimed centre of learning from the ninth to the eleventh centuries. In the late tenth century, Balther of S¨ackingen, who went on to become head of the cathedral school in Speyer and in 970 bishop there, describes his alma mater as a fountain of learning, whence knowledge sprang 1 “I remember it still now just as I had learned it in school” (Nb II, 38, 24–25). Notker is here commenting on an example sentence used in the study of definitions, “animal rationale atque mortale,” which he leaves untranslated, presumably because it would have been well known to the pupils. 2 Epistola ad Augienses, ed. Karl Manitius, Die deutschen Geschichtsquellen des Mittelalters 500–1500, Quellen zur Geistesgeschichte des Mittelalters 2 (Weimar: B¨ohlau, 1958), pp. 19–57. 3 “. . . atque exspectabam, si forte inter raros susurros philosophici studii scintilla micaret . . . cum fortuna fuit, ut in sermonibus frivolis unius casus mutatione offenderim, ponendo videlicet accusativum pro ablativo” (ibid., p. 22). Gunzo, of course, was simply employing a form common in his native Italy, yet foreign to the native German-speakers at St. Gall and admits, “Falso putavit sancti Galli monachus me remotum a scientia grammaticae artis, licet aliquando retarder usu nostrae vulgaris linguae, quae Latinitati vicina est” (ibid., p. 27). On Gunzo’s grammatical slip and his subsequent attempt at justifying it, see John Contreni, “The Tenth Century,” pp. 385–387, and Banniard, Viva voce, pp. 547–549.
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forth to flow throughout Europe.4 Some of the school’s most illustrious masters were Ratpert († ca. 884), Iso († 871), Marcellus († 869), Tuotilo († ca. 912), Notker Balbulus († ca. 912), Ekkehard I (†973), Notker Piperisgranum († 975), Ekkehard II († 990), Notker Labeo (ca. 950–1022) and Ekkehard IV (ca. 980–1060). Many of its alumni, such as Balther, went on to hold important political and church positions. Salomo III, who was educated by Iso and perhaps Notker Balbulus, became Bishop of Constance and Abbot of St. Gall from 890–920. In his life of St. Ulrich, Gerhard writes that Ulrich’s parents were looking for a school for their son that was especially well-known for its piety and educational reputation; it was St. Gall that was recommended to them. Later, Ulrich brought the St. Gall curriculum to Augsburg where he became bishop in 923.5 In letters to his parents while a student at St. Gall, Robert, later Bishop of Metz in 916, asks for gifts to give to his teachers and thanks them for sending him to such a renowned school.6 Ekkehard II was private tutor to Otto II, and the St. Gall monk Victor was summoned to the cathedral school of Strasbourg to teach under Bishop Erkanbold (965–991).7 Ekkehard IV claimed that it was at the request of the Burgundian King Rudolf that Iso was sent to the monastery of Moutier Grandval in the Bernese Jura to head the school there, although he often returned to St. Gall to visit.8 Ekkehard himself taught future bishops at St. Gall, and was the head of the Cathedral School of Mainz from 1022–1031.9 The school of St. Gall is in many ways unique in the history of early medieval European pedagogy. We possess a relatively large number of sources that describe 4 “. . . nam inde fons, ut fertur, sapientie per cunctas totius Europe provincias derivatus omnibus hucusque Dei nutu suavissimo se potabilem dulcorabat gustu . . .” (Vita Sancti Fridolini, ed. Mechthild P¨ornbacher [Sigmaringen: J. Thorbecke, 1997], p. 218). Balther, whose parents were not nobles, was allowed to attend school at St. Gall, but forced to leave for lack of funds and later joined a group of wandering scholars (ibid., p. 218; see pp. 10–13 on Balther’s education and pp. 22–24 on his role in the Speyer school). 5 Gerhard of Augsburg, Vita sancti Oudalrici episcopi Augustani, ed. D. G. Waitz, MGH SS IV, 1841 (repr. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1963), p. 386. 6 Robertus Metensis, Epistolae, PL 132.534. 7 Clark, The Abbey of St. Gall as a Centre of Literature and Art (Cambridge: University Press, 1926), p. 92. 8 Ekkehard IV, Casus sancti Galli, ch. 31, ed. Haefele, p. 74. On the logistics of this information see Ernst D¨ummler (ed.), Das Formelbuch des Bischofs Salomo III von Konstanz (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1857), p. 115. 9 In his Casus Ekkehard recalls Emperor Conrad’s visit to Ingelheim in 1030 and the celebration of Easter mass there, which Ekkehard was leading. Ekkehard notes (referring to himself in the third person) that at this time he was head of the “schools” at Mainz. During the mass no less than three bishops in the audience asked permission of the Emperor to help Ekkehard, their former teacher, in performing the mass: “. . . vidi egomet ipse Chuonrado imperatore Ingilinheim pascha agente, sancti Galli monacho scolas Magontiæ curante, officium, ut solitum est, in medio chori crebro coronati inspectu agere. Cumque manum ille ad modulos sequentiæ pingendos rite levasset, tres episcopi, hominis quondam discipuli, imperatori in throno proximi: ‘Ibimus’, aiunt, ‘domine, et magistrum in eo, quod ipse nos docuit, iuvabimus’” (ch. 66, ed. Haefele, pp. 140–142).
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its development and provide us with important insights into the practical aspects of learning and the problems associated with them. Hundreds of manuscripts copied in the medieval St. Gall scriptorium are today still in the Abbey Library and the Zurich Zentralbibliothek, and many documents preserved in the Abbey archives.10 A history of the abbey written by Ekkehard IV, the Casus sancti Galli, which covers the period up from ca. 833–ca. 972, provides valuable information about the daily life of pupils and teachers. Much of the previous research on the St. Gall school has concentrated on famous teachers and pupils and on the books known to the monks and copied and preserved in the library.11 In the latter case, the focus has often been on the continuity of classical traditions or lack thereof.12 Relatively little is known about how the illustrious St. Gall magistri actually managed to teach the lingua latina and the seven liberal arts to their young pupils and achieve the high level of proficiency testified to by Gunzo and the success of the St. Gall graduates. Although research into early medieval pedagogy has increased substantially in recent decades, much work remains to be done.13 Much of the primary evidence for classroom 10 The St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek has remained remarkably intact since the Middle Ages. In 1712 during the War of Toggenburg, many manuscripts were taken away to Bern and Zurich as booty. Although the Bernese returned nearly all the books they had taken, the Zurichois made only partial restitution, and today ca. 150 St. Gall manuscripts are still housed in the Zentralbibliothek Zurich (Clark, The Abbey, pp. 273–274). For information on early medieval St. Gall manuscripts in other European and North American libraries, see Hartmut Hoffmann, Buchkunst und K¨onigtum im ottonischen und fr¨uhsalischen Reich, MGH Schriften 30.1 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1986). 11 Meier, Geschichte der Schule, Brauer, Die B¨ucherei, Clark, The Abbey, Kalberer, Die Anf¨ange. More recent studies include Illmer, Formen der Erziehung, Dette, Sch¨uler, Ehlers, Dom und Klosterschulen, and Ochsenbein, St. Galler Klosterschule, “Lehren und Lernen,” “The Monastic School,” and “Die Sankt Galler Klosterschule.” 12 For example, the studies by G¨unter Glauche, Schullekt¨ure im Mittelalter (Munich: Arbeo, 1970) and Peter Vossen, Der Libellus Scolasticus des Walther von Speyer (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1962). 13 For example, Bischoff, “The Study,” “Elementarunterricht,” Boynton, “The Liturgical Role,” “Latin Glosses,” Contreni, Cathedral School, “John Scottus,” “The Carolingian Renaissance,” “The Carolingian Renaissance: Education,” “The Pursuit,” “From Benedict’s Rule,” Ganz, “Temptabat,” Corbie, “Preconditions,” Law, The Insular Latin Grammarians, “Grammars and Language Change,” “Memory and Structure,” The History of Linguistics, Leclercq, L’Amour, Lesne, Les ´ecoles, Lutz, Schoolmasters, Marrou, Histoire, Murphy, “The Teaching,” S. Reynolds, Medieval Reading, Rich´e, Education and Culture, Les ´ecoles, “Les moines,” Education et culture, and the recent work on cathedral schools by Jaeger, The Envy. Important insights into education in Anglo-Saxon England are found in the works of Bullough, Gneuss, “The Educational Tradition,” Gwara, “B¨ucher und Leser,” “The Study of Language,” Lapidge, “The Study,” Porter, “The Latin Syllabus,” Ælfric Bata, Colloquies, Excerptiones, Porter Stork, Through a Gloss, and Wieland, The Latin Glosses, “The Glossed Manuscript,” “Interpreting the Interpretation,” for the thirteenth century, see also the important work of Tony Hunt, Teaching and Learning. Further references are provided by Marco Mostert in “A Bibliography,” pp. 242–246. For specific information about teaching techniques in German-speaking regions we often still rely upon the information collected in the standard nineteenth-century surveys by Eckstein, Unterricht, Roger, L’enseignement, Specht, Geschichte, and Wattenbach, Das Schriftwesen. These cover large periods of time and geographic areas and run the danger of generalizing, since education systems and methods often depended upon individual teachers and the institutions in which they taught.
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methodology is unedited and remains hidden in manuscripts, literally between the lines and in the margins. Although a large amount of research has been devoted to OHG glossing, the majority of it is linguistic in nature and aims more at tracing the history of the German language than studying pedagogic technique. Studies by G¨otz, Hellgardt, Henkel, Langbroek, Schwarz and others are exceptions and provide a good starting point, but we have only begun to scratch the surface.14 Latin glosses in medieval manuscripts, referred to by Wieland as a “stepchild,” have not fared so well.15 In this chapter, I provide some background information on teaching and the structure of education at St. Gall from ca. 825–ca. 1050. I will discuss the pupils who studied there, their teachers, and the goals and actual methods of instruction. I focus on the beginning and intermediate levels of education and the methods used to teach Latin and the trivium, that is, grammar, dialectic and rhetoric. At times I draw upon evidence from other Continental and Insular schools, both monastic and ecclesiastical, for purposes of comparison, but limit myself in most cases to the period before the mid-eleventh century.16 Although I realize that the methods of instruction, composition of the student body, the curriculum and set-up of schools could vary greatly from place to place and over time, I hope that by providing some albeit general reference points we can gain insight into the possible situation at St. Gall. The last two sections of the chapter contextualize Notker’s effort within the St. Gall curriculum and pedagogic methodology at the end of the tenth and the beginning of the eleventh century. 14 G¨otz, “Kontext¨ubersetzung,” Hellgardt, “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit,” “Philologische Finger¨ubungen,” ¨ Henkel, Deutsche Ubersetzung, “Die althochdeutschen Interlinearversionen,” “Deutsche Glossen,” Langbroek, Zwischen den Zeilen, and Schwarz, “Glossen.” See also the essays presented in Mittelalterliche volkssprachige Glossen, ed. Rolf Bermann, Elvira Gaser and Claudine MoulinFankh¨anel (Heidelberg: Winter, 2001) and the volumes that have appeared in the series Studien zum Althochdeutschen published by the Akademie der Wissenschaften in G¨ottingen. For an overview of research, see Wolfgang Haubrichs, Die Anf¨ange: Versuche volkssprachiger Schriftlichkeit im fr¨uhen Mittelalter (ca. 700–1050/60), 2nd edn., Geschichte der deutschen Literatur von den Anf¨angen bis zum Beginn der Neuzeit, 1.1, ed. Joachim Heinzle (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1995), pp. 185–195. 15 Gernot Wieland, “Latin Lemma – Latin Gloss: The Stepchild of Glossologists,” Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch 19 (1984), pp. 91–99. 16 The years ca. 825–ca. 1050, in addition to overlapping with the high points in the history of medieval education at St. Gall, correspond to a general periodization in the history of the study of grammar and dialectic in the Middle Ages. The beginning date takes into account factors such as changes that were brought about by Carolingian reforms in education and the influence of new texts and methods of presentation; the end date marks the beginnings of scholasticism and the Gregorian Reform. See Vivien Law, “Memory and the Structure of Grammars in Antiquity and the Middle Ages,” in Mario de Nonno, Paolo de Paolis and Louis Holtz (eds.), Manuscripts and Tradition of Grammatical Texts from Antiquity to the Renaissance, 1 (Cassino: Universit`a degli Studi, 2000), pp. 21–57; eadem, History of Linguistics, pp. 112–115; and Margaret Gibson, “The Continuity of Learning ca. 850-ca. 1050,” Viator 6 (1975), pp. 1–2, repr. in ‘Artes’ and the Bible in the Medieval West (Aldershot, Hampshire: Variorum, 1993), X, pp. 1–2.
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t he s t. g a l l “s c h ool s , ” p upils a n d t each ers The discussion of early medieval education at St. Gall has in the past closely been associated with a debate over the existence at the abbey of an “external school” intended for the instruction of young boys who were not monastic oblates. That clerics and some lay boys were trained at St. Gall is clear, but whether this training took place in a separate building or group and whether the curriculum and methods of instruction were different remains open to discussion. The issue is linked to a complex and continuing debate regarding the existence of a possible “external school” on the Plan of St. Gall and whether this plan is to be interpreted as an ideal or actual architectural model that was realized at St. Gall Abbey. In the following paragraphs I briefly review the arguments surrounding an “external” school at St. Gall and discuss what repercussions its existence may have had on the logistics of education at the abbey. The above list of illustrious St. Gall alumni clearly demonstrates that both oblates as well future clerics were educated at the abbey, and that teachers from St. Gall also taught clerics elsewhere. This in itself is not surprising, and the same can be said for other royal abbeys such as Fulda and Tours. What is unique, and somewhat puzzling, are the comments made by Ekkehard IV in his Casus sancti Galli that give the impression that the two groups were in some way distinguished. In chapter two, Ekkehard reports that in the ninth century Marcellus was in charge of the “scola claustri” with its “monachici habitus pueris” including Notker Balbulus, and Iso in charge of the “exteriores, . . . id est canonicae,” who included Solomo III and his “comparibus.”17 Salomo III is said to have completed “scolis” at St. Gall. The term sc(h)ola, often used in the plural, had several meanings in the early Middle Ages, among them: (1) a metaphoric meaning of “group”; (2) a group of children when referring to their liturgical and educational activities; (3) a place in the monastery for children, and (4) education in the sense of “schooling.”18 Ekkehard frequently uses the plural form scolae in the singular sense of “school,” “group of pupils,” or
17 “Remanserat episcopus cum nepote et paucis suae linguae apparitoribus. Traduntur post tempus Marcello scolae claustri cum Notkero postea cognomine Balbulo, et caeteris monachici habitus pueris; exteriores autem, id est, canonicae, Ysoni cum Salomone et eius comparibus” (Ekkehard, Casus, ch. 2, ed. Haefele, p. 20). The oblates wore monastic garb, while the future clerics wore white robes as was fitting for secular priests (Meier, “Geschichte der Schule,” p. 120). 18 M. M. Hildebrandt, The External School in Carolingian Society (Leiden/New York/Cologne: E. J. Brill, 1992), pp. 24–24 and 79–86. See also Jean-Yves Tilliette, “Le vocabulaire des e´coles monastiques d’apr`es les prescriptions des consuetudines (XIe –XIIe si`ecles),” in Olga Weijers (ed.), Vocabulaire des ´ecoles et des m´ethodes d’einseignement au moyen aˆ ge (Turnhout: Brepols, 1992), pp. 65–67, and Pierre Rich´e, “Le vocabulaire,” pp. 33–41. Monastic writers often use the term scola loosely to refer to a group or corporation (such as a body of clerics or a choir), sometimes even with a military connotation (Contreni, “The Pursuit of Knowledge,” in Richard E. Sullivan [ed.], The Gentle Voices of Teachers [Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1995], p. 111).
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“schooling,” especially when referring to the externs as a group, and juxtaposes the term to “claustrum.” When commenting on the discipline of pupils, Ekkehard writes that it was “tunc severe, non modo in claustro, sed et in scolis exterius.” It is for this reason, Ekkehard writes, that St. Gall produced so many illustrious priests and even bishops.19 When the teacher Ratpert died, forty of his former pupils are identified as “canons and priests,” and they promised to say thirty masses upon his death.20 Ratpert was master “in scolis” at the same time that Notker Balbulus was active with pupils “in claustro.”21 Some teachers, such as Ekkehard II, served as the head of “both schools” (ambas scolas).22 Ekkehard notes that Abbot Hartmut, himself a secular, often spent time in the cloister and that he loved knowledge so much, that “inter scolas et claustrum aut nihil aut parum intersit.”23 In other passages, the meaning of “scolae” is unclear, since no qualifier is provided with the term. Gerald is said to have been magister scolarum from adolescence up to his death.24 Dean Craloh made trouble for the Rhaetian monk Victor “in scolis, quas ei commiserat” by being very strict with the boys without consulting him first.25 Ekkehard I, whom we know was a monk, is said to have composed a metrical version of the legend of Waltharius “in scolis” as a young boy.26 Evidence from other written sources hints at a distinction of pupils at St. Gall. In his Life of St. Gall, Walahfrid Strabo recounts the theft of a codex from a young boy who was staying in the mansio, thus suggesting that the boy stayed in private lodgings and not in a communal dormitory. The book appears to have been stolen while the boy was singing in the choir with the scholastici.27 Walahfrid mentions another theft at St. Gall – this time of wax – in his Vita Otmari. The culprit was a scholasticus, who was staying in the St. Gall guesthouse.28 It is unclear whether the visitor was a monk, cleric or lay boy. We read in the St. Gall charters that fathers gave donations to the abbey for the upkeep of their sons until they reached the age of profession. One father wanted to leave his son’s options open and asked that the donated property be returned to him should his boy choose not to join the 19 “Unde ætiam praeter clericos, qui apud nos sepe nutriti sunt, clarissimos æcclesiis variis multoties dedimus et episcopos” (Ekkehard, Casus, ch. 66, ed. Haefele, p. 140). 20 Ibid., ch. 44, p. 100. 21 Ibid., ch. 37, p. 84. 22 “Doctor prosper et asper: nam cum apud suum Gallum ambas scolas suas teneret” (ibid., ch. 89, p. 182–184). 23 Ibid., ch. 47, p. 106. 24 Ibid., ch. 74, p. 154. 25 Ibid., ch. 70, p. 148. 26 Ibid., ch. 80, p. 168. Here “scolae” could mean simply “during schooling” and does not necessarily refer to a specific building or group of pupils. The nature of the assignment, a progymnasmata exercise, could of course only be tackled by a pupil already fairly proficient in Latin, and is thus appropriate for an intermediate level of study. 27 Walahfrid Strabo, Vita tertia Galli, II, ch. 28, ed. Bruno Krusch, MGH SRM IV, 1902 (repr. Hanover: Hahn, 1997), pp. 330–331. This and the following examples are taken from Mayke de Jong, In Samuel’s Image (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), pp. 239–240. 28 Walahfrid Strabo, Vita S. Otmari, ch. 14, ed. Ildefons von Arx, MGH SS 2, 1829 (repr. Hanover: Hahn, 1976), p. 46.
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community.29 Whether the boy was treated as the other oblates, or perhaps as an extern is unknown. Ekkehard’s distinction between interns and externs and exactly who taught them, however, is not always clear.30 At the beginning of his Casus, he states that Marcellus was in charge of oblates such as Notker Balbulus, Ratpert, Tuotilo, and Hartmut, and Iso in charge of externs such as Salomo III. Later he writes that the three oblates were Iso’s pupils. A few chapters thereafter he says that the three were taught by both Iso and Marcellus. After they had completed their basic theological training (“divinis” – perhaps here referring to the Psalter, chant and basic arithmetic) with Iso, they went on to study the liberal arts, especially music, with Marcellus.31 Marcellus is said to have been trained in both a theological and liberal curriculum. Either Ekkehard was misinformed or perhaps the separation of oblates and clerics was not always rigid. Of course, the responsibilities of magistri as teachers and supervisors must be distinguished. Marcellus may have supervised oblates and taught more advanced subjects; Iso may have supervised “externs” and taught more basic subjects. Ekkehard writes that the “children in habit” were jealous of their “condiscipulus” the young Salomo III, because he was raised in a more delicate manner, as befitted a secular cleric.32 Obviously the oblates came into contact with future clerics, and the two groups were not strictly separated. According to Ekkehard, oblates (“interns”) and future clerics (“externs”) appear to have been separated, but the degree or nature of the segregation is unclear. Did the externs include also laymen, or just future clerics? Was the possible distinction of students unique to St. Gall, or is there evidence from other monastic and ecclesiastical schools as well? Finally, do Ekkehard’s comments accurately reflect the situation in the ninth and tenth centuries and perhaps even during his own lifetime?33 The Casus was written long after the events depicted in it had 29 Urkudenbuch der Abtei St. Gallen, 2, no. 461 (27 March, 858), ed. Hermann Wartmann (Zurich: S. H¨ohr, 1866), p. 78. 30 See also the arguments provided by Hildebrandt, External School, pp. 104–105 and de Jong, In Samuel’s Image, pp. 237–241. 31 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 2, ed. Haefele, p. 20 (cf. fn. 17 above); ibid., ch. 30, p. 70: “Hinc de Notkero, Ratperto, Tuotilone, discipulis eius et Marcellus”; ibid., ch. 33, p. 76: “Hi quidem ab Hisone cum in divinis non mediocriter essent praelibati . . . Marcello sunt coniuncti. Qui in divinis eque potens et humanis, septem liberales eos duxit ad artes, maxime autem ad musicam.” See also Notker Balbulus’ comment regarding Marcellus duties in the Vita S. Galli: “apud nos commanens septem liberalibus instruxerat artibus” (ed. K. Strecker, MGH Poetae latini aevi Carolini 4.2, [Berlin: Weidmann, 1923], p. 1095), and L. M. de Rijk, “On the Curriculum of the Arts of the Trivium at St. Gall from c. 850–1000,” Vivarium 1 (1963), p. 39. 32 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch.1, ed. Haefele, p. 18. 33 There is no evidence for a drastic change in the structure of the educational system at St. Gall between 950 and the turn of the eleventh century, when Notker would have taught. In chapter 66 Ekkehard refers to the strict learning methods in the schools “ut semper,” perhaps characterizing the situation into his own generation as well (Casus, ch. 66, ed. Haefele, p. 140). Note also, that Ekkehard refers to clerics whom he taught while at St. Gall.
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transpired, and Ekkehard’s accuracy with respect to dates and chronology has been shown to not always be reliable. His portrayal of the abbey’s history is largely based upon oral accounts passed down through the generations as well as upon his own observations. The scenarios he paints are to be sure selective and subjective, but nonetheless provide us with a glimpse, however fleeting, of daily life in the abbey.34 Support for Ekkehard’s distinction of students into interns and externs has in past been sought in the so-called “Plan of St. Gall” and, conversely, Ekkehard’s comments have been used to bolster the theory that the Plan was actually realized at St. Gall and that the abbey had a separate structure for the training of clerics and lay boys.35 The Plan, now shelved as St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 1092, was sent to Abbot Gozbert (816–837) from Reichenau to use as he saw fit, perhaps since he was planning a major building program at St. Gall. The drawing was prepared by two scribes at the monastery of Reichenau in the 820s, perhaps at the bequest of Haito, who was abbot of Reichenau (806–823) and Bishop of Basel (802–823). Walter Horn and Ernst Born built upon previous conjectures and argued that the Plan made at Reichenau was a copy of an official architectural statement that had been inspired by the ideals of Benedict of Aniane and worked out at the court of Louis the Pious. This took place in conjunction with two synods held at Aachen in 816 and 817 that dealt with monastic reform. In a nutshell, the Plan was meant to serve as a paradigmatic guide for all Carolingian monastic construction and to help in the reform’s efforts to establish unity among disparate monastic traditions.36 The validity of this theory regarding the Plan’s intention has since been seriously questioned, and numerous problems with it have been 34 Nineteenth-century criticism regarding the historical value of Ekkehard’s work – as well as its Latin style – was very harsh, sometimes unjustly so. For criticism of Ekkehard’s reliability, see Salomon von Konstanz, Das Formelbuch, ed. Ernst D¨ummler, pp. 107–108 and Clark, The Abbey, pp. 254– 255. For more recent views, see Haefele’s introduction, Casus, pp. 1–11 and Ernst Hellgardt, “Die Casus Sancti Galli Ekkeharts IV. und die Benediktsregel,” in Beate Kellner, et al. (eds.), Literarische Kommunikation und soziale Interaktion (Frankfurt: Lang, 2001), pp. 27–50. Hellgardt convincingly argues that the work has a clear underlying thread, namely to voice disapproval of the Lotharingian monastic reforms which were being imposed under Abbot Norpert during Ekkehard’s lifetime. 35 Recent major studies of the Plan of St. Gall (including a review of past scholarship) are Horn/Born, The Plan of St. Gall; Konrad Hecht, Der St. Galler Klosterplan (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1983); and Werner Jacobsen, Der Klosterplan von St. Gallen und die karolingische Architektur (Berlin: Deutscher Verlag f¨ur Kunstwissenschaft, 1992). See also Alfons Zettler, “Der St. Galler Kloster¨ plan. Uberlegungen zu seiner Herkunft und Entstehung,” in Peter Godman and Roger Collins (eds.), Charlemagne’s Heir (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), pp. 655–687, and Richard E. Sullivan, “What Was Carolingian Monasticism? The Plan of St. Gall and the History of Monasticism,” in Alexander Murray (ed.), After Rome’s Fall (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998), pp. 251–287. 36 Horn/Born, The Plan, I, p. 52. See also Walter Horn, “On the Author of the Plan of St. Gall and the Relation of the Plan to the Monastic Reform Movement,” in Johannes Duft (ed.), Studien zum St. Galler Klosterplan (St. Gallen: Fehr, 1962), pp. 103–127.
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raised by scholars.37 Arguments have recently once again been put forth that the Plan may have been designed to serve as a guide for an actual building project by Gozbert as he was making plans for his new church at St. Gall. This possibility has been supported by archeological evidence from St. Gall and Reichenau. Numerous correspondences have been found between the ground plan of the church outlined on the Plan and the basilica actually built by Gozbert between 830 and 835. The argument that the Plan itself may have been based on actual buildings is supported by the fact that some basic elements from the Plan correspond to the church built by Haito at Reichenau between 806 and 816.38 The Plan of St. Gall shows a structure outside the cloister to the north of the church between the abbot’s house and the house for distinguished guests.39 This building is interpreted as a school and on the Plan surrounded by a fence, which is marked with the verse, “these fences enclose the endeavour of the learning youth.”40 It is distinct from the novitiate, which lies to the east of the church and is provided with its own chapel, cloister yard, refectory, dormitory, master’s quarters, warming room, sick room, and storage room. The scriptorium and library are located at an advantageous point midway between the two areas.41 The school building on the Plan is equipped with twelve bedroom cubicles marked “hic mansiunculae scolasticorum” (for one, two or at the most three students each) and an annexed lavatory with fifteen seats. The bedrooms are located around two larger rooms called “domus communis scolae” and the eastern room “id vacationis,” presumably a classroom and a recreation room.42 The master of the school is designated sleeping quarters in a special building located against the northern aisle of the church and adjacent to the school. His quarters have two rooms, a “living room” (mansio scholae) and a “withdrawing” room (ejusdem secretum), which is furnished with three beds for himself and two other teachers/supervisors.43 Because of its location outside of the claustrum, the school building drawn on the St. Gall Plan has in past often been labelled an “external school” and interpreted 37 On criticism of the “paradigmatic” theory, see Konrad Hecht, “Der St. Galler Klosterplan – Schema oder Bauplan?” Abhandlungen der braunschweigischen Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft 17 (1965), pp. 165–206, Jacobsen, Der Klosterplan, pp. 321–332 and Warren Sanderson, “The Plan of St. Gall Reconsidered,” Speculum 60.3 (1985), pp. 615–632. Zettler has argued that past theories which stressed the Plan’s function as a “Reformplan” that mirrors the Aachen Reform are misleading and driven more by the wishful thinking of modern scholarship than early medieval architectural evidence. He demonstrates that although the Reichenau monks accepted some aspects of the reform, they were critical of others (“Der St. Galler Klosterplan”; see in particular his concluding remarks on pp. 685–687). See also Sullivan “What was Carolingian Monasticism,” pp. 266–269 and references provided there. 38 Zettler, “Der St. Galler Klosterplan.” 39 Horn/Born, The Plan, I, p. 24. 40 “Haec quoque septa premunt, discentis uota iuuentae” (Horn/Born, The Plan, II, p. 172). 41 Ibid., I, p. 24. 42 See the arguments for this interpretation of the space by Hecht, Der St. Galler Klosterplan, pp. 128– 132, and Horn/Born, The Plan, II, p. 170. 43 Ibid., II, p. 175.
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to be the location where non-oblates lived and received their education. Evidence for the need to distinguish pupils at monastic schools is found in the precepts of the Synod of Aachen in 817, where it was declared that “there shall be no other school in the monastery than that which is used for the instruction of the future monks.”44 Thus, if the precepts had been followed, although laymen, clerics and canons had been trained at monasteries prior to the synod, afterwards they would either have been trained elsewhere or they would have continued to be educated at monasteries but would have been segregated from the monks, including oblates and novices.45 If one interprets the Plan to represent a paradigmatic model that grew out of the reforms, as Horn and Born do, then the second option seems viable, and the function of the school building on the Plan becomes clear. Horn and Born point out that relieving monasteries entirely of their share in the intellectual training of future clerics and secular youth would have been a complete reversal of the educational policies promoted by Charlemagne.46 This is the “ideal” scenario. Whether such schools actually ever existed is another question. Thus far no architectural evidence has been unearthed, and written evidence is scarce – except for St. Gall.47 Horn and Born, who posit two separate schools, argue that the scola interior was essentially confined to elementary learning whereas the scola exterior quickly developed into a school for advanced study.48 This view is supported by a distinction made by Hildemar in his Expositio Regulae, namely that monastic schools offered training in monastic disciplines such as chant, reading and basic arithmetic, whereas ecclesiastical schools taught the seven liberal arts.49 Rich´e notes that some Carolingian masters use the term coined by Gregory the Great “exteriora studia” to refer to a study of the seven liberal arts as opposed to theology.50 44 “Ut scola in monasterio non habeatur nisi eorum qui oblati sunt” (Synodi secundae Aquisgranensis decreta, ch. 5, ed. J. Semmler, CCM 1 [Siegburg: F. Schmitt, 1963], p. 474). The exact meaning of “in monasterio” in this context has been debated. Some scholars insist that this indeed means “in the monastery as a whole” and not “within the cloister,” as Horn interprets. See Hildebrandt, External School, pp. 86–91. 45 On the training of lay boys at monasteries prior to the Synod, see McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 220. 46 Horn/Born, The Plan, II, p. 168. 47 Hildebrandt argues that no school similar to the external school at St. Gall was established after 817 at any other of the royal monasteries (External School, pp. 93–99). She in fact states that: “If it were not for the corroborating evidence from the Casus sancti Galli that students were separated by vocation at St. Gall, we might even question that the building on the Plan was meant to be an outer school inasmuch as it was given no official title and none of the other inscriptions hints at its exclusive character” (ibid., p. 100). See also Pierre Rich´e, “Les moines b´en´edictins,” in W. Lourdaux and D. Verhelst (eds.), Benedictine Culture 750–1050 (Leuven: University Press, 1983), pp. 111–112. 48 Born/Horn, The Plan, II, p. 168. 49 “In hoc enim loco scholam nominat monasticam disciplinam; nam sunt et aliae scholae; est enim schola ecclesiastica disciplina, schola est liberalium artium, schola est etiam alicujus artis, in qua aliquid discitur. Sicut in illis locis liberalium artium aliquid discitur et agitur, ita et in hac schola aliquid discitur et agitur”(Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ed. Mitterm¨uller, p. 65). 50 Rich´e, “Le vocabulaire,” p. 40.
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A distinction is made between sacred (interior) and profane (exterior) subject matter, but not necessarily the actual physical location of a school or group of students. Furthermore, Horn’s interpretation cannot account for the fact that numerous oblati at St. Gall were trained as scholastici equally well if not better than externs. McKitterick has argued that at St. Gall the external school was the more rudimentary of the two. She suggests, however, that all sorts of pupils – canons, oblates and even laymen – received their basic education there. The internal school offered oblates a more advanced education and trained them to become involved in copying books in the scriptorium. If the precept of 817 were indeed followed, those clerics who completed the curriculum of the external school and wished to continue their education would have had to attend a court or cathedral school.51 Lay boys would have gone on to further their education in the physical skills required of their class.52 Abbot Notker (971–975) seems to have accepted the sons of some of the Abbey’s beneficiaries for training. Although the idea was no doubt a smart move in terms of fiscal development, it led to problems, since the pupils insisted on being able to partake in their usual extra-curricular activities. Ekkehard writes that they often played board games “nudus” in front of the abbot and practised falconry and other courtly activities. Upon their graduation the abbot rewarded them with arms and other gifts.53 Once again, it is unclear whether Abbot Notker’s decision to accept lay boys into the fold at St. Gall was a unique or common occurrence. Were they taught together with oblates and future clerics? Their activities outside of the classroom were certainly kept separate. Elsewhere Ekkehard writes that Tuotilo tutored the sons of “nobility” in harp playing, but that this took place in a special room designated specifically for the purpose.54 When discussing the educational techniques of his namesake Ekkehard II, who was in charge of “ambas scolas,” Ekkehard IV notes that he taught both mediocres and nobiles equally well “in literis.”55 He does not say whether members of these two groups were lay boys, future clerics, or oblates. If St. Gall had followed the conciliar decisions of the Aachen Synod, it follows that the externs would have been educated separately. The general interpretation of the Plan offered by Horn and Born solves the problem and corroborates the 51 McKitterick, Frankish Kingdoms, pp. 146–147 and Carolingians, p. 221. See also Clark, The Abbey, p. 94 and Stachnik, Die Bildung, p. 41. 52 Kalberer, Die Anf¨ange, p. 28 and McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 221. McKitterick suggests that the basic education of many noble boys took place not at a school, but under the care of a tutor. Other nobles such as Einhard, Abbo of Fleury, Hugh, Jerome, Peppin III and the twin sons of Charles the Bald were educated at monastic schools (Carolingians, pp. 218–220). See also Dette, “Sch¨uler,” p. 21. 53 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 135, ed. Haefele, p. 262. 54 “[N]am et filios nobilium in loco ab abbate destinato fidibus edocuit” (ibid., ch. 34, p. 78). See also McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 221. 55 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 89, ed. Haefele, p. 184. See also Dette, “Sch¨uler,” p. 26.
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argument that the Plan was actually realized at St. Gall.56 Nowhere, however, on the Plan is the term scola used with the specific meaning “school building” nor does Ekkehard appear to use the word to refer to a specific structure.57 For him, scolae is in most cases “a group of pupils” or “schooling.” The building which scholars usually refer to as the “external school” is on the Plan labelled “domus communis scolae, id est uacationis.” Horn and Born offer the translation “the common hall for learning, i.e., for the time relinquished from other obligations for the purpose of study.”58 In this domus students both lived and took part in activities associated with learning. But, who was meant to live and study in this “common hall”? If the Plan is any reflection of the possible physical layout of the St. Gall abbey, could it be that both externs and interns resided and were taught in the same building or area, in other words, that it was meant for the “common use of all students”?59 In Ekkehard’s recounting of the fire of 937, there is only one school building mentioned, a “domus” to the north of the church.60 Furthermore, the ninth-century library catalogue lists two manuscripts ad scholam (and not “in the schools” nor with reference to which school).61 The Plan does not designate a specific building for training oblates. The novitiate is marked “hoc claustro oblati pulsantibus adsociantur.” Horn and Born interpret this to mean “in this cloister the oblates live with the postulants.”62 Hafner argues that the building is designed for the novices and that oblates did not live there, but were joined to the novices there when they had reached adulthood and before they took their vows. He is correct in assuming that it is highly unlikely that adult novices would be housed with young oblates. According to Hildemar in his commentary to the Rule, oblates were overseen by magistri until they were 15 years old at which time they were placed in the custody of an older brother, who was to look after them and teach them for the period of one year.63 It is much more likely that the oblates lived and were trained separately from the novices, usually 56 Hecht proposes that St. Gall did indeed have an external school, but that it was not built following the guidelines on the Plan; the school on the Plan is meant for oblates only, and thus is in line with the precepts of the Aachen Synod (Der St. Galler Klosterplan, p. 132). 57 Indeed, Hildebrandt notes that she had found no evidence to indicate that prior to the twelfth century the term scola was used for a school building of any sort (External School, p. 102, fn. 107). 58 Horn/Born, The Plan, II, pp. 172–174. On past confusion regarding the meaning of “vacatio” in this context, see ibid., II, p. 172 and de Jong, In Samuel’s Image, pp. 238–239. 59 Ibid., p. 238. 60 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 67, ed. Haefele, p. 142. 61 Paul Lehmann (ed.), Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge Deutschlands und der Schweiz, 1: Die Bist¨umer Konstanz und Chur (Munich: Beck, 1918), p. 72 and p. 79. The codices in question are a copy of select books of the Old Testament and a volume of canon law. 62 Horn/Born, The Plan, I, p. 311. 63 Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ed. Mitterm¨uller, p. 582; see W. Hafner, “Der St. Galler Klosterplan,” in Johannes Duft (ed.), Studien zum St. Galler Klosterplan (St. Gallen: Fehr, 1962), p. 184, and Konrad Hecht, Der St. Galler Klosterplan, pp. 130–132.
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under the constant attendance of a tutor monk in the company of other adult brothers.64 Hildebrandt, assuming that St. Gall actually had a separate structure for the training of externs, suggests that the external school at St. Gall may have been built in defiance of the Aachen legislation.65 De Jong agrees but goes one step further and suggests that the Aachen legislation carried little weight in general. In other words, education went on at St. Gall and elsewhere as it had before the reform. She points out that the boundaries between abbeys, bishoprics and the court were fluid and that it was natural that all of these institutions would have served as a training ground for litterati who might at some future time perform royal service, be it as monks, secular clerics or courtiers.66 Indeed, she argues that a sharp distinction between contemplative monasticism on the one hand and active secular clergy on the other is anachronistic.67 De Jong’s theory makes sense and she supports it with ample evidence from other monasteries where no strict separation between oblates and clerics seems to have been made. In the so-called Statutes of Murbach, written in 816 a year before the Aachen Synod, we read that newcomers to the monastery were divided into three groups: novices, priests and scholastici.68 A decision on how the novices should be received into the monastery had already been reached, but reception of the other two groups was still unclear. De Jong argues that scholastici here refers first and foremost to the oblates, an intellectual elite which received a thorough training in the monastic tradition and in Latin. The priests and scholastici are grouped together because of their education, which would have been more advanced than that of the novices. The latter group would have probably only learned the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed and a few penitential psalms by heart, in some cases perhaps the entire Psalter.69 On 64 Patricia A. Quinn, Better Than the Sons of Kings (New York: Peter Lang, 1989), p. 47. 65 Hildebrandt, External School, pp. 85–86; cf. Rich´e, Les ´ecoles et l’enseignement dans l’occident chr´etien de la fin du Ve si`ecle au milieu du XIe si`ecle (Paris: Aubier Montaigne, 1979), pp. 191–192 and Hecht, Der St. Galler Klosterplan, pp. 173–175. 66 De Jong, In Samuel’s Image, p. 235. See also p. 237, fn. 29: “By and large, after 817 secular clerics continued to be educated within the monastic confines, often together with child oblates.” See also J. Semmler, who points out that although we know that Reichenau took part in the deliberations, there is no evidence to verify the extent to which the reforms were followed in its dependent abbeys such as St. Gall (“Benedictus II: Una regula – una consuetudo,” in W. Lourdaux and D. Verhelst [eds.], Benedictine Culture [Leuven: University Press, 1983], pp. 19–20). Zettler also argues that Reichenau may not have been as “reform-friendly” as previously assumed (“Der St. Galler Klosterplan”). 67 De Jong, In Samuel’s Image, p. 233. 68 In a section following discussion of the reception of novices it is written: “De sacerdotibus uero uel scolasticis suscipiendis preceptum synodi non habemus; et ideo susceptio eorum regularis quantum possibilitas sinit habeatur, usquedum decretum manifestius inde audiatur” (Statuta Murbacensia, ed. Joseph Semmler, p. 447). 69 De Jong, In Samuel’s Image, pp. 235–236. See also the discussion of the Latin-speaking elite at St. Gall as opposed to postulants such as Sindolf below, chapter three, pp. 125–126. Rich´e notes that in Carolingian documents, the term scolasticus can mean “student,” or in some cases an “advanced
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the St. Gall Plan, the living quarters in the domus scholae are marked for scholastici. In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, Notker writes that he has embarked upon his translation venture for the benefit of scolastici nostri so that they would have access to Latin texts.70 Here the intended audience clearly refers to future scholars and not to those who just received a basic education. Ekkehard uses the diminutive form scolasticuli to refer to young pupils.71 One of Ekkehard’s most colourful stories in the Casus is a description of the Abbey fire in 937. The disaster was caused by a disgruntled pupil who had been sent to the upper chambers to fetch the rods, with which he and his classmates – the “scolasticuli” – were to be beaten. On his way down, the pupil set fire to the thatched roof in hopes of diverting his teacher’s attention. His plan backfired, however, since the fire soon spread from the domus where the students were located, and burning shingles were carried by a north wind eventually igniting a tower near the church.72 If we assume that scolastici at St. Gall included both future oblates and clerics, it may be that basic education for the two groups, including some lay boys, was the same. Interns and externs may have been instructed and even lodged in the same building, although under the care of different magistri. When speaking of more advanced education, Ekkehard distinguishes oblates from clerics. Thus the group of oblates Notker, Ratpert and Tuotilo received training in the liberal arts from Marcellus. But, some externs also went on to a more advanced education at St. Gall. Ekkehard relates that Salomo III received special treatment because of his status.73 He excelled under Iso’s special tutelage aimed specifically at preparing him to be a cleric, and the oblates Notker, Tuotilo, Ratpert and Hartmut were jealous and upset that he would surpass them in his educational advance.74 Does this mean that Salomo excelled at the liberal arts or perhaps in the other aspects student” or “teaching assistant.” It usually does not refer to older scholars or teachers (Rich´e, “Le vocabulaire,” p. 39). See also Hildebrandt, External School, p 123. 70 NkS 348, 9. 71 Hildebrandt, External School, p. 103 and de Jong, In Samuel’s Image, p. 238 and references provided there in fn. 34. 72 Ekkehard IV, Casus ch. 67, p. 142–144. The school domus on the Plan of St. Gall is located to the north of the church, which Horn/Born and Hildebrandt interpret to be more than just coincidental (Horn/Born, The Plan, II, p. 170 and Hildebrandt, The External School, p. 102). 73 In ca. 886/87 Notker Balbulus dedicated his set of poems “Versus de quinque sensibus” to Salomo and Waldo, who had been his pupils and mentees as externs. In the accompanying prose letter he calls upon Salomo to be a man but jokingly describes him as having had “fracta verba, gressum languidum, pictos oculos, pallidam cutem, ora investia” (ed. Paul von Winterfeld, MGH Poetae latini aevi Carolini, 4.1 [Berlin: Weidman, 1899], p. 344). See also Dette, “Sch¨uler,” p. 27. On the relationship between the master and his pupils, see Wolfram von den Steinen, Notker der Dichter und seine geistige Welt, 1 (Bern: Francke, 1948), pp. 58–63. 74 “Creverant tamen inde clandestine inter summæ indolis condiscipulos invidiæ: et cum conliberales genere essent et ingenio, ut ea ætas solet, æquanimiter non ferebant alienum sibi, qui fratres essent, praeferri, et qui natalibus quidem essent pares, doctrinarum provectibus ab illo praeiri” (Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 1, ed. Haefele, p. 18).
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of his training geared specifically at preparing him to go on to a position in the public sphere?75 Clearly the future vocation and caste of a pupil played a role in the additional training that he received. Above, I noted how some noble boys received special training in harp playing. Lay boys were allowed to practise physical skills as was fitting their noble class. Oblates and future clerics may have had a more intense liturgical training, particularly in chant and public reading. Ulrich, an “extern,” excelled at reading and was often asked to serve as lector in the refectory.76 Oblates certainly took part in many of the daily monastic services, albeit as a separate group. It was through such participation and observation that they learned what it was to be a proper monk. Boys who were destined for the public sphere, such as Salomo, may have been groomed with this goal in mind and have received special training in matters of etiquette. Although there was no tuition fee for externs, they had to pay for their lodging and clothing. St. Wiborada, for example, took up residence near the Abbey in order to supply her brother Hitto, who was a future cleric, with clothing and other essentials.77 Robert, who later became bishop of Metz, had to remind his parents to send him clothing and to remunerate his masters at St. Gall.78 A fourth group of learners, the novices, lived and were educated separately and received a very basic training that would allow them to function in the monastery and take part in the liturgy and other services. Finally, another type of pupil that we must consider at St. Gall was the “exchange student.” We know that students often migrated from one master to another in search of broadening their education and experience by studying with renowned scholars.79 One of the most famous ninthcentury examples is Lupus of Ferri`eres, who went to Germany in order to learn the vernacular and later sent his students to Pr¨um for the same reason.80 Hartmut, who later became abbot at St. Gall, had been educated at Fulda by Hrabanus Maurus. Later he became a teacher at St. Gall where he taught Ermenrich, who had begun his schooling at Reichenau.81 75 De Jong points out that Hildemar wanted young monks to be properly trained in aristocratic etiquette and that this was to be done by the abbot, a natural choice since often he was an aristrocrat himself (In Samuel’s Image, pp. 152–153; cf. Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ch. 37, ed. Mitterm¨uller, p. 418). Salomo III also seems to have studied with Liutbert at Mainz, who was archbishop there from 863–889 (Salomon von Konstanz, Das Formelbuch, ed. D¨ummler, pp. 55–59). 76 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 57, ed. Haefele, p. 124. 77 Hartmann, Vita S. Wiboradae, ed. D. G. Waitz, MGH SS, IV, 1841 (repr. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1963), p. 452. 78 Robertus Metensis, Epistolae, PL 132.533–535. ´ 79 Rich´e, Ecoles, pp. 203–204, John J. Contreni, “The Carolingian School: Letters from the Classroom,” Carolingian Learning, XI, pp. 91–92, and Hildebrandt, External School, pp. 108–129. 80 See below, chapter three and Ernst Hellgardt “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit im Karolingerreich. Bemerkung aus Anlaß von Rosamond McKittericks Buch The Carolingians and the Written Word,” PBB 118.1 (1996), pp. 31–36. 81 Hildebrandt, External School, p. 111.
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It is unclear how many pupils were trained at St. Gall at any given time. When discussing the eduction of oblates in his Expositio, Hildemar reckons with three to four masters being in charge of supervising some ten oblates.82 The St. Gall necrology for 1022 lists three other magistri who died of the plague at the same time as Notker Labeo: Ruodpert, Anno, and Erimpert.83 This could mean that at least ten internal students were in attendance at the school at this time. Of course, we don’t know how many teachers did not become terminally ill, and the total number of magistri (including also teachers’ assistants and tutors) could have been much greater, thus also increasing the estimated number of pupils. The St. Gall Plan provides lodging for three teachers and makes provision for anywhere from 12–36 pupils in the school building. Horn, assuming that the Plan corresponded with reality at St. Gall and that a distinction between students was made, estimated 12 oblates and novices were trained in the internal school, and averaging the number for the external school at 24, brought the total number of students to 36.84 If the Plan reflects the actual school building and students lived communally, 24 pupils would not have been unreasonable. It is difficult to determine the actual number of temporary pupils, because secular clerics who left the monastery after completing their education are of course not noted in profession books or other similar sources.85 In the second half of the eleventh century, with the rise of cathedral schools and in the wake of the investiture controversy and the increased secular interests of the abbots, the number of pupils may have been reduced and education at St. Gall limited to oblates and novices.86 We have no evidence for the number of pupils taught at St. Gall from the middle of the eleventh century on. In the eleventh century, Abbot Norpert, who was closely allied with Poppo of Stavelot and had been trained by him at Stavelot, tried to enforce the Lotharingian reforms (much to the dismay of some monks). Perhaps as a result the Rule was more rigorously enforced and a stricter separation of monks and the outside world upheld. Fewer 82 Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ch. 22, ed. Mitterm¨uller, pp. 331–332. See also de Jong, In Samuel’s Image, p. 72 and eadem, “Growing up.” 83 Clark, The Abbey, p. 95. 84 Horn/Born, The Plan, III, p. 173. It is estimated that there were 20 oblates in the school under Salomo’s abbacy at the turn of the tenth century (Meier, “Geschichte der Schule,” p. 68). Rich´e estimates as many as 100 students for the ninth century (Ecoles, pp. 196–197). He bases this number on the idea that there are twelve 10-meter cubicles for pupils in the Plan and the fact that there were approximately 100 students at St. Riquier at about the same time. Horn/Born, however, estimate the size of these cubicles to be only 12.5 by 15 feet (vol. II, p. 174). On the interpretation of the number at St. Riquier and whether this refers to pupils, see Hildebrandt, External School, pp. 81–85. Sullivan, in his study of the St. Gall Plan, estimates as many as 48 pupils in the “external” school (“What Was Carolingian Monasticism,” p. 274). 85 De Jong, In Samuel’s Image, p. 242. 86 Meier, “Geschichte der Schule,” p. 123. Cluny, for example, allowed only six pueri oblati in its school ´ (Rich´e, Ecoles, p. 197).
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“externs” may have been allowed to study at St. Gall. With Poppo’s death in 1048, the reform lost its driving force; Norpert was forced to abdicate in 1072. With the death of his successor, Abbot Ulrich, the cultural resurgence of the abbey came to an end. Under Abbot Ulrich of Eppenstein (1077–1121) St. Gall became an important base for imperial politics in Swabia in the investiture dispute, which dealt a strong blow to the abbey. The political disturbances led to a complete decay of the school in the period following. The job of teacher was given to a stranger called a “Schuolmaister,” thus relieving the monks of this duty. Latin was spoken by only very few of the monks and the celebration of the mass was moved to St. Lawrence’s Church.87 According to Ekkehard’s comments, there were separate magistri for externs and interns at St. Gall. In making the distinction, however, he may be referring more to their role as supervisors and custodians outside the classroom than teachers of intellectual subjects within. In reality not all magistri taught, and those who did may have moved back and forth between groups of students for instruction. Unlike other offices in the monastery like the dean or camerarius, the job of the teacher did not rotate annually, but was a life-long assignment. Teachers were supposed to be at least 25 years old, although monks often taught at a younger age in the role of teaching assistants, called semi-magistri.88 Some teachers may have given instruction in all or several of the seven liberal arts, whereas others specialized in a few. Above I noted that Tuotilo gave instruction in music. Notker Labeo produced texts for nearly all levels of instruction and for all of the liberal arts and theology. Whether he also gave instruction in all of these areas is unclear. Sometimes teachers even fought over students. In a poem dedicated to Abbot Burckard, Ekkehard IV complains that a young pupil, with whom he had been entrusted, had wrongly been taken away from him and given to another teacher.89 Here Ekkehard is probably referring to the supervisory role of teachers more than to instruction. Elementary instruction was often left to the teaching assistants or semi-magistri. As noted above, in the Plan of St. Gall the bedroom of the magister scholae is furnished with three beds, two of which may have been designed for the teaching assistants. Ekkehard IV writes that Ratpert had been magister of the scolarum since adolescence, perhaps at first in the role of an assistant.90 Above I noted that Gerald was also a magister scolarum already as an adolescent.91 In his history, Richer recounts that Gerbert of Rheims turned pupils over to special tutors to 87 Clark, The Abbey, p. 92. See also Ildefons von Arx, Geschichten des Kantons St. Gallen, vol. 1, p. 325 and Werner Vogler, “Historical Sketch of the Abbey of St. Gall,” in James C. King and Werner Vogler (eds.), The Culture of the Abbey of St. Gall: An Overview (Stuttgart: Belser, 1991), pp. 18–19. ´ 88 They are also called submagistri or adiutores scolarum (Rich´e, Ecoles, pp. 195–197). 89 The poem carries the title “Purchardo abbati pro quodam scholasticulo fraude subtracto et alteri magistro tradito” (Ekkehard IV, Liber Benedictionum, ed. Egli, Varia 4, p. 393). 90 Ekkehard, Casus, ch. 34, ed. Haefele, p. 78. 91 See fn. 24 above.
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practise Latin, reading and writing.92 Pupils were also asked to tutor classmates, especially elementary students. This practice helped the young oblates to acclimate themselves to life in the monastery and to forge new friendships.93 Bernward of Hildesheim, while learning at the cathedral school of Hildesheim, often helped his fellow pupils by explaining material that they had not quite grasped.94 At the age of 16, Abbo of Fleury taught younger pupils in the school reading and chanting. This included instructing them in reading, writing, and reading aloud with the correct pronunciation.95 In addition to the magister, and semi-magister, a third prominent figure in the monastic school was the cantor, who was charged with teaching the young students chant. We also read of wardens, or circatores, who were entrusted with keeping order in the schools, much like a modern-day playground supervisor. The circatores checked on the pupils and their teachers at regular intervals to make sure that everyone was doing his job. The names of delinquents were written on wax tablets, and the matter was brought up in chapter on the following day.96 In St. Gall punishment was carried out by the head of the schools, who did not spare the rod, as we can recall from Ekkehard’s account of the Abbey fire in 937. The job of the magister was never-ending. Not only was he in charge of the intellectual welfare of the pupils, but also of their spiritual well-being. Overwhelmed by the amount of work, and perhaps wishing to spend more time with their books, some teachers tried to evade other monastic duties. At St. Gall, for example, Ratpert often failed to attend choir and mass so that he could work uninterrupted. When asked to account for his absence, he responded that he had already celebrated mass at school while teaching.97 Often the magister scholae also served as the librarian and supervised copying in the scriptorium. Judging from comments made by Ekkehard IV and from Notker’s letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, it appears that Notker was also active in the library, where he had to worry himself with such matters as acquiring parchment, supervising the copying of manuscripts in the scriptorium, and correcting faulty texts.98 In a gloss written in a copy of Orosius in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 621, Ekkehard explains that Notker had assigned him the job 92 Richer, Historia francorum, 3, ed. and trans. R. Latouche (Paris: Champion, 1930–1937), p. 48; cf. Lutz, Schoolmasters of the Tenth Century (Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1977), p. 133. 93 See Jakob Ackstaller, Das Helfersystem in der mittelalterlichen Schulerziehung (Innsbruck: Felician Rauch, n.d.), pp. 17–21 and Quinn, Better than the Sons, pp. 77–78. 94 Lutz, Schoolmasters, p. 119. Cf. Thangmar, Vita Bernwardi episcopi Hildesheimensis, ed. G. H. Waitz, MGH SS 4, 1841 (Repr. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1963), p. 782. 95 Lutz, Schoolmasters, p. 43 and Marco Mostert, The Political Theology of Abbo of Fleury (Hilversum: Verloren, 1987), p. 31. 96 Clark, The Abbey, p. 95. 97 “In scolis sedulus plerumque cursus et missas negligebat: ‘Bonas’, inquiens, ‘missas audimus, cum eas agi docemus’”(Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 34, ed. Haefele, p. 78). 98 In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, Notker requests parchment and money from the bishop to pay for the copying of his works, should he wish to own them.
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of erasing certain scribal errors and restoring the correct text by referring to two other good copies.99 On p. 321 of the same manuscript, Ekkehard points out two lines of corrected text which he says were written by Notker himself.100 t e ac h i n g m e t h od s a n d curriculum Precious little is known about the actual methods of instruction used in medieval schools. We have lists of the books that were read and copies of the books themselves, but few teachers ever recorded their notes, and teaching methodology is mentioned only in passing in letters or vitae. We can get a general idea of the responsibilities and activities of tenth-century monastic pupils from Ælfric Bata’s Colloquies, written in England around the year 1000 and designed for teaching the Latin language by means of real-life communicative texts. In colloquy five, the teacher asks his pupils to relate to him what they had done that day. The boys explain that they read and sing all day long. Already before prime at 7:30 a.m. they had written something and even while washing their hands they practised singing the Psalms.101 In the third colloquy we read of an argument between students: 99 “Utilis multum liber . sed vitio scriptoris mendosus . . . Plura in hoc libro fatuitate cuiusdam ut sibi uidebatur male asscripta. Domnus Notkerus abradi et utiliora iussit in locis asscribi. Assumptis ergo duobus exemplaribus quae deo dante valuimus . tanti viri iudicio fecimus” (St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 621, p. 351). Glauch points out, however, that some of Ekkehard’s glosses date from after 1057, which is clear from a reference in one of them to the death of Pope Victor II who died in that year. She questions whether Ekkehard’s reference to Notker having requested the corrections could be true, since this would mean that Ekkehard would have worked on the emendations for a period of nearly forty years, Notker having died in 1022 (Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, pp. 50–51). Glossing a text and emending it are two different things. Glossing could indeed have stretched over a longer period of time, or perhaps been done at some time after the manuscript had been emended. Ekkehard seems to have glossed his own Liber Benedictionum over a long period of time, as is evident from the corrections he makes to glosses and the variation in ink used. 100 “Has duas lineas emendas domnus Notkerus scripsit. Vivat anima eius in domino” (St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 621, p. 321). Glauch argues that this comment would lead one to believe that Notker in fact did not correct, comment upon or gloss many manuscripts in the St. Gall library, since if he had, Ekkehard’s comment would seem superfluous (and we would expect Ekkehard to have pointed out his teacher’s hand elsewhere as well) (Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 51). Ekkehard’s gloss in St. Gall 621 could simply have been made randomly, that is, he may have come across his teacher’s hand while looking through the manuscript one day, thought of his teacher (who had after all asked him to correct the text), and made the note in reverence for him. We do not have to assume that Ekkehard would have gone through all of the abbey’s manuscript looking for his teacher’s hand in order to note it. 101 Ælfric Bata, Anglo-Saxon Conversations: The Colloquies of Ælfric Bata, colloquy 5, ed. Scott Gwara and trans. David Porter (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1997), pp. 88–91. The text is preserved in Oxford, St. John’s College, MS 154. The canonical hours began at 2:30 a.m. with matins and lasted until 3:00 a.m. (in older traditions called vigiliae); thereafter followed lauds (also called matutinae) from 5:00–6:00, prime at 7:30 a.m., terce at 9:00 a.m., sext at noon (including the midday meal), none from 2:00–3:00 p.m., vespers at 4:30 (with the evening meal), and compline at 6:00 p.m. Depending upon the time of year, the monks were usually in bed by 7:00 p.m.
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Rogo uos, pueri, et ´ıubeo, ut duriter et instanter legatis quicquid heri didicistis a magistris uestris, et id bene firmate, ut poss´ıtis cras quant´otius reddere et coria uestra sic reseruare sana. Sic uolumus, magister bone, et humiliter et oboedienter te audire in omnibus, quæ precipis nobis uel doces. O tu, frater, porrige mihi meum librum, et sede hic mecum super scabellum istum, et lege tuum acceptum, ut possis reddere cito. Veniam modo, et faciam sic. Accommoda mihi – bene sit tibi! – tuum librum, ut in eo possim legere et firmare quod heri didici, quia non potui hodie inuenire meum libellum in ullo loco, nec modo non a´udeo pro magistro meo querere illum, quia aust´erus est nobis ualde. Et si aliquem ex nobis exire uiderit, statim uult eum flagellare bene. Cur precaris me sic? Certe nolo tibi commodare meum librum, nec curo si habeas uel non habeas tuum. Quare uoluisti sic perdere tuum librum? Tota die huc et illuc discurris uagando, nihil boni faciens, nec uis nobiscum legere, nec sponte discere, nec uoluntarie cantare, nec scribere in tabula, nec in scedula nec in ullo pergam´eno nec in nulla quaternione, nec hic intus cum sociis tuis manere, sed ubi stultitia et ebitudo est illuc uis discurerre . . . Crede mihi, uolo accus´are t´e apud nostrum magistrum, quoniam uae facis nobis cotidie . . . Ego autem econtra respondens dico tibi, quis constituit te super me uel super meos alios socios in magistrum, seu ad docendum nos siue ad regendum? [I beseech and command you, boys, read with concentration and vigour what you learned from your teachers yesterday. Memorize it well so tomorrow you can recite it as fast as possible and that way keep your hides in piece. So we wish, good master, both humbly and obediently to listen to you in everything you command or teach us. You, brother, give me my book. Sit here with me on this bench and read your assignments so you can recite it quickly. I’ll come right now and do that. Lend me your book – bless you! – so I can read in it and memorize what I learned yesterday, because today I couldn’t find my book anywhere. I don’t dare look for it right now on account of our master who is so very stern with us. If he sees any one of us go out, he immediately wants to beat him well. Why are you asking me this? I certainly won’t lend you my book, nor do I care whether you have yours or not. Why did you want to go and lose your book like that? All day you dash here and there wandering about, doing no good. You don’t want to read with us, nor are you willing to learn. You don’t want to sing willingly, or write on your tablet or on a vellum scrap or on a parchment or in a quire. You won’t stay indoors here with your classmates, but where stupidity and foolishness are, that’s where you rush off to . . . Believe me, I’ll accuse you to our master because you give us all this grief every day . . . But I say in answer to you – who put you as master over me or my other classmates to instruct us or boss us about?]102 102 Ælfric Bata, Colloquies, colloquy 3, ed. Gwara and trans. Porter, pp. 82–85.
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In this scene the indolent pupil is accused of not willingly taking part in the daily classroom activities: reading, singing, and writing on wax tablets, a scrap or leaf of parchment or a quaternio. The accuser is a fellow student and teacher’s assistant, who has been entrusted with supervising the younger pupils and making sure that they memorize their lessons. From the student’s perspective, he appears to have had a habit of abusing his position of power. In a later colloquy, an advanced student responds to being disciplined and tries to excuse his slackness by pointing out that he does not have the necessary materials with which to learn: Valde uerb´osus es et mult´ıloquax, et supra modum multa uerba scis loqui, sed tamen nihil horum bonorum facis, et nihil boni operaris. Cotidie otiosus eris pene. Nec cantas, nec legis, neque scribis, neque discis, neque doces, et tamen omni die uis manducare et bibere nil agendo . . . Bene dixisti, magister kare, ad me, et recte l´oqueris. Bene scio, quod non canto, nec lego, neque scribo, nec disco, neque doceo. Non habeo librum ad cantandum in eo neque ad legendum. Non habeo tabulam neque graphium neque a´rtauum nec cultellum nec subulam neque nouaculam ad scribendum, nec cotem ad acuendam meam nouaculam, ut possim ac´uere pennam meam. [You’re a real blabbermouth and talker, and you know how to talk with words beyond measure, but still you do none of these good things and do no good. Almost every day you’re idle. You don’t sing or read or write. You don’t learn or teach and yet everyday you want to eat and drink doing nothing . . . You’ve spoken well to me, dear master, and you speak rightly. I know very well that I don’t sing, read, write, learn or teach. I have no book for singing or reading. As for writing, I don’t have a wax tablet or a stylus or a penknife or a knife or an awl or a razor – or a whetstone for sharpening my razor so I can sharpen my pen.]103
The teacher ignores the excuses and asks the student to copy the written model on his wax tablet or on a piece of parchment. Both passages were intended to provide practice in the vocabulary of school supplies. Many of the same materials are mentioned in Ekkehard’s Casus. In chapter 58, we read how one of Ulrich’s fellow pupils stole his stylus, only to be caught red-handed after pricking himself in the finger with it.104 Elsewhere Ekkehard describes a scene in which the Devil is trying to catch Notker Balbulus for not having sung nones; the demon sits at the top of the church ready to note the sin on his wax tablet with a stylus.105 Ratpert’s mother had a dream while pregnant with him that she would give birth to a porcupine. Many young boys ran up to the animal and tore out his spines, with which to write on the walls. The dream is later interpreted to mean that she will give birth to a famous teacher who will arm many young pupils with styluses.106 Notker Labeo refers to drawing a picture of an animal on a wax tablet 103 Ibid., colloquy 14, pp. 112–113. 104 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 58, ed. Haefele, p. 126. 105 Ibid., ch. 42, p. 96. 106 Ibid., ch. 31, p. 74.
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with a stylus in a section of Nb that defines the concept of a descriptio.107 In the life of St. Anskar we read that in the abbey school of Corbie, an unruly pupil was in the habit of hitting his classmates with a wax tablet, much as paper airplanes are used today.108 The Rule of the Master notes that a monk who is not yet psalteratus was to learn his Psalms with the help of wax tablets when traveling.109 A pair of such tablets – perhaps an early example of lost homework – were discovered in 1920 in Springmount Bog in Ireland.110 In Ælfric Bata’s Colloquies we read that some students tended to misplace their books. It is unclear whether the books referred to here were from a communal collection or copies that had been made for personal use. Parchment was an expensive commodity, and books had to be copied by hand. If a student managed to secure the necessary amount of parchment he might copy a text himself, either from the teacher’s book or from his own notes. In some cases it could be that pupils studied using copies borrowed from a communal book collection from which they (or a teaching assistant) copied excerpts onto their wax tablets or scraps of parchment and then memorized them. In the prologue to Smaragdus’ Grammar (ca. 805) we read that pupils transferred text from their wax tablets onto scraps of parchment in order to have more time to memorize it.111 Although statements like this seem to attest that students had access to books and parchment for copying, we cannot assume that it was common for most to possess their own books.112 A further 107 “Ped´ıu chˆıt descriptio gemˆale . u´ nde z´eichen´unga . u´ nde b´ılde . a´lso d´az ´ıst . u´ be ´ıh m´ıt mˆınemo gr´ıfile an e´inemo uu´ahse gerˆızo formam animalis” (Nb III, 170, 13–14). 108 “. . . quidam puerulus in scola, Fulbertus nomine, a socio suo tabula percussus ad mortem usque perductus sit” (Rimbert et al., Vita Sancti Anskarii, ed. D. C. F. Dahlmann, MHG SS II, p. 693). 109 The text states that monks should read while on longer voyages. If they are not yet able to read, they should carry with them tablets with the Psalms inscribed upon them and use these to study and memorize during any free time: “Si vero in viam longiorem dirigatur, codiciclum modicum cum aliquibus lectionibus de monasterio secum portet, ut quauis hora in uia repausauerit, aliquantulum tamen legat. Ita tamen si fuerit psalteratus. Si uero non fuerit, tabulas a maiore superpositas psalmis secum portet, ut ad refectionem prandii aut ad mansionem cum adplicauerit, aliquantulum quantum occucurrerit tamen meditetur, ut cottidie regulae reddat quod suum est” ´ (La r´egle du maˆıtre, 57, 4–9, ed. Adalbert de Vog¨ue´, 2 [Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1964], p. 268). 110 Leslie Webster and Janet Backhouse (eds.), The Making of England: Anglo-Saxon Art and Culture AD 600–900 (London: British Museum, 1991), pp. 80–81, no. 64, and E. C. R. Armstrong and R. A. S. Macalister, “Wooden Book with Leaves Indented and Waxed found near Springmount Bog, Co. Antrim,” Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland 50 (1920), pp. 160–166. These tablets have been dated to the early seventh century. 111 “Cum secundum intellectus mei capacitatem grammaticam fratribus traderem, coeperunt aliqui audita libenter excipere et de tabellis in membranulis transmutare, ut, quod libenter auribus hauserant, frequentata lectione fortius retinerent” (Smaragdus, Liber in partibus Donati, OT, 5– 8, ed. B. L¨ofstedt, L. Holtz, and A. Kibre, CCCM 68 [Turnhout: Brepols, 1986], p. 1). Further Carolingian examples for recording teachers’ lectures can be found in Contreni, “The Carolingian School,” XI, pp. 90–91. 112 Bernhard Bischoff, “Die Bibliothek im Dienste der Schule,” La scuola nell’occidente latino dell’alto medioevo, 15–21 aprile 1971, 1 (Spoleto: Presso la sede del centro, 1972), p. 526, and Wieland, The Latin Glosses, p. 193. On the use of books in Anglo-Saxon schools, see Wieland, “The Glossed
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important point to remember is that the mere fact that students could read doesn’t necessarily mean that they could all also write and copy texts. At least up until the beginning of the ninth century, the method of instruction was largely oral–aural, in other words the students would be read to, listen and then memorize what they had heard.113 Even if the situation appears to have changed somewhat in the following period, the widespread ownership of books is highly unlikely. Most students probably relied more on wax tablets, onto which they would copy a short section of text (called an acceptus) or have a teacher or assistant copy it for them. If the pupil copied the passage, the dictation would often be corrected by teacher.114 The acceptus would be dictated by a teacher or in some cases a fellow pupil.115 Once the pupils had memorized the section by heart they would smooth over their tablets for reuse.
p ri m a ry e d uc at ion The first three years of school were taken up with a very basic curriculum, the precepts for which were laid forth in the Admonitio generalis of 789 and followed well into the eleventh century: Et ut scolae legentium puerorum fiant. Psalmos, notas, cantus, compotum, grammaticam per singula monasteria vel episcopia . . . [And let schools for teaching boys the psalms, notas, singing, computation and grammar be created in every monastery and episcopal residence . . .]116
At the same time the pupils memorized the Pater Noster, the Creed and all 150 Psalms, they also learned to read and perhaps to write and received a basic introduction into subjects such as chant and arithmetic in order to be able to calculate Church holidays. The Psalter played an especially important role in elementary reading instruction and was used as a basic primer. As Rich´e has commented, “[t]o know how to read Manuscript,” p. 172, and Michael Lapidge, “The Study of Latin Texts in Late Anglo-Saxon England,” in Nicholas Brooks (ed.), Latin and the Vernacular Languages in Early Medieval Britain (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1982), pp. 99–101. 113 Vivien Law, “Memory,” pp. 19–20. 114 In Othloh’s Life of St. Wolfgang we read: “Ut autem adolescentes in capiendis scientiae liberalis noticiis forent agiliores, frequenter voluit tabulas eorum cernere dictales” (ed. G. Waitz, MGH SS IV, 1841 [repr. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1963], pp. 534–535). 115 Quintilian, in fact, recommended this method over having the teacher read the passage himself, since it gives students practice in reading and pronunciation (Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. Donald A. Russell [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001] 2.5, 5–6). 116 “Karoli Magni Capitularia,” ed. Alfred Boretius, MGH Cap regum Francorum I, p. 60. It is unclear whether notas here refers to “musical notation,” “shorthand” or some other type of notation.
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was to know one’s Psalter.”117 At first the young students probably recited the verses parrot fashion without understanding their meaning.118 The important thing was that they could correctly recite the text, whether they had any knowledge of Latin or not. As Law points out, as long as God could understand the text, the obligation of the one reciting it was fulfilled.119 Once the pupils learned to read, they might be asked to copy the individual Psalms in sections onto wax tablets or the teacher (or an assistant or another pupil) would inscribe the text for them so that it could be practised and memorized. Notker Labeo also expounded and translated into OHG the Psalter and Canticles. Although the texts seem to have found readers outside the Abbey, such as Empress Gisela, they were also presumably used in the schools with elementary and early intermediate pupils.120 The text was later provided with even further glosses, many of them vernacular and most likely by Ekkehard IV.121 Learning the Psalter as soon as possible obviously had a very practical motivation, since it allowed the students to take part in choir during services. Beginners were also soon introduced to the basics of music and chant so that they could participate in the liturgy.122 Through their participation in church services, oblates would have been exposed to up to four hours of spoken Latin every day, which in turn built up and reinforced their passive knowledge of the language.123 After reading and memorizing the Psalter, many medieval students moved on to Cato’s Distichs. In his letter, Notker writes that he was asked to translate this text, but no copies have been preserved.124 In other schools we know that Aesop’s fables 117 Pierre Rich´e, Education and Culture in the Barbarian West (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1976), p. 463. The Psalms essentially took over the role that texts like the Disticha Catonis had had in elementary reading instruction in late antique schools (Brown “Latin Writing,” p. 40). The central role of this text in the learning process is testified to by numerous Psalter translations that have survived from the period (cf. Reynolds, Medieval Reading, p. 9). 118 Walther of Speyer wrote in his Libellus scholasticus at the end of the tenth century: “At postquam prima sicienti fauce saliva / Imbibit alphabetum notularum docta tenore / Syllabicas recta rugas plicuisse rubrica / Nuda mihi clausas tribuit psalmodia mammas . . .” (12–15, ed. Vossen, p. 37). Here Walther speaks of breasts not yet open to him, i.e., he was not yet able to understand the meaning of the Psalms. See also Law, “Memory,” pp. 18–19, Kalberer, Die Anf¨ange, p. 36, and Reynolds, Medieval Reading, p. 10. 119 Vivien Law, “Memory,” pp. 18–19. 120 According to Ekkehard, the Empress Gisela visited St. Gall in 1027 and requested a copy of Notker’s Psalter translation (Ekkehard IV, Liber Benedictionum, ed. Egli, p. 231–232). It may be that she took with her the original copy in a codex that also contained Notker’s translation of the book of Job with the commentary of Gregory the Great. The latter text has not survived (Kelle, “Die S. Galler deutschen Schriften,” pp. 220–222 and Wolf, “Ekkehard IV.,” pp. 147–149). Cf. above, chapter one, p. 45. 121 See Stefan Sonderegger, Althochdeutsch in St. Gallen (St. Gall: Ostschweiz, 1970), pp. 113–123. 122 Hrabanus Maurus writes that the discipline of music is so important that without it one cannot fulfil an ecclesiastical office (De institutione clericorum, III, 24, 4–5, ed. Zimpel, p. 480). 123 Vivien Law, History of Linguistics, p. 126. 124 See below, fn. 152. In his Nk text, Notker replaces Boethius’ general term homo in the sentence “Nihil enim magis aliquis homo substantia est. quam aliquis bos” with Cato, thus giving the OHG sentence “Cato ne´ıst nˆıeht h´artˆor substantia . d´anne sˆın o´ hso” (Nk 24, 6). Presumably Cato and
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were also read, but we have no copies before the fifteenth century at St. Gall. Clark suggests that Prudentius may have taken the place of Aesop at St. Gall, because Notker Balbulus had an aversion to the fabulae gentium.125 As I will discuss further below, in the tenth century, introductory dialectic texts such as the Latin versions of Aristotle’s De categoriis and De interpretatione and other compiled treatises may also have been read at the early intermediate level. Before pupils could advance to the goal of their studies – as Law puts it, the “soul” of the word – they first had to grapple with its “body” – the nuts and bolts of Latin grammar, such as declensions and conjugations.126 Teaching grammar at St. Gall was no simple task, since all textbooks were in Latin and designed for native speakers or advanced foreign students (such as Priscian’s Institutiones). They did not provide the concise introduction to the language that was necessary, but were instead comprehensive and often quite detailed.127 At St. Gall, Notker Balbulus recommended using Alcuin’s grammar, Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis de octo partibus orationis over those of Donatus, Nicomachus, Dositheus or Priscian.128 After mastering the individual letters, students progressed to syllables, words and finally to connected discourse.129 Anselm of Bec (1033–1109) wrote to one of his former pupils, who was studying at Canterbury, that he should practise his “declensions” with the local master Arnoul: Audivi quod legas a domno Arnulfo. Quod si verum est, placet mihi, qui semper profectum tuum, sicut ipse ex parte expertus es, desideravi, nec umquam utique plus quam modo. Audivi quoque quod ipse multum valeat in declinatione, et tu scis quia molestum mihi semper fuerit pueris declinare, unde valde minus quam tibi expediret, scio te apud me his work would have been well-known to the intermediate pupils, who may have gotten a chuckle out of the image. In his Nb, Notker lists Cato as an example of an author of ethical texts (Nb II, 88, 12–14). 125 Clark, The Abbey, p. 101. The manuscript Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS Car. C 164, originally from St. Gall, contains in addition to Prudentius’ text numerous Latin and OHG glosses along with annotations by Ekkehard IV. The text was probably used in the St. Gall school at the early intermediate level. 126 Law, History of Linguistics, p. 125. 127 Viven Law, “The Study of Grammar under the Carolingians,” Grammar and Grammarians, p. 130. 128 “Quid dicam de Albino, magistro Caroli imperatoris, qui, ut tu ipse fateri solitus es, nulli secundus esse uoluit, sed in gentilibus et in sacris literis omnes superare contendit. Ille talem grammaticam condidit, ut Donatus, Nicomachus, Dositheus et noster Priscianus in eius comparatione nihil esse uideantur” (Salomon von Konstanz, Das Formelbuch, ed. Ernst D¨ummler, p. 72). See fn. 162 below. 129 Bede recounts a miracle carried out by John of Beverley, bishop of Hexham, who cured a mute boy and taught him Latin. The bishop made the sign of the cross on the boy’s tongue and then told him to say a word, “gæ” (the English word for “yes”). The boy did so and was thereafter miraculously able to speak. The bishop then taught the boy the alphabet, the names of the letters, syllables and then words. Thereafter the boy progressed to longer sentences and was soon able to “reveal the secrets of his thoughts and intentions” in speech (Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, V, 2, ed. Bertram Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969], pp. 456–459).
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in declinandi scientia profecisse. Hortor itaque et precor et ut filio carissimo praecipio, quatenus quidquid ab eo legeris et quidquid aliud poteris, diligentissime declinare studeas. Nec pudeat te sic in hoc studere, etiam quibus te putas non indigere, quasi nunc id recentissime incipias. [I have learned that Dom Arnoul is giving you lessons. If this is so I am delighted; as you may have noticed, I have always wanted to see you make progress, and now I desire it more than ever. I have also heard that he excels in declensions; now, as you know, it has always been a hard chore for me to decline with children, and I am aware that in this science you made less progress with me than you should have. I send you, then, as my dearest son, this word of advice, this plea: everything you may read with him, or in any other way, apply yourself to declining it with care. And don’t be in the least ashamed to study in this way, even if you don’t think you need to, as if you were just a beginner.]130
Here “declining” is closer to what we today would refer to as parsing. The student had to identify for each word the part of speech and more specific properties and understand its syntactic usage in the sentence. In his Colloquies, Ælfric Bata intentionally varied verb conjugations and noun declensions, so that the pupils could practise their Latin grammar.131 St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek MS 877 contains on p. 189 a declension paradigm written in the late 10th century: “Nomenatiuo hic beatus, [genatiuo] huius beati, datiuo huic beato, accusativo hunc beatum. vocatiuo o beatus, etc.”132 In order to make grammatical texts like Donatus more accessible, a new genre of teaching text, the “parsing grammar,” was developed at the end of the eighth century and continued to be used throughout the Middle Ages.133 These grammars, in an attempt to preserve the original structure of a text such as Donatus’ Ars minor, augmented the material not by means of adding content commentary (as had been the case of the “Schulgrammatik” genre of the preceding generation, in particular of Insular scholars) but through exemplary material which was keyed closely to the structure of the original. Grammars of this kind allowed the teacher to adjust the level of the exercise depending upon the ability of the 130 St. Anselm, Epistolae, no. 64, Opera omnia, 3, ed. F. Schmitt (Edinburgh: Nelson, 1946), p. 180; trans. by Murphy, “Teaching Latin,” p. 168. 131 David Porter, “The Latin Syllabus in Anglo-Saxon Monastic Schools,” Neophilologus 78 (1994), p. 475. 132 The manuscript contains various grammatical texts and OHG glosses, and may have marginal glossing by Notker Labeo. Cf. Beat von Scarpatetti et al. (eds.), Katalog der datierten Handschriften in der Schweiz in lateinischer Schrift vom Anfang des Mittelalters bis 1550, 3, Die Handschriften der Bibliotheken St. Gallen−Z¨urich, Textband (Dietikon-Zurich: Urs Graf, 1991), p. 331 and Gustav Scherrer, Verzeichniss der Handschriften der Stiftsbibliothek von St. Gallen (Halle: Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1875), pp. 305–306. 133 Parsing exercises were a widespread type of classroom instruction in Antiquity. It is unclear whether the genre was transmitted to the area north of the Alps or temporarily disappeared and revived in the late eighth and ninth century. The earliest datable medieval text of this type is found in Peter of Pisa’s grammar from the end of the eighth century. See Law, “The Study of Grammar,” p. 135, and eadem, “Memory,” pp. 25–30.
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pupils. The genre flourished in the ninth and tenth centuries and the method of presentation was soon applied to texts other than grammars. An example of such a text copied at St. Gall is Ordo ad cognoscendi nomen (Quid est doctus?) preserved on pp. 30–32 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek 876 from the end of the eighth or beginning of the ninth century.134 Some pupils learned the rudiments of writing so that they could carry out clerical duties and copy manuscripts. Activities such as copying and illuminating were regarded as mechanical arts and were considered to require less intellectual ability than the liberal arts.135 In his Casus sancti Galli, Ekkehard IV writes that Ekkehard II busied the more obtuse pupils in his classes with copying books.136 That they carried out their duties well is testified to in several St. Gall manuscripts where we find the comment “puerili pollice scriptus.”137 Writing was first practised on wax tablets, after which the boys progressed to using quills on parchment. In several St. Gall manuscripts we find the common scribal verse “adnexique globum zephyrique kanna secabant” written on the fly leaves. Although quite meaningless, it was very practical, since it contained all the letters of the alphabet except for . In some versions, the word fræta is added after zephyri.138 In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, Notker asks for parchment and “scribentibus præmia” should the bishop decide to want copies of his works.139 As Hofffmann points out, it is difficult to imagine that monastic scribes would require compensation for their work. The scribentes here might refer to scribes working in the scriptorium who been trained in the school as externs.140 The first three years of training in German monastic and ecclesiastical schools were grueling, and by the time they reached the age of ten, pupils had to learn Latin, learn to read and perhaps write and take dictation, learn chant and to carry 134 Ibid., p. 29. Law notes that this particular text may have a late antique origin (fn. 40). 135 Thangmar writes that St. Bernward of Hildesheim, although he fervently studied the liberal arts, also studied “lighter” arts called “mechanical” arts: “Et quamquam vivacissimo igne animi in omni liberali scientia deflagraret, nichilominus tamen in levioribus artibus quas mechanicas vocant studium impertivit” (Vita Bernwardi episcopi Hildesheimensis, ed. G. H. Waitz, p. 758; cf. Lutz, Schoolmasters, p. 120). 136 “et quos ad literarum studia tardiores vidisset, ad scribendum occupaverat et lineandum” (Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 89, ed. Haefele, p. 184). 137 For example St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 152. On p. 277 we find in the beginning of a verse “Hoc opus exiguum puerili pollice scriptum. Sit Ruohtperte tibi magnum . promtissime doctor.” Cf. Franz Weidmann, Geschichte der Bibliothek von St. Gallen (St. Gall: n.p.), p. 14. 138 Bernhard Bischoff, “Elementarunterricht und ‘probationes pennae’ in der ersten H¨alfte des Mittelalters,” Mittelalterliche Studien, vol. 1 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1966), pp. 74–87. In his provisional manuscript list of St. Gall codices (1–600), Beat von Scarpatetti lists the following manuscripts with the scribal verse: St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 6, 136, 183, 211, 226, 276, 277, 294, 422, 432, 556, 567 and 579. 139 NkS p. 349, 20–21. 140 Harmut Hoffmann, Buchkunst und K¨onigtum, 1, pp. 50–51. A scribal verse on p. 323 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 579 reads “Scribere disce, puer, ne sis per singula pauper” (ibid., p. 54).
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out simple arithmetic. Many of the pupils were expected to take part daily in the religious services, and the time left for study would have been six hours a day at most. Given their taxing schedules and the amount of material that needed to be covered, it is likely that students were able to acquire only a very rudimentary knowledge of Latin. Their vocabulary and ability to handle Latin syntax was limited to their experience with reading and reciting the Scriptures, liturgical texts and other primer material like Cato, all of which were written in a fairly simple and straightforward style.141
s e con d a ry educat ion The remaining four to five years of study for St. Gall scholastici were devoted to the seven liberal arts and theology.142 According to Notker Balbulus, once the pupils had gained enough knowledge of “the alphabet,” they moved on to “the pitfalls of dialectic, the questions of grammar, and the attacks of rhetoric.” Here grammar is understood in the sense of grammatica, the study of Latin language and literature in general. Thereafter they progressed to the subjects of the quadrivium and learned the positions of the various countries of the world, the course of the planets and the influence of the constellations.143 Intermediate grammar and rhetoric were often taught together using the writings of classical and patristic authors as models. As Clark points out, instruction was pursued with very practical goals in mind. The object of most teachers was not to help pupils to appreciate the beauty of poetry or to reveal to them the spirit of a particular author, but rather to illustrate the rules of grammar and prosody.144 The exact methods of textual analysis no doubt varied from teacher to teacher, as did the texts that were used. In many schools a modified progymnasmata approach was 141 The language of the Vulgate, for example, employs common and realistic words, and the syntax is often colloquial and inelegant (Erich Auerbach, Literary Language and Its Public in Late Latin Antiquity and in the Middle Ages, trans. Ralph Manheim [New York: Bollingen Foundation, 1965], p. 52). The stylistic simplicity of the Scriptures was, of course, a very practically oriented ideal that adhered to the necessity of communicating the word of God to everybody and in such a way that it could be understood. Cf. J´ozsef Herman, “Spoken and Written Latin,” in Roger Wright (ed.), Latin and the Romance Languages, p. 32. 142 Specht, Geschichte, pp. 67–80; cf. Stachnik, Die Bildung, p. 64. 143 “. . . cum et discendi diuturnitate et aetatis maturitate ad hoc peruenisse debueritis, ut de difficillimis grammaticae artis quaestionibus disputare, de dialecticae tendiculis astuto et celeri pede elabi, de inuectionibus rhethoricae uictores exire, de regionum situ quaerere, de cursu planetarum uario scitari, de stellarum effectibus admirari, de inuisibilibus et supercaelestibus aliquid noui iugiter audire pro ludo et iocunditate nimia duceritis . . .” (Salomon von Konstanz, Das Formelbuch, ed. E. D¨ummler, p. 51). 144 Clark, The Abbey, p. 104.
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used, in other words, introductory exercises in writing and speaking.145 Students imitated their models; they were asked to rewrite verse works into prose and, once they had gained practice, prose into verse.146 In chapter 26 of his Casus, Ekkehard recounts Bishop Salomo’s visit to the Abbey in the year 918. Before departing for Constance, Salomo stopped by at the school on what happened to be the morning after the Day of the Holy Innocents. Custom had it that the next day belonged to the students and that they were allowed to play pranks on their teachers. The bishop was taken “captive” by the students and made to sit on the master’s chair. Salomo played along, but soon turned the tables on the pranksters. He announced that, since he was sitting on the teacher’s chair, he also had his privileges and commanded the students to disrobe in order to be punished! They followed his orders, but begged him to be able to “buy themselves free,” as they often did with their real teacher. They did this by demonstrating their knowledge of Latin: the very young pupils showed off their skills in Latin, the intermediate students spoke rhythmically and the older students spoke metrically with much rhetorical embellishment that suited a stage. The bishop rewarded their efforts by granting them wine and meat three times a day on the days which Conrad I had given them to play.147 Classroom texts varied from school to school. The cathedral school at Speyer was founded in 970 by Bishop Balther and was closely modelled on the program at St. Gall, where Balther had received his own training under Notker Piperisgranum. In his life of St. Christopher written in 984, Walter of Speyer outlines his own education in Balther’s school. The boys began by being trained in the Psalter and the offices of the Church. Thereafter they read many Latin authors as part of their instruction in grammar. Among those Walter mentions are the Ilias latina, Virgil, Martianus Capella, Horace, Persius, Juvenal, Boethius, Statius, Terence, and Lucan. Next the students turned to rhetoric, studying the writings of Cicero, and to dialectic with Boethius’ translation of Porphyry, then arithmetic, music, geometry, and astronomy with the help of texts by Boethius and Martianus Capella.148 Ekkehard IV, in his Liber Benedictionum, includes a poem addressed to his teacher Notker Labeo to celebrate the holiday mentioned above, which was traditionally granted to the students on the day following Epiphany. In this poem
145 Cf. Henri Ir´en´ee Marrou, Histoire de l’´education dans l’antiquit´e (Paris: Seuil, 1948), p. 238 and 277 and Murphy, “Teaching Latin,” pp. 159–175. 146 Specht, Geschichte, pp. 101–102. On the use of prose versions, cf. Thangmar’s Vita S. Bernwardi: “Nam saepe totum diem inter equitatum studendo attrivimus, nunc legendo non minus prolixam lectionem, quam si in scolis ad hanc vacaremus, nunc poetizando per viam metro collusimus, inde ad prosaicam palaestram exercitium alternantes, interdum simplici contextu rationem contulimus, saepe syllogisticis cavillationibus desudavimus” (ed. G. H. Waitz, p. 758). 147 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 26, ed. Haefele, p. 66. 148 Walter von Speyer, Libellus Scholasticus, ed. Vossen, p. 89.
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Ekkehard writes that just as the Wise Men brought three gifts, so the holiday brings with it three treats for the students: torches to bring light in the evening, the luxury of a bath and wine with which to celebrate.149 The narrator pleads with the teacher to join in on the festivities and to let dialectic, rhetoric and grammar sleep. The student further begs, “let all Parnassus sleep. Specifically do not resolve the lines of Persius, let the flute of Virgil be mute, let the mad Lucan put down the standards of Pharsalus, let Statius fast, let the thorny verses of Horace be considered of no worth, let Ovid return into exile, and let Juvenal be bored with inactivity.”150 Advanced pupils wrote metrical compositions on certain themes handed out by the teacher. Fifty such poems, perhaps written by Ekkehard when he was Notker’s student, are found under the title of Benedictiones super lectores per circulum anni. Ekkehard IV claims to have found the poems after Notker’s death in a chest in his teacher’s cell and to have kept them to serve as models for his own students.151 The study of metre and poetry appears to have made up a large portion of the intermediate curriculum. In his letter to Bishop Hugo, Notker writes that he was asked to translate several works in verse form into OHG and then lists Cato, Terence’s Andrea and Virgil’s Bucolics. None of these texts have survived and it has been questioned whether he ever embarked upon translating them.152 Notker did translate and comment upon Boethius’ De consolatione and Martianus Capella, works that because of their mixture of prose and metre were ideal for teaching metrical analysis. As Glauch points out, however, Notker seems to pass over this aspect in his versions, although the commentaries with which he worked provided ample models for analysis. Instead, in Nb Notker concentrates on dialectic and
149 “Suppeditant festo tria gaudia: pax, pater, esto! / Fax, lavacrum, vinum trinum testantur et unum / Sic tibi cum festo sit portio: lætior esto. Te mihi dans hodie somnum concede logye, / Eloquii partes quieant et grammatis artes” (Ekkehard IV, Liber Benedictionum, ed. Egli, p. 394). 150 Ibid., pp. 394–395; trans. Lutz, Schoolmasters, pp. 85–86. 151 This information is found after a marginal gloss (“Dictamen debitum magistro”) to the 59th poem, “In evangelium de eucharistia.” Written by Ekkehard in red ink, it reads: “hoc et cetera quæ scripsi, ipse scribi iussit in cartis suis, in quibus ea post inveniens in hac sceda pro locis ascripsi, ut iuvenes nostros in id ipsum adortarer” (Ekkehard IV, Liber Benedictionum, ed. Egli, p. 279). The phrase “dictamen magistro” appears in the margins to many of the benedictiones poems and refers to the teachers’ habit requiring students to compose short verses; here the poems may be Ekkehard’s own or perhaps also those of his students both at St. Gall and at Mainz. See Mia M¨unster-Swendsen, “Masters and Paragons: Learning, Power, and the Formation of a European Academic Culture c. 900–1230,” PhD thesis, University of Copenhagen, 2004, p. 235. 152 “[R]ogatus et metrice quedam scripta in hanc eandem linguam traducere . catonem scilicet . ut bucolica uirgilii et andream terentii” (NkS 348, 13–14). Henkel questions whether Notker ever translated Terence and Virgil and suggests that Notker simply states that he was asked to do so, ¨ but never completed the task (Deutsche Ubersetzungen, pp. 76–77). Glauch agrees that these two works in addition to the Distica Catonis were never translated by Notker (Die Martianus-CapellaBearbeitung, 1, pp. 30–31).
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rhetoric, and in Nc on arithmetic and natural science.153 Nc may have functioned as a bridge between the study of literature and the arts of the quadrivium. Nb may have been read at the early intermediate level, before students progressed to metrical analyses. Notker’s predilection for dialectic and the importance of this subject are further discussed below. Ars dictaminis, or the art of letter writing, was also practised at the intermediate and advanced levels. Copies of form letters which were used for practice are found in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 556.154 The seven letters found in the set deal with various themes, including writing one’s parents for gifts to give to teachers and a letter informing Abbot Burkhard about a robbery in the Abbey. The collection of form letters attributed to Notker Balbulus no doubt served a similar function.155 Being able to draft a letter proved useful for those monks who at some later point may have be asked to serve as scribes representing the Abbey in political matters.
t e n t h - c e n t ury c urri c ul a r ch a n g es The first half of the tenth century saw a series of wars, invasions, and other disasters sweep over Europe with the result that the continuity of learning was seriously threatened. St. Gall also experienced a period of decline in the first half of the tenth century. The “Golden Age” of the ninth century was disrupted by the Hungarian invasion in ca. 925, the raids of the Saracens in 954 and the abbey fire in 937. The tenure of Abbot Craloh (942–958) is depicted in Ekkehard’s Casus as a particularly bleak time marked with political and personal strife, during which many of the Abbey’s riches were squandered. The years under Abbot Burchard I (958–971) are 153 Ibid., pp. 31–34; see also James C. King, “Philosophia kommt Boethius mit Rhetorik und Disputation entgegen,” in Harald Burger et al. (eds.), Verborum amor (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1992), pp. 201–213. 154 Scherrer, Verzeichniss, pp. 175–177. The letters are printed by J. Baechtold, “Beitr¨age zur S. Gallischen Litteraturgeschichte,” ZdfA 31 (1887), pp. 189–196. A text on Easter that follows is glossed by Ekkehard IV. The letters are followed by a list of grammatical terms and properties of the noun with OHG translations; see below, chapter three, pp. 140–142. Another group of form letters attributed to Iso are preserved in a manuscript removed from the library by Melchior Goldast in the eighteenth century. Many of Goldast’s manuscripts later became part of the Vat. lat. reg. collection and may now be on deposit in the Vatican library. I have not yet been able to trace this manuscript. The letters are printed in Rerum Alamannicarum Scriptores 2, ed. Melchior Goldast et al., 3rd edn. (Leipzig: Fleischer, 1730), Nr. 9, 16, 25, 34, 66. Cf. Meier, “Geschichte der Schule,” p. 49. 155 The so-called “Formelbuch” was compiled by Notker Balbulus for Salomo III and contains models for writing charters and official letters, private letters in prose and verse and an introduction to theological literature. See the edition by Ernst D¨ummler, Das Formelbuch, and Hans Haefele, “Notker I. von St. Gallen,” Die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters. Verfasserlexikon, 6.1 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1978), cols. 1194–1198.
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likewise portrayed as a period in which discipline suffered and the abbey’s economic situation deteriorated. There is no doubt that these events had a negative impact on education at St. Gall, especially the abbey fire, during which many books perished. Very soon in the second half of the century, however, learning seems to have been restored. We read of illustrious teachers, including Ekkehard II and Notker II, and of the accomplishments of the school’s pupils, among them an advanced knowledge of Latin, as testified to by Gunzo. By the turn of the millennium a new “Silver Age” had been reached with Notker Labeo at the forefront. Although Notker also translated some texts used in elementary instruction, among them the Psalter and perhaps Cato, most of his works were meant for intermediate or advanced pupils and covered nearly all areas of the seven liberal arts. Teachers like Notker who reestablished or reinvigorated the Continental schools in the second half of the tenth century built upon the accomplishments of their Carolingian predecessors.156 In summarizing her study of tenth-century schoolmasters, Lutz lists several “bequests” that they left to succeeding generations: (1) the concept of the teacher as an understanding guide to the young; (2) some innovative methods for presenting the liberal arts; and (3) newly assembled libraries.157 Among the teaching innovations that we see in the late tenth century are the phenomenon of a traveling school, the composition of unusual texts meant specifically for classroom instruction, and the use of diagrams, charts and other visual aids such as spheres for teaching astronomy and an abacus for instruction in arithmetic.158 A further important innovation was the increased use of the vernacular. Notker Labeo is in many ways an exemplary representative of the late tenth-century schoolmaster: he translated texts into OHG “propter caritatem discipulorum”; he compiled several innovative teaching treatises, many of them with visual diagrams; he refers in his writings to a globus for instruction in geometry;159 and he helped to build up the library at St. Gall. A further bequest from teachers at Rheims, Fleury, Lobbes, St. Gall and other centres of learning was a marked change in the school curriculum and a stronger emphasis upon dialectic than in the previous generation.160 Vivien Law has demonstrated that the rediscovery of dialectic already had begun in the early ninth century
156 See Gibson, “The Continuity of Learning.” 157 Lutz, Schoolmasters, p. 150. 158 Gerbert of Rheims is known to have used various globes and a telescope, and to have introduced the abacus (Lutz, Schoolmasters, pp. 132–139). Cf. Oscar G. Darlington, “Gerbert the Teacher,” American Historical Review 52 (1946/47), pp. 472–473. 159 In his Nb Notker describes a sphere used for instruction which was constructed under Abbot Burchard (Nb II, 97, 15–16). St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 18, dating from the tenth century, has a drawing of a monk using a telescope. 160 See Margaret Gibson, “Latin Commentaries on Logic before 1200: ‘Artes’ and Bible in the Medieval West,” Bulletin de philosophie m´edi´evale 24 (1982), pp. 54–64, repr. in ‘Artes’ and Bible in the Medieval West, VIII.
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with the Carolingians.161 Alcuin and his circle studied Porphyry’s Isagoge, Aristotle’s Categories and De interpretatione, Boethius’ commentaries as well as other related works. Many of the new ideas were tested on grammar, which was the best developed and most closely related intellectual discipline. In his own treatise, Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis de octo partibus orationis, Alcuin includes “philosophical definitions” taken from Aristotle’s De interpretatione, but they are mentioned only in passing. He regards definitions as pertinent only to dialecticians and rhetoricians, not to grammarians.162 Succeeding generations of scholars later in the ninth and during the tenth century penetrated more deeply into the new discipline. It was, of course, essential to study grammatica and to become proficient in written Latin, but now the emphasis shifted more and more to a logical analysis of language and its application to reasoning.163 Works dealing with dialectic also became more widespread. Finding the agents of transmission and reconstructing the links between masters and schools during the tenth and the eleventh centuries is, as Luscombe points out, a delicate task.164 One connecting thread is Remigius of Auxerre, who taught at Rheims from 883 or 893 and then later at Paris. Remigius produced commentaries on the works of Donatus and Priscian, the Latin poets, Boethius’ De consolatione and Martianus Capella. A central point for the dissemination of many texts into Germany was the cathedral school of Rheims under the leadership of the scholar and master Gerbert (971–989), who later became Pope Sylvester. Gerbert’s plan of study is preserved for us in an account written by his pupil Richer. Richer reports that Gerbert taught intermediate students who had completed a basic training in Latin, chant and computus. As the first step in his program, Gerbert introduced his pupils to dialectic, arguing that it was crucial 161 History of Linguistics, pp. 147–155. See also eadem, “Carolingian Grammarians and Theoretical Innovation,” Grammar and Grammarians in the Early Middle Ages, pp. 154–163, and eadem, “The Study of Grammar,” pp. 138–140. 162 Law, “Carolingian Grammarians,” p. 157–158. An example passage in English translation is found in eadem, History of Linguistics, pp. 153–154. The original Latin “Dialogus franconis et Saxonis de octo partibus orationis” is printed in PL 101.854–902. Alcuin, of course, was also interested in assimilating the techniques of logic and applying them to theology, as is illustrated in his De fide sanctae et individuae trinitatis libri tres and also in De animae ratione (cf. David Luscombe, “Dialectic and Rhetoric in the Ninth and Twelfth Centuries: Continuity and Change,” in Johannes Fried [ed.], Dialektik und Rhetorik im fr¨uheren und hohen Mittelalter [Munich: Oldenbourg, 1997] pp. 4–5). 163 Contreni, “The Tenth Century,” XII, p. 381. See also the work of John Marenbon, in particular From the Circle of Alcuin to the School of Auxerre (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), idem, “Medieval Latin Commentaries and Glosses on Aristotelian Logical Texts Before c. 1150 AD,” in Charles Burnett (ed.), Glosses and Commentaries on Aristotelian Logical Texts (London: Warburg Institute, 1993), pp. 77–192, idem and Rosamond McKitterick, “Philosophy and its Background in the Early Medieval West,” in John Marenbon (ed.), Medieval Philosophy, Routledge History of Philosophy 3 (London/New York: Routledge, 1998), pp. 96–119, and McKitterick, Frankish Kingdoms, pp. 296–297. 164 Luscombe, “Dialectic and Rhetoric,” p. 8.
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first to learn how to organize and analyze one’s thoughts before progressing to rhetoric and the effective ways of expressing them. The textbooks Gerbert used in dialectic were the Latin translations of Porphyry’s Isagoge by Victorinus with Boethius’ commentary as a supplement; next came the Latin versions of Aristotle’s Categories and On Interpretation, and Cicero’s translation of the Topics, again with the help of Boethius’ commentaries; thereafter students read Boethius’ own works on dialectic: On the Topical Differences, On the Categorical Syllogisms, On the Hypothetical Syllogisms, On Definitions and On Division.165 Gerbert’s influence soon spread to the east. Lattin has demonstrated the effects of Gerbert’s new curriculum in a group of seven St. Emmeram manuscripts from the private library of the monk Hartwic. Hartwic had studied with Bishop Fulbert in Chartres from 1007–1029. He also made a pilgrimage to Rheims in order to talk with scholars who had studied with the great Gerbert and to collect copies of the works Gerbert had thought important. Hartwic brought back with him to St. Emmeram the seven manuscripts in question, thus introducing the new French curriculum to his home institution. The texts contained in these manuscripts dealt with dialectic, music, arithmetic and other subjects taught at Rheims and Chartres. Significantly, grammar is the subject by far the most underrepresented. In Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm. 14401, for example, Hartwic contented himself with book 17 of Priscian’s Institutiones (De constructione) and the Ars grammatica of the ninth-century Irish scholar Clemens.166 The new texts appear to have caught on immediately. A few years later Otloh complained that the monks were devoting too much time to their secular studies, especially dialectic, and that they prized Boethius more than scriptural writings.167 Much of Gerbert’s curriculum, particularly his focus on dialectic, is reflected in Notker’s own teaching program at St. Gall. Whether there was a direct influence from Rheims on St. Gall or whether the changes in curriculum were, so to say, simply in the air, is unclear. Schr¨obler was the first to propose a possible influence from Rheims and sought a link in Bishop Notker of Li`ege (†1008), who was associated with Gerbert and may have been provost of St. Gall.168 That St. Gall had connections with Lotharingian houses is clear from the dissemination of some of Notker’s texts.169 Moreover, as a result of the Lotharingian reforms, the Abbey experienced an official visitation at the end of the ninth century with many of 165 Richer, Historia francorum, ed. Latouche, III, p. 46; Cf. Darlington, “Gerbert the Teacher,” pp. 467– 471. 166 Harriet Pratt Lattin, “The Eleventh Century MS Munich 14436: Its Contribution to the History of Coordinates, of Logic, of German Studies in France,” Isis 38 (1947–48), p. 207. 167 Otloh of St. Emmeram, Dialogus de tribus questionibus, PL 146.60–62; cf. Lattin, “Eleventh Century MS Munich 14436,” p. 225. 168 Ingeborg Schr¨obler, “Die St. Galler Wissenschaft,” pp. 32–43. 169 Hellgardt, “Notkers Brief,” p. 178.
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the delegates coming from this area.170 Glauch argues, however, that a scholar like Notker, with the right library at hand, could have delved into the field of dialectic without any direct external impulse.171 In this connection, it is important to note that Notker did indeed have the requisite library. Marenbon in fact singles out St. Gall and Fleury as two outstanding centers for the early study of dialectic. Mid-ninth-century glossing to the Categoriae decem in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 274 contains material taken from John Scottus Eriugena and other “eccentric” material that shows his influence.172 Moreover, the only properly free-standing logical commentary to the text is a tenth-century compilation in dialogue form that may very well have originated at St. Gall. One of the two extant copies (and the one which preserves the text in its fullest) is Vatican City, BAV, MS Reg. lat. 1281, which has connections with Fleury. This same manuscript also preserves a copy of the “Distributio” text of Notker Labeo.173 Notker, like Gerbert, based his dialectic curriculum on Aristotle’s program of formal logic, the Organon, as it was preserved in Boethius’ Latin translations and explained in commentaries written by Boethius and others (such as, Cicero, Martianus Capella, and Isidore). Notker was familiar with roughly the first half of Aristotle’s program as covered in the Categories (the types of predicates), On Interpretation (on judgment and propositions), and commentaries to the Prior Analytics (on syllogisms), the Posterior Analytics (on definition), and parts of the Topics.174 Notker translated the first two works, wrote Latin/German summaries on the syllogisms (De syllogismis) and definitions (De definitione) and compiled a short Latin treatise with OHG proverbs to exemplify the various aspects of logic in general (“De partibus logicae”). He also compiled two Latin treatises on aspects of dialectic: “Distributio omnium specierum nominis inter Categorias Aristotelis,” and “De dialectica.”175 In his introduction to De interpretatione, Notker explains the program of logica and its steps: 170 Kassius Hallinger, Gorze-Kluny. Studien zu den monastischen Lebensformen und Gegens¨azten im Hochmittelalter, 1, Studia Anselmiana 22/23 (Rome: Orbis Catholicus/Herder, 1950), pp. 187–199. 171 Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, pp. 46–47. 172 John Marenbon, “Glosses and Commentaries on the ‘Categories’ and ‘De interpretatione’ before Abelard,” in Johannes Fried (ed.), Dialektik und Rhetorik, pp. 26–27. I have been unable to verify the ninth-century date for the glossing given by Marenbon for St. Gall 274. Br¨uckner suggests that some of the glosses in the manuscript could be by Ekkehard IV, and hence must date after the ninth century (Scriptoria medii aevi helvetica, 3.2 [Geneva: Roto-Sadag, 1938], p. 90). 173 For a discussion of this text, see below, fns. 200 and 211. 174 Carl Prantl, Geschichte der Logik im Abendlande, 2nd edn., vol. 2 (Leipzig: Fock, 1927), p. 63. For a review of Aristotle’s program, see J. V. Luce, An Introduction to Greek Philosophy (London: Thames and Hudson, 1992), pp. 112–113; on Boethius, see Jonathan Barnes “Boethius and the Study of Logic,” in Margaret Gibson (ed.), Boethius: His Life, Thought and Influence (Oxford: Blackwell, 1982), pp. 73–89. 175 Petrus W. Tax, “Die lateinischen Schriften Notkers des Deutschen. Altes und Neues,” PBB 124.3 (2002), pp. 421–427. See discussion of these texts below, pp. 91–92.
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Aristotiles scr´eib cathegorias . ch´unt ze tˆuenne . uu´az e´in-l´uzz´ıu uu´ort pez´eichenˆen . nˆu uu´ıle er s´amo ch´unt ketˆuon in perierminiis . uu´az zes´amine gel´egit´ıu bez´eichenˆen . an ´ dˆıen a´ber dˆıen uerum u´ nde falsum fern´omen uu´ırdet . t´ıu latine h´eizent proloquia. An neuu´eder uern´omen neuu´ırdet . t´ıu eloquia h´eizent . t´ero uersuˆıgˆet er a´n d´ısemo bˆuoche. Uu´anda o´ uh proloquia gesk´eiden s´ınt . u´ nde e´iniu h´eizent simplicia . dˆar e´in uerbum ´ıst . ut homo uiuit . a´nder´ıu duplicia . dˆar zu´ei uerba s´ınt . ut homo si uiuit spirat . sˆo lˆeret er hˆıer simplicia . in topicis lˆeret er duplicia. F´one simplicibus uu´erdent prædicatiui syllogismi . f´one duplicibus . uu´erdent conditionales syllogismi. Nˆah periermeniis s´ol man l´esen prima analitica . tˆar er b´eidero syllogismorum kem´eina regula syllogisticam h´eizet . t´ara nˆah s´ol man l´esen secunda analitica . tˆar er s´underˆıgo lˆeret prædicatiuos syllogismos . tˆıe er h´eizet apodicticam . ze i´ungist s´ol man l´esen topica . a´n dˆıen e´r o´ uh s´underˆıgo lˆeret conditionales . tˆıe er h´eizet dialecticam. T´ıu partes h´eizent s´ament logica. [Aristotle wrote the Categories in order to make known what individual words signify. Now he will also make known in On Interpretation what words signify when combined, from which one can determine truth and falsity. In Latin (such statements) are called proloquia. Those from which neither (truth nor falsity) can be determined are called eloquia, and he remains silent about them in this book. Because propositions are also divided and some are called simple (those that have one verb such as “homo uiuit”) and others are compound (those that have two verbs such as “homo si uiuat spirat”), in this book he teaches about the simple ones and in his Topics he teaches about compound ones. Simple propositions can be made into predicative syllogisms. After On interpretation one should read the Prior Analytics, in which he calls the theory which is common to both types of syllogisms “syllogistic.” Thereafter one should read the Posterior Analytics, in which he treats predicative syllogisms separately and calls them apodictic. Finally, one should read the Topics, in which he treats conditional syllogisms separately and calls them dialectic. All together these parts are called logic.]176
The first two texts outlined by Notker were especially important for linguistic study. De categoriis covered language on the level of the word and discussed the properties of the things and concepts expressed by words. De interpretatione dealt with words combined into sentences, which are called judgments and propositions, i.e. statements that are either true or false. Notker’s focus on dialectic in the intermediate classroom had two important ramifications for his teaching methodology. On the one hand, it influenced the way in which he approached language in general, and, on the other, it motivated his bilingual teaching venture, since it was vital that his students comprehend the new but very difficult subject matter. Paul Saenger has shown how study of the new corpus of dialectic texts produced from the second half of the tenth to the twelfth century was accompanied by the exploitation of visual devices to facilitate reading and understanding since they “obliged the reader to grapple with highly technical concepts expressed in 176 Ni 3, 9–10, 5.
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grammatical structures based upon principles of Aristotelian dialectic.”177 He argues that Gerbert, Abbo of Fleury and Heriger of Lobbes all employed devices such as word separation by space and other visual clues, including diagrams, to facilitate reading and understanding.178 In addition to word separation, simplification of word order also played an important role.179 Notker Labeo could easily be added to the group mentioned by Saenger. Classroom texts produced at St. Gall in the tenth and eleventh centuries clearly demonstrate a conscious use of word separation, punctuation and simplified word order to facilitate comprehension of texts, as I will demonstrate in chapters four through seven of my study. Whereas grammatica was concerned with correct speech, dialectica was concerned with using speech accurately, in other words, with the formulation of precise definitions and logical arguments. The language of grammatica, and of rhetorica to a large extent, was Latin and the methods of analysis they dictated were tailored to the lingua latina. In his Latin treatise “De arte rhetorica,” Notker occasionally provides OHG verses to exemplify figures of speech. These passage are, however, rare, since the rules of rhetorica were not easily transferred to the vernacular, which had its own stylistic and poetic devices.180 Within the paradigm of dialectic, the vernacular could hold a position equal to that of Latin, since dialectic investigated the use of language in general and dealt with universals that were applicable to all languages of the world, not only to Latin. The important thing was the thought expressed in words, not the form of the words themselves. In effect, OHG could also be applied to make statements and to describe thoughts. This new role of the vernacular is evident in Notker’s works, in which he demonstrates logical propositions, syllogisms and argues the points of logic in OHG. In Notker’s curriculum, dialectic was a fundamental prerequisite for further study in the liberal arts, particularly for the subjects of grammar and rhetoric. It taught students how language functions and provided them with the tools with 177 Saenger, Space, p. 120. 178 Ibid., p. 143. 179 “In ancient Latin, the use of word order was essential to avoid ambiguity, most especially in statements of logic, where implicit conventions of sequence, or at least clear groupings of syntactically related words analogous to those that emerge in vulgar Latin, were essential for the unambiguous communication of subtle distinctions. This specialized and peripheral aspect of ancient Latin, which came to be central in scholastic medieval written discourse, was transmitted to the Middle Ages by Boethius in translations and commentaries of the Logica vetus that were fundamental to the new education fostered by Abbo and Gerbert in the late tenth century” (ibid., p. 161). 180 An example from Nr reads: “Simplex intellegentiam rei administrat propietate uerborum . figurata commendat se etiam uenustate compositionis artificiosæ aut significationis alienæ. Ut apud uirgilium. Marsa manus peligna cohors festina uirum uis. Ma et na . gna . et sa . ors et ars. ius et ui similes syllabæ dissimilibus distinctæ gratam quodammodo concinnitudinem . et concordem uarietatem dant . et fit per industriam talis compositio in omni lingua . causa delectionis . sicut et illud teutonicum. Sose snel snellemo peg´agenet andremo so uuirt filo slˆıemo firsn´ıten sclitriemo . . .” (NkS 161, 14–24).
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which they could approach all texts and carry out a primary analysis of them. In his treatise “Distributio omnium specierum,” Notker explains the relationships between Aristotle’s ten categories and Priscian’s twenty-seven classes of the common noun, thus correlating “real-world” categories with grammatical ones.181 Notker begins by distinguishing between the domains of dialectic and grammar and then establishes the temporal priority of dialectic: Octo partes orationis in gramatica . quales in se ipsis dictiones sint . liquido ostendunt; Decem uero aristotilis cathegoriæ . quæ ad logicam pertinent . quid ipsæ partes orationis extra se significent . subtilius docent. Et primum est . noscere quid uoces significent . deinde quales per se sint ipsæ. Hunc ordinem in pueris natura ostendit . qui prius intellegunt ea uox quæ est homo . unde prædicetur . quam in ipsa uoce fieri discant hanc flexionem . homo hominis homini hominem ab homine. Et a prima origine linguarum omnes se ad intellectum solum sermonum ferebant. Postea aliqui ceperunt de ipsa quoque uoce sermonum tractare. [The eight parts of speech in grammar show clearly what words are in themselves. The ten categories of Aristotle, on the other hand, which belong to logic, show what the parts of speech signify beyond themselves, and secondarily what they are in themselves. Nature shows us the same sequence in children, for they learn to understand what the word “person” (homo) is predicated of before they learn the inflection of the form: homo, hominis, homini, hominem, ab homine. Ever since languages began, everyone has had to learn to understand words; only later did some people begin to study the form of words.]182
The natural sequence of inquiry is to first understand an utterance through logic and only thereafter to question and learn its forms through grammar. Pueri, in this context perhaps pupils, first learned the meaning of the word homo and how it was used syntactically before they memorized its declension. The study of dialectic was, of course, also fundamental to theology. Aristotle’s ten categories or classes provided a way of discussing “being.” Prominence was given to the relationship between things, other things and their properties, and the function of words within a sentence was very important. As McKitterick points out, for medieval thinkers “the Categories were particularly relevant in discussions about God and his nature. Could the Categories be used to describe Him? Were there such things as Universals, that is, what was the relation of genera and species to individuals? How was essence to be discussed and what was the soul’s relationship with God?”183 Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 18375, a ninth-century copy of Priscian from Tegernsee, contains extensive eleventh-century marginal and
181 Aristotle’s system was made up of ten classes into which everything could be divided: substance, quantity, a qualification, a relative, where, when, being-in-a-position, having, doing and beingaffected. Cf. the gloss from Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm. 18375 cited below, p. 87. 182 NkS 3, 3–13; trans. Law, History of Linguistics, p. 155. 183 McKitterick, Frankish Kingdoms, p. 287.
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interlinear glossing.184 A marginal gloss on f. 11v next to Priscian’s text on letters comments: Decem omnino predicamenta traduntur . quae de rebus omnibus uniuersaliter predicantur .i. substantia . qualitas . quantitas . ad aliquid . vbi . quando habere . situm . facere <docendi> . facere pati . Ut enim accidentia quae decem cathegoriae dicuntur facillius intellegi possint . alludendo ad ea ponamus exemplum. Ecce quod est Augustinus magnus doctor filius monicae matris eius . stans hodie in templo infulatus docendo fatigatur. [All in all, there are said to be ten categories which are predicated upon all things. They are substance, quality, quantity, effect, where, when it takes place, whether it is active or passive. To better understand these accidents, or ten categories, let’s use this example: “Because Augustine, the son of his mother Monica, is a great teacher, he, while he is standing in the temple today and wearing a headband, teaches until he can teach no more.”]
The reference here is probably to the teachings found in the Pseudo-Augustinian Categoriae decem, a paraphrase of Aristotle’s Categories from the circle of Themistius. What is remarkable and revolutionary about this gloss is that it is found at the beginning of a grammar textbook. As in Notker’s text, we see grammar and dialectic converging, and scholars applying the ten categories to grammatical study. The union of grammar and dialectic is also evident at the level of the sentence. In his treatise on reading methodology, The St. Gall Tractate, Notker begins by describing the types of discourse according to the paradigm laid out in Boethius’ De interpretatione: Sciendum quod quinque principales <sunt> orationes . ut boetius in commentariis periermeniarum docet; Enuntiatiua . Imperatiua . optatiua . interrogatiua . inuitatiua. Quarum enuntiatiua sola . affirmationem et negationem . uerum aut falsum significat . et habet difficultatem constructionis . maxime in continuo genere locutionis . de quo post dicetur. [One must know that there are five principal types of sentences, as Boethius teaches in his commentary on De interpretatione: declarative, imperative, optative, interrogative, invitative. Of these only the declarative expresses affirmation and negation or truth and falsity, and it is the only one which is difficult to construe, particularly in the continuous style, which will be discussed later.]185
Here Notker defines a sentence according to criteria borrowed from dialectic: a sentence is not simply a string of words bound syntactically by means of grammatical rules, but something that expresses a logical statement. Later on in the treatise, the author also shows how dialectic and rhetoric can be combined to analyze discourse. 184 For a description of this manuscript, see below, chapter seven, p. 301. 185 SGT 38v, 11–16 (the text is found in NkS 48, 11–16). The SGT is discussed in detail below, chapter four.
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He defines the traditional rhetorical units comma, colon and periodus according to logical criteria and completion of a thought, not according to rhythm. In his treatise “De syllogismis,” Notker argues that the word (uerbum) is at the heart of both dialectic and rhetoric, but that each provides different argumentative tools. He concludes that the logician’s sermo is more important than the rhetorician’s dictio.186 Sermo states what is true or false, whereas dictio only leads to possibilities. The sacred truth of the word and knowledge of God, however, cannot be achieved with either art.187 In other words, the liberal arts serve to train one’s mind to begin to understand the divine, but they cannot provide the direct skills with which to do so. Rhetoric, however, still had its place in the school curriculum and in many ways it, just like dialectic, was coming into its own as a discipline separate from grammar at the end of the tenth and beginning of the eleventh century. It was no longer seen simply as an ancillary tool that could be applied to the analysis of literature, but as a practical skill with application in daily life. Notker devoted a considerable amount of time to the discipline. He compiled a Latin treatise on rhetoric with occasional OHG example sentences, known as the “De arte rhetorica,” and in his Nb translation/commentary he includes a long excursus and several shorter sections dealing with the art.188 In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, Notker refers to his rhetorical treatise as a nova rhetorica – a “new rhetoric,” for which he felt the time was ripe. In Notker’s view, the tendency of “old” rhetorics – those current in his day – had been to allow expression (elocutio) to take precedence over invention and hence for embellishment to overshadow substance. In the classical world rhetoric had served a civic function: Cicero and his followers, such as Quintilian, viewed rhetoric as an essential attribute of a free citizen, which trained him to carry on litigation in the law courts. With the fall of the Roman Empire, the civil duties of the rhetorician vanished, and the practical application of rhetoric as a political tool became superfluous. By the 186 “Nec parum hoc attendendum est . quantum intellectu quædam distant . quæ simili modo solent interpretari . ut sunt . uerbum sermo dictio . . . Dignior est namque sermo et grauior . ut sapientes decet. Dictio humilior est et plus communis . data rhetoribus. Uerbum autem omnium est . . . Dictio namque interpretatur ch´eda . unde et dicere ch´eden. Sermo enuntiat quid uerum quid falsum. Hoc possunt soli philosophi. Dictio uero suadet . ueris et uerisimilibus. Hoc est officium rhetorum. Deinde uerbum uu´ort dicitur . quod omni professioni famulatur. Sed hæc confuse pro inuicem ponuntur” (NkS 307, 11–309, 12). 187 “Si ergo satis intellectum est . omnem apodicticam constare in decem et nouem modis syllogismorum . et dialecticam in septem modis syllogismorum . non sit dubitandum totam earum utilitatem ´ n´ıunzen sl´oz apodicticæ . u´ nde s´ıbiniu dialecticæ . uu´ola gel´ırnet esse . in inuenienda ueritate. Ube sˆın . sˆo uu´ızin man dˆarm´ıte . d´az sie n´uzze s´ınt . a´lle uuˆarheit m´ıt ´ın ze eru´arenne. Omnia enim his ´ d´az m´enniskin irrˆatin m´ugin . t´az uu´ırdit h´ınnˆan constant . quæ in humanam cadunt rationem. Al guu´ıssot. Diuina excedunt humanam rationem . intellectu enim capiuntur. T´ıu g´otelˆıchin d´ıng . uu´erdent kˆeistlˆıcho uern´omen . aˆne d´ısa m´eistersk´aft” (NkS 304, 18–305, 15). 188 NkS 106–186 and Nb II, 42, 23–44, 5.
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Middle Ages, rhetoric had more or less been relegated to a field of theoretical study, since the stage of the Capitol Forum had for all intents and purposes been replaced by a classroom pulpit. Early in the Christian tradition, Augustine and others had transformed rhetoric into a persuasive art to use in sermons and homilies to draw people to the Scriptures. In the Carolingian period the function of rhetoric was extended to the sphere of hermeneutics and again made an integral part of a liberal arts education. Rhetoric served in helping to interpret the Scriptures and at the same time it could be used as a model for imitation in polishing one’s own style. Sometimes more practical uses for the discipline are pointed out as well. Alcuin, for example, in his Dialogus de rhetorica et de virtutibus, refers repeatedly to the role of rhetoric in litigation and in the settlement of civil disputes.189 Notker’s aim is to renew rhetoric in the hope that she will once again rise up to accept her original role and practical function in society: Oportet eam immortalem esse . cuius amore languent . ita homines . ut abstractam tamdiu . et mundo mortuam resurgere uelint. [It would have befitted her to be immortal, for love of whom men so languish that they would wish her to rise again, even though absented so long and almost dead to our world.]190
Although it is based on the writings of Cicero, Boethius and Martianus Capella, Notker’s Rhetoric is different from that of his classical and late classical predecessors in that it combines Christian and monastic elements with secular and classical material, resulting in “a consciously designed balance between tradition and adaptation in response to the needs of its age,” the needs being those of the monastic community and the training of public officers.191 But, unlike his immediate predecessors Alcuin and Hrabanus Maurus, who often became caught up in elocutio, Notker concentrates on the aspect of invention and the techniques needed to analyze a conflict in order to eventually resolve it. Essential for Notker are not the trappings of a speech or written document or the hermeneutic analysis of texts, but the practical objective of establishing concord in common, everyday legal disputes.192 Over half of Nr is devoted to inventio; approximately one fourth to style (elocutio), a few pages to delivery (pronuntiatio); the remaining two elements, sentence movement (dispositio) and memorization (memoria) receive only very brief treatment of one paragraph each. Notker extends the definition of materia, i.e. the material that can be treated in rhetoric, to include all matters (res) and actions (negotia) that give 189 David Luscombe, “Dialectic and Rhetoric,” p. 3. The text is printed in Karl Halm, Rhetores latini minores (Leipzig: Teubner, 1863), pp. 523–550. 190 NkS 107, 19–22; trans. by Samuel Jaffe, “Antiquity and Innovation in Notker’s Nova rhetorica: The Doctrine of Invention,” Rhetorica 3 (1985), p. 180. 191 Beth S. Bennett, “The Function of Adaptation in Notker’s Rhetorica,” Rhetorica 7 (1989), p. 184. 192 Rudolf Lauda, Kaufm¨annische Gewohnheit und Burgrecht bei Notker dem Deutschen (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1984), p. 70.
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rise to controversy. According to Notker, the scope of rhetoric includes the whole process whereby any dissent can be put to an end according to a rational method. Notker’s rhetoric is a mixture of secular and sacred: it combined the good things of antiquity with the Christian monastic as well as the contemporary legal. So, for example, Notker integrates Christian examples throughout the work, often replacing traditional classical ones. In some cases he even draws upon everyday examples from the world around him involving matters such as fishing accidents, how servants in the abbey distribute food, and whether children conceived during Lent have the right to inherit.193 Here the practical training needed to carry out legal disputes becomes particularly evident. As Lauda points out, St. Gall Abbey needed representatives who could carry out the administration of internal and external affairs, including matters such as overseeing the Abbey’s extensive land holdings, donations, and relations with the bishop and even emperor.194 What better place to cover such matters than under the rubric of rhetoric? That Notker was aware of the interdependence between rhetoric and dialectic and felt that both were important is made clear in Nb.195 Given its content, form and style, Boethius’ text provided a perfect medium for Notker’s discussion of the two arts. In the first book of Nb, Notker interprets Lady Philosophy’s clothing as an embodiment of the liberal arts, in this case specifically of dialectic and rhetoric: Vestes erant perfectæ tenuissimis filis . subtili artificio . indissolubili materia. ´Iro uuˆat uuˆas chl´eine . u´ nde uu´ahe . u´ nde festes kez´ıvges. T´ıu uuˆat ´ıst t´ıure . tˆar d´ıu dr´ıu a´na s´ınt. ´Iro uuˆat . t´az s´ınt artes liberales. T´az sˆı chl´eine ´ıst . t´az m´achˆont argementa . t´az sˆı uu´ahe ´ıst . t´az m´achˆont figuræ dianoeos u´ nde lexeos. T´az sie u´este s´ınt . t´az m´achˆot tiu uuˆarheit. Sˆo uuˆarˆen sumptis uuˆariu inlatio f´olget . sˆo nem´ag t´ara uu´ıdere nˆıoman nˆıeht getˆuon. F´one d´ıu ´ıst ˆıo in uuˆarh´eite f´esti. [Her clothing was made of the finest thread by subtle workmanship out of thick material that was indestructible. Her clothing was fine and artful and of solid material. A clothing that has these three qualities is precious. Her clothing, that is the liberal arts. That it is fine is because of arguments. That it is artful is because of the figures of thought and figures of speech. That it is solid is because of truth. If true premises are followed by a true conclusion, no one can do anything against it. It is for this reason that stability always lies in truth.]196 193 See the examples given in ibid., pp. 103–109. Hehle gives further examples of everyday examples from Notker’s excursus on rhetoric in Nb: how the theft of sacred vessels from the church is to be treated, and whether a monk who notices a fire in the middle of the night is allowed to warn others (and thus break the command of silence) (Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 163–164). 194 Lauda, Kaufm¨annische Gewohnheit, pp. 42–45. 195 My review of the interplay between dialectic and rhetoric and the importance of rhetoric is indebted to Hehle’s discussion in Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 155–193. 196 Nb i, 8, 13–20.
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The fine threads of Philosophy’s clothing are arguments, the strong material consists of logical conclusions – both belonging to the area of dialectic. The beauty and artfulness of the clothing is supplied by rhetorica, by the figurae elocutionis and figurae sententiae. In the second book of Nb, Philosophy begins to demonstrate the uselessness of worldly things. Notker titles the section “Incipit disputare de rebus ipsis” and in it he juxtaposes the suasio of the orator and the disputatio of the philosopher.197 He picks up the topic again a few pages later in an excursus that begins with the title “Quid sit inter rhetoricam suadelam. et philosophicam disputationem.”198 The excursus ends with stress being placed on the importance of learning both suasio and disputatio, which is seen not only in Lady Philosophy’s method in the Consolatio, but also in sacred literature, here specifically in the Apostle Paul: Suadendo u´ nde disputando m´ag man den m´an a´llero d´ıngoliches err´ıhten . ped´ıu ´ıst philosophia h´ertˆon in b´eidˆen . ped´ıu chˆıt lucas in actibus apostolorum . f´one paulo . disputans et suadens de regno dei. Er uu´as dispvtans . sˆo e´r is a´lles k´ab rationem d´es er lˆerta . u´ nde a´ber d´anne suadens . sˆo er s´ageta . uuˆıo gˆuot . uuˆıo r´eht . uuˆıo sˆaliglˆıh t´as uu´are ze tˆuonne . d´az er l´erta. [By means of persuasion and disputation one can teach a person all things. It is for this reason that Lady Philosophy switches back and forth between the two. And it is for this reason that Lucan says in his Acts of the Apostles concerning Paul, that he was suadens and disputans about the kingdom of God. He was disputans when he gave a reason for all that he taught. But he was suadens when he said how good, how just, how redeeming it was to do that which he taught.]199
Both rhetoric and dialectic were important arts because they trained one’s mind to seek out divine truth. They are both also practical arts, as becomes clear from the manner in which Notker presents them. They are not only “bˆuoh l´ıste” – “book arts” – but could be applied to everyday life. In effect, Notker’s texts were used to train not only scholastici who would remain within the confines of the monastery, but also those who would go on to serve in the public sphere, be it in the Church or secular governance.
re a d i n g n ot k e r’s t exts The majority of Notker’s translation/commentaries were intended for the intermediate level of study, and it is likely that he himself taught this and more advanced 197 Nb II, 76, 6–20. 198 Nb II, 85, 9–10. The discussion appears on pp. 85–104. See Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 173–179 for an analysis of the contents. 199 Nb II, 104, 20–26.
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levels at St. Gall. He may also have supervised other teachers and assistants, and his texts were probably also used by other instructors at St. Gall. In his letter to Bishop Hugo, Notker recommends his translation/commentaries for use in the cathedral school at Sion. How the bishop reacted and whether copies were ever sent is unknown. Notker also compiled several shorter treatises dealing with dialectic, rhetoric and the quadrivium. These texts had a broader reception than the translation/commentaries and could have been used at various levels of study. Some of Notker’s logical treatises are preserved in eleventh- and twelfth-century copies possibly from the Loire Valley and Echternach, from Jumi`eges, Fleury, Bavaria, and in the twelfth-century Brussels, Biblioth`eque Royale, MS 10 615–729, which was copied at St. Maximin in Trier, perhaps based upon exemplars from the Loire Valley.200 His “De arte rhetorica” appears to have had resonance in Trier, Bavaria and possibly the Loire Valley.201 Notker’s “Computus” was known in Bavaria and the area around Fulda and was used by Hermann the Lame (1013–1054) at Reichenau.202 200 In addition to copies in St. Gall, Notker’s logical treatises are also found in manuscripts in the following libraries: Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, MS Phillipps 1796 (s. X/XI, provenance unknown, fragments of “De partibus logicae” and “Distributio”); Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, MS lat. oct. 429 (s. XV, Bavaria, “De partibus logicae” and “De rhetorica”); Brussels, Biblioth`eque Royale, MS 10 615–10 729 (olim St. Maximin, Trier, s. XII, contains all of the logical texts except for De syllogismis and De definitione); Paris, Biblioth`eque nationale, MS lat. 10444 (ca. 1100, the Notker fragments of “De partibus logicae” and “Distributio omnium specierum” were copied by an Echternach scribe); Rouen, Biblioth`eque municipale, MS I 69 (olim MS 932; s. XII, from Jumi`eges, fragment of “Distributio”); Vatican City, BAV, MS Reg. lat. 1281, II (s. XI, ¨ originally from Fleury, fragment of “Distributio”); Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 275 (olim MS Philol. 326, s. XI, provenance unknown, fragments of “De partibus” and “De definitione”); Zurich, Zentralbibliothek MS C 98 (s. XI, St. Gall; “Distributio,” “De dialectica,” “St. Gall Tractate); Zurich, Zentralbibliothek MS Car. C 121 (olim MS 462, s. XI, St. Gall; “De syllogismis,” “De partibus logicae,” “De definitione,” excerpts from “De arte rhetorica,” and bk. III, m9 of Nb). For a description of these manuscripts, see the introductions to the various texts in NkS. See also Ernst Hellgardt “Notkers des Deutschen Brief,” pp. 175–178. A complete and easy-to-use list of manuscripts with Notker’s texts is found in Hellgardt/K¨ossinger, “Notker der Deutsche,” pp. 366–369. 201 In addition to the copy in Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS Car. C 121, the “De arte rhetorica” is also preserved in Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 4621 (olim MS Benediktbeuern 121, s. XII; also contains a fragment of “De partibus logicae”), a probable copy of this exemplar or one closely related to it is found in Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, MS lat. oct. 429, and in Brussels, Biblioth`eque Royale, MS 10 615–729 (see above, fn. 200). See King’s introduction to the text in NkS, pp. LII-LIX and Anna Grotans “Notker’s De rhetorica in Early Modern Bavaria,” Oxford German Studies 25 (1996), pp. 46–89. 202 “Interea compotus Nothgeri novelli de caenobio sancti Galli didascali mihi advenit, qui de eadem aliquid quaestione breviter tangit. Quem cum avide perlegerem, non solum me de praedicto scrupulo non absolvit, verum etiam opposita solvendi difficultate plus quam putaram amaricavit” (Arno Borst, “Ein Forschungsbericht Hermanns des Lahmen,” DA 40 [1984], pp. 475, 44–48). Notker’s “Computus” has survived in four complete copies: Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 14 804 (s. XI, St. Emmeram) and 22 307 (s. XI, Windberg), Paris, Biblioth`eque Nationale, MS nouv. acq. lat. 229 (s. XII, Germany [?]), and Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS Car. C 176 (s. XI, St. Gall), and in two fragmentary copies: Fulda, Hessische Landesbibliothek, MS Aa 72 (completed 1319, Weingarten) and Fulda, Hessische Landesbibliothek, MS B 2 (s. XII, Weingarten, copied in
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His De musica also had a fairly wide transmission in Bavaria and was known in Merseburg.203 Notker’s Psalter and translation of Job were also read outside the monastic and classroom setting, as Ekkehard testifies with his comments about Empress Gisela’s interest in the works.204 Notker’s Psalter, in fact, was somewhat of a “best-seller.” Already in the eleventh century at least ten copies were in circulation, mostly in Alemannia and Bavaria.205 Other works by Notker have been lost: a treatise titled “Principia arithmeticae” (perhaps based on Boethius), a translation/commentary of the book of Job (probably based on standard commentaries including the Moralia in Job of Gregory the Great), and perhaps a treatise on the Trinity (based on Boethius’ opuscula sacra).206 It is uncertain whether Notker ever translated three other works that he mentions in his letter to Bishop Hugo: Cato’s Distichs, Virgil’s Bucolics, and Terence’s Andria.207 The target audience for most of Notker’s translation/commentaries already had a basic grounding in the Latin language; the pupils had learned their Psalms and could read and write to some degree in Latin. They probably, however, did not understand all or even a lot of what they read. By translating the texts of school authors into OHG and rephrasing the Latin, Notker provided students with access to the all important subject matter that might otherwise have remained inaccessible to them. In effect, his translation/commentaries served four important goals: (1) through the OHG translation, pupils accessed the content of the texts they were reading and the subject matter they were supposed to be learning; (2) the simplified Latin text and OHG key could be used to practise Latin grammar and the logical structure of language; (3) when compared to the original Latin, Notker’s the Lake Constance area). See Tax’s introduction to the text in NkS, pp. cvi–cxi and N. Kruse, “Eine neue Schrift Notkers des Deutschen: Der althochdeutsche Computus,” Sprachwissenschaft 28 (2003), pp. 123–155. 203 In addition to St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 242, copies of De musica survive in Leipzig, Universit¨atsbibliothek, Paulinus 1493 (s. XI, Merseburg; copy of sections 1 and 5), Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS Clm 18 937 (olim Tegernsee 937, s. XI, part 1) and MS Clm 27 300 (s. XI/XII, Regensburg, fragment of part 5), Wolfenb¨uttel, MS Gudianus 72 (s. XI, Augsburg?, fragment of part 5). See King’s introduction to the text in idem, pp. cxix–cxxi. 204 See above, chapter one, p. 45. 205 Of the seventeen extant copies and fragments of Notker’s Psalter, ten were made in the eleventh century, five in the twelfth century, one in the thirteenth and one in the fourteenth (Notker der Deutsche, Der Psalter, ed. Petrus W. Tax, 1 [T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1979], pp. vi–xxix and Hellgardt/K¨ossinger, “Notker der Deutsche,” pp. 370–371). For a discussion of Notker’s Psalter reception see Ernst Hellgardt, “Lateinisch–deutsche Textensembles in Handschriften des 12. Jahrhunderts,” in Nikolaus Henkel and Nigel F. Palmer (eds.), Latein und Volkssprache im deutschen Mittelalter 1100–1500 (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1992), p. 21. Hellgardt suggests that the Vienna Notker manuscript was produced in response to the Hirsau Reform and may have been intended for less educated ¨ readers, perhaps women. See also his article “Die ‘Wiener Notker’-Handschrift. Uberlegungen zum urspr¨unglichen Bestand und Gebrauch,” in Walter Tauber (ed.), Aspekte der Germanistik (G¨oppingen, 1989), pp. 47–67. 206 Tax, “Notker Labeo,” p. 189 and Sonderegger, “Notker III. von St. Gallen,” cols. 1221–1223. 207 See above, fn. 152.
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bilingual texts served as a key to analyze rhetorical composition; (4) a thorough understanding of the structure and meaning of the texts made it easier for students to perform them out loud and practise the methods of lectio. The first step in Notker’s curriculum at the intermediate level was to introduce students to the study of dialectic so that they could understand the basic properties of language and use this knowledge to progress to a more advanced study of grammar and rhetoric. The first two texts covered were De categoriis and De interpretatione. Notker’s translation/commentary method in these two works is very straightforward: he provides a vernacular rendering of the Latin text, which often follows sentence by sentence. The translation is in many cases expanded with commentary that serves to clarify various points. The first time a new term or concept is introduced, Notker provides an OHG equivalent, but usually reverts to the Latin term in any future occurrences, in order to drill the new terminology. In his translation of De categoriis, the first text in the logic series, Notker translates Latin terms into OHG and uses the OHG equivalents more frequently than in his De interpretatione.208 Perhaps pupils were already familiar with the basic Latin terminology by the time they studied the second text, and a translation of all terms was no longer necessary. Notker’s use of mixed language prose (“Mischprosa” or “Mischsprache”) also served to guide his students back to the previous Latin passage and acted as a reinforcing link between the two linguistic levels. Standard illustrative sentences are often retained in Latin in the OHG sections, but are provided with further explanation. Notker’s motivation for switching to Latin is often difficult to pinpoint and represents a type of code-switching, which will be further discussed in chapter three. The following passage from Notker’s De interpretatione serves as an example of his method. In my translation I retain Notker’s Latin terms to provide a taste of his “Mischsprache”; the original Latin is italicized; in the manuscript, chapter headings are given in capitals: UNIUERSALES PROPOSITIONES ESSE CONTRARIAS. SI ERGO UNIUERSALITER ENUNTIET IN UNIuersali . quoniam est . aut non . contrariæ erunt enuntiationes. ´ man f´one a´llelˆıchˆen . a´llelˆıcho s´aget n´ein u´ nde i´ah . t´ıe s´agˆa uu´erdent uu´ıder uu´artˆıg Ube Dico autem in uniuersali enuntiationem uniuersalem . ut omnis homo albus est . nullvs homo albus est. Uu´anda homo uniuersalis ´ıst . spr´ıh o´ uh t´ara zˆu . uniuersaliter omnis a´lde nullus . t´az h´eizo ´ıh a´llelˆıcha s´agˆun . f´one a´llelˆıchemo d´ınge. INDIFFINITAS NON ESSE CONTRARIAS QUAE AUTEM IN UNIVERSALIBUS NON UNIuersaliter . non sunt contrariæ .s. sed indeffinitæ. Fermˆıd f´one a´llelˆıchˆen a´llelˆıcho ze s´agenne .s. vt homo albus est . homo albus non est . sˆo ne s´ınt iz nˆıeht uu´ıder uu´artˆıge s´agˆa. Quæ autem significantur est esse contraria. F´one dˆıen sie gespr´ochen uu´erdent . t´ıu mugen uu´ıder uu´artˆıg sˆın. Uu´anda sˆo er albus n´ıst . sˆo m´ag e´r niger sˆın . d´ıu sint uu´ıder uu´artˆıg. ¨ 208 Cf. Cornelia Staeves, Notkers Hermeneutik-Ubersetzung. M¨oglichkeiten der zweisprachigen Textbearbeitung (Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 1996), p. 180.
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[How universal propositions are opposite. If one makes a statement about a generality in a general way, so that it is said to be so or not so, then the [resulting] statements will be opposite. If concerning a generality one says “yes” or “no” in a general way, then the statements will be opposite. I call a general statement about a generality [something like] omnis homo albus est (“every man is white”), nullus homo albus est (“no man is white”). Because homo is an universalis, add to it omnis or nullus. I call that a general statement about a general thing. How indefinite statements are not opposite. Those statements which are made about generalities in a non-general way are not opposite, i.e., they are not specific. Avoid making general statements about generalities like “homo albus est” or “homo non albus est”; these are not opposite statements. Those [statements] which are marked, however, could be contrary. Those [statements] which can be made of these can be contrary. Because if he is not albus, he can be niger: these are opposite.]209
In this passage Notker explains that universal statements can express opposites, but that they must be specific in order to do so. He introduces each point in Boethius’ text with a title that summarizes the contents. Next he divides up the Latin original into easily manageable units according to commata and cola – the “sentence units” of classical rhetoric, which roughly correspond to phrases and clauses. Sometimes he also rearranges the word order, although the original syntax is already fairly straightforward. Finally, Notker provides an OHG translation for the Latin, but in many cases the translation is free and integrates additional commentary. Notker inverts the sentences of Boethius’ “Dico autem in uniuersali enuntiationem uniuersalem. ut omnis homo albus est. nullus homo albus est” and explains the example statements first and then translates Boethius’ text: “Uu´anda homo uniuersalis ´ıst. spr´ıh o´ uh t´ara zˆu. uniuersaliter omnis a´lde nullus. t´az h´eizo ´ıh a´llelˆıcha s´agˆun. f´one a´llelˆıchemo d´ınge.” In his translation Notker adds the verb “spr´ıch” (“so say”), thus personifying the text for his audience, in this case intermediate students who will themselves practise such statements in class.210 He retains the key term uniuersalis and the Latin adverb uniuersaliter, which is derived from it; likewise the central adjectives omnis and nullus are not translated. In addition to his Nk and Ni texts, Notker also compiled several shorter treatises dealing with dialectic. Two of these, “De dialectica” and “Distributio” are written solely in Latin with no OHG.211 “De partibus logicae” is composed in Latin with OHG example sentences.212 The remaining two texts, “De syllogismis” (Ns) and the short fragment “De definitione” (Ndef ) represent a mixture of Latin and OHG, but 209 Ni 23, 16–24, 11; my analysis of this passage is based on the edition prepared by Harald Saller as an unpublished Master’s thesis at the University of Munich, 1997. 210 Cf. Stefan Sonderegger, “Althochdeutsch als Volkssprache,” in John Ole Askedal et al. (eds.), Gedenkschrift f¨ur Ingerid Dal (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1988), pp. 17–27, and idem, “Notkers des Deutschen Satzf¨ugung zwischen lateinischer Anlehnung und volkssprachlicher Gestaltung: das ¨ Beispiel der carmina Ubersetzungen,” in Yvon Desportes (ed.), Althochdeutsch. Syntax und Semantik (Lyon: Goudet, 1992), pp. 107–109. 211 Ndia is printed in NkS 196–263 and Ndis in NkS 3–45. 212 Nl is found in NkS 188–194.
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are in some respects very different from Notker’s other translation/commentaries, including Nk and Ni. Tax has demonstrated that the OHG sections in both works give an unpolished impression and are in some cases only partially complete, in other words, they do not always provide a full rendering of the Latin. For example, in Ns, translations appear much more like glosses than integrated commentary; in some cases entire portions of the text are left untranslated.213 The way in which Latin and German are integrated is also at times very unusual and, according to Tax, “un-Notkerian.” As I will discuss in chapter three, in his translation/commentaries Notker often mixes in Latin terms or example sentences in an OHG section, but the frame in which they are couched is vernacular. OHG phrases are rarely mixed in with Latin sections. In Ns Notker uses the two languages almost as if they were on an equal footing, blending the one into the other which results in what Tax calls a “mixtum compositum.” For example: Sed propositio est. t´az man ze eˆrist p´ıutet Assumptio daz a´nder . d´az man n´ımet zˆuo demo eˆrerin. Quare? T´az man siu b´eidiu bˆıete. [Sed propositio est that which one offers up first. Assumptio the second that one adds to the first. Quare? So that one presents them both.]214
Here Notker uses the original Latin for terminology and set classroom phrases like “quare.” In Ndef, the Latin is interspersed not with an OHG translation but often with a parphrase; sometimes the paraphrase does not even cover the meaning of the Latin portion, but again takes on a form reminiscent of glossing. Especially the phrase “daz chˆıt” in the last sentence gives this impression. In this example, I translate all of the Latin, but italicize it to make clear the mixture of languages: Quid est diffinitio? Diffinitio est ita rem ostendere uerbis . ut nec plus . nec minus . nec falso aliquid dicatur . uel est diffinitio . determinatio rerum et explicatio. Mit tero uns geougit uuirdit . unde vragenten gantwrtit wirdit . was daz unde daz si. In hunc modum. Waz sint salida . ewige rawa. Item diffinire est rebvs certos fines et terminos dare. Et quod confusum est discernere. Daz chˆıt knot-mezon . unde gescidon unde geunder-marchon. [What is a definition? A definition is to make a thing known by means of words so that something is neither too much, too little or falsely said. Also a definition is the limiting or the explanation of things. Thereby it is made evident to us and the one asking is answered what that and that might be. In this manner. What are blessings? Eternal rest(s). And so “to define” is to give to things determined definitions and terms, and to distinguish that which is disorderly. That is called “to define” and “to distinguish” and “to delineate.”]215 213 Petrus W. Tax, “Kritisches zu einigen Artes-Schriften Notkers des Deutschen und zu deren Sitz im Leben,” in Elvira Glaser, Michael Schlaefer, and Ludwig R¨ubekeil (eds.), “Grammatica ianua artium” (Heidelberg: Winter, 1997), pp. 163–165. 214 NkS 282, 7–10. ¨ 215 NkS 313, 1–9. The text as it is preserved in Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 275 does not accentuate the OHG portions, nor is the “Anlautgesetz” followed closely. Tax and King
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Tax argues that these texts were clearly meant for introductory training in dialectic and that the original transcriptions may in fact represent a pupil’s notes that were later copied and disseminated (cf. my discussion below). Once the pupils had covered the basics of dialectic, they could move on to a study of literature, which was taught using the steps outlined by grammatica and rhetorica, and included interpretation (enarratio), criticism (iudicium) and composition (compositio). For this level, Notker prepared versions of Boethius’ De consolatione, the first two books of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, and perhaps Virgil’s Bucolica and Terence’s Andria. Notker’s approach to Boethius’ and Martianus’ texts is often different from that in the dialectic texts because of the subject matter and level of difficulty.216 The basic format, however, is the same as in Nk and Ni: a section of Latin is followed by an OHG translation. Often the translation comes only at the end of a period, or complete thought, and not after each sentence or phrase as is common in the dialectic texts. Whether Notker chose to insert the OHG translation/commentary after the entire sententia or after each comma or colon depended, I believe, upon how he wanted to analyze the passage. As any good teacher knows, variety spells effectiveness in the classroom. By interspersing a passage with OHG explanation after each smaller grouping of sentence constituents, the basic meaning was made crystal clear; by inserting the OHG after each of the Latin rhetorical units, the buildup of the argument and its rhetorical structure was stressed; finally, by leaving the sententia intact and switching to OHG only after the Latin had been presented in its entirety, the overall rhetorical structure and force was brought to the foreground. Because of the difficult style and syntax, Notker usually transposed and simplified the Latin word order, thus furnishing his pupils with a text that had a more transparent and straightforward syntax than did the original. The scattered constituents of phrases are united, often the subject and verb are moved to the beginning of the clause and are followed by any objects or adverbials; relative pronouns stand at the head of the relative clause, adjectives are placed before the nouns they modify and genitive modifiers follow their nouns; understood subjects, verbs and/or objects are occasionally supplied. When studied in conjunction with the original Latin, this parsed text could be used as a bridge to understanding the original Latin and to help students gain insight into the intricacies of Latin style. As in the intermediate progymnasmata exercises, all verse sections are rephrased in prose in German. Notker next added additional classroom commentary: he provided suggest that the copy was made at a location somewhere between the Alemannic and Bavarian dialect areas (NkS p. ci). 216 Karl Lachmann, in fact, argued that Notker did not translate the logical texts, since the method of textual analysis used in them is so different from that found in Nb and Nc. See Ernst Hellgardt, ¨ “Notker Teutonicus: Uberlegungen zum Stand der Forschung,” PBB 108.2 (1986), pp. 193–194.
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synonyms, supplied implied subjects or objects, expounded rhetorical figures and etymologies and interpreted mythological figures. This information is either his own or culled from medieval commentaries to the texts with which he was working. The resulting school version integrates well established commentary codes in an easy-to-use format. Sometimes the translation that follows is more of a free paraphrase than a rigid, word for word rendering; in other cases it carefully mirrors the structure of the simplified Latin text, thus facilitating a quick comparison between the two languages. The German text is often augmented with additional commentary – in German or in a mixture of German and Latin. The following example illustrates his method by comparing a passage from Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii with Notker’s version. The original text reads: anxia cum trepidis nutat sententia rebus, fluctuat incertis aut sors ignota futuris, consultet mortale genus (quodque indiga veri cura facit dubium vel spes incerta fatigat); [When its power of choice wavers at difficult decisions or unknown chance fluctuates in the face of uncertain future events, let the mortal race, which anxiety lacking in true knowledge makes doubtful and uncertain hope exhausts, ask for advice.]217
Notker rephrases the text as follows: Cum anxia sententia nutat in trepidis rebus . aut cum ignota sors fluctuat in incertis futuris . consultet mortale genus . quodque indiga cura ueri facit dubium . uel incerta spes fatigat. M´enniscon ch´unne chˆıt apollo daz tero uuˆarheite zuˆıfel getˆuot s´orgen . u´ nde d´az u´ nguissiu ged´ıngi m´uhet . t´az frˆagee u´ ns´ıh c´ota . d´annan sˆın mˆuot uu´anchˆoe . a´lde sˆın lˆoz ze u´ nchundi zˆıhe . in gnˆoten d´ıngen u´ nde u´ ngu´ıssen. [. . .“The mortal race,” says Apollo, “which doubt of the truth makes worry, and unknown things make tired, let it ask us gods, then when its power of choice fluctuates, or its fate pushes it to ignorance of pestering and unknown things.”]218
The Latin text begins with two clauses that place the scene within a temporal framework (“when . . . and when . . . then”). In each clause, Notker rearranges the word order so that the subject immediately follows the introductory conjunction cum: for example, “cum anxia sententia” and “aut [cum] ignota sors” (in the second clause he repeats the conjunction cum understood in the original Latin). In each case Notker places the finite verb after the subject and follows it with an adverbial 217 Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, ed. James Willis (Leipzig: Teubner, 1983), p. 10, 7–10. Willis emends the manuscript readings quodque to quippe; the conjectured reading is quosque . . . dubios; trans. Danuta Shanzer, A Philosophical and Literary Commentary on Martianus Capella’s De Nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii Book 1 (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1986), p. 208. 218 Nc 31, 5–11.
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of place.219 The finite verb consultet follows the two temporal clauses and takes second position in the passage with the subject mortale genus in third position. The next two segments modify the subject and comprise a relative clause introduced by quod; the original word order within the clauses is left intact, except that the genitive modifier veri is placed after the noun cura which it modifies and the adjective incerta is placed before its head spes. The OHG translation that follows is much more direct and concrete: the adverbials are transformed into relative clauses that modify the subject m´enniscon ch´unne, which is placed at the very beginning of the passage. The pragmatics of the passage are made explicit and more personal by naming the speaker of the direct quote, Apollo, and by his own reference to the source of advice, himself and the gods (´uns´ıh c´ota).220 Martianus’ text has been referred to as “the dullest and poorest stuff imaginable” and its language labelled a “tortuous and neologistic bombast.”221 Parts of it constitute some of the most difficult writing in the entire range of Latin literature. Needless to say, the text was not an easy read for students. De nuptiis, however, was one of the most popular classroom texts in the ninth, tenth and eleventh centuries, particularly because it provided a comprehensive treatment of all of the seven liberal arts and recapitulated the fundamentals of the Roman curriculum in one handy, albeit formidable work.222 Notker’s translation/commentary, although it makes the work more accessible, was probably used at the intermediate advanced level and it would have been read by pupils who already had a fairly good basis in Latin grammar and rhetoric. But, if the students were advanced, would they not already have understood Latin, thus making an OHG translation superfluous? Martianus’ text is difficult not only because of its florid style and disrupted syntax, but also because of its unusual vocabulary and numerous hapax legomena. That students had great difficulty in understanding the words is indicated by the abundance of lexical glosses and commentaries to the text dating from the ninth and tenth centuries. Often several alternatives are suggested, with no preference being given to any one synonym. Notker’s OHG translation, by providing vernacular equivalents 219 I analyze the two prepositional phrases in trepidis rebus and in incertis futuris as a circumstance of place, “in what,” but they could also be read as circumstances of cause, i.e., “why?” See my discussion of adverbial circumstances below, chapter four. 220 On the directness of Notker’s translation see Werner Schr¨oder, “Zum Verh¨altnis von Lateinisch und Deutsch um das Jahr 1000,” in Helmut Beumann and Werner Schr¨oder (eds.), Aspekte der Nationenbildung im Mittelalter (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1978), pp. 434–435, and Stefan Sonderegger, “Notkers des Deutschen Satzf¨ugung,” pp. 107–108. 221 H. J. Rose, A Handbook of Latin Literature (New York: E. P. Dutton and Co., 1936), p. 458, and William Harris Stahl et al., Martianus Capella and the Seven Liberal Arts, vol. 1 (New York/London: Columbia University Press, 1971), p. 23. C. S. Lewis has the following to say about the author: “For this universe, which has produced the bee-orchid and the giraffe, has produced nothing stranger than Martianus Capella” (The Allegory of Love [London: Oxford University Press, 1948], p. 78). 222 Stahl, Martianus Capella, 1, p. 63.
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(most of which Notker himself created) for obscure Latin words helped the students get through the semantic cruces they may have encountered while reading. Not only were the words foreign, but the first two books especially were difficult for a monastic audience because of their allegory based on classical mythology, which must have been alien to many pupils.223 Notker’s OHG translation served as a key to the classical, pagan background and helped to expound the mythological images. The information is culled from the available Latin commentaries as well as Notker’s own. In the following excerpt from his translation of Boethius’ De consolatione philosophiae, Notker follows the same general method of reworking and commenting on the original as in the example from De nuptiis above. In this passage Notker also provides verbal cues which suggest to the lector how to perform it out loud.224 The section consists of an adeptly constructed period, which is introduced by several conditional clauses. These are commata and the end of each must be read with a suspensio vocis until one reaches the last colon which marks the end of the period and provides the core of the statement, the “who did what.” Here a depositio vocis is performed: Si confundat copia pleno cornu tantas opes . quantas pontus incitus flatibus uersat harenas. Uu´az ´ıst t´es mˆer? Sc´utti copia ministra fortunæ dien m´enniskˆon uˆ zer ´ıro h´orne s´amo u´ılo rˆates . sˆo m´ere tu´ıret crˆızes . f´one uu´ınde eruu´egetˆer. Hˆıer ´ıst suspensio uocis. Fabulæ s´agent . t´az achelous amnis t´ıu ingrecia r´ınnet . zef´arre uu´orten´ıu . m´ıt hercule f´uhte . u´ nde hercules temo f´arre daz h´orn a´ba slˆuoge . u´ nde e´r iz kˆabe gn´uhte . d´ıu ministra ´ıst fortunæ . d´az si ´ıro ur´ouuˆun gˆuot m´ıt t´emo uˆ zkˆabe. Aut quot sydera fulgent cælo . edita stelliferis noctibus. ´ s´amo m´anige st´ernen inh´ımele skˆınent . t´ero n´aht . sˆo iz kest´ırnet ´ıst. Sˆo ˆıst o´ uh hˆıer. Alde ´ o´ uh hˆıer. Nec retrahat manum. N´oh h´ant ze´ıro nez´uge . d´az chˆıt . n´oh sˆıa is irdr´uze. Unde Haud ideo cesset humanum genus . flere miseras querelas. T´urh t´az netˆate nˆıomer m´ennisko l´aba sˆınero a´rmelichˆun chl´ago. Hˆıer ´ıst depositio. [If plenty were to distribute as many gifts from her well stocked horn as there are grains of sand churned up by the sea when strong winds blow. What else more is there from that? If plenty, the helper of fortune, were to shake out to men from her horn as much advice as the sea has sand, tossed about by the wind. Here there is a suspensio vocis . . . Or as many stars that shine in heaven. on starlit nights Or as many stars shine in heaven. on that night. when it is starry. So there is also one here And didn’t draw back a hand And did not draw a hand to her. i.e., and it did not vex her. And here too. The human race would still not stop its querulous complaints. Because of that mankind would still not make milder its horrible complaints. Here there is a depositio.]225 223 See Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, and Walther von Speyer, Libellus Scholasticus, ed. Vossen, p. 74. 224 The history and function of these cues will be further discussed below, chapters 4 and 5. 225 Nb II, 53, 2–18.
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That the cues occur after the OHG translation and are in fact introduced with OHG (e.g., “hˆıer ´ıst . . .”) is significant and provides an important clue to Notker’s teaching method and the function and place of the vernacular in the classroom linguistic hierarchy. It is clear that the OHG translation was not just a mere lexical gloss to be referred to in extremely difficult passages, but that it played an integral part of the lectio process, which was usually reserved for Latin. In this case the OHG is placed on an equal level with the Latin and becomes the object of the rhetorical commentary usually reserved for the Latin. Because the rhetorical structure of the OHG translation mirrors the Latin, it provided an ideal vehicle for demonstrating oral performance without having to struggle with the grammar and lexicon of a foreign language.
t h e re a d e rs of n ot ker’s t exts When compiling his classroom translation/commentaries, Notker could simply have adopted traditional glossing techniques. He could have furnished interlinear Latin and vernacular equivalents for difficult words, provided grammatical glosses to make the morphology and syntax clear, and even applied some sort of syntactic glossing to help readers rearrange the Latin word order. Such a bilingual commentary would have functioned as an overlay that could have been superimposed on to the primary text and further explained by the teacher in the classroom. In Notker’s method, however, the primary text is deconstructed and replaced by a new interlingual text that restates the traditional grammatical commentary and transcribes and incorporates the exegetical discourse of the teacher, which before had transpired orally. On the one hand, a new textual organism is created that can displace the original and be used independently or complement it and be used alongside it.226 On the other hand, spoken classroom commentary is fixed and transformed into written discourse. The genesis of Notker’s texts as oral, classroom commentary has been proposed by Sonderegger, who proposes the following scenario: (1) Notker asked a pupil to read aloud the original Latin, be it of Boethius, Martianus or another classroom author, from a St. Gall manuscript, or he read it aloud himself; (2) Notker then simplified the Latin, perhaps referring to notes he had made; (3) Notker, or perhaps a pupil, read the corresponding Latin commentary, which was provided in manuscripts borrowed from the abbey library or located in the school; (4) Notker augmented the traditional commentary with his own personal explanations; (5) Notker rephrased the Latin in OHG. As a final step, Sonderegger suggests that a 226 Rita Copeland, Rhetoric, pp. 99–102.
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copy of the interlingual Latin/OHG text was made outside the classroom based on Notker’s notes, or perhaps a pupil’s copy of them.227 In Sonderegger’s model, Notker’s texts are the direct product of classroom teaching and they are relegated to the status of personal classroom notes that were later recorded and then augmented and corrected by Notker. Such a scenario is possible, as was seen above in the examples of Smaragdus’ pupils who inscribed their notes onto parchment so that their teachers’ wisdom could be preserved.228 It assumes, however, that Notker did not originally intend his “classroom commentary” to be recorded and that this took place at a later time, perhaps after its effectiveness had been established in the classroom, but even then only somewhat loosely based on notes. Above I mentioned two of Notker’s dialectic treatises that are in many ways very “un-Notkerian” in their presentation of the material. In their preserved form, both “De definitione” and “De syllogismis” reflect an unusual mixture of Latin and OHG when compared to Notker’s translation/commentaries. The texts are not as polished as Notker’s major works and, as Tax argues, contain “oral” aspects reminiscent of a lecture, perhaps the best examples we have of what actually transpired in the classroom. These texts may not have been written down and edited by Notker, but transcribed by a pupil and later copied and disseminated. The modern parallel Tax draws in comparing these treatises to Notker’s other works is a copy of a student’s lecture notes taken over the period of a semester and a book published by the professor based on the lectures that s/he had given.229 A significant point that these two dialectic texts may demonstrate is that the OHG was indeed copied down, and did not belong only to the oral sphere of the teacher’s lecture. It is likely that in an earlier copy, both texts had the characteristic traits of Notker’s language, including accentuation and the “Anlautgesetz,” as well as punctuation and grapic markers intended to guide oral performance. A third text which may fall into this group is Notker’s “De arte rhetorica.” It is composed largely in Latin with only sporadic OHG terms, a few translated passages and example sentences. Tax suggests that the treatise may have originally been composed by Notker as a Latin treatise and that the OHG may have been added by a student at a later date after referring back to his classroom notes. In this case, the pupil in question could have been Ekkehard IV.230 On the whole, Notker’s shorter treatises, whether they be in Latin, OHG, or a combination of the two, are very different from his translation/commentaries. 227 Stefan Sonderegger, “Gesprochene Sprache,” pp. 76–80. 228 See above, p. 70 and Contreni, “The Carolingian School,” pp. 90–91. 229 Tax, “Kritisches,” p. 166. 230 Ibid., pp. 161–163 and the arguments made for Ekkehard’s hand in the additions, pp. 166–167. In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, Notker refers to the fact that he wrote his rhetoric in Latin (“latine conscripsi”) (NkS 349, 19). The fact that the text contains OHG is thus puzzling. See also Hellgardt, “Notkers des Deutschen Brief,” p. 191.
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Although the material found in them borrows from tradition and from other authors, sometimes verbatim, they were nonetheless compiled by Notker for teaching purposes. The extant copies may be based on students’ notes, or on Notker’s written notes. Notker’s translation/commentaries, on the other hand, are clearly more polished and give the impression of written texts. As Schr¨oder and Glauch convincingly argue, they cannot simply be recorded classroom notes. Pupils may have copied parts of Notker’s translation/commentaries, be it on wax tablets or parchment, but they did so either based on a written text or, more likely, based on dictations made from written texts. In order to prepare his translation/commentaries, Notker referred to numerous secondary works and when in his letter to Bishop Hugo he refers to applying his method to the first two books of Boethius’ Consolatio, he is clearly referring to a written text.231 In the medieval St. Gall schools, instruction was carried out not only by magister Notker, but perhaps also by other teachers, assistants and by student tutors. Had Notker been the only teacher at St. Gall, he may simply have made notes for himself, or perhaps he would have memorized his commentary and been able to produce it extemporaneously in the classroom (although this seems unlikely given the difficulty of the material and the number of sources with which he worked). By recording his method he made it available to other teachers at St. Gall and elsewhere. Notker was clearly willing to share his method and to do so in writing. He also made it possible for teaching assistants and tutors to work through and practise material with students. In Ælfric Bata’s colloquy, we read that teaching assistants had enough trouble enforcing discipline and getting their pupils to study. Many were still students themselves and grappling with the subject matter that they had only recently learned. Notker provided them with ready-made lesson plans, which ensured that the necessary curriculum would be covered. In effect, we could speak of a “Notker school” of text analysis. By fixing his method on parchment, Notker was able to supervise more effectively, to coordinate instruction in the schools and to regulate the quality of both the subject matter and performance. Recent studies have stressed that in order for Notker’s method to have been most effective, his translation/commentaries must have been read alongside of the original Latin.232 In her study of Nb, Hehle points out that although Notker’s OHG translation could be isolated from the commentary and still create a coherent and intelligible text, it would not render the entire original Consolatio text. It is not the OHG translation alone that renders Boethius’ text, but the combination of simplified Latin, OHG translation and Latin and OHG commentary.233 231 Werner Schr¨oder, “Zum Verh¨altnis,” pp. 433–434, and Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, pp. 60–62. See also Ostberg, “Notker III. als Lehrer,” p. 23. ¨ 232 Henkel, Deutsche Ubersetzungen, pp. 85–86 and Braungart, “Notker der Deutsche,” p. 14. 233 Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 124–127.
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Sometimes the OHG translation renders more closely the original Latin than the simplified Latin.234 In other cases, the OHG translation reflects a combination of the simplified Latin and added commentary. Glauch has demonstrated for Nc as well that Notker’s OHG translation does not always match up with his simplified/commented Latin. In some cases it appears that Notker’s translation is based on Remigius’ commentary whereas the simplified Latin cum commentary is based on an exemplar of the original De nuptiis text.235 In other words, Notker stuck more closely to the original Latin when creating the Latin portions of his Nc, but worked more freely when it came to the OHG translation. The translation was, after all, a type of commentary and Notker never meant it to take the place of the Latin. In sum, in order for Notker’s Nb and Nc texts to be most effective, the reader needed all three textual levels: the original Latin, the simplified and commented Latin, and the OHG translation and commentary. How did students access Notker’s texts? Some pupils may have studied independently or in small groups and used Notker’s manuscripts along with copies of the original Latin. Having the basic commentary in one additional codex would no doubt have been much more practical than having to revert to several manuscripts. The method in which Notker integrated the commentary would also have been much more user-friendly than some of the other traditional modes, be it interlinear or marginal glossing, or running commentary that provided only a few lemmata of the original for reference. Students may have taken notes on wax tablets or parchment from the manuscripts with which they were working. In a larger, classroom group setting, however, it is unlikely that there were enough copies of the requisite texts to go around, and that each pupil had a copy. Classroom books were rare and pupils relied instead on memorization or notes taken from dictation. What was dictated? Was it Notker’s translation/commentary with its simplified original Latin text? But, was it not the original Latin that was the goal of instruction? Would it not have been important for students to memorize Boethius and Martianus Capella, not in Notker’s form, but in the original? Can the same be said for texts like Nk and Ni, where Boethius’ original Latin is tampered with less? I would like to propose several possible scenarios for how Notker’s texts were actually put to use when taught to a group of students. Each depends upon the level of students and the type of text being taught. The first scenario involves more advanced students and texts such as Nb and Nc. We could imagine that the instructor – a teacher, assistant or tutor – read a passage of the original Latin text or he asked a student to read it, in order 234 Ostberg points out that in Nb Notker occasionally refers to sections of the original in his translation that are not found in his classroom Latin version, thus suggesting that the original would had to have been used alongside of Notker’s version in order for the translation to make sense (“Notker III. als Lehrer,” p. 23). 235 Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, pp. 145–146.
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to practise Latin pronunciation. The dictated passage was copied by pupils onto their wax tablets or parchment. The instructor, using a written form of Notker’s commentary, would next explain the passage. The OHG translation was read to ensure that the students understood the meaning. Grammar was drilled by working through the rearranged Latin text: the subject, verb and objects were pointed out and additional adverbial phrases isolated. In some cases the instructor may have expanded on the commentary by providing additional lexical glosses, which served to teach new vocabulary or to review words that the students may already have learned. Students would then be asked to practise and memorize the day’s pensum – the original Latin – as recorded on their wax tablets. They would return to class the next day, prepared to recite the passage and with clean wax tablets ready to work through another lesson. If used in a classroom setting, the Nb and Nc texts were probably worked through in this manner with reference to the original Latin. Notker’s rearranged and commented Latin served as an ideal key for investigating and reviewing advanced points of Latin grammar and rhetoric including elocutio and compositio. If the translation closely rendered the structure of the original Latin, it could be used to quickly reference rhetorical devices and constructions, which could then be further analyzed drawing upon Notker’s additional commentary. The translation, of course, also served to make clear the meaning of Boethius’ and Martianus’ texts and, in combination with the additional commentary, as a conduit for discussing other disciplines, such as rhetoric, dialectic, the quadrivium and theology. At less advanced levels of instruction with texts such as Nk and Ni, we can imagine a different scenario. In these cases, it was not necessarily the original Latin that was the basis of analysis, but the simplified Latin as found in Nokter’s versions that was dictated and copied by students onto their wax tablets. Once the meaning and structure had been made crystal clear, the teacher could then compare the analyzed classroom version to the original Latin and read it to his students. This last step could be omitted if the students were not yet ready for it or if the two versions did not diverge much. In some cases the OHG translation and commentary could also have been copied and served as a basis for analysis. When applied as primary text, as could have been the case with Nk and Ni, Notker’s translation/commentaries served as a conduit for meaning and as source for linguistic analysis. The OHG translation provided students with a paraphrase of the original with additional explanatory material. Simplification of the Latin word order was not always necessary in these texts, but the vocabulary and concepts needed to be clarified. Notker’s commented Latin text functioned as a graded reader and could be used to drill and review Latin vocabulary and grammar as well as the logical use of language to create statements and arguments. In combination, the two textual levels became the focus of grammatical lectio. Comparison with the original in a separate manuscript was not necessary, since 105
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it could easily be reconstructed from Notker’s version. The OHG/Latin dialectic treatises compiled by Notker could have been employed in the same manner; here comparison with an “original” was not necessary. In sum, depending upon the audience and text, Notker’s version of a given work could have been used alone as the primary text or it could have been utilized as a parallel commentary alongside the original Latin, which was supplied in a separate manuscript. Both methods would have been effective, but were used to different ends and at different levels of instruction. A final possibility to consider is that Notker’s texts were also used outside the classroom setting or school for independent study and private reading.236 In many ways his translation/commentaries are like graded readers used in elementary and intermediate classrooms today and could easily have been applied to private study. According to the stipulations of the Rule of St. Benedict, private reading was an important part of every monk’s daily routine.237 In the Rule, it is stated that during Lent each monk is to receive a codex of the Bible from the bibliotheca and read it in its entirety.238 In the Carolingian period this stipulation was interpreted to mean that each monk was responsible for reading one book – any book – each year.239 In his commentary to the Rule, Hildemar explains that the abbot or prior questions each monk on the contents of the book he has read and, if he passes the test, he can choose a new book, after he has justified its suitability. If the abbot believes the book to be unsuitable, he chooses a different book for him: Ille bibliothecarius, qui est monasterii, defert omnes libros cum adjutorio fratrum in capitulum. Deinde sternuntur tapetia et super tapetia ponuntur libri. Capitulo finito tunc legit bibliothecarius in breve, qui frater habet librum usque ad illam horam. Tunc ille frater ponit librum, quem habuit, in tapeti; et tunc ille prior, aut cui ille jusserit, accipit librum et interrogat illum fratrem de illo libro sapienter causa probationis, ut cognoscat, utrum legerit studiose librum. Si vero ille frater responderit de illo libro, tunc interrogat illum, qui liber illi utilis est, et tunc, quem postulaverit, dabit illi. Si autem cognoverit abbas, illi non esse aptum, tunc dicet illi: Non est iste liber tibi aptus, sed talis aptus est tibi; et non dabit illi, quem quaesivit, sed quem cognovit illi esse aptum. [That librarian, that is the one of the monastery, brings all the books into the chapter with the help of the brothers. Then they lay out cloths and place the books on them. Once the chapter has been arranged, the librarian then briefly reads out which brother has had a ¨ 236 Green, Medieval Listening, p. 185 and Henkel, Deutsche Ubersetzungen, pp. 75–76. On the use of glossed manuscripts for private reading, see Michael Lapidge, “The Study.” 237 Monks were asked to read ca. 20 hours a week: 3 hours every morning in the winter, 2 hours each afternoon in the summer, and nearly all day Sunday throughout the year (Benedicti Regula, xlviii, ed. Hanslik, pp. 114–119; Rich´e, Education and Culture, p. 117). 238 “In quibus diebus quadragesimae accipiant omnes singulos codices de bibliotheca, quos per ordinem ex integro legant” (Benedicti Regula, xlviii, 15, ed. R. Hanslik, p. 117). See also Rich´e, Education and Culture, p. 117. 239 Lapidge, “The Study,” p. 126.
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certain book up until that time. The brother then places the book on the cloth and then the prior, or the one to whom he has entrusted this, takes the book and carefully asks the brother about the book as a test to see whether he has the book in depth. And if the brother answers correctly, he then asks him what book would suit him and he shall give him the book he asks for. But if the abbot knows that the book is unsuitable for him, then he shall say this to him, “This book is not suitable for you, but that one is,” and he shall give him not the book he asked for, but the one he thinks is suitable for him.]240
If the monk, however, does not pass the comprehension exam, then the abbot does not give him a new book, but asks him to reread the old one. If the abbot realizes that no amount of repetition will help, he mercifully gives the monk a new book, better suited to his level.241 A few pages earlier, Hildemar notes that sometimes the monk handing out the books, perhaps the librarian, also does the examining.242 Notker also appears to have served in some capacity in the scriptorium at St. Gall. Here he may have overseen the correction of manuscripts and in this role he may also have distributed books and controlled who read what and what they understood. Even if he was only a bystander, he must have been aware of the fact that the level of comprehension on the part of some of his brethren was not always what it should have been. Some of his translation/commentaries could have solved these problems by providing private readers with ready-made texts. It may be far-fetched to assume that large numbers of St. Gall monks had the time, interest or wherewithal to read and study sacred much less profane texts, an activity that was reserved for the scholastici. For example, there is no direct evidence for the independent study of profane texts by novices at St. Gall and it is unlikely that many novices could have developed into burgeoning scholars while at the same time covering the basic liturgical training they needed in order to take their vows and participate in religious services. As I will discuss in chapter three, not all St. Gall monks were proficient in Latin and many had only a rudimentary knowledge of the language, barely enough to get them by. It is possible that Notker’s Psalter translation served in the training of novices, and his now lost translation/commentary of the book of Job could also have been read by some monks. Notker may also have composed 240 Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ed. Mitterm¨uller, p. 487. 241 “Si autem talis fuerit frater, qui non potuerit rationem de libro ponere secundum interrogationem, tunc si videt ille abbas, quia negligenter legit librum illum, non dabit alium illi, sed ipsum ei reddit, et tamdiu illum habebit postea, donec studiose legerit, et dicit illi: Quia non legisti bene, debuisti antea significare, ut tibi dedissemus tempus interrogandi. Si autem cognoverit abbas illum fratrem studiosum in lectione et tamen non potuit intelligere, dat illi alium librum” (ibid., p. 487). Cf. Sister M. Alfred Schroll, Benedictine Monasticism as Reflected in the Warnfried-Hildemar Commentaries on the Rule, 1940 (repr. New York: AMS Press, 1967), pp. 120–121. 242 “Isto enim modo debet fiere, i.e., debet ille, qui librum recipit et dat, interrogare fratrem de illo libro. Deinde si potest inde aliquid rationem mittere, tunc recipiat, si autem non potest, tunc non debent recipi libri, sed iterum habeant illos” (Hildemar, Expositio regulae, ed. Mitterm¨uller, p. 481).
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a treatise on the Trinity (perhaps based on one or several of Boethius’ opuscula sacra), which could have served as reading material in the abbey.243 The Psalter was relatively popular, certainly more so than his other translation/commentaries, both at St. Gall and elsewhere.244 Ekkehard reports that Empress Gisela requested a copy of Notker’s Psalter. In the so-called “Wiener-Notker,” in fact, the Latin portions of the text – often those that provided artes commentary – were removed, resulting in a pure vernacular text that stressed theology. The text was abridged sometime in the eleventh century, perhaps at the monastery of Wesobrunn and is today found ¨ in Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 2681.245 Whether they were used for classroom instruction, for tutoring, or in rare cases for independent study and self-edification, Notker’s translation/commentaries provided an ideal means for gaining access to difficult Latin texts by expanding the commentary codes of textual culture and by integrating the vernacular. Notker, however, may have been an optimist when he embarked upon his venture. His method seems not to have been long-lived at St. Gall, and few of his texts ever made it outside the abbey. The majority of those that did were his shorter treatises, many of which were written in Latin. The only copies we have of his translation/commentaries other than the Psalter are from St. Gall and these were made in the first half of the eleventh century. Perhaps the method of presentation used in them was simply too revolutionary for the time. Although they seem practical, they may not have been all that feasible. Parchment was expensive and copying a text took time. Given the choice between acquiring a copy of Boethius’ original or Notker’s classroom version, it is likely that most would have picked the former option. Although certainly reader-friendly with respect to the integration of commentary, Notker’s texts would have had to vie with other classroom manuscripts in which the commentary appeared above or in the margins of the original text, but at least the original was still available. Linguistic factors also need to be considered. Perhaps the form of Notker’s native Alemannic dialect used in the translations was too difficult to penetrate elsewhere in the Old High German region. The translations certainly would not have been very useful in the Romance-speaking areas to the west of St. Gall. Here his Latin treatises were far more practical and were in fact disseminated and used. Changes in the structure and clientele of the 243 Because the text has not survived, it is difficult to speculate about its contents. Given the fact that Boethius’ text stressed logical argumentation, the text may have also been more suited for classroom instruction in dialectic. Cf. Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 33. ¨ 244 See above, p. 93 and fn. 205 and Henkel, Deutsche Ubersetzungen, pp. 75–76. 245 Haubrichs, Die Anf¨ange, pp. 210–211. Another redaction, the so-called “M¨unchner Psalter” was made as late as the fourteenth century. See also Hellgardt, “Lateinisch–deutsche Textensembles,” and idem, “Die ‘Wiener Notker’-Handschrift.”
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St. Gall school in the eleventh century, associated with stricter enforcement of the Lotharingian reforms, the rise of cathedral schools and a decline in the prestige of the Abbey, certainly did not help to support Notker’s program at home or to promote it elsewhere. Nonetheless, the original concept – however “ideal” – was a good one, and attests to the remarkable level of learning and pedagogy at medieval St. Gall.
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3 Language use and choice
Teutonus affini sordet, studet ergo Latinis Extolli soceris seu, quod mage nobile, Grecis.1
An important premise for my study of lectio in Notker’s St. Gall is that classroom instruction took place in Latin and German, and that texts were read and listened to in both languages. The vernacular was used more than just to gloss the meaning or grammar of individual Latin words. It could be applied to create a continuous written text that served as a complementary vehicle for learning alongside the Latin and facilitated access to it. In positing an enhanced role for the vernacular in the classroom, I do not mean to minimize the importance of learning Latin and of being able to read and understand Latin texts, nor am I suggesting that the vernacular was the main language of instruction. Both languages were used for different purposes at different levels of learning. Although this premise seems reasonable enough, it is nonetheless dangerous to project modern views and pedagogic experience indiscriminately onto a period and culture so far removed from our own. In chapters four through seven of my study, I demonstrate how Notker’s bilingual teaching texts are carefully structured to practise classroom lectio in utraque lingua. Before doing so, it is important to review medieval attitudes toward Latin and the vernacular and the relationship between the two in society and in the classroom. I shall show that the linguistic climate in St. Gall at the turn of the second millennium was not only ready for a translation venture like Notker’s, but that it welcomed it. I begin by applying the sociolinguistic framework of diglossia in order to review attitudes toward Latin and the vernacular in the German-speaking regions of Carolingian and Ottonian Europe and specifically at St. Gall. What function and status did each language have? In what ways did the two language domains intersect? The second part of this chapter is devoted to the languages of instruction in early medieval 1 “A German affinity appears coarse, therefore he seeks to be raised on high by Latin fosterparents, or, that which is more noble, by Greek ones” (Ekkehard IV, Liber Benedictionum, ed. Egli, p. 175; trans. Mia M¨unster-Swendsen, “Masters and Paragons,” p. 240).
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schools and aims to dispel some misconceptions regarding a restricted use of the vernacular. In a final section, I discuss Notker’s use of mixed Latin/German prose as a type of code-switching. d i g lossia Early medieval monastic culture was in many respects a Latin culture. Latin unlocked knowledge preserved in texts and provided access to the Church canon. It was the language of the Scriptures, of the Church Fathers, of the liturgy, of prayers and meditation. Moreover, monasteries were an integral part of a political network whose institutional language was Latin. Refinement of written Latin was one of the greatest accomplishments of the Carolingian renovatio; the lingua latina became an even stronger lingua franca that served to facilitate communication in Charlemagne’s vast empire, which stretched over much of western Europe and included numerous speech communities, each with its own vernacular. The way in which these languages coexisted and functioned within society becomes more clear when set within the sociolinguistic framework of diglossia. Originally the sociolinguist Ferguson applied the term “diglossia” to refer to the relationships between two or more varieties of the same language when used in different functions in a given speech community.2 The superimposed, formal variety is called “High” or H and the informal variety “Low” or L. Ferguson’s model has since been revised by Fishman and others and applied to inter-lingual situations, in which the varieties at play are not genetically related, as well as to intra-lingual situations, in which the varieties are genetically very close.3 This expanded type of “broad” or “extended” diglossia is defined by Fasold as the reservation of highly valued segments of a community’s linguistic repertoire (which are not the first to be learned, but are learned later and more consciously, usually through formal education), for situations perceived as more formal and guarded; and the reservation of less highly valued segments (which are learned first with little or no conscious effort), of any degree of linguistic relatedness to the higher valued segments, from stylistic differences to separate languages, for situations perceived as more informal and intimate.4
Whereas Ferguson’s original definition, now termed “classic diglossia,” could easily be applied to the linguistic situation in the western Carolingian realm, where the emerging Romance varieties were closely related to the H variety Latin, the revised 2 C. A. Ferguson, “Diglossia,” Word 15 (1959), pp. 325–340, esp. p. 336. 3 Joshua A. Fishman, “Bilingualism and Biculturalism as Individual and Societal Phenomena,” Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development 1 (1980), pp. 3–17. See also Fishman’s earlier article “Bilingualism With and Without Diglossia; Diglossia With and Without Bilingualism,” Journal of Social Issues 23 (1967), pp. 29–38. 4 Ralph Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 1984), p. 53.
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model of “extended diglossia” is also applicable to the linguistic situation in the eastern realm of the Frankish kingdoms. Here the German vernacular is equated with L and Latin with H.5 H and L are each diasystems, which can consist of several varieties. Thus in medieval Germany, the L diasystem consisted of various vernacular dialects such as Alemannic, Bavarian, East Franconian, etc.6 Another way of looking at it would be to combine both eastern and western kingdoms and to speak of two diglossic communities that share the same H, Latin.7 Ferguson explained diglossia by means of nine “use-oriented” rubrics: function, prestige, literary heritage, acquisition, standardization, stability, grammar, lexicon and phonology.8 The functional distribution of H and L determines that there are situations in which only H is used and others in which only L is used, with very little overlap. H is formal and “guarded,” L informal and “relaxed,” and using the incorrect variety is considered a social faux pas. For example, in a diglossic community a professor would never lecture in L and might be considered foolish if s/he were to do so; likewise someone who speaks H in an informal situation might be considered pompous. Whereas L is learned by children as a mother tongue, H is taught in the formal setting of schools and is required by those who want to enter formal institutions (acquisition). H is the official language of formal education, although L is often used for explaining material presented in lectures and textbooks written in H. H is usually the variety which is standardized and for which dictionaries, and descriptive and prescriptive grammars exists (standardization). In diglossic communities speakers usually perceive H to be superior, more elegant and more logical than L and they often insist that H be used in formal settings such as political speeches (prestige). Although folk literature composed in L is common, there is usually a considerable body of literature written in H, which is admired by the members of the diglossic community since it is valued as “real” literature when compared to the folk variety (cf. labels such as “high” vs. “pop” culture today). Contemporary literature is often composed in H in order to continue this tradition (literary heritage). The situation in the German-speaking areas of early medieval Europe is best described as a “user-oriented diglossia” (as opposed to a “use-oriented diglossia”), namely one in which the use of H and L is determined by user characteristics such
5 Using Fishman’s model as a reference point, Latin represents a “classical” H and German a vernacular L where the two are not related. 6 See Francis Britto, Diglossia (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1986), pp. 304–305 for the definition of a “diasystem.” 7 The diglossic situation in the western Frankish kingdoms, of course, was markedly different because of the close genetic relationship between Latin and the vernaculars. Here diglossia is thought to have set in after the Carolingian reforms (Banniard, Viva voce, p. 532). 8 Ferguson, “Diglossia,” pp. 328–336. Cf. Suzanne Romaine, Bilingualism, 2nd edn. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1997), pp. 33–38 and Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society, pp. 35–37.
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as caste, race, religion, class and social power.9 H is superposed acquisitionally and functionally only for a portion of the community, in this case “select monks,” clerics and those who were involved in public life, and serves as the “official” language. L is the language of the “conquered” or of the masses and serves as the ordinary or common language. It is used by both groups in specific “informal” situations. In a typical case of diglossia, there will be only partial bilingualism. L is learned by everyone, and H is learned only by those who are educated and have a need to use H. As a result, bilinguals make up an elite group, which in modern diglossic situations can be a very small segment of the society or a large group.10 In the eastern Frankish kingdom, Latin was known by few and associated with an elite, while German was associated with all “others.” In cases such as this, diglossia functioned to reinforce social distinctions and support a cultural hegemony. Generally the principle of diglossic dichotomy is taken to be “informal” vs. “formal.” Britto argues that these terms can be ambiguous and suggests instead the dichotomy of “authentic” vs. “non-authentic.” In the authentic domain the language one uses is the language in which one speaks spontaneously, in natural or real life situations, without assuming any “role.” It is the whole domain of language use excluding writing and public discourses and can include genres such as folk literature. The non-authentic domain is the domain of language use “in which one uses language before a passive audience, takes on a role, or uses artificial means of communication such as pen and paper or a microphone.”11 Whereas the concrete situations in which H and L are used can overlap at times, the connotative value associated with each usually remains stable. When the function of one diasystem begins to merge with that of another, “leaky diglossia” emerges, which is often the first step in the demise of diglossia.12 Increased literacy and broader communication are important factors in the demise of diglossia and played an important role in the rise of the vernaculars and the ensuing decline of Latin in the late Middle Ages.13 McKitterick has argued that in Carolingian Europe bilingualism was required on the part of anyone involved at every level of public life.14 It was simply assumed that anyone in a position of power knew Latin in addition to a mother tongue. In the Annals of Fulda we read that King Louis the German dreamed that his father Louis appeared to him and spoke to him eloquio latino.15 In his Life of Louis the 9 Britto, Diglossia, pp. 331–332. 10 Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society, p. 42. 11 Britto, Diglossia, p. 298. 12 Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society, p. 41. 13 Henry Kahane, “A Typology of the Prestige Language,” Language 62.3 (1986), pp. 495–508. See also idem and Renee Kahane, “Decline and Survival of Western Prestige Languages,” Language 55.1 (1979), pp. 183–198. 14 McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 22. 15 “. . . vidit quadam nocte in somnis genitorem suum Hludowicum imperatorem in angustiis constitutum, qui eum hoc modo latino affatus est eloquio . . .” (Annales Regni Francorum, ed. Reinhold Rau, Quellen zur karolingischen Reichsgeschichte 1 [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1961] p. 94). Cf. Meissburger, Grundlagen, pp. 211.
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Pious written sometime in the first half of the ninth century, Thegan writes that the emperor knew both Latin and Greek; although he understood Greek better than he could speak it, Latin was for him like a mother tongue.16 Emperor Otto II is said to have given confession in Latin before his death in 983.17 On the contrary, the vulgar languages were deemed unsatisfactory for the formal domain. Around 900, Regino of Pr¨um comments in his history concerning events of the year 813 that he found the information in a book written in the language of the “lower” classes (in quodam libello . . . plebeio et rusticano sermone composita). He corrected parts of this book according to the rules of classical Latin and added other things.18 It is unclear whether the text was composed in a Romance dialect or written in a simple Latin style and whether Regino translated it or rewrote it according to the rules of latinitas. In either case, the rustica lingua of the people needed to be recast in an acceptable form of written Latin before it could serve as a legitimate medium for an historical account. The vernacular, however, was not totally excluded from the Carolingian reforms. In the late eighth and ninth centuries, efforts were made to integrate the various mother tongues as a medium for worship and missionary work. Here we see a situation of overlap in the domains of the two diglossic diasystems. In modern diglossic situations, although the functions of H and L are usually strictly separate, it is not uncommon to find overlap for the purposes of education and informal explanation in L of material presented in H.19 A decree given at the Synod of Frankfurt in 794 states that God can be worshipped in all languages, not just in the three sacred languages, Latin, Greek and Hebrew.20 In 813 the Church held five regional councils at Arles, Chalon, Mainz, Rheims and Tours. The agendas at the councils were similar and geared at setting guidelines for the future establishment 16 Thegan, Die Taten Kaiser Ludwigs, c. 19, ed. Ernst Tremp, MGH SRGSch 64 (Hanover: Hahn, 1995), p. 200. Latin was indeed for Louis very nearly a mother tongue, since he had been raised in Romance-speaking southern France. Thegan’s comments here may be referring to Einhard’s Vita Karoli Magni, where we read that Charlemagne had learned Latin and was able to speak it as well as his mother tongue; he could understand Greek better than speak it (ed. Holder-Egger, MGH SRGSch 25, 1911 [repr. Hannover: Hahn, 1965], ch. 25). See Richter, “Die Sprachenpolitik,” p. 105. 17 “Factaque latialiter confessione” (Mon. Germ., ed. Pez, V, 767, 8). 18 Regino of Pr¨um, “Chronik,” ed. Reinhold Rau, Quellen zur karolingischen Reichsgeschichte 3, 1960 (Repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1966), p. 182. 19 Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society, p. 52. 20 “Ut nullus credat, quod nonnisi in tribus linguis Deus orandus sit, quia in omnia lingua Deus adoratur et homo exauditur, si iusta petierit” (ed. Werminghoff, MGH Conc. Aevi Karolini, 2.1, 1906 [repr. Hanover: Hahn, 1997], p. 171, c. 52). See also the decree made at the Council of Clovesho in 747: “Decimo docuerunt decreto, ut presbyteri omne sui gradus officium legitimo ritu per omnia discant exhibere nosse: deinde ut symbolum fidei ac dominicam orationem, sed et sacrosancta quoque verba quae in missae celebratione et officio baptismi solemniter dicuntur, interpretari atque exponere posse propria lingua qui nesciant, discant” (ed. Joannes Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum nova amplissima collectio, 1766 [repr. Leipzig: H. Welter, 1901], p. 398, c. 10). Further examples are provided by Richter, “Die Sprachenpolitik,” pp. 97–101.
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of a Christian community.21 Of the many practical questions that were raised, discussed and decided – at least at Mainz, Rheims and Tours – was the need to make preaching more intelligible.22 At the Council of Rheims it was stated that clerics should strive to preach sermons and homilies following the “proprietatem linguae” so that all would be able to understand.23 We read a similar directive from the Council of Tours, but here the wording is more detailed: homilies should be read in the vernacular, whether German or Romance, so that all could understand.24 The 45th Canon of the Council of Mainz decrees that priests should urge and help the people to learn the Credo, if necessary under threat of punishment. Those who were unable to otherwise understand should learn in their own language: Propterea dignum est, ut filios suos donent ad scolam, sive ad monasteria sive foras presbyteris, ut fidem catholicam recte discant et orationem dominicam, ut domi alios edocere valeant. Qui vero aliter non potuerit vel in sua lingua hoc discat. [Therefore it is appropriate that they give their sons to a school, whether to monasteries or to priests outside, so that they might properly learn the Catholic faith and the discourse pertaining to the Lord and so that at home they might be able to teach others. He who is unable to do otherwise should learn this in his own language.]25
The vernacular was considered an adequate medium for understanding and learning about the Word of God, but only if one was incapable of doing so in Latin. Essentially it was not equal to Latin, but a second, albeit very useful, best. It helped to instruct the people in matters of faith and to give them a voice in which to express their faith for themselves in a more familiar way.26 Scholars of Old High German have often read between the lines of these decrees and extracted from them evidence to support a revival and flourishing of German literature in the Carolingian period. This thesis was especially promoted by Georg Baesecke, who saw a direct connection between the Carolingian reforms and the recording of vernacular German literature. Baesecke argued for two revivals: one of classical learning which manifested itself in the works of authors such as 21 See Rosamond McKitterick, The Frankish Church and the Carolingian Reforms, 789–895 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1977), ch. 1 and Wright, Late Latin, pp. 118–119. 22 McKitterick, Frankish Church, p. 188. 23 “Ut episcopi sermones et omelias sanctorum patrum, prout omnes intellegere possent, secundum proprietatem linguae praedicare studeant” (ed. Werminghoff, MGH Conc. Aevi Karolini 2.1, p. 255, c.15). 24 “Et ut easdem omelias quisque aperte transferre studeat in rusticam Romanam linguam aut Thiotiscam, quo facilius cuncti possint intellegere quae dicuntur” (ibid., 2.1, p. 288, c.17). Cf. Hellgardt, “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit im Karolingerreich,” pp. 10–11. For arguments that this decree reflects linguistic problems specific to Tours, where mixed German and Romance congregations were present, see McKitterick, “Latin and Romance,” pp. 137–138. On various interpretations of the verb transferre, see Wright, Late Latin, pp. 120–121. 25 Ed. Werminghoff, MGH Conc. Aevi Karolini 2.1, pp. 271–272, c. 45. 26 McKitterick, Frankish Church, p. 197.
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Alcuin, Einhard, Hrabanus Maurus and others and one of vernacular literature – a “Durchbruch des Germanischen.” The latter begins with Charlemagne’s alleged collection of heroic poetry and requisitioning of a “Franconian grammar” and extends to the recording of the Hildebrandslied and the Merserburger Charms.27 This heyday of vernacular literature is seen to have been followed by a period of decay, in which literary Latin quickly overshadowed German. Scholars assumed that, since no literature was produced in German in this period, the vernacular must have been excluded from the domain of textual culture.28 At the end of the tenth century, suddenly as if out of thin air, Notker Labeo appears on the stage and translates numerous texts into OHG. His writings, which make up over half of the preserved OHG corpus, are seen as the sole link bridging the dark and gaping hole of the Ottonian period back to the golden Carolingian age.29 This traditional view of language use and choice judges the function and status of the vernacular as it is reflected in the production of “literature.”30 Whether written OHG literature indeed had such a promising start in the Carolingian period may simply be wishful thinking. Among the characteristics of diglossia listed above, “literary heritage” is an important domain in which the use of H and L differ. The perceived superiority of H is reinforced by the fact that a considerable body of literature exists in it. This literature is often felt to reflect essential values about the culture and – in the case of Latin – a “classical” and “theological” literature, which is recalled and cited in H on specific occasions.31 Folk literature continues to be composed in L, but in the early Middle Ages we assume that this largely took place orally. The post-Carolingian increase in the production of Latin literature to the detriment of German could be seen as a natural development that grew out of the reforms that had standardized the H domain language and promoted its expansion among the litterati. Essentially, the “grammar of legibility” had done its job well. Authors such as Hrosvit von Gandersheim and Hrabanus Maurus wrote Latin, because Latin was simply the natural choice of all litterati.32 27 Baesecke, “Die Karlische Renaissance und das deutsche Schrifttum,” DVJS 23 (1949), p. 186. Cf. Heinz Rupp, Forschung zur althochdeutschen Literatur 1945–1962 (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1965), p. 13. 28 Cf. Helmut de Boor, Die Deutsche Literatur von Karl dem Großen bis zum Beginn der h¨ofischen Dichtung 770–1170, 9th edn., ed. Herbert Kolb (Munich: Beck, 1979), 96. 29 “Notkers des Deutschen Werke schlagen als fast einzige Br¨ucke von der Karolingerzeit zur Salierzeit. Vom Standpunkt der deutschen Dichtungsgeschichte aus ist die gesamte Ottonenperiode ein großer Hohlraum” (Helmut Schneider, Geschichte der deutschen Dichtung, vol. 1 [Bonn: Athen¨aum, 1946], p. 39). 30 On the problems of defining “literature” in the OHG period, see Werner Schr¨oder, “Grenzen und M¨oglichkeiten einer althochdeutschen Literaturgeschichte,” Berichte u¨ ber die Verhandlungen der s¨achsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, philologisch-historische Klasse 105.2 (1959), pp. 3–59. 31 Cf. Fasold, The Sociolinguistics of Society, p. 36. 32 Meissburger, Grundlagen, pp. 213 and 217. Cf. Heinz Rupp: “In den Augen der geistig Schaffenden und der Schreibenden gilt bis etwa 1150 Dichtung in deutscher Sprache nicht als vollwertig; sie wird
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Geuenich and Richter have both argued against the notion that Charlemagne was primarily interested in German literacy and textual culture.33 First, German was not the only vernacular in the empire. In the decrees cited above, a specific language is rarely mentioned (we read of propria lingua, or sua lingua), and when reference is made to the vernacular, it is to both German and Romance (e.g., “rustica Romana lingua aut Thiotisca”). Second, and perhaps more importantly, the vernaculars were meant only to serve as a key to unlocking the meaning of Latin texts.34 It was not vernacular literature per se that Charlemagne and the scholars around him supported, but the use of the vernacular to gain access to basic Christian texts. Even the abundant OHG glosses dating from the period served largely as a means of understanding Latin texts. The fundamental distinction between the H diasystem, Latin, and the L diasystems of the various diglossic communities, such as German, French, etc., was retained and L functioned only for purposes of education or explanation. Because of the favored status that Latin held within government and Church, fluency in Latin was the goal that anyone involved in public or church life would aim to achieve, a goal that any linguistic “others,” such as dialectal deviations, colloquial usage and the vernacular, could easily obstruct.35 Instead of speaking of a demise of vernacular literature in the Ottonian period we might consider the situation as one in which the diglossic domains held by the H and L diasystems were strengthened, with the exception of some functional overlap. The fact that the number of Latin “literary” monuments increased in the tenth century does not necessarily mean that the vernacular stopped being used altogether in speech by the elite and ceased to be written. Textual culture encompasses many different uses of writing and is not restricted to literary works. For the eastern parts of the Frankish kingdoms, we have an abundance of vernacular glosses and religious texts that point to the fact that the vernacular was ever-present and was put to use as a language of preaching, learning and, to a lesser extent, documenting for the centuries following the Carolingian renovatio.36 In other words, H may have continued to enjoy a perceived prestige as a “literary” language, but this does not exclude the fact that L was used in other explanatory and educational functions and to these ends occasionally made its way onto parchment. Instead of seeing Notker’s achievement as a bridge that reaches out over a dark abyss, we should nicht f¨ur literaturf¨ahig gehalten . . . echte Dichtung muß lateinische Dichtung sein, da das Latein die Sprache des Klerus und des M¨onchtums, damit Sprache der ‘litterati’ und deshalb Literatursprache ist” (Deutsche religi¨ose Dichtungen des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts [Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 1958], p. 303). ¨ 33 Dieter Geuenich, “Die volkssprachige Uberlieferung der Karolingerzeit aus der Sicht des Historikers,” Deutsches Archiv 39 (1983), pp. 104–130, and Michael Richter, “Kommunikationsprobleme im lateinischen Mittelalter,” Studies in Medieval Language and Culture (Dublin: Four Courts, 1995), pp. 24–53, and idem, “Die Sprachenpolitik,” pp. 86–108. ¨ 34 Geuenich, “Die volkssprachige Uberlieferung,” pp. 120–121. 35 Irvine, Textual Culture, p. 21. 36 See, for example, the list of OHG religious texts provided by Elisabeth Feldbusch, Geschriebene Sprache (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1985), table 4.
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regard it as part of a continuity and typical of the development of the use of L to meet the educational needs of the day. Notker’s work grew out of a vernacular tradition begun in the previous centuries and built upon it by integrating it with the practices of contemporary classroom commentary. His goal was not to create a German “literature,” but to make Latin literature more accessible. In the first few centuries following the conversion of the Germanic peoples, the vernaculars were often associated with an oral pagan culture that could be seen as being in direct opposition to learned Christian culture. A second argument that worked against the vernaculars was that Latin needed to be stabilized and knowledge of it furthered. In his often-cited letter to Speratus, bishop of an unnamed English see, Alcuin expresses his concern over vernacular heroic poems being read at the episcopal dinner-table: Verba Dei legantur in sacerdotali convivio. Ibi decet lectorem audiri, non citharistam; sermones patrum, non carmina gentilium. Quid Hinieldus cum Christo? [Let God’s words be read at the episcopal dinner-table. It is right that a reader should be heard, not a harpist, patristic discourse, not pagan song. What has Hinield to do with Christ?]37
Alcuin’s point is not only that pagan songs are bad, but that they are irrelevant and inappropriate within a domain reserved for the H diasystem, Latin. Instead of listening to the vernacular, one should make better use of one’s time by listening to edifying Christian texts in the standard language of the Church.38 In his Life of Louis the Pious, Thegan notes that the emperor had learned pagan songs in his youth, but that he later rejected them and had no interest in reading, listening to nor learning them.39 Alcuin expressed almost no interest in the vernacular languages, be it his native tongue or those he adopted on the Continent.40 His pupil, Hrabanus Maurus, who was abbot of Fulda from 822–840 and in 847 became bishop of Mainz, was more willing to accept the sociolinguistic reality around him and to grant the vernacular a role. For him this was a necessity because of the practical conditions of 37 Alcuin, Epistolae, ed. Ernst D¨ummler, MGH Epist 4, p. 183. Bullough convincingly argues that Alcuin addressed his letter not to a monastic community, but an episcopal see and suggests that there is a strong case to identify the addressee Speratus with Bishop Unuuona of Leicester (Donald A. Bullough, “What has Ingeld to do with Lindisfarne?” Anglo-Saxon England 22 [1993], pp. 93–125; the translation I cite for the passage is from ibid., p. 124). Similar advice, this time for a monastic community, is given by Hildemar of Corbie in his commentary on the Rule: “nunc autem non solum debet esse lectio causa vitandi fabulas vel scandalum, verum etiam causa aedificationis” (Hildemar, Vita et regula, ed. Mitterm¨uller, p. 422). 38 Cf. Irvine, Textual Culture, p. 332. 39 “Poetica carmina gentilia, quae in iuventute didicerat, respuit nec legere nec audire nec docere voluit” (Thegan, Die Taten Kaiser Ludwigs, c. 19, ed. Ernst Tremp, p. 200). 40 Banniard, Viva voce, ch. 6.
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Christian communication. Translation was necessary so that the word of God could be understood.41 Banniard argues that in Hrabanus we can detect a new mental attitude toward the vernacular, and that he played an important role in promoting German culture in the ninth century.42 He suggests that Hrabanus reflected a great deal on the problems of raising the popular language to the level of grammatica, orthography being one example. Hrabanus was very interested in the invention of alphabets, in the sounds and letters that were exclusive to Greek (and might be applied to German), and he understood the basic distinction between grapheme and phoneme. Fulda under his abbacy became a “veritable experimental laboratory” in which the new written symbols were tried out and a scripta elaborated. He was also well aware of the difficulties of translation. The OHG translation of Tatian’s Gospel Harmony was made under his leadership. Traces of his oral teaching at Fulda in the form of glosses preserve further evidence of his own interest in pinning down the popular language. It was too soon, however, for Hrabanus to raise the popular language to the level of a literary language. We might see him rather as an initiator or mediator. As far as we know, Hrabanus composed no texts in German. His pupil Otfrid, however, put the new mental attitude of his teacher to practice. In his letter to Liutbert that prefaces the Evangelienbuch, Otfrid of Weissenburg (ca. 800–ca. 867) speaks out against the vernacular oral tradition and the “obscene songs of the laity” (“laicorum cantus obscenus”), since these are so popular yet also so dangerous and inconsistent with the Christian faith. Otfrid’s remedy to the problem is different from that of Alcuin. Instead of substituting songs in Latin for songs in German, Otfrid decided to compose a Christian Gospel harmony in the vernacular, so that those otherwise taken aback by the difficulty of a foreign language (“alienae linguae difficultatem”) might understand.43 In effect, Otfrid broke through the linguistic domain hitherto ruled by Latin and attempted to place the vernacular within it. Otfrid wrote his Evangelienbuch some fifty years after Alcuin. By this time the Carolingian reforms were in place and written Latin had to a large extent been “canonized.” The vernacular no longer posed such a threat and could safely be included in the linguistic hierarchy of the Church to spread the Word of the Gospel, not only in speech, but in writing as well. Otfrid prefaced his Evangelienbuch with two letters, one in Latin to Archbishop Liutbert of Mainz 41 “[u]t ex his unaquaeque gens et natio propriae linguae adminiculo intellectum sibi salubrem adtraheret, interpretando ac conloquendo sensum eundem canonicum propriis verbis” (De institutione clericorum libri tres, III, 8, ed. Zimpel, p. 450). 42 Michel Banniard, “Rhabanus Maurus and the Vernacular Languages,” in Roger Wright (ed.), Latin and Romance Languages, pp. 164–174. 43 Wolfgang Haubrichs, “Althochdeutsch in Fulda und Weißenburg,” in Raymund Kottje and Harald Zimmermann (eds.), Hrabanus Maurus. Lehrer, Abt und Bischof (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1982), p. 192.
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and one to Bishop Salomo of Constance in the vernacular. In his letter to Liutbert, who was his superior, Otfrid legitimizes his vernacular venture and contextualizes it within the tradition of antique literature. He argues that the vernacular too can be used for “real” poetry.44 It is unlikely that Otfrid’s composition is a sign of temporary leaky diglossia, but could be seen as a case of functional diglossic overlap for the purposes of edification. God’s message should be cast in a form and style befitting it, and for those who could not understand Latin, German could also serve as a medium. e k k e h a rd i v on l a n g uag e Ekkehard IV of St. Gall is often touted as a prime example of how a scholar proficient in Latin disdained the vernacular and preferred the prestige variety, Latin. The locus classicus used to support this view is found in chapter 41 of the Casus sancti Galli, where Ekkehard relates a confrontation between the pious Notker Balbulus and the devil in the abbey church. Notker, a man of fragile stature, summoned his courage and grabbed a blessed staff in order to defend himself against the demon, who appeared to him in the form of a dog. The devil responded to Notker’s blows by crying out barbarice: “Auwˆeh, mir wˆeh!”: Ille [scil. the demon] vero sinistro angulo appropiantem tanquam canis rabidus vestes lacerat. “Eia,” inquit ille [Notker], . . . “Præcipio tibi autem in nomine istorum sanctorum et Domini mei, ut me in eodem, quo nunc indutus es, canino corpore exspectes.” Et ille: “Faciam,” inquit, “si volo.” . . . Cum autem illum baculo sancto cedere cæpisset, voces suas anteriores altius gannitu edidit et grunnitu. Tandem vero cum ad speram sanctissimam cedendo cedentem fugiens venisset, ultra iam progredi non valens constitit, et tot iam ictus et incussiones ferre non sustinens barbarice clamans: “Auwˆe mir wˆe!” vociferavit. [He [the demon], however, tore at his [Notker’s] clothes like a rabid dog, when Notker neared the left corner. “Hey!” said Notker, . . . “I order you in the name of the Saints and my Lord, that you await me in the same body of a dog in which you now hide.” And the other said, “I will do that, if I wish.” . . . Because he [Notker] had begun to hit him [the demon] with the holy staff, the demon let his voice be heard in an even louder snarling and grunting than before. But when he, fleeing the one striking him, reached the holy sphere, he was unable to go further and came to a halt, and not being able to sustain so many wounds and blows, he cried out in the vernacular, “Ouch! Alas me!”]45
The pivotal adverb barbarice is usually read to have a combined connotation: “non-Latin, vernacular” and “barbaric.” Heinz Rupp interprets this to mean that “German is for him [scil. Ekkehard] a barbaric language, and it is no coincidence 44 Otfrid von Weissenburg, Evangelienbuch, ed. Erdmann, pp. 4–7. 45 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 41, ed. Haefele, pp. 92–94.
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that in Ekkehard’s Casus St. Galli only the devil speaks German.”46 Ekkehard’s devil expresses his pain in German, because it was a barbaric language that well suited him. When read within context, however, barbarice could simply mean “in the vernacular.” The point may not be that the devil cries out in the vernacular because this is what he speaks, or because German is barbaric, but because he is expressing sincere and sudden pain. The vernacular is used here as an emotional ´elan and serves to signal a switch in register that has a rhetorical effect of tagging the phrase as marked discourse.47 After all, the devil is also quite capable of speaking Latin in “normal” discourse (in this case the accepted discourse Latin used for writing history) and indeed does so earlier in the passage (“Faciam, si volo”). Elsewhere in the Casus when Ekkehard reports direct speech in the vernacular he often precedes it with an adverb signaling the switch to barbarice, rustice or romanisce.48 That the devil is a “barbaric” creature is already made clear through the portrayal of his snarling and grunting in the form of a dog. Although the passage was no doubt meant to be taken quite seriously, one wonders whether the devil’s words did not have a slightly comic effect.49 It would be interesting to know in what language the St. Gall monks expressed pain and whether a scribe after pricking his finger with a stylus might not have let out a German “auwˆe” as well.50 In chapters 72 and 73, Ekkehard relates an interesting encounter between Enzelin, a Rhaetian and provost of the nearby monastery of Pf¨afers, and Abbot Craloh of St. Gall. Enzelin, who was avoiding Craloh because of previous conflicts, unexpectedly ran into him one day at the court of Otto I. Craloh was equally surprised to see the Rhaetian and asked him to explain his presence at court. Ekkehard reports: “Econtra ille [scil. Enzelinus], quod risum multis moverat, Rhetianus et minus Teutonus: ‘Cotilf, erro!’ respondit, id est: Deus adjuvat, domne!” Enzelin, surprised and caught off guard, blurted out in German “Cot ilf, erro” (Lord help me, sir!). His response was the cause of laughter, because he, a Rhaetian and not a German, spoke German with a Romance accent that dropped the initial in the series “got hilf, herro” (so “incorrectly” that Ekkehard deems a Latin gloss necessary). Here comic effect is achieved not because Enzelin speaks German, but 46 Heinz Rupp, Deutsche und lateinisch Dichtung, p. 29. ¨ 47 Peter Osterwalder, Das althochdeutsche Galluslied Ratperts und seine lateinischen Ubersetzungen durch Ekkehart IV (Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1982), p. 228. On the use of code-mixing to express emotional ´elans in late medieval texts, cf. Sigfried Wenzel, Macaronic Sermons (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994), p. 118. 48 Compare the rustice exclamation of the Rhaetian bather described below and Palzo’s (Balderich of Speyer) romanisce greeting “bˆon mˆan” in Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 132, ed. Haefele, p. 254. 49 The effect would have been quite different had Ekkehard reported the devil’s exclamation in Latin followed with a note that he said the words barbarice. 50 In the Casus, a young pupil does indeed prick his finger with a stylus (which he has stolen from a fellow student), but Ekkehard does not report any direct speech with the incident (Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 58, ed. Haefele, p. 126).
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because he speaks it incorrectly. Enzelin has committed a barbarism by not following the correct rules of German pronunciation. Moreover, it may be that he was using the wrong diasystem, L, in the wrong situation. He is ridiculed because, although he has learned to speak the local L, German, he uses it in a formal situation at court. In Enzelin’s case we may also be dealing with a situation of “double overlapping diglossia,” in which German serves as L and as H for a second diglossic situation, where the L diasystem is Rhaetian. Ekkehard was keenly aware of the coexistence of different languages in his abbey and of the resulting misunderstandings that could – and probably did – arise. A prime example is an anecdote he recounts involving his namesake Ekkehard I.51 It appears that Ekkehard I was ever eager to help the poor and needy. On one occasion he instructed one of his servants secretly to bathe a supposedly lame man, who, as luck would have it, was unfortunately obese. The servant, no doubt swearing under his breath, finally got the man into the tub, whereupon the latter immediately protested at the scalding hot water: “Cald, cald est! Ei mi! Cald est, cald est!” Ekkehard IV explains to his readers, who by this point had probably already caught on, that “id teutonum lingua ‘frigidum est’ sonat,” in other words that in German this sounds like “it is cold,” and not “it is hot” as in Romance, in this case possibly a Rhaetian dialect.52 The servant, misunderstanding the man (or perhaps not?), responded by pouring more hot water into the tub. His victim jumped out of the water and was thus caught at his ruse red-handed. After the incident, Ekkehard scolded both the servant and the bather, each in his own language (“[T]eutonice et Romanice invectus est”). What does this anecdote tell us about language at St. Gall? First, that St. Gall was a multilingual community: the readers of Ekkehard’s Casus understood the joke, which means that they understood the Latin context in which it was told as well as the Romance and the German quotes. For a wider reading audience, the author supplies glosses in Latin. Ekkehard I scolded the two men each in their own mother tongue, in other words, he was able to speak both German and a form of Romance; it might even be that the servant understood the bather’s Romance, and purposely poured more hot water into the tub.53 Ekkehard I uses the correct diasystem – L1 (German) and L2 (Romance) – for the situation. The episode also tells us about Ekkehard’s own attitudes toward the three languages. In order for the anecdote to 51 Ibid., ch. 88, pp. 180–184. On Ekkehard’s use of a combination of biblical, classical and common burlesque motifs in this scene, see Werner Wunderlich, “‘. . . iocundum quiddam de eo dicemus’. Scherz und Posse in den St. Galler Klostergeschichten Ekkeharts IV,” in Angela Bader, Annemarie Eder, Irene Erfen and Ulrich M¨uller (eds.), Sprachspiel und Lachkultur (Stuttgart: Heinz, 1994), pp. 3–27. 52 See P. Iso M¨uller “Ekkehard der IV. und die R¨atoromanen,” Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des Benediktiner-Ordens und seiner Zweige 82 (1971), pp. 283–284. 53 This interpretation is suggested by Hellgardt, “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit,” p. 48.
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have a humorous effect, one has to understand that Latin, German and Romance are different languages, each with its own rules and words to express meaning. If Otfrid had told the joke, he might have tried to explain the homophony of kalt and cald as a barbarism on the part of German. For Otfrid, the German kalt would have been the stranger of the two words, since it does not correspond to the Latin caldus. Ekkehard has no need to do so; he has accepted the fact that German is simply different and a language in its own right. A further example commonly cited to underscore Ekkehard’s contempt for the vernacular is his Latin translation of Ratpert’s Alemannic Song of St. Gall. Ekkehard prefaces the C copy of his translation in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 174 with the following words: Ratpertus monachus . Notkeri quem in Sequentiis miramur condiscipulus . post sancti galli historiam quam modulauit . et alia multa quæ fecit insignia . fecit tandem et carmen barbaricum . populo in sancti Galli gratiam cantitandum. Quod postea fratrum quidam . cum rarescere qui id saperent uideret . ut tam dulcis melodia latine luderet . quam proxime potuit transferens talibus operam inpendit. [The monk Ratpert, a school colleague of that Notker whom we admire for his sequences, finally, after writing his history of St. Gall Abbey as well as many other famous things, composed a song in the vernacular, which was to be sung to the people in honor of Gallus. Later one of the brothers [scil. Ekkehard IV], when he saw that fewer and fewer people knew the song, translated it as best he could so that such a sweet melody would sound out in Latin . . .]54
Heinz Rupp suggests that Ekkehard translated the poem in order to save it for posterity, for the litterati, since “German is for him a barbaric language . . .”55 De Boor remarks that Ekkehard’s translation is a typical sign of Latin supremacy in the Salian period; in order for the poem to be bestowed with the honor it deserved, it had to be Latinized.56 Meissburger argues that the vernacular version was not yet “pergamentf¨ahig,” and that Ekkehard wanted to codify the document, which was naturally important for the history of the abbey, and to preserve it for the sphere of Latin textual culture.57 Meissberger’s interpretation, like that of de Boor, sees Ekkehard’s effort as a reflection of the “Zeitgeist,” which was ruled by 54 I cite the text as it appears in the manuscript. The prologue in the A version of the text (St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 393, p. 247) reads: “Ratpertus monachus . Notkeri quem in Sequentiis miramur condiscipulus . fecit carmen barbaricum . populo in laude[m] sancti Galli canendum. Quod nos multo impares homini. Vt tam dulcis melodia latine luderet . quam proxime potuimus . in latinum transtulimus”; the B prologue in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 168 reads: “Ratpertus . Notkeri balbuli condiscipulus . fecit carmen barbaricum de sancto gallo populo cantandum. Id ipsum nos . ne tam dulcis melodia memoriæ laberetur . vertimus in latinvm.” The text is printed in Liber Benedictionum, ed. Egli, pp. 382–389. The OHG version of the poem has not survived. 55 Rupp, Deutsche und lateinische Dichtung, p. 29. 56 De Boor, Geschichte, p. 86. 57 Meissburger, Grundlagen, p. 211 and fn. 152; see also pp. 245–246.
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Latin. Schulz, based on the reading of the C prologue cited above, argues that Ekkehard translated the song into Latin in order to preserve the melody, which was in danger of being forgotten because of the arcane language that accompanied it.58 In other words, Ekkehard was aware of the fact that Ratpert’s German would soon be incomprehensible and that the text would as a result no longer be sung and its beautiful melody forgotten. It is important to keep in mind why Ratpert, who was a litteratus and very capable of speaking and writing Latin, composed the song in OHG in the first place. Ratpert’s intended audience was no doubt the laity and his goal was to produce a song for them so that they might also learn about their patron saint Gallus and his illustrious deeds. Scholarship is at odds about whether the song was actually sung by the laity, or whether it was performed by clerics or monks for their benefit.59 In either case, it was important to use the vernacular so that the intended audience could understand. By translating the song into Latin, Ekkehard did not mean to replace Ratpert’s original. He was simply making it accessible to a different audience – a different “speech community” if you will – namely, that of the litterati, whose speakers crossed primary dialect borders. By transforming the song into the prestige language of his time, he also bestowed upon it the honor, which he felt it deserved. He expected that both versions would continue to be used; each was acceptable and served its own purpose. Other St. Gall monks seem to have composed poetry in both languages, such as Tuotilo, of whom Ekkehard writes “concinnandi in utraque lingua potens et promtus natura, serio et ioco festivus.”60 In this context Ekkehard seems to be referring to Tuotilo’s musical skills and his ability to entertain with both serious and humorous song. In Ekkehard’s view, knowing Latin was a privilege that granted membership to an elite class of scholastici. In chapter 36 of his Casus, he relates the story of the unfortunate monk Sindolf and uses it as an example against the dangers of meddling in the business of others.61 Sindolf had been appointed dean of workers because – according to Ekkehard – he was no good for anything else (“cum alias in nullo esset utilis”), in other words, he was clearly not a litteratus. It is likely that he was a conversus of lower birth and automatically debarred from the “old boys’ network.” Sindolf is described as a trouble-maker and gossip, who often spread lies to the abbot about other monks, in particular the group of illustrious ¨ 58 Ernst Schulz, “Uber die Dichtungen,” pp. 212–213. See also Wolfgang Haubrichs, Die Anf¨ange, p. 333. ¨ 59 See the discussion by Schulz, “Uber die Dichtungen,” pp. 208–213. 60 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 34, ed. Haefele, p. 78. On the argument about which two languages are meant here, see Meier, “Geschichte der Schule,” p. 107. 61 See Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 36, ed. Haefele, pp. 80–84. On the significance of this passage for social distinctions among the monks, see also de Jong, In Samuel’s Image, p. 128, and Steffen Patzold, Konflikte im Kloster (Husum: Matthiesen, 2000), pp. 190–211.
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scholars Notker Balbulus, Ratpert and Tuotilo, who are referred to by Ekkehard as the “senators of our republic” and represent the aristocratic, literate element in the community. Ekkehard relates that the three scolastici had the permission of the abbot to meet in the scriptorium during the early morning recess between lauds and prime in order to compare notes.62 Sindolf knew their routine and one morning sneaked out to eavesdrop on their conversation through the window. Tuotilo noticed the intruder and immediately switched to Latin, a language which Sindolf did not understand.63 Together with Ratpert he devised a plan to get back at the unwelcome guest. The scene ends with Ratpert beating Sindolf with a rod from behind through the window. The event soon caused a commotion with a group gathering around poor Sindolf hanging in the window. When asked what had happened, Tuotilo claimed that it must have been an angel of the Lord himself who punished the monk for his sin.64 The story relates four important points regarding the use of language in St. Gall: (1) not all monks were bilingual or even able to understand spoken Latin well (whatever form this may have been); (2) Latin could be and was used by litterati in conversation; (3) it appears that Notker, Ratpert and Tuotilo were speaking German with one another until they noticed the intruder and switched to Latin; (4) Latin was the skill of an educated elite and was used as a language of group solidarity. In chapter 80 of the Casus, Ekkehard IV notes that Ekkehard I wrote a poem about Waltharius as a school exercise in composition. The text was written in Latin but contained many barbarisms, in other words, it was heavily influenced by the author’s native German: Scripsit [scil. Ekkehard I] et in scolis metrice magistro – vacillanter quidem, quia in affectione, non in habitu erat puer – vitam Waltharii manufortis. Quam Magontiæ positi, Aribone archiepiscopo iubente pro posse et nosse nostro correximus. [Ekkehard I wrote for his teacher in the schools a metrical version of the life of Waltharius the strong handed, of course in a rough form, because although mature he was still a young boy in his disposition. We corrected this as best we knew how and could at the behest of Archbishop Aribo while we were in Mainz.]65 62 “Erat tribus illis inseperabilibus consuetudo, permisso quidem prioris, in intervallo laudum nocturno convenire in scriptorio collationesque tali horæ aptissimas de scripturis facere” (Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 36, ed. Haefele, pp. 80–82). 63 “Senserat illum [scil. Sindolfum] Tutilo, . . . Latialiterque, quo illum, qui nihil intellegerat, lateret, compares alloquitur” (ibid., ch. 36, p. 82). 64 In this case, Ekkehard is not consistent and records Sindolf’s cry of pain in Latin, although he supposedly does not speak it. The point here is that Sindolf was not supposed to be speaking at all, since it was a time reserved for strict silence unless one had permission from the abbot, as the three friends did. 65 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 80, ed. Haefele, p. 168.
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Ekkehard adds that in his own day many semi-magistri teach Latin badly by telling students to simplify the word order of Latin texts by rearranging them according to German syntax: Unde male docere solent discipulos semimagistri dicentes: “Videte, quomodo disertissime coram Teutone aliquo proloqui deceat, et eadem serie in Latinum verba vertite!” [Half-magistri are in the habit of teaching pupils badly and saying: “Note how it is fitting to speak out most clearly to a German, so translate the words in the same word order into Latin.”]66
Ekkehard’s comments are meant to be a criticism, but they support the hypothesis that the vernacular was indeed used in monastic classrooms. He objects to using the vernacular as a basis for producing Latin prose, since the two diasystems L and H must be grammatically and lexically distinguished. Presumably, just as it was wrong to follow OHG syntax when writing Latin, so too was it unacceptable to follow Latin syntax when writing OHG. He continues with the comment: . . . barbaries enim et idiomata eius Teutonem adhuc affectantem repente Latinum fieri non patiuntur. [the vernacular language and its idioms do not allow someone who has up until this point been striving to be a Germanist, suddenly to become a Latinist.]67
Ekkehard’s statement regarding the practice of semi-magistri does not suggest contempt for OHG nor is it necessarily a value judgment on the language’s secondary status, as has often been implied.68 It shows a conscious realization that the two languages can exist side by side but that they have different rules and different grammars. In an interlinear gloss in his Liber Benedictionum found on p. 155 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 393 when referring to Notker’s Psalter translation, Ekkehard comments: “In quo omnes qui barbaricam legere sciunt . multum delectantur.” Just as knowing OHG did not make one a Latinist, knowing how to read Latin did not make one capable of reading German.69 That Latin and German were perceived to interfere with one another is evident in several of Ekkehard’s glosses in St. Gall manuscripts. On p. 36 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 245, a copy of the Expositio in Apocalypsim by Ambrosius Autpertus, he comments on the author’s Latin style and traces idiosyncrasies in it to German influence: 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid. 68 This point is well argued by P. Osterwalder, Das althochdeutsche Galluslied, pp. 229–230. 69 See above, chapter one, pp. 44–45.
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Iste Audibertus . id est Autpertus Teutonus erat . ut apparet in hoc . cum se respexisset . idiomati quidem linguæ suæ crebro sic assolet in hoc opere. [This very same Audibertus, that is Autpertus, was a German, as is plain here, when he was mindful of himself, accustomed to frequently using idioms from this language of his in this work.]70
Here Ekkehard provides a Latinized form of the author’s name and perhaps assumes that he was a German-speaker because the form “Autpertus,” “Otpertus” was indeed used in Alemannia. One of the five scribes who copied the manuscript names himself on p. 339 as “Otpertus.”71 On p. 70 of the same manuscript, Ekkehard provides a marginal gloss to point out what he believes the origin of the word mangones “barterers, merchants” to be: “[e]cce Teutonicum uerbvm.” In a poem dedicated to Ymmo on the rules of diction, Ekkehard advises: . . . verbaque cognata sociabis et ante locata, Teutonicos mores caveas . . . [you will join together similar words and before placing them down, be mindful to avoid Germanisms.]72
One must be careful to distinguish Latin and the vernacular. How did Ekkehard feel about using the vernacular to analyze Latin and to understand texts? It is likely that he accepted the use of L for purposes of education and explanation. He refers to his teacher Notker’s translation venture as an “act of love” and he himself added vernacular glosses to several St. Gall manuscripts.73 A further argument supporting this view is that the extensive vernacular commentary found in Notker’s Psalter may also stem from Ekkehard’s pen.74 The independent status of the propria lingua to which Ekkehard alludes was achieved in the work of his teacher Notker Labeo. The realization that each language is different and has its own set of rules that must be followed in order to speak and write “correctly” may seem obvious, but was quite revolutionary for Notker’s time, when we again consider Otfrid’s attitudes toward the vernacular over one hundred years earlier. In Notker’s texts the rubric of standardization, usually reserved for H, is to some degree extended to German. German was written by Notker, and in this situation the characteristics reserved for H overlapped with L. At St. Gall one could 70 See D¨ummler, “Ekkehart IV von St. Gallen,” ZfdA 14 (1869), pp. 18–19. Ambrosius Autpertus, who died in 778 or 779, was born in France and later became abbot of St. Vincent in southern Italy; his text is printed in PL 35.2417–52. 71 Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 90 72 “De lege dictamen ornandi,” ed. D¨ummler, “Ekkehart IV von St. Gallen,” p. 33. Cf. Gerold Meyer ¨ von Knonau, “Die Ekkeharte von St. Gallen: Vortrag,” Offentliche Vortr¨age gehalten in der Schweiz, vol. 3 (Basel: Schweighauser, 1879), p. 289, fn. 962 and Osterwalder, Das althochdeutsche Galluslied, p. 230. 73 Meier, “Geschichte der Schule,” p. 96, and D¨ummler, “Ekkehart IV von St. Gallen,” p. 18. 74 See above, chapter two, p. 72.
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learn in both languages, each of which had a specific function. It was important to learn German in order to function successfully as a monk and cleric and to carry out responsibilities such as preaching to the laity, who did not know Latin. Although mass itself was celebrated in Latin, in other religious ceremonies recourse to the vernacular was inevitable. Richter suggests that ordeals, excommunication, confession, baptism and marriage ceremonies were probably conducted at least partially in the vernaculars, in particular those portions that required the laity to respond orally.75 Homilies were also preached in the vernacular, so that the laity could understand. That many of these texts never made it onto parchment, could be explained by the fact that the L diasystem was not yet deemed worthy of recording. On the other hand, one needed to learn Latin in order to function as a scholar and to study, understand and interpret theological works and take part in discussions of them. Moreover, there was a cross-over between the two languages as well. Both languages, Latin and OHG, were taught and practiced at St. Gall with the help of Notker Labeo’s texts. The vernacular could be used to understand Latin texts and subjects that were necessary for taking part in scholarly and theological debate. And, depending on how we interpret Ekkehard’s translation of Ratpert’s Song of St. Gall, Latin could be used to explicate vernacular texts as well. Ekkehard was acutely aware of the differences between Latin and the vernacular and realized that each served its own purpose. He himself was multilingual and well versed – both consciously and subconsciously – in the rules of switching registers according to the given speech domain. In his Casus, Ekkehard uses German and Romance in direct quotation that express authentic discourse such as extreme surprise or pain. The devil exclaims his pain in German; Enzelin expresses his surprise at seeing Abbot Craloh in a garbled form of German; the Rhaetian bather blurts out his discomfort in his mother tongue. All three passages strike a humorous note and in many ways reflect Ekkehard’s linguistic snobbery. He himself was an accomplished litteratus and looked down upon those who did not know Latin or used foreign languages incorrectly. He portrays the meddling villain Sindolf as an illiterate who badly wanted to be a part of the elite group of scholars but was excluded because he did not speak their “variety.” Ekkehard is proud of being a good Latinist and does not fail to point out that he had to correct his predecessor’s Waltharius poem in order to bring it into accordance with the rules of latinitas. Ekkehard translated Ratpert’s German Song of St. Gall into Latin, a song which, in its Old High German version, served to edify the laity, in the hopes that his version would ensure preservation of the story of his patron saint and the beautiful melody to which it was set within the literary canon of his day. It is not surprising that he wrote his Casus in Latin and that he translated Ratpert’s Song of St. Gall. In Ekkehard’s eyes, H, the language of literature, was Latin. To say that 75 Richter, “Kommunikationsprobleme,” pp. 32–39.
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Ekkehard disdained the vernacular altogether, however, is an exaggeration. He was a teacher and realized the importance of using German for pedagogic purposes. He admired Notker’s efforts. Teaching could take place in both languages, so long as one followed the rules of each and did not confuse them. We can imagine various communicative situations in which St. Gall monks would have needed to use language, such as to carry out the official business of the abbey, to celebrate the opus dei and conduct private worship and meditation, to learn in the form of self-edification, to produce and copy texts, and, on a more fundamental level, to communicate on a daily basis with each other, lay servants, and guests. Not all monks were involved in all of these situations. Official business, for example, was likely carried out by a select few and only a small number of scholastici were actually involved in copying or producing texts. Most servants spoke only the vernacular, usually German, but in some cases Rhaetian may have been used as well. All monks knew at least some Latin to get through the religious services, but, as Sindolf’s case demonstrates, not all were fluent in it. Some monks, like Ekkehard IV, were expert Latinists and could probably speak several vernacular languages in addition. Ekkehard I spoke both German and Rhaetian. Enzelin spoke both this native Rhaetian and German, albeit with a thick Romance accent. The notion that all monks in medieval St. Gall spoke perfect Latin is a romanticized ideal that more closely reflects humanistic wishful thinking than medieval reality. We must also remember that the medieval sources upon which we base many of our statements were written by an educated elite, like Ekkehard IV.76 Some oblates had completed a thorough education and their Latin may have been fairly fluent. Other monks, however, only had a primary education and a fleeting knowledge of the language. Postulants, for example, who joined the monastery as adults, received some training in the school, but it is unlikely that they would ever have learned to speak Latin fluently.77 For many, knowledge of Latin was restricted to being able to participate in daily services. We read in the writings of the reformed branch of Hirsau monks that a novice who had joined the order as an adult was to profess in Latin; if he was unable to do so, a brother would read the text for him and he would sign the statement with an “X.”78 The St. Gall monk Sindolf, 76 I do not mean to suggest that no monks or nuns were fluent in Latin. A Life of an unnamed magistra, the head of the women’s community at Admont in the twelfth century, states that she wrote verse and prose in both Latin and German, but always dictated in Latin during periods of silence (Alison I. Beach, Women as Scribes [Cambridge: University Press, 2004], pp. 69–70). We can infer from this passage that it was worse to break the Rule by speaking the vernacular than Latin. That the author, the nun Gertrude, makes a point of distinguishing between the two may suggest that there were nuns who broke the Rule by speaking their mother tongue. 77 See my discussion above, chapter two, p. 61. 78 “Si litteras nescit, magister pro eo legat, ipse tamen signum crucis in fine ejusdem chartulae propria manu scribit; sed hoc litteratus non facit.” (“Constitutiones Hirsaugienses,” PL 150.1002C). Cf. Richter “Kommunikationsprobleme,” p. 40.
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although he was not conversant in Latin, is listed in the abbey charters as being a priest.79 Clearly communication did not always take place in Latin nor could it, and the vernaculars were an ever-present factor in multilingual and diglossic communities like the medieval Abbey of St. Gall. l a n g uag e s of i n s truct ion It is unclear to what degree the vernacular was used in early medieval German schools. On the one hand, it is natural to assume that since Latin was the language of literacy and scholarship, learning would also take place in it. After all, there was no way avoiding it, since nearly all textbooks were written in Latin, including Donatus’ introductory grammar. There is little doubt that Latin was the language of instruction at medieval universities. These often had an international clientele that made it difficult, if not impossible, to teach in any one vernacular. Furthermore, by the time students entered the university they had already had some training in Latin.80 In monastic and ecclesiastical schools in early medieval France the spoken vernacular was still very close to Latin, and in fact written Latin may have been pronounced in a way that was intelligible to pupils. The situation was markedly different in Germany where Latin was and had always been a foreign language. In the case of St. Gall, many of the pupils were just beginning their training; most came from a similar but non-Romance linguistic background that made the use of the vernacular not only possible but often very necessary. We must also distinguish between the language of learning per se, that is, the language used to compose scholarly treatises and to carry on scholarly debates, and the language of instruction. Just because medieval scholars could produce polished Latin prose and verse, does not mean that all individuals associated with learning were fluent in the language or that they spoke it to one another. It is also important to differentiate between the wishful thinking of scholars from whose pens much of the historical evidence stems, and the linguistic reality of the classroom in which they taught. Medieval sources provide scattered references to the fact that instruction should take place in Latin and that it is best to speak Latin in school. There is also plentiful evidence to demonstrate that proficiency in Latin was in many cases far from sufficient and that practical and compassionate teachers resorted 79 H. Wartmann, Urkundenbuch der Abtei St. Gallen, vol. 1 (Frankfurt: Minerva, 1981) Nr. 697, I. p. 299. Cf. Meier, “Geschichte der Schule,” p. 104; Kalberer, Die Anf¨ange, p. 34; Dette, “Sch¨uler im fr¨uhen,” p. 13. 80 As H. Rashdall points out, however, there were numerous scholars who attended medieval universities without enough Latin to follow the lectures properly (The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages, II [Oxford: Clarendon, 1936], p. 701). The existence of national colleges also leads one to wonder whether the vernacular was not present to some degree after all. On the uses of “academic Latin” in the early modern period, see Burke, The Art of Conversation, pp. 40–49.
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to the vernacular. Finally, when reading secondary literature on the topic, one must consider the academic discipline of the modern scholar writing it. Whereas Classicists, medieval Latinists, historians and Romance scholars are in general more apt to argue for a monolingual Latin instruction, scholars of non-Romance philologies such as German or Anglo-Saxon are less willing to overlook the role of the vernacular, and this for very obvious reasons: we cannot ignore the numerous vernacular glosses, translations and other texts that clearly were produced for classroom use.81 The “natural method” It is often assumed that medieval teachers wanted their pupils to experience Latin as a living language and that they encouraged them to speak Latin not only in the classroom, but outside school as well. A passage frequently cited to support this view is found in the so-called “Statutes of Murbach” written in 816: Usum latinitatis potius, quam rusticitatis, qui inter eos scholastici sunt sequuntur. In tali enim confabulatione notitia scripturarum aliquoties magis quam lectione penetratur et dictandi usus discitur et ad discendum sensus acuitur. [Those among them who are scholastici prefer to follow the use of latinitas than that of rusticitatis. For in a discourse of this type [i.e., in Latin] an acquaintance of the Scriptures is reached to some degree better than by reading, and the rules for speaking are learned and the capacity for learning is enhanced.]82
The author could be seen as an early proponent of the “natural” or “communicative” approach to language acquisition. He is referring here to the commendable practice of the monks at the model monastery of Inden (Kornelim¨unster), where the scholastici strive to speak a “high” form of Latin rather than a “low” form, here probably a variant of the vernacular. Speaking correct Latin helps one understand and learn the language better than reading alone. Haubrichs and others have argued that the author of this text could have been Abbot Haito, who wrote the document for his brethren at Reichenau.83 It suggests that Latin and not some form of the vernacular be used among pupils, which presupposes of course that the vernacular was probably spoken among monks and, if Haito’s authorship is indeed correct, 81 For arguments against Latin-only instruction in Germany in the High Middle Ages, see Klaus Grubm¨uller, “M¨undlichkeit, Schriftlichkeit und Unterricht. Zur Erforschung ihrer Interferenzen in der Kultur des Mittelalters,” Der Deutschunterricht 41 (1989), p. 48. 82 Statuta Murbacensia, ed. J. Semmler, p. 449. 83 Wolfgang Haubrichs, “Das monastische Studienprogramm,” pp. 245–248. See discussion above, chapter one, p. 37. Lehmann interprets the terms scholastici to refer to “scholars” in general (“Vom Leben,” p. 77). However, elsewhere in the document scholastici is clearly used to refer to monastic pupils, thus making this reading unlikely. See above, chapter two, pp. 61–62.
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that this took place in Alemannia as well. That adult monks communicated in the vernacular was seen above. According to Ekkehard’s Casus, Tuotilo, Ratpert and Notker Balbulus often took part in confabulationes, but they seem to have spoken both Latin and German. One of the most frequently cited examples for Latin-only instruction in medieval schools is from the Casus sancti Galli. Ekkehard IV boasts of the fact that when Ekkehard II had charge of the St. Gall school in the tenth century, all pupils except for the exiles pusiones dared to speak no other language but Latin: [Ekkehardus d]octor prosper et asper – nam cum apud suum Gallum ambas scolas suas teneret, nemo preter exiles pusiones quicquam alteri nisi Latine ausus est proloqui. Et quos ad literarum studia tardiores vidisset, ad scribendum occupaverat et lineandum. [(Ekkehard) was a helpful but also harsh teacher, because as long as he taught at both schools at his St. Gall, no one other than the weak young boys dared to say anything to one another unless it was in Latin, and he occupied those whom he saw to be too slow for the study of letters with copying and preparing manuscripts.]84
In the passage surrounding this quotation, the author stresses Ekkehard’s strictness. Those pupils who could not handle the subject matter in the classroom were assigned other tasks, such as copying manuscripts, which was considered to be more a physical than an intellectual activity.85 Exiles pusiones is usually translated to mean the “very young pupils” the stress being on their age, with the presupposition that all pupils would eventually speak Latin but that the beginners were not yet able to do so. Another plausible translation, one that also takes into account the reference to the consequences of not knowing Latin well, is “the less intelligent young pupils.” This allows for the fact that proficiency in Latin was no easy task, and that not all pupils, regardless of their age, met the high standards of their teacher. It is important to keep in mind the context of the above passage as well as Ekkehard’s purpose in noting this particular piece of information. He was writing a history of his abbey and looking back, sometimes sentimentally, to a period nearly 100 years removed from his own. He was himself a learned Latinist and may very well have wished that his own pupils were too. That he included this description of the teaching methods of Ekkehard II makes one wonder whether the situation may not have been unusual and actually reflects the sincere wish of one scholar living in an age where it was no longer possible. In the lines immediately preceding the passage cited above, the author describes Ekkehard II as an extremely 84 Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 89, ed. Haefele, pp. 182–184. 85 On writing as a mechanical art, see above, chapter two, p. 75.
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handsome man and hints at his having fallen prey to vanity in his youth.86 The reference to Ekkehard’s severity in the classroom may thus serve to compensate for his worldly endowments and underscore his piety and seriousness. Whereas Ekkehard IV describes Ekkehard II as asper, he elsewhere says that his own teacher Notker Labeo translated Latin texts propter caritatem discipulorum.87 The teaching methods of two famous magistri are juxtaposed: Ekkehard II was strict and relentless in enforcing Latin in the classroom, so strict that some students were excluded. Notker Labeo is far more understanding and inclusive – his translations make it possible for all to understand. In his life of St. Adalbert of Prague, Bruno (†997) describes the illustrious teacher Otricus as the Cicero of his day and says that his fame reached all the way to Saxony. Otricus, like Ekkehard II, was a strict schoolmaster who did not spare the rod in the classroom. We read that one poor lad preferred playing to studying and had not prepared his homework. Otricus asked him to read a passage and when he realized that the boy did not understand anything, he became angry and began to beat him. The boy cried out in pain when “the switches of the rod hit his back and the seething whip broke his sore flesh.”88 This quite brutal scene is immediately followed by the comment that most pupils were in the habit of speaking Latin, and that no one dared speak the vernacular in Otricus’ earshot.89 Once again we get the impression that some students probably were not speaking Latin to one another when their teacher was not around, but that to protect their hides they certainly did when he was. It is likely that something resembling a “natural method” was the goal in some medieval classrooms, especially in teaching and practising Latin. In the early Middle Ages instruction often took place in Latin out of necessity, since in many cases teachers were foreigners who did not speak the local tongue. In the early Canterbury school, for example, the teachers Theodore (of Greek origin) and Hadrian came from Rome and would have had no experience with the local vernacular.90 Likewise, Alcuin, when he first came to the Continent, would have had little knowledge of the German and Romance dialects or of the Latin pronunciation spoken in Charlemagne’s empire. We know that Irish and Anglo-Saxon teachers taught at St. Gall. It is likely that these masters – at least initially – had to teach in Latin. 86 “In ætate florida gloriæ, ut talis fracturæ vir, humilitati proximior . . .” (Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 89, ed. Haefele, p. 182). 87 See above, chapter one, p. 43. 88 “dum scopae tergum verrunt, et fervencia flagella dolentem carnem fragunt” (Bruno, Vita Sancti Adalberti episcopi et martyris, ed. G. H. Pertz, MGH SS 2, 1841 [repr. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1963], p. 597). 89 “Auditoribus enim usus erat lacialiter fari, nec ausus est quisquam coram magistro lingua barbara loqui” (ibid.). 90 Brown “Latin Writing,” p. 49.
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Even after schools had been established and local teachers trained, scholars often travelled across linguistic borders. In the middle of the ninth century, the St. Gall teacher Iso was called to teach at Grandval, and Notker Balbulus writes that he learned the new art of sequence writing from a French priest who had come to St. Gall after his abbey in Jumi`eges had been invaded by the Normans.91 Being able to communicate only in Latin did not always result in effective instruction. In the life of Abbot Rudolf of St. Trond (1070–1138), we read of the linguistic problems that Rudolf had as a teacher in the monastic school. He was a native of Moutiers on the Sambre, and his mother tongue was Valonese. When he first arrived at St. Trond, he did not yet know the lingua theutonica and had a devil of a time making himself understood by his pupils: Gravissimum autem sustinuit laborem ad introducendos eos, cum ipse loqui eis Theutonicam nesciret, et quidam puerorum parvitate adhuc scientiae et nativa illis lingua Theotonica neque Latine neque, ut ita dicam, Gualonice possent eum intelligere. Vicit tamen labor improbus omnia vincens, ut eodem anno fæcit eos litterate facillime intelligere quicquid volebat eis legere. [He however endured the most difficult task in teaching them [the pupils] because he himself did not know how to speak German to them, and certain pupils, because they did not yet know enough and because German was their native tongue, could not understand him, be it in Latin, or in so-called Valonese. But persistent work overcomes all things, and he succeeded, so that within a year’s time he was able to make them understand easily and intelligently whatever he wanted to read to them.]92
Soon Rudolf was able to get his message across to the young boys – they learned Latin and he probably picked up some German. Pupils travelled from school to school as well. Many of them were probably advanced learners by the time they left their home institution to seek out further training and as a result already knew Latin. Some students, however, traveled not to learn Latin, but rather the local language. Lupus of Ferri`eres went to Germany in order to learn the vernacular and later sent his students to Pr¨um in hopes that they could do the same.93 Upon their return, Lupus writes Abbot Marcward to thank him: 91 On Iso, see Ekkehard IV, Casus, ch. 31, ed. Haefele, p. 74. On Notker Balbulus, see Salomon von Konstanz, Das Formelbuch, ed. D¨ummler, p. 107. 92 Rudolfus, Gesta abbatum Trudonensium, ed. D. R. Koepke, MGH SS 10, 1852 (repr. Hiersemann: Stuttgart, 1963), p. 273. Cf. P. Meyvaert, “‘Rainaldus est malus scriptor Francigenus’,” p. 757. 93 Lupus writes his request to Abbot Marcward of Pr¨um, who had formerly been a monk at Ferri`eres: “Filium Guagonis, nepotem meum uestrumque propinquum, et cum eo duos alios puerulos nobiles et quandoque, si deus uult, nostro monasterio suo seruitio profuturos propter Germanicae linguae nanciscendam scientiam uestrae sanctitati mittere cupio, qui tres duobus tantummodo paedagogis contenti sint” (Ep., ed. Marshall, p. 89).
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Dignas uobis rependere gratias non ualemus; sed non idcirco uel uerbis id temptare non debemus, siquidem, inter alia quae nobis iam plurima praestitistis, linguae uestrae pueros nostros fecistis participes, cuius usum hoc tempore pernecessarium nemo nisi nimis tardus ignorat. itaque non istis gratam rem solum, uerum etiam utilissimam nobis omnibus contulistis. [We cannot render you the thanks which you deserve, but we must not for that reason not try to do so in words. For among the many other favours you have already bestowed upon us you have given our boys an understanding of your [German] language, the need for which is very important at this time, and no one fails to recognize that except for the extremely sluggish. You have therefore made a contribution which is not only pleasing to them but of the greatest usefulness to all of us.]94
Knowing German was in Lupus’ eyes a very useful skill, and the best way to learn it was by studying abroad. In a letter to Immo, Bishop of Noyon, he writes that while at the Abbey of Fulda he had devoted much time to reading German books in order to keep his mind alert. He defends himself against false rumours concerning his overzealous occupation with the language, however, by stating that he was not pleased by German and found it difficult.95 We find further evidence for learning German by foreigners in Reginbert’s library catalogue for Reichenau compiled between 835 and 842. The title of one volume listed reads: “Carmina diversa ad docendum Theodiscam linguam.”96 Earlier scholarship, following Sievers’ lead, assumed that the codex in question was a copy of the Murbach Hymns.97 Bischoff, on the other hand, suggests that the texts may have been used by advanced pupils in the Reichenau school to cultivate a rhetorical study of the vernacular.98 Hellgardt points out that the volume may have been acquired by Reichenau from a French library, where the poems were originally used to learn German. Another possibility is that the volume was produced at Reichenau to teach German to foreign pupils like Lupus.99 The standard medieval grammatical treatises used to learn Latin were written in Latin with native speakers in mind. A modern analogy would be learning German with only the help of a specialist’s tool like the Duden Grammatik – a formidable 94 Ibid., pp. 73–74; trans. Graydon W. Regenos, The Letters of Lupus of Ferri`eres (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1966), p. 52. Cf. McKitterick, Carolingians, p. 7, and Hellgardt, “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit,” pp. 31–35. 95 “[I]taque simpliciter vobis aperio, principem operam me illic (in schola Fuldensi) destinasse lectioni et ad obliuionis remedium et eruditionis augmentum libros pauculos parauisse, nec Germanicae linguae captum amore, ut ineptissime quidam iactarunt, sarcinam subiisse tanti tamque diuturni laboris” (Ep., ed. Marshall, p. 53). 96 For a complete discussion of this volume, see Hellgardt, “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit,” pp. 35–38. 97 Eduard Sievers (ed.), Die Murbacher Hymnen nach der Handschrift herausgegeben (Halle, 1874), repr. with introduction by Evelyn S. Firchow (New York/London: Johnson Reprint Corporation, 1972), p. 4. 98 Bernhard Bischoff, “Pal¨aographische Fragen deutscher Denkm¨aler der Karolingerzeit,” Fr¨uhmittelalterliche Studien 5 (1971), p. 134. 99 Hellgardt, “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit,” pp. 35–37.
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task indeed! The problem was compounded by the fact that in the early Middle Ages there was no pedagogic tradition for learning a foreign language. There was no choice but to immerse students in the language and hope for success.100 Grammars like Donatus or Priscian were used to inculcate a knowledge of Latin grammar, but they made for a dry read with an emphasis on inflectional endings.101 Students needed to learn words and, optimally, words that they could use in everyday situations. Only then could the methods recommended by someone like Haito be put to practice. One solution was found in the colloquy. Perhaps the most famous examples from the late tenth and early eleventh centuries are the Latin Colloquies of the English monks Ælfric of Eynsham (ca. 955–ca. 1010) and his student Ælfric Bata († eleventh century). The first student in the Colloquy of the former Ælfric explains to his teacher how he and his fellows spend much time each day singing and reading texts. He then adds: “Nevertheless I wish in the meantime to learn to speak the Latin language.”102 At the beginning of his collection, Ælfric Bata writes that he has written the various pieces for boys and that they should study them as an introduction to speaking Latin.103 It appears that the main goal of the colloquies was to give students practice in speaking Latin naturally and that they were used to complement the study of Latin grammar from traditional textbooks such as Donatus.104 As Porter has shown, Bata’s dialogues can in many ways be compared to the material used in modern-day communicative language classrooms. The situations depicted reflect daily life in the monastery, and stress was placed on fluency, not always on accuracy.105 Colloquies, however, required explanation on the part of the teacher: many of the words would have been new to the pupils and needed translation. It is thus no surprise that one of the four surviving copies of the colloquies of Ælfric of Eynsham in British Library, Cotton Tiberius A.iii, contains a continuous interlinear gloss in Old English.106 It is possible that the vernacular “key” helped teachers present the material as well as pupils who were studying on their own.
100 Karl Brunner, “Sprachlehrb¨ucher im Mittelalter,” Language and Society (Copenhagen: Berlin, 1961), p. 37. 101 Vivien Law, “Ælfric’s ‘Excerptiones de Arte Grammatica Anglice’,” Grammar and Grammarians, p. 201. 102 “[S]ed tamen uellem interim discere sermocinari latina lingua” (Ælfric’s Colloquy, ed. George Norman Garmonsway, 2nd edn. [Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1978], p. 19). 103 “Denique composuit [pueris] hoc st´ılum rite diuersum, qui Bata Ælfricus monachus breuissimus, qualiter scolastici ualeant resumere fandi aliquod initium latinitatis sibi” (Ælfric Bata, Colloquies, ed. Scott Gwara and trans. David Porter, p. 80). 104 David Porter, “The Latin Syllabus,” p. 464. 105 Ibid., p. 456. On the colloquies as evidence of daily life in schools, see above, chapter two. 106 James Hurt, Ælfric (New York: Twayne, 1972), pp. 113–114. The Old English interlinear translation of the Colloquy, however, is probably not by Ælfric (J. Hill, “Winchester Pedagogy and the Colloquy of Ælfric,” Leeds Studies in English n.s. 29 [1998], pp. 145–146).
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The “eclectic method” An argument frequently used to support a “natural method” for learning Latin in early medieval classrooms is the lack of evidence to the contrary. There are simply few sources or indications that instruction took place in the vernacular, and those that have survived are considered to be an exception rather than the rule. That the vernacular was recorded on parchment may indeed have been unusual, because Latin was more suitable within the established parameters of textual culture, the “non-authentic” domain. Lack of written testimony, however, does not prove that the vernacular was not spoken or used as a medium in classroom instruction. A good indication that the vernacular was ever-present in German classrooms are the thousands of OHG glosses scattered throughout manuscripts beginning in the ninth century. In the past philologists have used OHG glosses largely as a source of linguistic evidence to document the development of the German language. In Steinmeyer and Sievers’s massive five-volume collection of OHG glosses, the German words are isolated and printed in columns next to the Latin lemma to which they refer.107 As a result, the full context in which they originally functioned, which included among other things Latin lexical glosses and grammatical and syntactical glosses, is lost and can only be reconstructed by a careful manuscript autopsy. In its complete, original form, glossing can provide important clues for reconstructing the pedagogic tactics of a particular master or the needs of a particular classroom situation. The interlinear and marginal annotations found in classroom manuscripts are merely the written traces of a much fuller, oral reading practice now lost to us.108 Latin lexical glosses provide synonyms, and were used to increase the range of the pupils’ Latin vocabulary; derivative glosses show students how to generate new and related words from a particular lemma; other lexical glosses are suppletive in that they give information only implied in the text. Vernacular glosses furnish a succinct translation; often they are found above difficult Latin words for which it may have been cumbersome to find a Latin synonym.109 Grammatical glosses supply additional information about the structure of the Latin words: often interlinear 107 Elias Steinmeyer and Eduard Sievers (eds.), Die althochdeutschen Glossen, 5 vols. 1879–1922 (repr. Dublin/Zurich: Weidmann, 1968). ¨ 108 Henkel, Deutsche Ubersetzungen, p. 99. See also his article “Die ahd. Interlinearversionen,” in L. Peter Johnson, et al. (eds.), Wolfram Studien XIV (Berlin: Erich Schmidt, 1996), p. 51, and Suzanne Reynolds, Medieval Reading, p. 67. 109 Not all vernacular lexical glosses, of course, are the products of classroom instruction. Many reflect the traces of private readings that were generated by a personal motivation. See Michael Baldzuhn, “Schriftliche Glosse und m¨undlicher Unterricht. Das Beispiel der a¨lteren lateinisch und volkssprachlich glossierten Aviane (9.–11. Jahrhundert),” in Rolf Bergmann et al. (eds.), Mittelalterliche volkssprachige Glossen, pp. 485–512; Michael Lapidge, “The Study of Latin Texts,” pp. 99–140, and Gernot Wieland, “Interpreting the Interpretation: The Polysemy of the Latin Gloss,” Journal of Medieval Latin 9 (1998), pp. 59–71.
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pronouns provide the gender of a word or its grammatical or semantic function and prepositions make clear the semantics of an adverb. Sometimes vernacular equivalents of a case ending or a grammatical prefix marking tense are given. OHG morphological glosses in the Murbach Hymns, for example, assist the reader in deciphering the Latin by indicating the equivalent of the Latin inflection, but not the meaning.110 The glosses, which in standard editions are usually emended and expanded to complete words, provide an indication of the case and number of the Latin nouns, and of the tense and person of verbs.111 So in Hymn no. VII, 3, 2 the Latin word editus is glossed with ka ran: the prefix ka- signals that the word is a perfect participle and the ending -ran shows that the participle is in the nominative case.112 The Latin flebat (I, 5, 1) is glossed ta: here the OHG ending shows that the verb is singular preterite.113 In some manuscripts, the complicated Latin syntax is often simplified in marginal paraphrase glosses that rewrite the original sentence and offer synonyms at the same time. As I discuss below, in chapter five, the original word order could also be rearranged by means of construe marks or in marginal glosses preceded by the words “ordo est.” A step beyond the method of supplying lexical glosses above select Latin lemmata was the interlinear translation. In chapter one I discussed the role that the OHG interlinear version of the Rule may have had in facilitating understandig of this all important document for adult members of monastic communities whose Latin skills were weak.114 Interlinear versions were also used in the classroom. A prime example is the “Altalamannische Psalmen¨ubersetzung” originating in southwestern Germany ca. 810–820. Haubrichs suggests that the text was produced in the same monastic center as the original translation of the Rule, perhaps Reichenau. It may have formed a part of the learning program outlined in the so-called “Statutes of Murbach,” namely, that texts must not only be read or recited, but also understood.115
¨ 110 Henkel, Deutsche Ubersetzungen, pp. 67–72, and “Die althochdeutschen Interlinearversionen,” pp. 67–71. The same practice is found in the St. Paul OHG Luke Glosses (Lothar Voetz, Die St. Pauler Lukasglossen [G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1985], pp. 112–132). Voetz was not aware of the morphological function of the glosses and tried to develop a system of abbreviations to account for the meaning of the various morphemes. For grammatical glossing in Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, see R. I. Page, “The Study of Latin Texts in late Anglo-Saxon England: (2) The Evidence of English Glosses,” in Nicholas Brooks (ed.), Latin and the Vernacular Languages, pp. 141–165, and Ren´e Derolez, “Aldhelm im Schulzimmer: Einige Bemerkungen zu einer Br¨usseler Aldhelmhandschrift,” in H. L. Cox et al. (eds.), Wortes anst, verbi grati (Leuven/Amersfoort: Acco, 1986), pp. 117–127. 111 Sievers places all emendations in square brackets (Die Murbacher Hymnen). 112 Sievers resolves the gloss ka[po]ran (37). 113 Sievers resolves the gloss [uuaf]ta (29). 114 See above, chapter one, p. 37. 115 Haubrichs, Die Anf¨ange, p. 206. See also the overview of OHG translations in McKitterick, Frankish Church, pp. 191–198.
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To what extent was the vernacular used in the early Middle Ages to teach not only the meaning of words, but a formal subject such as grammar itself? In the case of St. Gall in the late tenth and first half of the eleventh century we have evidence that basic grammatical terminology was translated into the vernacular in the so-called “St. Galler Schularbeit” found in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 556. The text was copied sometime during the first half of the eleventh century and the OHG sections reflect an orthography very similar to that found in the Notker Labeo’s texts. Pages 394–399 contain form letters, presumably used as examples for students to practice the ars dictaminis.116 On p. 400 and the first three lines of p. 401 we find Latin notes with contextual OHG translations; a Latin explanation of the word pasca by Ekkehard IV is found in the bottom margin of p. 400 and top margin of p. 401. On p. 401, lines 4–8, the grammatical terms noun, pronoun, verb, adverb, participle, conjunction, preposition and interjection are listed with contextual OHG translations (plate 1):117 Nomen. n´amo. Pronomen. f´ured´az nomen. Verbum. uu´ort. Aduerbium. zˆuozed´e mo uerbo. Participium t´eiln´emunga. Coniunctio geuˆugeda. Preposicio. f´ure s´ezeda. Interiectio. u´ nd´eruuerf.
The terms listed here are basic grammatical concepts that would have been taught to all embarking upon the discipline.118 All of the translations except for the primary concepts “noun” and “verb” mirror the composition and etymology of the Latin equivalents. The purpose of the glossary is to explain the etymology of the grammatical terminology, not to replace it.119 This becomes clear in the OHG translations for the terms “pronoun” and “adverb” in which the Latin terms for “noun” and “verb” from which they are derived are integrated into the German gloss. Thus instead of f´ured´azn´amo and zˆuozed´emouu´ort we find f´ured´az nomen and zˆuozed´emo uerbo. It is significant that the Latin terms are clearly separated from the German explanations by means of space thus avoiding a confusing mixed compound. We can imagine the teacher explaining the concepts thus: a nomen is a n´amo, it signifies something like a name; a pronomen stands “for” (f´ure < pro) the nomen. A verbum is a uu´ort; an adverbum stands “toward” (zˆuo < ad) the verbum. A participium is a t´eiln´emunga (literally a “part-taker”), a coniunctio is a geuˆugeda (literally a “joining”), 116 The hand beginning on p. 396 has poorly formed letters and could be that of a young scribe. See discussion of the form letters above, chapter two, p. 79. 117 The text and punctuation are transcribed as they appear in the manuscript. The text is printed in Elias von Steinmeyer (ed.), Die kleineren althochdeutschen Sprachdenkm¨aler (Berlin: Weidmann, 1916), pp. 121–123. 118 A succint discussion of medieval grammatical terms is found in Vivien Law, “The Terminology of Medieval Latin Grammar,” Grammar and Grammarians, pp. 260–269. 119 See the discussion of Ælfric’s grammar, below pp. 143–144.
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Plate 1. Latin/OHG grammatical terminology, St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 556, p. 401.
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etc. Following the translations of the parts of speech is a fragmentary discussion on ll. 9–17 of the feature of nouns (the properties that were said to accidere, to “happen to” or “affect” them) with an OHG translation and explanation of the basic terms qualitas, comparatio and genus: Nomini quod acciduntur. u´ ui m´anegiu u´olgent t´emo nomini .vi. Quæ? qualitas te uu´ılichi . quæ? subau ditur . ub´ız eˆıgensˆı . aldegem´eine ter substantiæ . a´lde d´es acciden tis. Comparatio . teuu´ıdermez´unga cuius? tis comparatiui . a´lde dis superlatiui . zuˆo d´emo positiuo . Genus t´ız ch´unne . cuius? sˆın a´lde . . . [Nomini quod acciduntur? How many accompany the nomini? Six. Quæ? Qualitas (the “what kind”). Quæ? Subauditur: whether it is proper or common of the substantiæ or of the accedentis. Comparatio. The comparison. Cuius? Of the comparatiui or of the superlatiui to the positiuo. Genus. The gender. Cuius? Its own or . . .]
Whereas the list of grammatical terminology is fairly basic and transparent, this second section is clearly meant for someone who has already had some basic grounding in Latin. The use of code-switching is reminiscent of Notker’s translations of Aristotle and indeed much of the terminology is also found in Notker’s texts. Given the fact that a gloss in Ekkehard’s hand is found in the top margin, there is little doubt that both passages are in some way associated with Notker’s curriculum. In a diglossic speech community, a “natural method” of second language acquisition such as the one idealized above would have taken place in the H diasystem. In the historically more likely “eclectic method,” teachers occasionally switched to L in order to explain concepts and words for their students. The base language H, the usual choice for learning, was shared by L for pragmatic reasons, but this was primarily restricted to spoken language. The function served by L could also be fulfilled by using H, as is seen in Latin lexical or grammatical glosses. The amount of written evidence preserved for an explanatory use of H is far greater than for the use of L, which is to be expected, since the domain of written language was largely reserved for H. We could say that in monastic and cathedral schools the H and L diasystems “overlapped.” The need for translations of terms like those found in the “St. Galler Schularbeit” was generated by a disjunction between the language of authority, in this case Latin, and the language of the St. Gall pupils, German. It was necessary to open up the Latin terminology necessary for the most basic study of the Latin language by means of a reference to the vernacular. The vernacular glosses, however, are servile and subsidiary to the Latin terminology. The vernacular functions as a reserve that is momentarily used in order to continue with the 142
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Latin text. In effect, glosses not only help to expand the students’ vocabulary but they also encourage interaction between Latin and the native language.120 At the same time that Notker was working in the St. Gall school, the English monk Ælfric, who taught at the Cerne Abbey from 987 and later became Abbot of Eynsham in 1005, translated into Old English a Grammatica based on the Excerptiones de Prisciano.121 In the Latin preface to his work, Ælfric states that he is writing for the benefit of young boys who can use a translation in their mother tongue at the early stages of their studies until they learn more and reach a mature enough level to understand Latin on their own: Ego Ælfricus, ut minus sapiens, has excerptiones de Prisciano minore uel maiore uobis puerulis tenellis ad uestram linguam transferre studui, quatinus, perlectis octo partibus Donati, in isto libello potestis utramque linguam, uidelicet latinam et anglicam, uestrae teneritudini inserere interim, usque quo ad perfectiora perueniatis studia. Noui namque multos me reprehensuros, quod talibus studiis meum ingenium occupare uoluissem, scilicet grammaticam artem ad anglicam linguam uertendo. Sed ego deputo hanc lectionem inscientibus puerulis, non senibus, aptandam fore. [I, Ælfric, having only slight pretensions to learning, have taken the trouble to translate these excerpts from Priscian’s Institutiones grammaticae for you young children into your language, so that once you have studied the eight word classes of Donatus’ grammar in this book you will be able to incorporate both languages, Latin and English, into your tender minds, until you arrive at more advanced studies. I know that many people will reproach me for having chosen to occupy myself with such studies, i.e. translating grammar into English. But I consider this subject to be suited to ignorant children, not greybeards.]122
For Ælfric, just as for Notker, Latin remains the goal of study and the key to becoming a litteratus and unlocking the knowledge of Christian learning. And, although Ælfric commented that others may reproach him for his translating efforts (just as Notker wrote that Bishop Hugo may “recoil” from his translations because they might seem so unfamiliar), the vernacular was granted status in the classroom and 120 Brown, “Latin Writing,” p. 42. 121 Ælfrics Grammatik und Glossar, ed. Julius Zupitza, 2nd edn. with an introduction by Helmut Gneuss (Berlin: Max Niehans, 1966). On Ælfric’s major pedagogic texts, the Grammar, Glossary, and Colloquy, see Vivien Law, “Ælfric’s ‘Excerptiones de arte grammatica anglice’,” pp. 200–223; Joyce Hill, “Learning Latin in Anglo-Saxon England: Traditions, Texts and Techniques,” in Sarah Rees Jones (ed.), Learning and Literacy in Medieval England and Abroad (Turnhout: Brepols, 2003), pp. 3–32, Helmut Gneuss, “The Study of Language in Anglo-Saxon England,” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 72 (1990) 3–22, and D. A. Bullough, “The Educational Tradition,” pp. 297–334. An edition and translation of the sources Ælfric used for his grammar is now available in Excerptiones de Prisciano, ed. and trans. David W. Porter (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002). 122 Ælfrics Grammatik und Glossar, ed. Zupitza, p. 1, 3–12; trans. by Vivien Law, “Ælfric’s ‘Excerptiones de arte grammatica anglice’,” p. 207.
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was used to attain this goal.123 Ælfric’s own teacher at Winchester, Æthelwold, had already begun the tradition of translating and may even have developed some of the grammatical terminology that Ælfric employs in his Grammar. In the Vita Æthelwoldi we read that he enjoyed teaching young men and more mature students by translating Latin texts into English for them and by passing on the rules of grammar and metric.124 Æthelowold himself translated the Rule of St. Benedict into English. Although the text was probably meant for the benefit of a lay audience, it may also have served young monks to master the text before they were professed.125 When analyzing the language(s) of instruction it is important to distinguish pedagogic goals. Teachers probably used the “natural method” for Latin instruction, although we must bear in mind that the vernacular undoubtedly crept in here, as the evidence from numerous glosses and the “St. Galler Schularbeit” testify. In the case of Ælfric’s Grammar, the vernacular is used extensively to introduce students to the study of language. When learning other subjects, however, such as arithmetic or music, Latin was not very a practical medium for elementary and intermediate students. They had only a rudimentary knowledge of the language and would have had difficulties deciphering the texts used in class. The Anglo-Saxon monk Byrhtferth (b. 970), who had been Abbo of Fleury’s pupil at Ramsey, wrote his Enchiridion as a handbook directed chiefly at the secular priests who did not have the benefit of the good training in Latin and the grounding in the liberal arts that the regular monks had. It is essentially a computus but treats other subjects as well, including grammar and rhetoric. The structure of his Enchiridion is in many ways very similar to that of Notker Labeo’s texts: Byrhtferth begins with a passage in Latin and then provides a free translation of the same in English, noting that he does so for the benefit of those who are unable to understand Latin.126 The 123 Although Ælfric used the vernacular to gain access to Latin, it was for him a contingency that gave him a great deal of anxiety, as is expressed in his Preface to Genesis (Joyce Hill, “Learning Latin in Anglo-Saxon England,” pp. 7–8). 124 “Dulce namque erat ei adolescentes et iuuenes semper docere, et Latinos libros Anglice eis soluere, et regulas grammaticae artis ac metricae rationis tradere, et iocundis alloquiis ad meliora hortari” (Wulfstan of Winchester, The Life of St. Æthelwold, ch. 31, ed. M. Lapidge and M. Winterbottom [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991], pp. 46–48). See also ibid., pp. xcii–xcix, and Joyce Hill, “Learning Latin in Anglo-Saxon England,” pp. 15–16. 125 Scholars now often speak of a “Winchester School” of Late Old English. In addition to Ælfric’s work, several other translation projects pertinent to monastic life came out of this school, including interlinear glosses to several psalters, to copies of the “monastic” canticles, to copies of the monastic hymnal and to the Expositio hymnorum, the fragmentary translation of the Regularis concordia, and the translation of Chrodegang’s Regula canonicorum (Wufstan of Winchester, The Life of St. Æthelwold, ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, pp. xcii–xciv). 126 “I have said various things which it is a pleasure to repeat in my own language, so that those who cannot take in the sense of Latin may at least understand our discussion in the vernacular (‘uulgarem nostrum sermonem’)” (Byrhtferth’s Enchiridion, ed. and trans. Peter S. Baker and Michael Lapidge [Oxford: University Press, 1995], p. 57).
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system of alternating Latin and vernacular translation continues for some time, but eventually the author uses English exclusively, though he says that he is forced occasionally to intersperse Latin with the English because of the lack of technical terms.127 Byrhtferth’s method was driven by the need to make a difficult text accessible to students with a mediocre knowledge of Latin. As in Notker’s case, his model was the commentary and glossing tradition practised in the tenth century, which is expanded and together with the vernacular made an integral part of the teaching text. In his translation/commentaries, Notker expands upon and develops traditional glossing practices and makes the step of moving them within the text proper: he provides OHG translation together with interpretive and grammatical commentary after a section of Latin text in which he often simplifies the Latin word order. We are no longer dealing with a “natural method” or even an “eclectic method” such as that represented by glossing, but what could be compared in foreign language pedagogy to facing page loose translations with copious footnotes. Notker, Byrhtferth and Ælfric represent a new generation of schoolmasters with a new teaching methodology that responds to the learning needs of the time by enhancing the role of the vernacular and bringing it from the oral domain to parchment. co d e - s w i tc h i n g a n d n ot k er’s mixed prose A curious aspect of Notker’s translation/commentaries is his frequent use of a Latin/German “Mischsprache” or “Mischprosa,” a “mixed language” or “macaronic prose.”128 Such bilingual passages occur most often in the OHG commentary sections of Notker’s work and less frequently in the OHG translation proper. German acts as the base language and is interspersed with Latin terminology and/or example sentences. Each language follows its respective rules: the Latin is not “Germanized” nor is the OHG Latinized (except for a few cases of borrowing). Once the meaning of the word is made clear in German, Notker usually reverts to using the Latin term. The following example, in which Notker makes use of an extreme mixture of the two languages, is taken from a commentary passage that defines the concept 127 “It is necessary for me to mix some Latin in with this English” (ibid., p. 105). 128 Usually the adjective “macaronic” is used to refer to medieval mixed language poems, in which vernacular words are introduced into a Latin context and often given Latinate endings or used in Latin constructions. In his study of late medieval English macaronic sermons, Siegfried Wenzel adopts the term to refer to prose texts as well, in which English and Latin are mixed in different structural forms to various ends (Macaronic Sermons, p. 5). For further studies of code-switching in texts of the central and late Middle Ages in England, see Herbert Schendl, “Linguistic Aspects of Code-Switching in Medieval English Texts,” in D. A. Trotter (ed.), Multilingualism in Later Medieval Britain, (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000), pp. 77–92; Tony Hunt, “Code-Switching in Medical Texts,” ibid., pp. 131–147.
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“definitio” in his translation of Boethius’ De consolatione. In order to provide a better feel of the language mixture, I leave the Latin untranslated: Hˆıer ´ıst ze uu´ızenne . d´az diffinitio o´ uh e´igen instrumentum ´ıst philosophorum . ad dispuntandum . s´amo so argumentum ´ıst . unde syllogismus . . . Argumentorum loca f´unden sie sedecim . ratiocinationum modos . uiginti sex . a´ber diffinitionum m´ısseliho . uu´anda cicero lˆeret u´ nsih in topicis quatuor modos . uictorinus rhetor quindecim. D´ero quindecim modorum . ´ıst e´chert e´inˆer . d´er proprie diffinitio h´eize . die a´ndere h´eizent mˆer descriptiones. [Here it is important to note that diffinitio is also a particular instrumentum philosophorum ad dispuntandum, just as argumentum is and syllogismus . . . They determined argumentorum loca sedecim, ratiocinationum modos uiginti sex, but diffinitionum in various ways, because Cicero teaches us in topicis quattuor modos, uictorinus rhetor quindecim. Of those quindecim modorum there is one, which is called proprie diffinitio, the others are rather called descriptiones.]129
Here Notker integrates Latin technical terms (such as diffinitio, syllogismus, argumentum, instrumentum, etc.) and Latin professional terms (philosophorum, rhetor, etc.), as well as numerals, into the OHG base text. The following example shows Notker’s use of a mixed language in the translation proper and is taken from his version of De interpretatione. I have italicized Boethius’ original Latin, in order to make clear Notker’s own Latin additions: In uniuersalibus uero quæ similiter dicuntur . non est uera .s. affirmatio . uera autem negatio. Ut putasne omnis homo sapiens est? Non. Igitur omnis homo non sapiens est. Hoc falsum est. Sed uera est .s. negatio. Non igitur omnis homo sapiens est. Ube man uraget so samo f´one allen . ist m´annolih uuˆıse? unde a´nderer chˆıt n´ein . unde e´ner sar fone diu n´ah spr´ıchet . so ´ıst m´annolih non sapiens . so h´abet er gel´ogen. Omnis homo non sapiens est . taz ist infinita affirmatio . unde ist l´ugi . samo so er chade negando . nullus homo sapiens est. Spr´ıchet er aber . finitum nomen negando . non omnis ergo homo sapiens est . samo so er chade affirmando particulariter quidam homo sapiens est . taz ist uuˆar. [. . . If one asks concerning all of them “is all mankind wise?” and another says “no” and the first one quickly responds “so then mankind is non sapiens” then he has reached a false conclusion. The statement “omnis homo non sapiens est” is an infinita affirmatio and it is a false conclusion. The same is true, if he says negando “nullus homo sapiens est.” If, however, he uses a finitum nomen negando “non omnis ergo homo sapiens est” just as if he said affirmando particulariter “quidam homo sapiens est,” that is a true conclusion.]130
The section of OHG translation in this passage is more of a paraphrase/commentary than a close rendering of the Latin text. In his explanation Notker first translates the base example sentence (omnis homo est sapiens > “ist m´annolih uuˆıse”), but in subsequent discussion he reverts to the Latin sentence. As in the first passage, 129 Nb III, 169, 28–170, 5.
130 Ni 56, 18–57, 5; I translate only Notker’s rendition.
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much of the technical vocabulary remains in Latin. In other examples, commentary begins in German and then switches to a longer passage of unbroken Latin.131 In the following example from Notker’s Psalter translation, the mixing is not as extreme. Once again the original Latin is italicized: C o n f i t e b o r t i b i d o m i n e i n t o t o c o r d e <meo>. Ih i´ıho dir tr´uhten . chˆıt æcclesia . in a´llemo mˆınemo herzen. Lob tuˆon ih dir manu forti. Quoniam audisti uerba oris mei. Vuanda du gehˆortost diˆu uuort mines mundes. Du gehˆortost mih in d´emo geb´ete prophetarum unde iustorum . die dˆınero incarnationis pˆaten. [. . . I will avow to you my Lord, spoke æcclesia, in my whole heart. I will spread your praise manu forti . . . because you heard the words of my mouth. You heard me in the prayer prophetarum and iustorum, who prayed (concerning your) incarnationis.]132
Latin words are only sparingly applied in a German context. Notker uses the Latin terms for the agents ecclesia, prophetarum and iustorum, presumably because of their theological connotation. Notker’s macaronic prose is similar to what in diglossic speech communities is referred to as code-switching and code-mixing, a situation in which languages are mixed in the course of a single utterance.133 In Notker’s case, code-switching is both inter- and intra-sentential, in other words, the switch from German to Latin occurs both at a sentence or clause boundary as well as within a sentence or clause.134 On a hypertextual level, Notker’s practice of integrating mixed language into the OHG translation or commentary could also be seen as code-switching from one variety, such as the primary dialect OHG to a mixed variety of Latin/German. When investigating code-switching, one can take a “pragmatic” approach and look for motivations for the switching, or take a “grammatical” approach and analyze the linguistic constraints on the switching.135 Studies using the latter framework have demonstrated that code-switching is not without grammatical rules, that is, it is not random, but works within the linguistic rules of the languages involved. Below I will contextualize some previous studies on Notker’s mixed language using a pragmatic approach to diglossic code-switching. A speaker’s motivation for code-switching is an important consideration in the choice of the variety used and can be both conscious and subconscious. Reasons include such things as solidarity with listeners, the topic being discussed and perceived social and cultural distance.136 Two general types of code-switching can be 131 Cf. Nk 87, 18–94, 1. 132 Np 508, 8–13; I translate only Notker’s rendition. 133 Gumperz defines code-switching as “the juxtaposition within the same speech exchange of passages of speech belonging to two different grammatical systems or sub-systems” (“Conversational CodeSwitching,” Discourse Strategies [Cambridge: University Press, 1982], p. 59). 134 In some studies the former type is called “code-switching” and the latter type “code-mixing.” I refer to both types as “code-switching” (see Britto, Diglossia, pp. 157–159). 135 Romaine, Bilingualism, p. 121. 136 Ronald Wardhaugh, An Introduction to Sociolinguistics (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986), p. 102.
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distinguished: “transactional” and “metaphorical.” In transactional code-switching, the variety of language used depends upon the situation in which the conversants find themselves and is controlled by components of the speech event, such as topic and participants. In metaphorical code-switching, the variety chosen will depend upon the communicative effect the speaker wishes to convey. Whereas several varieties can be used to discuss the topic, the specific choice of one variety over the other adds distinct flavour to what is being said about the topic.137 Studies of modern diglossic speech communities have shown that code-switching rarely occurs in the authentic domain, but is found in both the oral and written non-authentic domains. In Tamil, for example, we find code-switching in public speeches, sermons and lectures, which are given as a rule in H.138 It also often occurs in instructional situations. When clarifying a problem in H, a speaker may switch to L in order to “come across as a next door neighbor explaining a point.”139 In all of these cases, the switch is from H to L; L is used to represent authentic speech or to evoke values associated with it in an H context. In written materials, code-switching occurs in all genres, as in stories, novels, essays, cartoons, etc. The narrative portion of a story will be written in H, whereas any dialogues that mimic authentic speech are cited in L; essays are usually written in H, but quotations can be given in L. A good example for this latter type of switching is Ekkehard’s use of the vernacular in direct discourse as demonstrated above. Early scholarship often assumed that Notker mixed in Latin words and phrases either because he was unable to translate or had difficulties translating the text into OHG or because he was influenced by the traditional practice of commenting in Latin. Such motivation, to which Byrhtferth confesses, could be labelled “linguistic transfer,” or “cross-linguistic” and “cross-cultural influence.”140 Rudolf K¨ogel, for example, referred to the Latin passages as “Residua” and argued that Notker simply got stuck half or three-fourths of the way in applying his new vernacular expository method.141 This “residual” hypothesis was soon dismissed by later studies, which demonstrated that Notker in fact had vernacular equivalents for many of the Latin terms but chose not to use them. Sociolinguistic studies support these findings. In general, speakers do not code-switch in order to fill lexical gaps (as opposed to linguistic borrowing), but switch for items which they know and use in both languages.142 In other words, code-switching does not represent a debasement of 137 Romaine, Bilingualism, pp. 161–162, and Wardhaugh, An Introduction, p. 103. 138 Britto, Diglossia, p. 158. 139 Ibid., p. 159. 140 Romaine, Bilingualism, pp. 51–52. 141 K¨ogel, Geschichte der deutschen Litteratur bis zum Ausgange des Mittelalters, vol. 1.2 (Strassburg: Tr¨ubner, 1897), p. 614. 142 “Although it is popularly believed by bilingual speakers themselves that they mix or borrow because they don’t know the term in one language or another, it is often the case that switching occurs most often for items which people know and use in both languages . . . Mixing and switching for fluent bilinguals is thus in principle no different from style shifting for the monolingual. The bilingual just has a wider choice – at least when he or she is speaking with bilingual speakers” (Romaine,
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linguistic skills, but is a “sensitive indicator of bilingual ability.”143 As Wenzel points out, however, competence need not necessarily cover the lexicon of both languages equally. Thus, a bilingual speaker may not know the special vocabulary of a specific field in both languages equally well.144 In Notker’s case we may be dealing with a mixture of these two situations: although in most cases he may have had an OHG equivalent available and chose not to use it, in others there was no equivalent or the one available did not express the meaning of the Latin as well. Other scholars have seen Notker’s mixed language as a symptom of bilingualism and linguistic interference and have suggested that Notker’s macaronic prose reflects a sociolect, which was spoken by bilingual monks in the abbey and transferred to the classroom.145 Ehrismann traces Notker’s mixed language to a spoken “Klosteridiom,” which in Notker’s works is borrowed from the oral sphere and recorded in writing. He argues that there were no set rules for its use, and that individual speakers could both form and implement it as they wished.146 De Boor labeled it a “Kathedersprache” and argued that it reflects the spoken language used daily by teachers at the school pult and perhaps mimicked by pupils. He adds that it is impossible to find a system in Notker’s motivation for using the one language or the other and that any studies which have tried made “the practical pedagogue into a pondering taxonomist.”147 Georg Baesecke, a supporter and purist of early German literature, referred to the sociolect as a “h¨aßlicher Mischmasch” and a “Klosterjargon.”148 It is unlikely that the mixed language Notker used in his writing represents a general monastic sociolect, that is, a variety spoken by all monks for various purposes. St. Gall was clearly a diglossic community, in which L was used in the authentic domain in familial situations, and H in the non-authentic domain in formal settings. The significance Notker places on learning Latin and the evidence gleaned from Ekkehard’s Casus sancti Galli regarding the use of L clearly support such an interpretation. It is possible that St. Gall during Notker’s time may have been a partially “leaky” diglossic community, in which the strict boundaries between the uses of H and L were becoming blurred. Notker’s mixed prose offers an interesting perspective on this thesis. A comparable type of mixed language is found today Bilingualism, p. 143). Given Romaine’s statement, it might be that Byrhtferth knew the terms in both languages, but perceived his switching to be due to a lack of terminology in the vernacular. 143 Shana Poplack, “Sometimes I’ll start a sentence in Spanish y termino en espa˜nol: Toward a Typology of Code-Switching,” Linguistics 18 (1980), p. 581. 144 Wenzel, Macaronic Sermons, p. 113. 145 Elisabeth Karg-Gasterst¨adt, “Notker Labeo,” Verfasserlexikon des Mittelalters, ed. Karl Langosch, vol. 5. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1955), p. 780. 146 Ehrismann, Geschichte der deutschen Literatur, pp. 429–430. 147 De Boor, Die deutsche Literatur, p. 111. Cf. K¨ogel, Geschichte, vol. 1.2, p. 614, and Paul Hoffmann, Die Mischprosa Notkers des Deutschen (Berlin: Mayer und M¨uller, 1910), p. 4. 148 Georg Baesecke, Fr¨uhgeschichte des deutschen Schrifttums (Halle a. S.: Niemeyer, 1950), p. 33.
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among certain speakers in Tanzania, a triglossic speech community in which the relationships between the languages are changing. Mkilifi reports a widespread mixing of Swahili (H/L) with both of the vernaculars (L) and English (H). In the case of English mixing, the speakers’ motivation is in part due to conflicts in wanting to express nationalist values, on the one hand, and the need for technical vocabulary and the desire to demonstrate educational attainments, on the other.149 Mkilifi gives the following example of a mixed Swahili/English utterance, in which technical terms are expressed in English (the Swahili text is cited in italics). The language mixing is indeed very similar to Notker’s mixed prose: Zile hormones za uvyazi za tilapia zategemea zile environmental factors zinazowaathiri hawa tilapia. [The reproductive hormones of tilapia depend upon how the environmental factors have been impinging on tilapia.]
In other cases, however, Mkilifi shows that speakers switch to English even if equivalent Swahili lexical items exist. It thus appears that although leakage is present and L forms have been coined, some speakers still prefer to use the H forms.150 Another explanation for the overlap of diasystems in the classroom situation, however, could be that proposed by de Boor, namely that Notker’s mixed language represents a specific sociolect used by teachers and pupils. In other words, Notker mixes language because his pupils are not yet completely bilingual. Above we saw that in the “eclectic” teaching method, overlap between H and L was common in speech.151 This situation is similar to that found in Tamil, where code-switching takes place in the authentic spoken and written domains; the switch is from H to L in order to clarify a problem, perhaps by imitating authentic speech or evoking values associated with it. Notker seems to have recreated this mixed H/L variety in his written texts, although in his case the use of L is far more extensive. A further important distinction is that in Notker’s mixed language, the code-switching occurs from L to H. In other words, L is the base language with H sprinkled in, as in the Tanzanian example cited above. 149 M. H. Abdulaziz Mkilifi, “Triglossia and Swahili–English Bilingualism in Tanzania,” in Joshua Fishman (ed.), Advances in the Study of Societal Multilingualism (The Hague: Mouton, 1978), pp. 128–147. 150 Ibid., p. 140. 151 It is important to remember, however, that most of Notker’s texts are not speech transcriptions and do not exactly reproduce spoken classroom discourse. Sonderegger argues that Notker’s language contains elements of spoken language, which he calls a “lehrhaft gesprochene Schulsprache” (Stefan Sonderegger, “Althochdeutsch als Volkssprache,” in John OleAskedal, et al. [eds.], Gedenkschrift f¨ur Ingerid Dal [T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1988], p. 25). He restricts his analysis to the German portions of Notker’s texts and suggests that Notker’s frequent use of rhetorical questions and other short phrases has its roots in the spoken vernacular. For a well-argued criticism of this thesis, see Sonja Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, pp. 159–161.
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As de Boor argued, Notker’s motivation for using macaronic prose in his translation/commentaries is difficult to pin down. His criticism of all attempts to systematize Notker’s use was largely a reaction to a study written at the beginning of the twentieth century by Paul Hoffmann. Hoffmann argued that Notker’s mixed language represents a “P¨adagogenjargon” which Notker developed with time and experience into a refined system that could be applied to express philosophical concepts.152 He divides Notker’s use of mixed language into two categories (historical and philosophical) and within each category he distinguishes three types of motivation: (1) “bound” mixing in the case of set terminology; (2) “free” mixing in order to express abstract concepts; and (3) “arbitrary” mixing, where Notker unknowingly reverts to the classroom sociolect. Hoffmann concentrates on the second category and goes to extreme lengths to account for Notker’s motivation, posing some curious interpretations of the teacher’s psyche, as well as language symbolism in general.153 Quite justly, Glauch has referred to Hoffmann’s work as perhaps one of the most bizarre on Notker ever to have appeared.154 Nonetheless, beneath the nationalistic and often misogynistic interpretations, the general framework has some merit. Hoffmann is correct when he suggests that the language of philosophy belongs to the non-authentic domain and is thus usually not expressed in L. In general, his three types of motivation are also in line with what we know about code-switching in diglossic communities: the first two could be labeled “conscious” switching and the third “subconscious.” In an earlier study, Schaumann had argued that Notker was familiar with the mixed German/Latin variety from his own schooldays. He traces the existence of a German/Latin classroom sociolect to the influence of Hrabanus Maurus and, indirectly, the Carolingian renaissance combined with the presence of foreign monks at St. Gall, who spoke Latin and influenced the language of the local monks.155 Schaumann suggests that Notker used Latin in his explanations for purely practical purposes, namely to facilitate understanding of classroom texts for his pupils by stressing main and crucial points in Latin. The switch to Latin within a German context signalled markedness in writing, which in speech would have been noted by means of intonation or pause.156 He distinguishes two general types of constructions in which Notker switches to Latin: (1) in syntactic structures borrowed from dialectic in order to give them prominence, and (2) in constructions influenced by allegorical interpretation. Examples for the former type are the use of causal 152 Hoffmann, Mischprosa, pp. 4–5. 153 For example, he refers to Latin as a characteristically “male language” and German as a naive “female language” (ibid., p. 27). 154 Sonja Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 154. 155 Ernst Schaumann, “Studien zu Notkers Mischprosa,” Jahresbericht des Gymnasiums der k.k. Theresianischen Akademie in Wien (Vienna: Theresianische Akademie, 1911), pp. 8–11. 156 Ibid., p. 13.
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clauses introduced with uu´anda or an explanation followed by ped´ıu, the use of conditional clauses, syllogisms, parallelism, oppositions, citations and examples. The latter type is stressed by the use of signa ignota, translata and ambigua, i.e., the explanation of obscure, allegorical and ambiguous terms. In her study of Notker’s De interpretatione, Cornelia Staeves demonstrates that Notker had one or even several translation options at his disposal for the Latin words and phrases that he retains in his translation/commentary passages.157 In other words, he does not use Latin terms and example sentences because he was unable to translate them, but because he chose not to. Sometimes the switch appears to be subconscious. In a majority of cases, however, Notker switches to Latin where he wants to highlight example sentences or the technical vocabulary of philosophical language. In an interesting experiment, Staeves compares Notker’s text with the critical edition of Boethius’ text, and her findings show that Notker often uses Latin when quotation marks would be called for in a modern text. Notker translates the examples into OHG in only about one-fourth of the cases, as in the second example cited above. In the following passage, the example consists of only one word: Quemadmodum in oratione . quæ est equus ferus. Sˆo iz h´abet a´n d´ero r´edo .i. p´eitˆıg ros . uu´anda ferus t´anne nˆıeht ne´ıst pars nominis . n´ube s´elbez nomen. [. . . As it is in that phrase, i.e., a wild horse, because then ferus is not a pars nominis nor itself a nomen.]158
Notker translates equus ferus (p´eitˆıg ros), but then reverts to the Latin terms when explaining the point that the part ferus of the compound equiferus does not have the power to “signify,” since it is not a noun.159 Staeves concludes that Notker used the Latin phrases for visual markedness in order to make the text easier to read and understand.160 Glauch supports Staeves’ findings that Notker’s motivation for using macaronic prose is a phenomenon of form and not content. His switching to Latin is not due to linguistic incompetence but can in many cases be traced to what she refers to as a “Duktus der Rede,” which is impossible to categorize within the constraints of one system.161 She lists several general motivating factors, which she has gleaned from her study of the Nc text. Notker switches from German to Latin: (1) to ¨ 157 Cornelia Staeves, Notkers Hermeneutik-Ubersetzung (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 1996), p. 32. 158 Ni 7, 24–27. 159 Cf. also Ni 55, 15–20: “Illa uero quæ est . aliqui iustus homo . opposita. Quoniam non omnis homo ´ non iustvs est. Vnde ouh t´ero zueio opposita . ih m´eino dˆıa . e´telih man est rehter . unde dia . ´ uuˆar ist non omnis homo non m´annolih neist nˆıeht u´ nrehter. Necesse est enim esse aliquem. Ube iustus est . so ist not aliquem iustum esse.” ¨ 160 Staeves, Notkers Hermeneutik-Ubersetzung, p. 21. 161 Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 154.
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cite an authoritative text; (2) to explain word formation and etymology; (3) to drill termini technici; (4) when using theological vocabulary which carried with it specific connotations; (5) when classifying something according to its genus (such as places, gods, animals, stones); (6) as a vehicle of markedness based on Schaumann’s categories (with qualifications); (7) when expressing euphemisms; (8) as a general vehicle of markedness; (9) when using proper names and foreign words with no associated markedness.162 In Notker’s mixed language, code-switching is largely situational, in that the choice of using mixed language is determined by the classroom domain. The extent of code-switching is also influenced by audience constraints, namely, his pupils’ knowledge of Latin. We must remember that many of them were not yet bilingual and had a difficult time with the H diasystem. This was, after all, the reason that he translated in the first place. Several of the categories outlined above can be directly traced to a pedagogic technique. Thus, for example, Notker switches to Latin in order to clarify word formations and etymologies and to drill technical terms. Schaumann’s categories of “dialectic reasoning patterns” and “allegorical interpretation” could also partly fall within this category. The topic being discussed also plays a role in the extent to which Notker switches languages. Thus, for example, Notker mixes codes more frequently when discussing subjects for which a specific technical vocabulary exists. In the first two passages cited above, the topic is dialectic, and Notker retains the Latin terms in order to drill them with his students. Moreover, Notker does not switch codes as frequently in his OHG translations proper; the topic “commentary” appears to have played an important role in the choice of variety. On the other hand, Notker’s mixed language is a good indicator of his own bilingual ability, and can in no way be traced to linguistic incompetence. The one exception here may be that some vernacular equivalents for the Latin technical terms may not have existed, or that the Latin terms expressed them better and more concisely. In this category belong those switches that involve theological terms, “abstractions” and proper names and certain foreign words. Glauch’s “euphemism” category also indirectly falls into this group. Findings from analyses of modern conversational code-switching have revealed some remarkable similarities for language choice in situations from widely disparate speech communities from around the world.163 Some of these are applicable to Notker’s case as well. One common situation is that speakers will often switch to H to make an utterance more authoritative. Closely related to this observation is that people are usually quoted in the language of the original utterance. In other cases, Notker’s motivation for switching to Latin is difficult to ascertain. Fasold points out that sometimes the investigator has to be a mind-reader to know exactly why a person chooses one language or another at a particular 162 Ibid., pp. 155–158.
163 Fasold, Sociolinguistics, pp. 203–205.
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point.164 Modern sociolinguists have an advantage in that they can actually interview informants. The social historian of language has only texts with which to work. A further complication is that we are dealing with text languages and not recordings of actual speech. Nonetheless, as I have demonstrated, modern sociolinguistic approaches offer some very worthwhile tools that can, with restrictions, be applied to the study of medieval dialects and their relationship to the primary language of textual culture, Latin. Notker’s texts clearly demonstrate that German was applied to instruction in a diglossic community like St. Gall. The overlap of the H and L diasystems could be traced to various factors. L is often used for explanatory purposes in diglossic situations. The novel characteristic of Notker’s translation/commentaries is that the overlap and code-switching, which frequently took place in speech, was extended to written discourse. His translation/commentaries, however, are not simply transcriptions of spoken classroom discourse. They are carefully composed teaching materials that facilitate reading and performance. Diglossia at St. Gall may have begun to break down by the beginning of the tenth century. On the one hand, knowledge of Latin may have decreased in the wake of political and economic disasters, which plagued the area in the first half of the tenth century. On the other hand, leakage may also have been caused by social factors, such as an increase in access to literacy and the number of students who were taught at the St. Gall schools. In order to meet the needs of the growing student population – both externs and interns – teaching techniques were improved, including the realization that the vernacular could serve as an important tool for learning. The goal of teachers like Notker was no doubt to strengthen the borders between H and L by making sure that pupils learned H. If German were to be written, read/performed, listened to and then serve as a vehicle of literacy, it too needed to conform to the ars grammatica and be recorded and performed according to its rules. Words needed to be spelled and used consistently and read aloud clearly according to the guidelines of lectio. As I shall demonstrate in the following four chapters of my study, simplified word order, punctuation, accentuation and spelling helped to guide the pupils’ eyes through the OHG text and their lips in its pronunciation. 164 Ibid., p. 206.
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4 The St. Gall Tractate
Is est autem optimus, quo fit, ut qui audit uerum audiat et, quod audit, intellegat. Augustine, De doctrina Christiana1
The St. Gall Tractate (SGT) is a unique document outlining medieval lectio practice. It is one of the oldest extant medieval treatises to discuss theories of sentence structure and word order and documents early developments in medieval linguistic thought that would pave the way for the twelfth-century modistic grammarians.2 On a more practical level, the SGT is a “how to” book for teaching intermediate Latin reading and provides us with a rare glimpse at the methodology of medieval discretio and the related rhetorical subject of compositio. The author demonstrates step by step how to construe the segments of a sentence and how to analyze the structure of a text in the classroom. Finally, he discusses how properly to modulate one’s voice in order to perform a text correctly so that the less experienced listener (auditor minus doctus) will be able to understand the vocalized discourse.3 The two extant copies of the SGT in Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.98 (Z) and Brussels, Bibl. royale, MS 10 615–729 (G) are both in some way associated with Notker Labeo and St. Gall. Z was copied at St. Gall in the late tenth or first half of the eleventh century and contains in addition two Latin dialectic texts that were probably composed by Notker, “Distributio” and “Dialectica.”4 G was produced 1 Augustine, De doctrina christiana, IV, x, 25, ed. Martin, p. 134. 2 To my knowledge there is only one other extant early medieval treatise dealing with classroom word order, “Omnis constructio ex substantia et actu fit.” See below, pp. 168–169. 3 SGT 60v, 12–15. Here the author is referring specifically to performance of commata (see below, p. 188). I cite the St. Gall Tractate (SGT) as it appears in the edition by King/Tax, NkS, pp. 48–104. In order to facilitate reference to the translation of the text in the edition by Grotans/Porter, I give the folio and line numbers to the text as they appear in the Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.98 copy. The layout of the NkS edition follows this manuscript, and the respective folio is given in the upper right-hand corner of each page. 4 For the most recent discussion of the dating of Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.98, see Petrus W. Tax, “Die lateinischen Schriften Notkers des Deutschen. Altes und Neues,” PBB 124 (2002), pp. 412– 413. Based upon my own most recent in situ analyses of the manuscript and comparison with other
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in the twelfth century at St. Maximin in Trier and is found in a quaternion with Notker’s letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, his “De arte rhetorica” and several other logical treatises either written by or associated with him.5 In his letter, Notker lists the works he was asked to render into OHG, thus providing us with a fairly accurate account of what he wrote. In addition to his translation/ commentaries, Notker notes a “novam rhetoricam et computum novum et alia quaedam opuscula latine,” but gives no specific titles for these shorter Latin treatises.6 The theories set forth in the SGT are deeply rooted in classical and late classical learning and build upon the teachings of Aristotle, Boethius, Cicero, Priscian, and Martianus Capella. Reference is also made to patristic authors such as Augustine, Jerome and Isidore as well as to more recent figures such as Bede and Remigius of Auxerre. The author was well read in the literature of his day and aware of new trends in the field of dialectic and rhetoric. He was familiar with works from the first part of Aristotle’s Organon as preserved in Boethius’ translations and draws upon definitions of the sentence as found in De categoriis and De interpretatione. In a final section he even provides a critical analysis of his sources on sentence movement and points out contradictions in their reasoning. The SGT was clearly written by a scholar who was well acquainted with his subject matter and capable not only of repeating tradition but also of analyzing the problems at hand. It is in its own right an original piece of work and certainly not beyond the acumen of a litteratus like Notker. Notker was certainly acquainted with and applied the methodology set forth in the SGT when composing his own translation/commentaries.7 A comparison of the works referred to and used by the author of the SGT with those used by Notker also reveals numerous correspondences.8 Particularly salient are the references made in the SGT to dialectic, a field in which Notker was very interested and on which he translated and compiled St. Gall manuscripts, I have found that it is difficult, if not impossible, to provide a more specific dating based on the script. See also Grotans, “The Scribes and Notker Labeo,” pp. 108. A description of Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, C.98 is provided in NkS, pp. xxi–xxiii and the introduction to The St. Gall Tractate: A Medieval Guide to Rhetorical Syntax, ed. Anna A. Grotans and trans. David W. Porter (Columbia, SC: Camden House, 1995), pp. 23–39 (henceforth abbreviated A Medieval Guide). 5 For a description of Bruxelles, Biblioth`eque royale, MS 10 615–729, see NkS, pp. xxiii–xxvi; a discussion of the relationship between this manuscript and Zurich C.98 is presented in ibid., pp. xxvi–xxix. 6 NkS 349, 18–19. 7 See below, chapter five, and Christine Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 116–119, Sonja Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, pp. 119–137, Anna A. Grotans, “Syntax in the St. Gall Classroom: Notker Labeo and the ordo naturalis,” PhD thesis, Univ. of Minnesota, 1992, Henkel, Deutsche ¨ Ubersetzungen, Herbert Backes, Die Hochzeit Merkurs und der Philologie: Studien zu Notkers Martian¨ Ubersetzung (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1982), pp. 31–64, and Anton N¨af, Die Wortstellung in Notkers ¨ Consolatio: Untersuchungen zur Syntax und Ubersetzungstechnik (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1979). After completion of my manuscript, I became aware of a very recent study by Helge Eilers, Die Syntax ¨ Notkers des Deutschen in seinen Ubersetzungen. Boethius, Martianus Capella und Psalmen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2003). 8 Tax, “Die lateinischen Schriften,” pp. 427–429 and Grotans/Porter, A Medieval Guide, p. 37.
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several treatises.9 Tax has recently shown quite convicingly that, in addition to correspondences between the SGT and Notker’s writing with regard to sources and method of text analysis, the Latin style of the SGT is strikingly close to Notker’s own.10 Elsewhere I have argued that although Notker may have written the SGT, it is also possible that the text was composed elsewhere.11 In the ninth, tenth and eleventh centuries many classroom texts were collected and copied in codices with little concern as to their origin and authorship. Compendia like those found in the Zurich and Brussels manuscripts were common in the Middle Ages and are made up of a hodgepodge of works, sometimes by different authors, that were compiled for classroom use. The group of texts with which the SGT is preserved is complex and reveals an extended tradition of classroom materials, some of which may have been influenced by tenth-century northern French scholarship, perhaps Gerbert’s curriculum at Rheims. The SGT could have been imported from France and copied at St. Gall, where it then became part of a collection of classroom texts that was later disseminated to other scriptoria. Another possibility is that the SGT is originally an Insular work that was brought to St. Gall during one of the periods of Irish or English influence, or that it was transmitted there via Lotharingia.12 In effect, we could be indebted to Notker not for composing the SGT, but for making sure that it was copied and that the methods outlined in it were implemented in the St. Gall school. By the same token, the correspondences between the SGT and Notker’s methodology and style as well as curriculum at the turn of the millennium simply cannot be ignored. Petrus Tax, who is one of the foremost experts on Notker’s work today, has made this clear. Until further evidence to the contrary is found, I accept his conclusion that the text is indeed that of Notker Labeo.13 9 See above, chapter two, p. 83. 10 Tax, “Die lateinischen Schriften,” pp. 427–434. 11 A Medieval Guide, pp. 33–39. 12 Early Insular grammarians were interested in issues of word order, and Celtic and Anglo-Saxon authors began to make word order conventions a regular feature of their Latin prose already in the sixth century. The Insular grammarian Tatwine, for example, argued that one should follow Donatus’ ordering of the parts of speech when putting together a sentence in order to avoid ambiguity. For a further discussion see Saenger, Space, pp. 89–91. On older theories of the origin of the SGT, see also L. M. de Rijk, “On the Curriculum of the Arts of the Trivium,” pp. 35–86 and Ernst Hellgardt, “Notkers des Deutschen Brief,” pp. 174–180. 13 In his article on Notker Labeo in the latest edition of the Verfasserlexikon, Stefan Sonderegger lists the SGT as one of Notker’s earliest works, presumably to account for the fact that Notker applies some of the methods prescribed in the SGT in his first translation, Nb (“Notker III von St. Gallen,” in Kurt Ruh et al. [eds.], Die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters: Verfasserlexikon, 2nd edn., vol. 6 [Berlin: de Gruyter, 1987], col. 1217); see also idem, “Notker der Deutsche als Meister einer volkssprachlichen Stilistik,” in Rolf Bergmann, Heinrich Tiefenbach and Lothar Voetz (eds.), Althochdeutsch, vol. 1, Grammatik, Glossen und Texte (Heidelberg: Winter, 1987), p. 857, fn. 45. Sonja Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, pp. 37–39, and Christine Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 72–75, acknowledge the correspondences with Notker’s work, but leave the authorship question open.
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t e n t h - c e n t ury l e c t i o The reading methodology presented in the SGT is intended for teaching pupils who have a difficult time analyzing the complicated syntax of classical and patristic authors, since they may not know in what order to read the parts of a sentence “et quid primum aut secundum aut ultimum competenter inferatur.”14 In order to understand the meaning of a passage, it was not enough to provide definitions for the individual words (be they Latin synonyms or vernacular equivalents) or to supply grammatical glosses. Readers also had to recognize the underlying syntactic structure and determine which words belonged together and how they belonged together. Moreover, they had to know how to punctuate the text they were reading according to the sense so that they could perform it correctly. These aspects of lectio analysis fell under the rubric of discretio, or “separation,” which, according to Diomedes, had five sub-categories: continuation (continuatio), separation (separatio), punctuation (distinctio), and secondary punctuation or pause (subdistinctio vel mora).15 Continuatio meant being able to understand the syntax of words in combination, as when one verb had two objects; separatio referred to isolating and understanding the syntax of individual words that might be ambiguous in their syntax; distinctio, subdistinctio and mora referred to the punctuation marks that told the reader where to breathe and pause depending upon the meaning of the passage.16 Excerpts from Diomedes’ Ars grammatica, including the above passage concerning the definition of discretio are preserved in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 882, which dates from the tenth century. It is likely that Notker was familiar with Diomedes’ scheme and it could have influenced his own approach to lectio analysis.17 Notker, however, modifies the traditional discretio scheme in two important respects. First, he approaches structural analysis not only from the perspective of grammar, but from that of dialectic and rhetoric as well. Second, he tailors the reading methodology to the needs of his audience, specifically advanced beginning and intermediate pupils for whom Latin was a foreign language. He focuses on word order, sentence movement and oral performance. On the first, grammatical, level, Notker demonstrates how the words of a clause are rearranged according to a natural order (ordo naturalis) of grammatical units such as noun, verb and 14 SGT 38v, 16–39r, 2. 15 “Discretio est confusarum significationum perplana significatio, quae ostenditur modis quinque, continuatione separatione distinctione subdistinctione vel mora” (Diomedes, Ars grammaticae libri III, ed. Keil, GL 1, p. 436, 24–26). 16 Irvine, Textual Culture, p. 71. 17 St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek MS 882, p. 137. In addition to the Diomedes fragments, St. Gall 882 contains several grammatical texts, including Donatus, Ars maior, Servius’ short treatise, “De finalibus,” fragments from Eutychius on conjugation, and the first book of Isidore’s Etymologies, “De grammatica” (Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 310).
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adverb, which basically corresponds to a S(ubject) + V(erb) + O(bject) typology. He also includes rules for ordering adjectives, genitive modifiers, conjunctions and relative pronouns. On the second, logical or pragmatic, level he shows how these grammatical units are interpreted according to the meaning they express. Instead of using categories such as “noun” and “verb,” he now tackles the problem with logical templates such as “subject,” “predicate,” and “adverbial circumstance.” The ordo naturalis is extended to refer, on the one hand, to a natural ordering of ideas, which Notker argues according to logical criteria, such as, the subject precedes the predicate, etc., and, on the other, to text-building strategies. The third level examines the rhetorical composition of a prose text and demonstrates how a narrative passage is constructed from the rhetorical segments comma, colon and periodus (roughly corresponding to a phrase, clause and sentence) and how these are distributed according to rhythmical and semantic criteria. When reading a text out loud, it is important to be aware of the boundaries between the segments and to pronounce them correctly in order to allow for maximum aural comprehension. Here, lectio involves not only the reader but also his audience – the listener (auditor). The basic unit at the heart of all analyses is the grammatical sententia, “sentence,” or, in dialectic, oratio. Notker restricts his analysis to declarative sentences that produce statements (sententiae enunciativae), since they are the only ones that can express a complete thought (finitum). In rhetoric they are referred to as “periods” (periodi), or sometimes cola, and in dialectic “propositions” (proloquia).18 He explains that “Cicero disputat” (“Cicero disputes”) expresses a complete thought; rhetorically it is a “colon” and in dialectic a “proposition.” “Quia cicero disputat” (“because Cicero disputes”) cannot stand alone, nor is it a colon or a proposition. Notker begins the treatise by citing Boethius’ definition of the five types of orationes: declarative, imperative, optative, interrogative, and invitative or deprecative, and points out that declarative speech alone can express affirmations and negations, truths and falsities, that is, be used to form a proposition.19 Furthermore, the statement-making sentence is the one most often employed in the continuous style (continuo genere locutionis), which is particularly difficult to analyze. 18 “Nam et cicero disputat finitum est . et colon est . et proloquium est . Quia cicero disputat . nec finitum est . nec colon est . nec proloquium est” (SGT 55r, 4–6). Cf. Notker’s treatment of the term in his Ni text: “. . . uu´az zes´amine gel´egit´ıu [uu´ort] bez´eichenˆen . an dˆıen uerum u´ nde falsum fern´omen uu´ırdet . t´ıu latine h´eizent proloquia” (3, 12–14); for his definition of the term enuntiatiua, see the passage below. 19 “Sciendum quod quinque principales <sunt> orationes . ut boetius in commentariis periermenarium docet; . Enuntiatiua . Imperatiua . optatiua . interrogatiua . inuitatiua . Quarum enuntiatiua sola . affirmationem et negationem . uerum aut falsum significat” (SGT 38v, 11–14). Boethius’ text reads: “Sunt autem principales quinque orationum differentiae. est autem prima oratio deprecativa ut Iuppiter omnipotens, precibus si flecteris ullis; secunda imperativa ut Suggere tela mihi; tertia interrogativa ut Quo te, Moeri, pedes? quarta vocativa ut Huc ades, o Meliboee ! quinta enuntiativa, in qua verum inesse falsumque perspicitur” (ed. Meisner, I, 35, 11–18).
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In his translation/commentary of the Boethian version of Aristotle’s De interpretatione, Notker devotes several sections to declarative speech and its various applications to logical reasoning. In the introductory paragraph he states: Enuntiatiua uero non omnis .I. Non omnis oratio enuntiatiua est . sed in qua uerum uel falsum est. Neh´ein oratio ne´ıst mˆer enuntiatiua . aˆne d´ıu uuˆar . a´lde l´ugi s´aget. Uu´ır m´ugin o´ uh t´ıuten enuntiatio . s´aga. S´aga ´ıst p´eidiu . uuˆar i´oh l´ugi. Non autem in omnibus .s. est uerum . uel falsum. Ut deprecatio . oratio est . quidem . sed neque uera . neque falsa. ´ Aber in a´llˆen orationibus . neu´ındest tu d´oh nˆıeht t´ero e´in uu´eder .s. uuˆar . a´lde l´ugi . ´ uu´anda deprecatio neuu´eder ne´ıst. Et cætere quidem relinquuntur. Unde bed´ıu uu´erdent hˆıer die a´ndere uersuˆıgˆet . i. optatiua oratio . uocatiua . imperatiua . deprecatiua. Rhetoricæ enim . uel poeticae . conuenientior consideratio est. ´Iro ´ıst uu´ara zetuˆonne poetis . u´ nde rehtoribus . mˆer d´anne philosophis. [But not all is declarative, that is, not all speech is declarative, but only that in which there is truth and falsity. Not all oratio is enuntiatiua . only that which produces truth and falsity. We can also translate enuntiatio “s´aga”. “S´aga” is both truth and falsity. But there is not in all kinds of speech, that is, there is not truth or falsity. Such as deprecatio is a type of speech which does not produce truth or falsity. But in all the types of speech you won’t find the one or the other, that is, truth or falsity, because deprecatio is neither. And the rest are not dealt with. And the others are kept silent about here, i.e. optatiua oratio, uocatiua, imperatiua, deprecatiua. They are more consistently dealt with by rhetoricians or poets. Consideration of them is to be done by poets and rhetoricians more than by philosophers.]20
He points out that only declarative speech expresses truth and falsity. The other types of speech, such as, optative, vocative, imperative and deprecative, are not discussed in the text, since they are the subject matter of poets and rhetoricians more than that of philosophi, in other words, of those concerned with dialectic. Later in this section Notker provides examples of various types of propositions that reflect declarative speech and notes that each declarative sentence must consist of a verb and a casus.21 Examples of simple sentences given are “homo animal est,” “cælum uoluitur,” “sol est,” etc.22 Several of these same example propositions appear in the SGT to illustrate various points. For example, when discussing the 20 Ni 16, 8–24. Boethius’ Latin is italicized. I retain Latin terms in the translation. Boethius’ translation reads: “Est autem oratio omnis quidem significativa non sicut instrumentum, sed (quemadmodum dictum est) secundum placitum; enuntiativa vero non omnis, sed in qua verum vel falsum inest . . . Et ceterae quidem relinquantur rhetoricae enim vel poeticae convenientior consideratio est; enuntiativa vero praesentis considerationis est” (ed. Minio-Paluello, 8, 6–12); in his commentary Boethius adds: “Est autem una prima oratio enuntiativa adfirmatio, deinde negatio; aliae vero coniunctione unae. necesse est autem omnem orationem enuntiativam ex verbo esse vel casu . . .” (ed. Meisner, I, 5, 28–30). In his translation of De categoriis, Notker comments: “Oratio non minus subalternum genus dicenda est. Eius sunt principales species .v. Enuntiatiua oratio. Deprecatiua. Imperatiua. Optatiua. Vocatiua. Item earum sunt plurima species . ut in periermeniis legitur . ut enuntiatiue sunt . affirmatio et negatio” (Nk 63, 14–19). 21 Ni 157, 8–9. 22 Ni 159, 23.
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rhetorical unit the colon, Notker says that it can make up a sententia “ut homo animal est . cælum uoluitur . sol est super terram. terra immobilis est.”23 In chapter two I argued that the tenth and early eleventh centuries saw a reawakened interest in the art of dialectic, which was even given priority over grammar, the traditional foundation of the liberal arts. Dialectic was seen as a key to learning, since it taught students how language functions and provided them with the basic concepts with which to approach its application and function in texts. The necessity of expressing syllogisms clearly also encouraged the use of conventional word grouping in other non-dialectic manuscripts, and indirectly influenced the development of medieval parsing aids to simplify word order such as the ordo naturalis, which is drawn upon in the SGT and will be further discussed below.24 In these respects, the SGT is a prime example of this new mode of thinking. Although the subject matter of the text deals primarily with discretio and compositio as defined by grammar and rhetoric, concepts from dialectic are everpresent and clearly influenced Notker’s approach to textual analysis and language in general. s t ruc t ura l a n a lysis Circumstances of action Notker explains that all sententiae can be broken down into meaningful units called circumstantiae, which answer the familiar rhetorical questions, “who did what, where, when, why, with what assistance, etc.?”25 He points out that the circumstances are a useful tool, since they can serve to order the progression of events in long passages where the sense is often lost in the accumulation of words: Ita semper supradictæ . vii . partes [scil. circumstantiae] . requiri et ordinari debent maxime ubi plurimis uerbis protrahitur sententia fitque ut ad magnam utilitatem legentium non sine difficultate . media primis et prima nouissimis construantur et longe separata concurrant ut sensus pateat et ut possit dinosci . quis et quid fecerit . uel passus sit cum cæteris circumstantiis sine quibus ad integrum res quemquam discere inpossibile est; 23 SGT 42v, 4–5. 24 Saenger, Space, pp. 16–17. 25 The seven circumstantiae listed are: persona, res, locus, causa, tempus, modus, and materia or facultas, which answer to the questions quis fecerit, quid, ubi, cur, quando, quibus amminiculis uel qua materia. The circumstantiae are, of course, a well-known tool of classical rhetoric and were frequently applied in the Middle Ages as part of the accessus ad auctores scheme (cf. Klopsch, “Die mittelalterichen Lehren: Accessus ad auctores,” Einf¨uhrung in die Dichtungslehren des lateinischen Mittelalters [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1980], pp. 48–64; Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship: Scholastic Literary Attitudes in the Later Middle Ages [London: Scolar Press, 1984], pp. 16–19, and Quain, “The Medieval Accessus ad Auctores,” Traditio 3 [1945], pp. 215–264). In Nb 196, 26–197, 11, Notker presents a short excursus on the olympic games that is structured according to the common questions; cf. analysis by Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 138–139. Notker’s use of the circumstances to analyze syntax is unique. See my discussion in A Medieval Guide, pp. 11–12 and further references provided there.
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[And so one should always seek out and arrange the aforementioned seven elements, especially when the sentence is very long. This procedure has a great benefit for readers, though it is not without difficulty that the middle parts are construed with the first and the first parts with the last, and that distantly separated words are joined in order to express the meaning and in order to find out the agent, who, and the action, what was performed or experienced, along with the other circumstances, without which no one can learn anything completely.]26
Each of the seven circumstances, or sentence constituents, can consist of one element or can be expanded to two or many more.27 Later Notker points out that when construing a text in class, it is best to rearrange the circumstantiae of a sententia according to the logical and natural order “who did what how?” in other words, parse first the subject, then the predicate and last the adverbial modifiers. For example: Cicero [quis] disputat [fecerit quid] in tusculano [ubi] multo tempore . mirum in modum [quomodo]. propter communem utilitatem . magna excellentia ingenii [cur]; [Cicero (who) disputes (did what) in the “Tusculan Disputations” (where) at length in a remarkable way (how) for the common good with great brilliance (why).]28
Here the subject Cicero is immediately followed by the finite verb disputat; the reciprocal arrangement of the adverbial phrases is free. The method becomes clear in the following example, where Notker reorders the sentence constituents of an extremely long and complicated sententia. In the original, the subject rex salomon and the object templum are separated from the two indicative verbs construxit and elimauit by numerous other circumstances: Tempore quo siluius æneas regnauit in italia . templum domino toto orbe famosissimum rex salomon filius dauid . cui similis in sapientia nullus ante eum uel post inuentus est quia tabernaculum in sylo ubi erat arca angustum populo uisum est ad orandum et sacrificandum hierosolimis . loco . quem ad hoc elegit dominus ex lapidibus preciosis sectis et quadratis . et lignis cedrinis ex libano monte per irˆam regem tyri administratis . prospere . plus quam credi potest construxit et ad perfectum elimauit;29 26 SGT 48r, 14-48v, 4. 27 The circumstantiae are basically the same as “sentence constituents” in modern linguistics. These can be defined as a group of words that can be replaced by a single word without a change in function and without violating the meaning of the rest of the sentence. In the example below, the constituent subject could be “King Solomon” or “that rich and famous powerful man who is the son of David.” See Thomas N. Habinek, The Colometry of Latin Prose (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1985), pp. 13–15. 28 SGT 41r, 7–11; parenthetical commentary mine. 29 “When Silvius Aeneas ruled in Italy, King Solomon, son of David, whom no one before or after equaled in wisdom, in a place in Jerusalem chosen by the Lord, constructed the most famous temple of God in the world and furnished it more finely than can be believed, building it from precious stones cut and squared and from cedar of Lebanon supplied by Ira, King of Tyre. He did
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The passage is difficult to understand because of the complicated word order ‘what who how did?’ Notker shows how to construe the sentence with the subject first and with the remaining circumstances following in a logical order: a s u b i e c t i u o Rex salomon filius dauid cui similis in sapientia nullus ante eum uel post inuentus est. Ecce persona. Sequitur actio Construxit templum domino . toto orbe famosissimum et ad perfectum elimauit. Sequitur modus ne aduerbium longe sit a uerbo. Prospere plus quam credi potest . Ubi? Iherosolimis . loco quem ad hoc elegit dominus . Unde? Qua materia? Ex lapidibus preciosis sectis et quadratis et lignis cedrinis ex libano monte per irˆam regem tyri administratis . Quando? Tempore quo siluius eneas regnauit in italia . Quare? Quia tabernaculum in silo ubi erat arca angustum uisum est ad orandum et sacrificandum;30
The construed version begins with the subject rex salomon followed by its complement filius dauid and by a relative clause that further modifies the subject. The second unit contains the “did what” with the finite verb and direct and indirect objects in that order: construxit templum domino. The five remaining units further describe the situation and are considered adverbials; their reciprocal arrangement is not set. According to Notker, the simplified version is better suited for teaching (“ad erudiendum pertinet”), because it conveys the same meaning as the complex sentence but in a more straightforward manner.31 Being able to analyze passages according to circumstantiae was very useful in the classroom, since it helped to break up large chunks of text into easily manageable sense units that could be built up again progressively to form a complete sententia. This is especially true in those cases where the individual units were rearranged according to the logical “who did what how” order. Even if the order was not simplified, and several adverbial circumstances preceded the semantic core (“how did who what?”), or the semantic core itself was split, as was indeed often the case in Latin, a S(ubject) + O(bject) + V(erb) language, the initial semantic analysis simplified matters considerably by providing pupils with a structural thread, which they could follow in parsing. When it came to the actual performance of a text, the circumstance-groupings also provided the reader with an ideal guide for breathing and performance. At one point Notker says that the circumstances are “distinct” this, because the tabernacle at Silo, where the ark was, seemed a narrow place for prayer and sacrifice” (SGT 45v, 6–14; emphasis mine). 30 “From the Subject: King Solomon son of David, whom no one before or after equaled in wisdom . . . This is the person. The action follows: constructed the most famous temple of God in the world and furnished it . . . The manner follows so that the adverb will not be far from the verb: more finely than can be believed . . . Where? in a place in Jerusalem chosen by the Lord . . . Whence? With what material? building it from precious stones cut and squared and from cedar of Lebanon supplied by Ira, king of Tyre . . . When? when Silvius Aeneas ruled in Italy . . . Why? because the tabernacle at Silo where the ark was seemed a narrow place for prayer and sacrifice” (SGT 46v, 2–11; emphasis mine). 31 SGT, 46v, 12–14.
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and show readers where to steal a breath.32 Here he is referring to adverbial circumstances that are placed in the vicinity of the semantic core. It is interesting that he applies the adjective distinctus, which was often used to describe a text divided off into smaller units by punctuation marks.33 The use of graphic markers to guide readers in the structural analysis of a passage will be discussed further below. Notker states that pupils have learned in their study of dialectic how to construct logical propositions and they know that the subject precedes accidence and the determiner the determinant. He draws upon this knowledge and proposes a construing order called the ordo naturalis to rearrange the “artificial” word order of classical and patristic authors. The natural order dictates a logical and largely objective, i.e., neutral or unmarked, word order for the sentence, and corresponds to the basic typology of an SVO language. Because they carry the core of the proposition, the subject and verb must always be placed at the beginning of clauses when construing, since the subject is the foundation upon which the predicate is built and must precede it.34 Although it is correct and natural to say “Cicero disputes,” Notker points out that “disputes Cicero” has the same meaning, and that the VS order is in fact found in the Scriptures. He then goes on to discuss which order is best suited “when teaching reading,” and finally decides on the SV order, since it better fits the framework of dialectic.35 Notker refers to the ordo naturalis as the “law of the grammarians” (lex grammaticorum) and contrasts it to the ordo artificialis, which takes into account rhetorical figures, metrics and rhythm (both prose clausulae and poetic meter) and might be called a “lex rhetorum.”36 Although an author is free to choose either order when composing, when construing a sentence in class it is best to follow the natural, objective order.37 The ordo naturalis The ordo naturalis has a long history and was already applied in classical times, both by linguistic theoreticians as the ideal state in the speculation over the nature of 32 “Hæ [scil. circumstantiæ] quoque distinctæ sunt . et in continuis sententiis locum ipsæ respirandi legentibus monstrant . quia dum sint accionis et passionis adiacentiæ”(SGT 46r, 13–15). 33 On the terminology of medieval punctuation see M. Hubert, “Corpus stigmatologicum minus,” Archivum latinitatis medii aevi 37 (1969/70), pp. 5–171, idem, “Le vocabulaire de la ‘ponctuation’ aux temps m´edi´evaux,” Archivum latinitatis medii aevi 38 (1971/72), pp. 57–166, and Parkes, Pause and Effect. 34 “Subiectiuum enim quid aliud intellegitur nisi fundamentum ? et declaratiuum . nisi quod superedificatur? Pone ergo personam quasi fundamentum . et prædica de ea quicquid uis quasi superedificans; Nam eius dignitas est . de ea aliquid audiri . et de ipsa est actio uel passio . non ipsa de illis; Ex eo certum est recto ordine dici . cicero disputat; Ceterum eundem intellectum habet . disputat cicero”; (SGT 39v, 6–11) 35 Ibid., 39v, 7–9. 36 Ibid., 52r, 10–11. 37 Ibid., 41v, 8–9.
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language as well as by teachers as a practical guide for classroom construing.38 The concept of a natural sequence of constituents is used in rhetoric in connection with the dispositio of a speech or narrative and dictates the order in which the argument or story material is presented, depending upon the effect the author wished to elicit from his audience.39 A natural order of words is occasionally discussed in reference to composition, and refers to normal and chronological order in enumeration, such as, “day and night” and “right and left.”40 The idea was developed by grammarians such as Dionysius, Demetrius, Apollonius and Priscian.41 Dionysius of Halicarnassus based his syntactic order on an observation of nature. He said that nouns should precede verbs and verbs should precede adverbs, because in the nature of things nouns indicate substance, verbs accidence, and adverbs circumstance; just as substance takes precedence over its accidence, so action takes precedence over its modalities and circumstances.42 Demetrius wrote that clarity, a necessary virtue in the plain style, was achieved in a natural ordering of elements: sentences should begin with the subject or nominative case and should be followed by the verb; the remaining words should come in due succession.43 Apollonius suggested that the parts of speech should be ordered on a rational basis: the noun and the verb should precede the other parts of speech, because they are the necessary parts of the clause; likewise the nominative should precede the genitive as well as any present tenses precede past tenses.44 According to Priscian, the parts of speech, like the letters of the alphabet, form a closed and ordered set and should be arranged according to a “right” (rectus) word order that is “natural” (naturalis). Priscian argues that the right order is natural because it is logical. But he adds that an author’s usage often imposes an acceptable license, and that the “right,” natural word order can readily be subverted for reasons of clarity, rhythm and euphony.45 The noun is identified through the acting person with the subject; the verb is identified with the predicate through 38 Levy, “To Hexˆes in Homeric Scholia and Servius’ Ordo,” Proceedings of the American Philological Association 100 (1969), pp. 237–254, and Scaglione, The Classical Theory of Composition from its Origins to the Present: A Historical Survey (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1972), p. 106. 39 Lausberg, Elemente der literarischen Rhetorik, 9th edn. (Munich: Hueber, 1987), §§ 447–451 and Franz Quadlbauer, “Zur Theorie der Komposition in der mittelalterlichen Rhetorik und Poetik,” in Brian Vickers (ed.), Rhetoric Revalued (Binghampton: Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 1982), pp. 115–131, and idem, Die antike Theorie der “genera dicendi” im lateinischen Mittelalter (Vienna: B¨ohlau, 1962), § 25 and fn. 40. 40 Scaglione, Classical Theory, p. 76. 41 See the detailed analysis of the ordo naturalis in antiquity provided by Scaglione in Classical Theory, pp. 74–96. 42 Dionysius, On Literary Composition, ed. and trans. W. Rhys Roberts, pp. 98–105. 43 Demetrius of Phaleron, On Style, ed. and trans. W. Rhys Roberts, § 199. 44 Apollonius Dyscolus, Syntax, ed. and trans. Fred Householder, p. 23. 45 Priscian, Institutiones grammaticae, XVII.105–106, GL 3, p. 164, 16–21. See also Scaglione, Classical Theory, pp. 82–83.
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the act expressed. Hence, the noun and the verb are placed at the beginning of the sentence because they alone are necessary to create it. The noun must precede the verb in accordance with the subject/predicate hierarchy; substance is ontologically prior to action, which occupies the second place. The participle follows the verb because it is grammatically associated with it. Likewise we expect pronouns to follow nouns; their position in the hierarchy, however, has been preempted by the verb and participle. Next come the uninflected parts of speech (indeclinabilia), which are a class lower than the inflected parts. The preposition is placed first, then the adverb (since it modifies like the verb, and thus corresponds to it and comes second), then the conjunction (because it is dependent on all of the words which precede and which it binds together), last of all the interjection. According to Priscian, then, the natural order for speech is something like: noun > verb > participle > pronoun > preposition > adverb > conjunction > interjection.46 Priscian’s ordo naturalis, however, concerns only the relation between the parts of speech and has nothing to do with the actual order of words in a sentence. So, in actual composition a preposition should precede the inflected part of speech to which it is attached and which it governs, such as a noun. The preposition is initial in construction but subsequent in nature.47 Priscian and his predecessors had a difficult time justifying a natural order for Latin based on logic, since in the written language the verb was usually placed at the end of the clause.48 The dilemma was compounded by the rhetorical criteria of euphony and rhythm, which often dictated an inversion of the logical sequence of sentence elements. One of the main rhetorical principles employed in the distribution of the parts of speech was to arrange the elements so that the “heaviest” one came last.49 The weight of the element could depend upon semantic intensity or quantity (cursus). The rule of planned progression (or Gesetz der wachsenden Glieder, as Lausberg terms it) was considered to be the normal order, and any interruption in the progression resulted in an artificial order and anticlimax. It could be achieved by juxtaposing semantically and quantitatively “heavy” words or by exaggerating the tension or completeness of the whole.50
46 Covington, Syntactic Theory in the Middle Ages: Modistic Models of Sentence Structure (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), p. 6, and C. H. Kneepkens, “Ab omni homine habetur aliquod capud: A Note on the Concept of Word-Order in 12th-Century Grammatical Thought,” Vivarium 25 (1987), pp. 146–153. For a discussion of Carolingian reception of Priscian’s syntax, see Anneli Luhtula, “Syntax and Dialectic in Carolingian Commentaries on Priscian’s Institutiones grammaticae,” in Vivien Law (ed.), History of Linguistic Thought in the Early Middle Ages (Amsterdam/Philadelphia: Benjamins, 1993), pp. 145–190. 47 “Ergo natura quidem posterior est, constructione vero principalis” (Institutiones grammaticae, xvii.20, ed. Keil, GL 3, p. 121). 48 Scaglione, Classical Theory, p. 83. 49 Lausberg, Elemente, § 449 and § 451. 50 Lausberg, Elemente, § 53.2.
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The classical notion of a natural order of words based on logical reasoning was reinstated with a reawakened interest in dialectic in the tenth century, since clarity in expression was crucial in getting across the new complex and often very compact reasoning patterns.51 In the SGT, for example, Notker, argues that the subject and predicate should be placed at the beginning of a construction, since they are in their own right the most important elements in a statement. He points out that the nature of a dialectic proposition calls for the subject to be placed before the predicate, because the subject is the foundation of the clause and the predicate is that which is built on top of it. As is seen in the SGT, the ordo naturalis was applied already early in the Middle Ages to pedagogic ends in order to rearrange the words of a sentence in such a way that the grammatical relationships between the elements and their meaning would be clear. In effect, early medieval classroom practice brought what before had been and was soon again to become linguistic speculation back to the domain of empirical observation.52 Already in Priscian the term constructio (“composition”) had taken on a second, practical meaning “construing” and was applied in the classroom to explicate difficult constructions by placing words in a “normal,” analytical order.53 Jellinek points out that the practice was probably already common among the ancients, although direct evidence is rare.54 In Homeric scholia to the Iliad dating from the Hellenistic period, we find the exegetical term to hexe introducing commentary that gives the passage in a simplified version.55 The Latin term ordo is used to the same effect by the commentators of the Servian corpus to Virgil’s Aeneid, and ordo-est glosses are also common in medieval commentaries. A related method for rearranging complicated Latin word order is found in construe marks, in which symbols, dots, strokes, letters, and numbers are inserted above or below the Latin words and dictate a rearranged word order or comment on grammatical relationships.56 51 By the twelfth century, four types of word order are distinguished: (1) a natural order, which corresponds to Priscian’s ordinatio recta and is based on grammatical and logical reasoning; (2) an obligatory order which covers the deviations (impedimenta) from the natural word order; (3) an artificial order which is used to produce ornate speech and is particularly common in the ars dictaminis; and (4) a logical order requiring that the word expressing the logical subject, which does not always correspond to the grammatical subject, precede the predicate. For example, in the sentence omnem hominem videt aliquis the subject is omnem hominem not aliquis, since “every man is seen by someone” is the only possible true proposition; “someone sees every man” is a false proposition. See Ir`ene Rosier, “Transitivit´e et ordre des mots chez les grammairiens m´edi´evaux,” in S. Auroux et al. (eds.), Mat´eriaux pour une histoire des th´eories linguistiques (Lille: Diffusion PUL, 1984), pp. 184–185, and Kneepkens, “A Note,” p. 150. 52 Rosier, “Transitivit´e,” p. 184. 53 Scaglione, Classical Theory, p. 106. 54 Jellinek, Geschichte der neuhochdeutschen Grammatik von den Anf¨angen bis auf Adelung, 2 (Heidelberg: Winter, 1914), p. 425. 55 Levy, “To Hexˆes,” pp. 237–254. 56 References to studies of medieval construe marks are listed below, chapter five, fn. 2.
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Aside from the SGT, one of the earliest medieval references to a specifically pedagogic word order is a fragmentary treatise on syntax “Omnis constructio ex substantia et actu fit.” One of the oldest copies, Orl´eans, Biblioth`eque municipale, MS 303 (256), ff. 145–148, may have been made at Fleury during Abbo’s tenure there (ca. 965–985), perhaps from an Insular exemplar. 57 The treatise, ascribed to a certain “Johannes,” begins by introducing the concept of a constructio that consists of substance and action.58 In the case of transitive verbs, the author explains, one must also look for the object and, at times, for the adverbial circumstances: In omni namque constructione anteponitur agens, qui nominativo vel vocativo profertur, dehinc vero illius actus, postea autem in quo fit paciens, ut “Johannes percussit Petrum.” [Therefore in every construction the agent is placed first, which is expressed by means of a nominative or a vocative; thereafter comes the action, and then the thing which is acted upon. For example, “John strikes Peter.”]59
Simple adjectival and adverbial complements are said to precede the noun or verb they modify. If the complements appear in oblique cases or govern an oblique case of their own, they follow their term. Ablative absolute constructions (here used to refer to ablative phrases not accompanied by a preposition) can be placed either before the verb or after it, because they express the cause of an act and have the force of an adverb. But if other ablative constructions are used, it is best to postpone the absolute in order to avoid confusion. In the sentence “Iohannes manibus apprehendit Petrum fugientem pedibus,” (“John with his hands caught Peter who was escaping on foot”) it would be wrong to place “fugientem pedibus” any earlier in the clause, since the reader might misinterpret the passage to mean that it was John who was fleeing on foot when he seized Peter. Complements of cause, place, and time are postponed when there are several of them, but their reciprocal arrangement is free. So one can write a sentence several ways such as: “Iohannes magne virtutis multum percussit Petrum hodie in ecclesia ob furtum” 57 Paul Saenger, Space, pp. 161–162. On the Fleury manuscript, see Marco Mostert, The Library of Fleury. A Provisional List of Manuscripts (Hilversum: Verloren, 1989), pp. 171–172. The text is also preserved in a tenth-century manuscript of the Priscianus minor in Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. 47, 28, ff. 53r–54r; and in two eleventh-century copies in Paris, BNF, MS lat. 7505 and Barcelona, Archivo de la Corona de Arag´on, MS 46, f. 20rv. Paris, BNF, MS lat. 2056 (olim Paris, Biblioth`eque de l’Arsenal, MS 1008) contains a seventeenth-century copy of the Fleury text on ff. 1–3. The Fleury text is printed in Charles Cuissard, Inventaire des manuscrits de la Biblioth`eqe d’Orl´eans, Fonds de Fleury (Orl´eans, 1885), pp. 226–228, and the Paris text in Charles Thurot (ed.), Extraits de divers manuscrits latins pour l’histoire des doctrines grammaticales au moyen aˆ ge, 1896 (repr. Frankfurt: Minerva, 1964), pp. 87–89. See Anneli Luhtala, “Syntax and Dialectic,” pp. 145–191, and eadem, “Considerations on Word Order in the Early Middle Ages,” Beitr¨age zur Geschichte der Sprachwissenschaft 3 (1993), pp. 232–235. 58 The authorship has been proposed by Anneli Luhtula based upon an examination of the text and its various copies. The name “Johannes Olibanus” also appears in the Florence copy (“Syntax and Dialectic,” pp. 177–180). 59 Thurot, Extraits, p. 87.
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(“John, a man of great righteousness, hit Peter often today in the church because he had stolen things”) or “multum percussit Petrum ob furtum in ecclesia” (“hit Peter often, because he had stolen things, in the church”) or with the adverb of time preceding, “Iohannes hodie venit de civitate” (“John came today from the city”). Next the author discusses ambiguous constructions such as participial constructions and relative clauses. He points out that relatives and participles always require two constructions: they make up their own clause and at the same time relate to another clause, which they interrupt. In the example “Petrus, quem Arnulfus genuit et nutrivit, intellexit multa” (“Peter, whom Arnulf begot and nurtured, understood many things”) the relative clause is placed immediately after the subject. The relative pronoun “quem” refers back to the subject of the main clause “Petrus,” but is in the accusative case, since it is the object of Arnulf’s raising and care. In the example “Iohannes legens librum Prisciani intellexit multa” (“John reading Priscian’s book understood many things”) the participle “legens” forms its own clause; it refers to the subject “Iohannes” and has its own object “librum Prisciani.” Thereafter the author discusses causal, conditional, and temporal clauses. Unlike relative and participial clauses, these are not allowed to disrupt the main clause and must either precede or follow it: cum clauses can be placed before or after the main clause, quia and quoniam clauses always follow the main clause; si clauses always precede the main clause. In the SGT, after explicating several lengthy examples by simplifying Latin passages according to the ordo naturalis, Notker points out that sometimes the SVO construing order is not practical, since it disrupts the flow of communication and does not consider the preceding and following context – a basically communicative perspective. Some of these exceptions to the rule pertain to construing; in other cases the mutated order is necessary when writing, and hence one should be aware of it when reading and studying any constructions. For example, interrogative and relative pronouns (even if in an oblique case) must necessarily be placed in initial position and are followed by the verb, since their relation to the noun of the previous clause cannot be broken.60 Interrogative sentences constructed without a pronoun should begin with the verb: for example, “Venit ille?” (“Is he coming?”) and “Heu vidit inquam quis tantum scelus?” (“Oh, I say, can anyone be guilty of such a great crime?”).61 In some cases the teacher is to discard the ordo naturalis and use something called an ordo rerum “the order of events or things,” since it considers factors such as temporal sequencing, placement of logical connectors and designated elements in clause-initial position, as well as text cohesion and emphasis: 60 Notker points out that it is not without good reason that pronouns like qui, quae and quod are called “relative”; because of their “relative” position they are at the head of a clause and cannot be moved (SGT 48v, 14–16). 61 Ibid., 49r, 12–13.
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Hoc modo fit ut subiectiua pars orationis quæ dignior est quam declaratiua aut quæ illa accedunt non debeat primum locum habere in construenda oratione quia melius rerum ordinem obseruamus quando alia res legitur sequi post aliam Ergo semper subiectiuum naturaliter prius est declaratiuo sed non semper ab eo incipienda est constructio Hæc duplex regula constructionis teneatur quia est quando circumstantiæ rerum simul et uerba sunt transponenda ut in superioribus aliquando alterum sine altero locum mutabit . . . [In this way it occurs that the subject, which is more important than the predicate or its adjuncts, should not hold the first place in construing because we can better observe the order of things when one thing is read to follow another. Therefore the subject always occurs naturally before the predicate, but the construing does not always have to begin with it. Hold to this double rule of construing, which is that sometimes the circumstances of things must be changed along with the order of the words, as in the earlier examples, and sometimes one will change its place but the other not.]62
For example, when analyzing in class the sentence, “putauerunt etiam philosophi non unum mundum esse sed plurimos” (“philosophers think also that there is not one world but many”), it would be confusing to begin with the subject philosophi, although the ordo naturalis prescribes it. If the conjunction etiam were placed after the subject it could be construed with the subject instead of with the preceding clause, and the sense would suggest that someone else before the philosophers had speculated on the existence of more than one world, i.e. “and also philosophers think that” or “philosophers too think that . . .” In this example the verb putauerunt must be placed at the beginning of the clause, and to construe in any other fashion would “destroy” the sense.63 In other cases, the verb, for ontological reasons, must be set in initial position, as in sentences like “dixit quoque deus” (verb + conjunction + subject). It is wrong to say “deus quoque dixit,” because the conjunction “quoque” refers to an antecedent and would imply that someone else had spoken before God and that God’s words are secondary.64 Correct temporal and logical sequencing are also important. In the following passage the main clause is preceded by two temporal/causative clauses that set the scene for the main action; each is introduced with the conjunction postquam: (A TEMPORE) Postquam uisum est superis euertere res asiæ et inmeritam gentem priami . et postquam superbum ilium cecidit et omnis neptunia troia fumauit humo agimur auguriis diuum querere diuersa exilia et diuersas terras; [Since it pleased the gods to overthrow Asia and the innocent people of Priam and since proud Ilium fell and (since) all of Neptunian Troy was smoking on the earth, we have been driven by divine auguries to seek various exiles and diverse lands.]65
As Notker puts it, “one must first destroy Troy before one exiles its citizens.” Adverbs must be placed in sentence-initial position if they serve to join together two 62 Ibid., 52v, 8–16.
63 Ibid., 49r, 8.
64 Ibid., 42r, 6–10.
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sentences or if they cannot logically be separated from the verb. Notker supports his point with a citation from the Aeneid. First he quotes the original, “interea medium eneas iam classe tenebat certus iter” (“Now meanwhile sure Aeneas was holding his fleet on a middle course”), and then he construes it “(est enim constructio) interea tenebat iam eneas classe medium iter certus.” The adverb interea, not the subject Eneas, must come first, since it serves as a bridge to the preceding thought; the verb tenebat comes second because it cannot be separated from the adverb; likewise iam follows tenebat since it must be near the verb.66 Another example involves temporal backgrounding. In the sentence “In illo tempore . dixit Jesus discipulis suis” (“In that time Jesus said to his disciples”), one should begin with the temporal adverb, since this sets the scene and gives background information; to begin with the nominative Jesus would only disturb the emphasis.67 In sum, Notker outlines three possible constituent orders for a Latin sentence: (1) an artificial, or rhetorical word order (ordo artificialis); (2) a natural order (ordo naturalis) based upon the grammar of logic but applied to classroom construing, and (3) an order of actual events (ordo rerum), which is unique to St. Gall and which we might call today a pragmatic word order. In early medieval treatises like the SGT, which predate the modistic movement, the logical word order is not yet fully developed and at times is confused with the natural order. For example, an adverb of time like priusquam must occasionally introduce a statement in which the contents depend upon the preceding thought. The mixture of grammar, dialectic and rhetoric also leads to a jumble in concepts and terminology used to express them. Notker discusses word order according to the traditional rhetorical categories of the circumstances. Hence, when treating the circumstance of time (“when?”), he would not distinguish between the ablative “ipso die” (“on this day”), the accusative “triginta annos” (“for thirty years”), and the prepositional phrase “post multis annis” (“after many years”); only the adverb “diu” (“lengthily”) is set apart and positioned before the verb. Notker’s definition of an adverb, however, is vague. When discussing the circumstance of place (“where?”) he distinguishes between the prepositional phrase “in Tusculano,” the modified ablative “miro modo” (“in a remarkable way”) and the locative “Romæ” (“at Rome”), the third of which he considers to be an adverb and hence places before the verb.68 It is unclear how the ablative “Roma” (“from Rome”), or the accusative “Romam” (“to Rome”) would be treated. In the “Omnis constructio” treatise, the adverbial circumstances are discussed according to their rhetorical properties, whereas arguments for the positioning of objects and modifiers are based on grammatical criteria. Short adverbs precede the verb, while longer adverbial groups (sometimes called ablative absolutes) can be placed before or after the verb, unless there are several of them, in which case they should be postponed. The treatment 66 Ibid., 49r, 16–49v, 1.
67 Ibid., 57r, 12.
68 Ibid., 40v.
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of the impedimenta may seem to the modern reader somewhat haphazard and the exceptions to the rule more encompassing than the rules themselves. It is important to remember, however, that the ordo naturalis was meant to serve only as a basis for classroom construing. It provided teachers and students with a justification and a model for rearranging the words of the ancients in the classroom; many of the finer details were left to the individual. Within the sphere of grammar, Notker devotes a few short sections to the ordering of the individual parts of speech within the phrase. Whereas the earlier rules, such as the position of the subject and predicate, were largely based on logical and semantic criteria, these additional rules are based on grammatical criteria. Notker notes that most grammarians prescribe only which elements are to be joined and not how they are to be ordered. For example, the fourth-century Latin grammarian Donatus teaches that the ablative is used for comparison, but he doesn’t say whether the ablative should precede or follow other cases.69 Notker states that it is general knowledge that the casus rectus precedes the oblique case and that the transitive verb precedes its object, because one must first pass (“transitus”) before one reaches something (“peruenitur”).70 Action, which is contained in the verb, precedes the oblique cases, because they exhibit passivity. Hence the verb assumes a medial position between the nominative and oblique cases because it is governed by the noun. So, the nominative case always stands before the verb it governs. This is true for both transitive and intransitive verbs, and if a verb is used in a transitive sense then the movement is from the nominative to an oblique case, as in “Varro docet Ciceronem” (“Varro teaches Cicero”); if the verb is used in the passive, however, then the sense moves from the oblique to the nominative, as in “Cicero docetur a Varrone” (“Cicero is taught by Varro”).71 Sometimes nominatives, whether they appear in the form of a noun or adjective, cannot be understood by themselves, because they refer to some other thing. In such cases the nominative is placed before a noun in one of the oblique cases, for example, the genitive “uxor mariti” (“wife of the husband”), the dative “carus deo” (“dear to God”), the accusative “celer pedes” (“swift of foot”) and the ablative “dignus laude” (“worthy of praise”).72 In sum, the nominative is placed first, followed by the verb, which in turn is followed by some oblique case. If the oblique case cannot be understood by itself, then other parts of speech must be added to it until the sense is complete. In the phrase “omnis homo primum ponit vinum bonum . . .” (“every man at first setteth forth good wine . . .”), for example, the reader should recognize that the thought is not yet complete because of the adverb “primum” (“at first”) and the adjective “bonum” (“good”). The thought is meant to continue something along the lines of: “. . . et cum inebriati fuerint 69 SGT 52r, 11–13; cf. Donatus, Ars grammatica minor, ed. Holtz, p. 618. 70 The cases and verbs are discussed on ff. 50v–52v. 71 SGT 51v, 3–6.
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72 Ibid., 51r, 8–11.
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et id quod deterius est . . .” (“. . . and when men have drunk, then that which is worse . . .”).73 Notker does not provide any more detailed rules regarding the distribution of elements within the predicate; he does not discuss the reciprocal arrangement of the oblique cases or the positioning of infinite or participial verb forms. He gives only one example for the placement of an infinitive when he says that it usually follows the finite verb, but he notes that an oblique can be placed between the two verbal elements as in the clause “uolo te legere” (“I want to choose you”).74 Although Notker criticizes his sources for not treating the arrangement of words, when attempting to rectify the situation himself, he too becomes sidetracked by the traditional areas of syntax such as the qualities of the cases and verb. This is understandable, since his goal is to present a method for construing texts and not to provide prescriptive rules for composing them. Notker touches upon the philosophy of language, but not for the sake of linguistic speculation, as would be the case a few hundred years later. Texts like the SGT, however, marked the way for later scholastic linguists. They showed that a lot of ancient and even contemporary prose and poetry could not be easily understood without construing, and hence was not as clear to the medieval reader as it had been to the classical one. It was the job of the philosophers, rhetoricians and grammarians of the following generations to account for the difficulties and exceptions and, eventually, to search for the underlying structures. The explicative construing order outlined in texts like the SGT eventually became a scientific and practical norm for current expression in expository prose, the so-called ars dictaminis. If a sentence could be expediently explained and simplified by construing, Scaglione points out, why not construct it in a self-explanatory and clear way in the first place?75 This thought would never have occurred to Notker; his goal was to teach students how to understand the style of ancient and patristic authors so that they too could learn to write in the same way themselves. s e n t e n c e m ovemen t Large sections of the SGT are devoted to an analysis of sentence movement, which falls under the rubric of classical rhetoric known as compositio. Together with electio (the choice of words and the figures of speech, often termed “diction”), compositio is a sub-category of elocutio or “style.” It dictates the arrangement of words according to euphony, balance and cadence and their combination into meaningful segments that are joined in order to express a sententia.76 The medieval definition of sententia 73 Ibid., 51v, 10–15. 74 Ibid., 51v, 12. 75 Scaglione, Classical Theory, p. 110. 76 In classical compositio, word order has three aspects: (1) the order of words (ordo); (2) the art of putting together sounds and sound-groups harmoniously (iunctura); and (3) the rhythmical arrangement of
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in its rhetorical sense is somewhat different from what we today consider to be a “sentence.” In addition to a group of words joined grammatically, the medieval sententia could also simply mean “a complete thought” or “an opinion,” regardless of its syntactic shape.77 The carefully constructed frame expressing a sententia is called a periodus (“circuit,” the idea being a connection of a series, such as in a racing circuit); it in turn is comprised of smaller segments called cola and commata. The number of individual segments making up a periodus was irrelevant, and the semantic thread holding them together, the sententia, could theoretically (and in practice often did) stretch over an entire page or more.78 In the SGT, Notker explains that the Greek word colon (Latin membrum, “part” or “limb”) is used because the segments are similar to the members or limbs of a tree or of an animal (analogous to the complete thought), which can carefully be removed whole; when put back together, the member parts once again make up the whole. The term comma (Greek koptein, “to cut off;” Latin caedere, “to cut” and articulus, “part jointed on”), on the other hand, is fitting for those segments which have been “cut” or “hacked off” randomly.79 In keeping with tradition, Notker defines a colon as a major division of a periodus with complete meaning, regardless of whether or not the thought or opinion being expressed and the structure holding it together, the sententia, have been finished. A colon is completed by means of a verb, either present in the clause or understood from a previous or following clause. Sometimes one colon can make up an entire sentence and is called a monocolon, such as, “Deum nemo uidit umquam” (“No man hath seen God at any time”).80 Later in the text Notker points out that in the study of dialectic a colon completing a thought that can be confirmed or denied is called a “proposition” (proloquium) (for example, the syllogistic premise “omnis homo animal est”) but more often it is part of a larger thought.81 A comma, on the other hand, often leaves the thought “dangling” and is much like a phrase. It can make up part of a colon, such as the relative clause “(ille homo) qui dicitur Iesus” (“[the man] who is called Jesus.”])82 The following conjunctions and adverbials often introduce such commata: postquam, cum, quia, quando, uelut, sequences of words and the marking of pauses through cadences (numerus). The SGT deals only with the first and briefly with the third aspect. An excellent overview of classical and medieval compositio is found in Scaglione’s study Classical Theory. See also Charles Sears Baldwin, Ancient Rhetoric and Poetic, 1924 (repr. Gloucester, MA: Petersmith, 1959) and Lausberg, Elemente, §§ 911–1054. 77 A third meaning for sententia, also employed in rhetoric, is “a maxim”. 78 A modern-day equivalent would be a paragraph consisting of sentences separated only by commas, semicolons and colons. 79 SGT 42v, 16–43r, 5. Cf. Pseudo-Cicero, Ad Herennium, IV, xviii.26, ed. and trans. Harry Caplan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), pp. 294–297, and Augustine, De doctrina Christiana, IV, vii, 11, ed. Martin, p. 123. For a detailed discussion of medieval rhetorical terminology see M. Hubert, “La vocabulaire,” pp. 57–168. 80 SGT 44v, 9; the quotation is taken from I John 4:12. 81 Ibid., 40r, 1. Cf. Martianus Capella, De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 132, 8–16. 82 SGT p. 42v,9.
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quasi, ceu, sicut, qualis, quantus, ita, sic, non secus, haud aliter, as do relative pronouns and ablative absolute constructions.83 Classical rhetoric distinguished three general types of commata: (1) a short, forceful main clause, as in commands or exclamations; (2) one in a series of short main clauses joined by coordination; and (3) a short, syntactically dependent element (consisting of either one, two or three words) in a series of several coordinate members.84 Because some commata can express the same things as a colon (as in types one and two above), Notker admits that it can be difficult to distinguish between the two structures. Length is decisive here: a comma can never have more than three elements, because then it would begin to look like a colon. He adds that some authors distinguish a “dangling” colon, in which the meaning is not complete and which resembles a comma.85 Matters are complicated by the fact that the colon and comma structures are also used in poetry with different meanings. A colon is a part of a verse that respects the border of a metrical foot, whereas a comma does not. In the sixth book of Virgil’s Aeneid, for example, the words “ostendent terris hunc tantum fata” complete a thought with the metrical foot and form a colon.86 The first words in Virgil’s epic “arma uirumque cano,” however, make up a comma, because the poet has not yet divulged what kind of man he will be singing about, and the meaning does not end with the foot, but extends beyond it. The thought is made complete with the subsequent comma: “qui profugus ab oris troie fato primus uenit ad italiam,” and joined, the two commata form a colon.87 Some rhetorical commata are similar to the poetic variety, since they are incomplete and carry over the meaning to a subsequent phrase.88 83 See ibid., 57v, 7–9. 84 Lausberg, Elemente, § 939. 85 Notker refers to Isidore here, who, in his definition of a periodus, gives an example of two commata that form a colon, which still does not complete the sense (Etymologiae, ed. Lindsay, II, 18, 2). Although Notker finds it difficult to disagree with Isidore’s judgment, he states that in general opinion a colon must complete the sense, and hence a “dangling” colon is impossible (SGT 61v, 13–62r, 4). 86 “Him the fates shall but show to earth” (Virgil, Aeneid, ed. Fairclough [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967], VI, 869). In metrics a colon could consist of the number of syllables in a line of dactylic hexameter, which in practice ranged from twelve to seventeen. A comma is usually given the vague definition of being “a small colon” (M¨uller, “Rhetorische und syntaktische Interpunktion: Untersuchungen zur Pausenbezeichnung im antiken Latein” [PhD thesis, University of T¨ubingen, 1964] p. 87). See also Priscian, “Partitiones duodecim versuum Aeneidos principalium” (ed. Keil, GL 3, pp. 459–515) and Isidore: “Ceterum apud poetas ubi in versu post duos pedes syllaba remanet, comma est, quia ibi post scansionem praecisio verbi facta est. Vbi vero post duos pedes de parte orationis nihil superest, colon est. Totus autem versus periodus est” (Etymologiae, ed. Lindsay, I, 10, 6). 87 SGT 42v, 12-43r, 7. In his discussion Notker relies heavily on Quintilian’s analysis of Virgil discussed below, pp. 184–185. Virgil’s original reads: “Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris Italiam fato profugus Laviniaque venit litora.” Fairclough’s translation retains the structure of the original: “Arms I sing and the man who first from the coasts of Troy, exiled by fate, came to Italy and Lavinian shores” (p. 240). 88 SGT, 42v; cf. Lausberg, Elemente, § 926, and Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 190.
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According to Notker, one first needs to classify a sententia according to its structure or style, which can be either periodic (distinctum) or non-periodic (continuum). The periodic style is easily construed because it is made up of structural units (periodos) that can be quickly distinguished. The non-periodic style, on the other hand, can pose problems, since the individual parts of the sententia are not as evident and hence are difficult to recognize.89 In passages composed in the periodic style, several cola are joined by parataxis and the progression of the sententia is clear, since each colon contains a verb.90 But because a colon must technically contain a verb, units in the periodic style in which the verb is understood or must be supplied are called commata (commata may, however, contain a verb too; see below, p. 183). In the following example, the word order of the first Psalm is rearranged and transformed into a three-colon period, with the repeated predicate noted in square brackets; without the repeated predicate, the passage would comprise a period of one colon followed by two commata: Uir qui non abiit in consilio impiorum . beatus est et qui non stetit in uia peccatorum [beatus est] et qui non sedit in cathedra pestilentiæ [beatus est].91
The non-periodic style is more difficult to analyze, because one must often wait for the very end of the clause for the verb, and the semantic core “who did what” can be prefaced by numerous commata in the form of dependent clauses. The listener must pay careful attention in order not to lose the thread of thought, and it is important that the reader perform the text correctly in order to help him. In the periodic or distinct style (genus distinctus) a passage can be distinguished according to the periodus and its constituent parts commata and cola, which are often joined by means of subordination. Sometimes each part of the sequence can be understood independently, but it also contributes to the meaning of the whole. In the non-periodic or continuous style, the meaning does not crystallize until the very end of the sentence, and the individual segments are built upon one another in a linear progression by means of coordination and parataxis. The comma is used in both the distinct and continuous styles, although in the former it must always appear together with a colon. The colon, on the other hand, can be used alone in the distinct style; it does not occur in the continuous style. In the continuous style a comma cannot complete a thought by itself, in other words, be like a colon. The thought is finished with the verb, which usually comes at the end of the sequence after several commata, and hence one must look forward not backward; 89 SGT 42r, 13–16. 90 SGT 45r, 9–10. 91 Ibid., 45r, 10–12. The original reads: “Beatus vir qui non abiit in consilio impiorum, et in via peccatorum non stetit, et in cathedra pestilentiae non sedit.” [Blessed is the man who hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stood in the way of sinners, nor sat in the chair of pestilence.]
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the movement is linear not circular, as in the distinct style. In cases where a comma cannot express a thought in itself, Notker prescribes that it be read with a suspensio uocis when construing in the classroom. The colon, on the other hand, should be read with a depositio vocis, so that one can perceive a difference between it and a comma.92 Exacly what these voice cues mean, will be discussed below in the section dealing with performance analysis. Notker notes that the Old and New Testaments are composed in the distinct style, because it is easy to understand.93 He goes on to point out, however, that some authors consider the continuous style to be optimal for writing; but most authors – Augustine, Orosius and Cassian among them – mix the two.94 For this reason it is important to understand how to construe both so that pupils can comprehend what they are reading and deliver the text successfully. The terminology used in the SGT deviates from that employed by most classical and late classical authors.95 The use of the adjective “continuous” to refer to nonperiodic speech may in part be based on Martianus Capella’s discussion of rhetoric in De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, book 5, as well as on commentary to the text ascribed to Remigius of Auxerre. Martianus discusses two styles: an oratio perpetua (a “continuous” type) and a “periodic” type which he describes as “circumscript” and “converse.” His definition of the two types of style deserves quoting in full, since Notker relies on it heavily: . . . quam Graeci appellant, quae ita conectitur, ut superiorem elocutionem semper proxima [con]sequatur. <ea> et historiae conuenit et narrationi, quae non conuersum neque circumscriptum eloquendi genus desiderat, sed fusum atque continuum . . . est alia, quam Graeci appellant, quae sententiam quadam circumscriptione definit atque determinat . . . qui ambitus constat ex membris, quae Graeci dicunt, et ex caesis, quae appellant. [(Continuous) is the type the Greeks call lexin eiromenin, which is suited to every kind of narrative; in this, clause follows clause in the normal sequence of ideas. This is suitable for historical and narrative writing and does not require an inverted or periodic style of expression, but one which flows continuously . . . There is another style, which the Greeks call the period (periodon), which puts, as it were, a terminus and limit to the sentence . . . This type of sentence is made up of many members, which the Greek call cola; and of sections, which they call commata.]96 92 Ibid., 42v, 10–11. 93 Ibid., 45r, 1–3. 94 Ibid., 61r, 12–15. 95 Indeed continuatio was usually used to refer to periodic, not to non-periodic speech. This causes confusion in the last section of the SGT where Notker reviews the definitions of periodic and nonperiodic speech given in the Rhetorica ad Herennium. In this text, a period is called continuatio. See Hubert, “La vocabulaire,” p. 86 and fn. 47. To complicate matters, in the twelfth century the continuatio of a Latin text referred to construing and rearranging it into clear and correctly ordered Latin prose (Saenger, Space, p. 15). 96 Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, ed. Willis, 184, 4–15; trans. Stahl et al., p. 198; emphasis mine. Cf. SGT 45v, 2–6.
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Remigius glosses the text with the following note: Optimam dicit esse orationem quae componitur ex duobus generibus elocutionis, ex periodico videlicet et continuo. [The best speech is comprised of two types of styles, namely of the periodic and the continuous.]97
Martianus uses the adjective “continuous” again in the ninth book De musica, this time to refer to a type of vox, where he notes that continuous pitch variation is used in flowing conversation, and discrete pitch variation (vox divisum) in music.98 Remigius comments that the continuous voice is used in normal conversation between two people and is not marked by cola and commata. The opposite, divisum genus, can be divided by the two: Omnis vox in duo genera dividitur, continuum atque divisum. Continuum est velut iuge colloquium, id est frequens narratio sicut inter duos fit, quae non fit per cola, et commata. Divisum genus est quod dividitur per cola et commata certosque pedes in modulatione id est cantu. [All speech is divided into two types: a continuous type and a discrete type. The continuous type is also continuous discourse, i.e., common narration such that takes place between two speakers and which is not constructed according to cola and commata. The discrete type is divided according to cola and commata and by fixed feet in regular measure, i.e., a musical utterance.]99
In the SGT, the opposite of the continuous style is called distinct (distinctus). As a noun, the term distinctio was generally applied to different levels of punctuation, and Notker appears to have based his terminology upon this usage.100 The term distinctus for periodic speech may hark back to discussions of punctuation and rhetorical units by Donatus and Isidore. Just as the period can mark a type of style (periodic), a structural unit (periodus) and later a punctuation mark, so too the 97 Remigius Autissiodorensis, Commentum in Martianum Capellam, ed. Cora Lutz, 2, p. 263.4; italics represent Martianus’ lemmata. A similar gloss by Johannes Scottus reads “optima igitur Hoc dicit quod vera et bona oratio sit quae ex duobus generibus elocutionis componitur, ex periodico quidem genere et continua elocutione, saepe cola sine ambitu, id est periodo” [The optimal (kind of discourse): this means that true and good discourse consists of two types of styles, the periodic type and the continuous type of style, often a colon without comma, that is without a periodus] (Annotationes in Martianum, ed. Lutz, p. 263.3). 98 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 360, 16–361, 5. 99 Commentum in Martianum, ed. Lutz, 2, p. 500.7; italics represent Martianus’ lemmata. 100 The grammarian Sergius writes: “When a codex is emended by distinctio, media distinctio and subdistinctio the codex is said to be ‘distinct’” (De littera, de syllaba, de pedibus, de accentibus, de distinctione, GL 4, p. 484). See also Sedulius Scottus, In Donati artem maiorem, ed. Bengt L¨ofstedt, p. 51. Sedulius follows his discussion of the types of distinctiones with a definition of the continuous style, which does not follow the distinctions into commata and cola.
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term distinctus can refer to the pause itself, the notation used to mark it and the unit marked off by it, as well as to a type of style.101 pe r f orm a n c e a na lysis In antiquity, the end of a phrase or sentence was signaled by metrical and rhythmical clausulae. Syntactic information was provided only lexically: interrogatives could be conveyed by enclitic particles, interrogative adverbs and pronouns. The end of a sentence, or a subordinate clause, was marked by verb final word order.102 When reading aloud, the lector performed rhythmical boundaries with a pause and/or a pause and breath. Although their placement did not depend upon the meaning or grammar of the passage, the pauses were of course best made such that they did not go against the sense.103 Reading was no easy task. A system of punctuation was introduced, probably to aid inexperienced readers, which applied elevated points and was closely linked to rhetorical, but not syntactic phrasing. This type of punctuation, however, was rare and was not usually supplied by scribes but by teachers almost exclusively for pedagogic purposes. Saenger suggests that in the Late Imperial period, punctuation was not intended for formal books, but primarily for inexperienced readers and used by them to master a text when copying it onto wax tablets.104 Donatus, later an authority for many medieval grammarians, was one of the first to discuss the practice of pausing and punctuation marks, which he calls distinctiones or positurae.105 He defines a distinctio finalis as a full stop (pause and 101 As Pascale Bourgain has pointed out in a personal communication, Notker’s terms are in many ways more clear than the classical categories “periodic” and “non-periodic.” The distinct style is made up of distinct units, which are separated by logical pauses; the flowing, non-periodic style, on the other hand, with its frequent parallelisms may have been quite repugnant to medieval readers and thus appeared “continuous” (cf. Notker’s analysis of St. Augustine below, p. 187). On the use of the terms distinctio, clausula, and membrum in poetics and music see Pascale Bourgain, “Le vocabulaire technique de la po´esie rythmique,” Archivum latinitatis medii aevi 51 (1992/93), pp. 139– 193. For a more detailed discussion of the rhetorical units and the differences between periodic and non-periodic speech see Grotans/Porter, A Medieval Guide, pp. 3–10 and the references listed there. 102 Parkes, Pause and Effect, p. 11, and Saenger, Space, p. 72; see also Arthur W. Hogman, “Latin Equivalents of Punctuation Marks,” The Classical Journal 19 (1923/24), pp. 408–409. 103 Ong, “Historical Backgrounds of Elizabethan and Jacobean Punctuation Theory,” PMLA 59.2 (1944), pp. 350–353. 104 Saenger, Space, p. 72 and Parkes, Pause and Effect, p. 67. 105 “Tres sunt [omnino] positurae uel distinctiones quas Graeci uocant, distinctio, subdistinctio, media distinctio. Distinctio est, ubi finitur plena sententia: huius punctum ad summam litteram ponimus. Subdistinctio est, ubi non multum superest de sententia, quod tamen necessario separatum mox inferendum sit; huius punctum ad imam litteram ponimus. Media distinctio est, ubi fere tantum de sententia superest, quantum iam diximus, cum tamen respirandum sit: huius punctum ad mediam litteram ponimus. In lectione tota sententia periodos dicitur, cuius partes sunt cola et commata” (I, 6, ed. Holtz, p. 612). The text is preserved in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek,
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breath) made at the end of a complete sententia, which is marked by placing a point at the top of the letter height. The subdistinctio is used only after a partial sententia and serves to divide up passages into smaller, more easily understandable units. It is marked with a point on the line and represents a minor medial pause. Both the distinctio finalis and the subdistinctio are also used to refer to semantic segments: finalis distinctio expresses a complete thought and a subdistinctio a partial thought. The media distinctio, on the other hand, dictates only breathing and has no relation to meaning. Since in the periodic style the speaker is allowed to pause and breathe only at the end of a period, the media distinctio, marked by a point at mid-letter height, is used to steal a quick breath before completing the sense; the voice, however, is kept at a constant level in order to instruct the listener that the thought is continuing. At the end of his definition, Donatus mentions the period, which in his scheme is not a type of style, as in earlier rhetorical theory, but a logical and syntactical grouping consisting of smaller units of discourse, the commata and cola. Isidore completed the fusion between rhythm and meaning by equating the comma, which he defines as “part of an idea,” with the subdistinctio used to steal a quick breath; he equates the colon, which is defined as “an idea to which something may still be added,” with the media distinctio; the periodus, a “complete idea,” is made up of commata and cola and is marked with the ultima distinctio.106 Each of the three distinctiones is marked with a particular point as in Donatus’ definition. Although Isidore clearly uses meaning as a factor in his definition of the distinctiones, he later describes the limit of a comma or colon not according to semantics or rhythm, but according to the physiological factors of pronunciation: a period cannot be longer than what may be spoken in one breath.107
MS 882 from the tenth century. The St. Gall copy of this particular passage on p. 60 is glossed as follows: “Tres sunt positurae . uel distinctiones . quasi grece thesis uocant Distinctio · subdistinctio · media distinctio . . . In lectione tota sententia periodos dicitur . cuius partes sunt cola <membrum> . et comma <scisio> idest membra et cæsa.” 106 “Prima positura subdistinctio dicitur; eadem et comma. Media distinctio sequens est; ipsa et cola. Vltima distinctio, quae totam sententiam cludit, ipsa est periodus; cuius, ut diximus, partes sunt cola et comma; quarum diversitas punctis diverso loco positis demonstratur. Vbi enim initio pronuntiationis necdum plena pars sensui est, et tamen respirare oportet, fit comma, id est particula sensus, punctusque ad imam litteram ponitur; et vocatur subdistinctio, ab eo quod punctum subtus, id est ad imam litteram, accipit. Vbi autem in sequentibus iam sententia sensum praestat, sed adhuc aliquid superest de sententiae plenitudine, fit cola, mediamque litteram puncto notamus; et mediam distinctionem vocamus, quia punctum ad mediam litteram ponimus. Vbi vero iam per gradus pronuntiando plenam sententiae clausulam facimus, fit periodus, punctumque ad caput litterae ponimus; et uocatur distinctio, id est disiunctio, quia integram separavit sententiam” (Etymologiae, ed. Lindsay, I. 10, 2–5). See also Parkes, Pause and Effect, pp. 21–22. 107 “Periodus autem longior esse non debet, quam ut uno spiritu proferatur” (Etymologiae, ed. Lindsay II. 18, 2).
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In the SGT, the traditional rhetorical units comma and colon are fused with the semantic circumstantiae units, and together the two templates are applied in determining the structure and correct oral declamation of a passage. Notker argues that in Latin prose composed in the non-periodic style, the semantic core of a statement (the “who did what?”) can be prefaced by various adverbial circumstances, be they temporal or causal or provide some other type of background information. The sententia, however, is never complete until the semantic core is stated. He equates the semantic core with a rhetorical colon, the adverbial circumstantiae with commata, and the completed thought or sententia with a periodus. In non-periodic speech, the end of each comma must be marked with a “suspensio vocis in constructione.” The end of the completed sententia, which can coincide with the end of a colon or comma, is marked with a “depositio vocis.”108 A colon that occurs in the middle of a sententia and whose thought is unconnected to the main sententia is referred to as an “interposita ratio.” Since it is a secondary thought, the voice should not be suspended but changed in a certain way (“mutanda est uox”).109 In addition to using graphic markers such as those described by Isidore to mark pauses and cadences, when analyzing example passages in the SGT, Notker also provides the necessary performative commentary in the form of verbal cues. The method becomes clear in the following example, in which a passage from Virgil is analyzed rhetorically: Postquam res asiæ priamique euertere gentem Inmeritam uisum superis. Hic quia uerbum occurrit uisum est et tamen pendet intellectus comma fit et suspendenda est uox Cecidit que superbum ilium . Hic quoque . Et omnis humo fumat neptunia troia . Et hic. Diuersa exilia . et desertas querere terras auguriis agimur diuum Hic demum deponenda est uox . ut intellegatur finis sententiæ et in hac ultima parte significatum est quis quid fecerit . . . [Since it pleased the gods to overthrow Asia and Priam’s innocent people (because the verb uisum est occurs when the meaning is nonetheless unresolved, a comma results and the voice is suspended), and proud Ilium fell (here too is a suspension), and all of Neptunian Troy was smoking on earth (and here), we have been driven by divine auguries to seek various exiles in desert lands (here finally the voice is lowered because the end of the sententia is understood and it is in this very last part that the who did what is signified.)]110
The verbal cues in the above example were meant to guide both readers and listeners. Notker argues that in public and classroom readings, less experienced listeners, upon hearing a verb, may falsely assume that the sententia has been finished. In 108 “Non ergo possunt per se [scil. commata] sententiam facere . ideo cum suspensione uocis in constructione legenda sunt . cola autem cum depositione . ut intellegas hæc tantum distare sensu . quantum et in metrica distant scansione” (SGT 43v, 10–13). Here “in constructione” is used to refer to reading aloud in the classroom (cf. Scaglione, Classical Theory, pp. 105–106). 109 “Hic quia interposita ratio est . et quasi extra hanc sententiam suscipienda est . et quia potius colon est quam comma . non suspendenda sed quodammodo mutanda est uox” (SGT 53r, 9–12). 110 SGT 50r, 16–50v, 6; emphasis mine. The quotation is taken from the Aeneid III, 1–5.
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some cases a verb can mark the conclusion of a sententia, but in many others – as in introductory commata – it does not. In order to warn the listener that the thought is continuing, it is important to finish off all commata with a suspensio vocis. A depositio signals that the present sententia is over and that a new one is about to begin. In an example from the book of Ezekiel 18, 5–9, a passage with seventeen introductory commata is analyzed.111 Notker notes that the passage is easily construed because the commata are so short. The first voice cue is written out prima suspensio and remaining cues are simply numbered secunda, tertia, etc. The end of the sententia contains the predicate “is what” and is marked with a lowering of the voice (demissione uocis).112 In another example, Notker analyzes Priscian’s prologue to the Institutiones. The passage is particularly interesting because it contains both a medial colon that provides additional, yet indirectly related information, as well as an interrogative: Cum omnis eloquentiæ doctrinam et omne studiorum genus sapientiæ luce præfulgens a grecorum fontibus deriuatum latinos inuenio proprio sermone celebrasse . Hic prima supensio Et in omnibus illorum uestigia liberalibus artibus consecutos uideo . Hic secunda. Nec solum in his quæ emendate ab illis . < . sunt > scripta sed etiam quosdam errores eorum amore doctorum grecorum deceptos imitari . Hic tertia . Cuius auctores quanto sunt iuniores tanto perspicatiores et ingeniis floruisse et diligentia ualuisse omnium iudicio confirmantur eruditissimorum. Hic quia interposita ratio est . et quasi extra hanc sententiam suscipienda est . et quia potius colon est quam comma . non suspendenda sed quodammodo mutanda est uox. Quid enim herodiani artibus certius ? quid apollonii scrupulosis questionibus enucleatius possit inueniri? Hec interrogatiue legenda sunt. Cum igitur eos omnia fere uitia quæcumque antiquorum commentariis relicta artis grammaticæ expurgasse comperio; Hic quarta; Certisque rationis legibus emendasse. Hic quinta Nostrorum autem neminem post illos imitatorem eorum extitisse. Quippe in neglegentiam cadentibus studiis literarum propter inopiam scriptorum Hic sexta. Quod hucusque dictum est ad eam partem pertinet quæ causa facti dicitur Sequitur. Quamuis audacter sed non inpudenter ut puto . conatus . < . sum pro uiribus > rem arduam quidem sed officio professionis non indebitam supra nominatorum præcepta uirorum quæ congrua sunt uisa in latinum transferre sermonem Hæc sunt quis quid fecerit et qualiter fecerit et hic deponenda est uox 111 “Et uir si fuerit iustus. Prima suspensio. Et fecerit iuditium et [iustitiam] Secunda. In montibus non comederit . Tertia. Et oculos suos non leuauerit ad idola domus israhel; Quarta. Et uxorem proximi sui non uiolauerit. Quinta. Et ad mulierem menstruatam non accesserit. Sexta. Et hominem non contristauerit. Septima. Pignus debitori reddiderit. Octaua. Per uim nihil rapuerit. Nona. panem suum esurienti dederit. Decima. Et nudum operuerit uestimento. Vndecima Ad usuram non commodauerit. Duodecima Et amplius non acceperit Tertia decima. Ab iniquitate manum suam auerterit. Quarta decima Iudicium uerum fecerit inter uirum et uirum. Quinta decima. In præceptis meis ambulauerit; Sexta Xma. Et iuditia mea custodierit ut faciat ueritatem. XVIIma Hucusque quod ad subiectiuum pertinet; Dehinc declaratiuum sequitur cum demissione uocis Hic iustus est” (SGT 59r, 8-59v, 4; emphasis mine). 112 The end of a sententia is elsewhere called a clausula, which in this usage has no reference to metrical or rhythmical schemes, but is a purely semantic boundary.
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[Although I find the Latins exercising in their own language both the teaching of eloquence and all those studies, aglow with wisdom, which are derived from Greek sources (here is the first suspension of the voice), and see them pursuing every liberal art in the footsteps of the Greeks (second suspension), not only in those things which were written faultlessly but also, out of mistaken regard for the Greek masters, in imitation of certain errors (third), which authors, though young, are perceptive, bright and diligent, in the judgment of all the very learned (at this point the reason is interposed and must be handled as though unconnected to this sentence. Since it is a colon rather than a comma it must not be read with a suspension of the voice, but the voice should be changed in a certain way). For what can be found more sure than the skills of Herodian, more succinct than the precise questions of Apollonius (these are to be read interrogatively)? Since I find them to have purged practically all the faults of every sort from the grammatical commentaries of the ancients (fourth suspension), and to have corrected them by the sure laws of reason (fifth) though since their time none among us has arisen to emulate them – indeed because of a dearth of writers the study of letters has fallen into disuse (sixth; everything up to this point belongs to that element which is called the cause of the action. There follows:) I have tried with all my strength, boldly though not rashly I think, a difficult task undertaken as a professional obligation, to translate the pertinent lessons of renowned men into Latin speech (these last include the agent who, what the agent performed, and how the agent performed it, and here the voice must be lowered.)] 113
The first three commata provide background information and set the scene by describing how the author views the situation surrounding the study of grammar among Latin speakers. The subordinate conjunction cum introduces the first comma and is understood to introduce the second (“although . . . and [although] I see them . . .”); the third comma further describes how the liberal arts were pursued and is very much like a “how” circumstance framed in a correlational “not only . . . but also” construction. The fourth unit is a side-thought, a colon, that describes the Greek masters and is continued in the next unit, which is to be read interrogatively. Thereafter follow three more commata. The first two are again understood as cumclauses (“since I find them to have purged . . . and since I find them to have corrected . . .”). The sixth comma of the passage at first looks more like a colon, since it provides extra information, but Notker analyzes it as a comma, perhaps because it depends on the previous comma (as the third comma above depended on the second). Thereafter follows the end of the period, which is marked with a deponenda est uox. The oral aspects of reading in the SGT may appear foreign to the modern reader, who reads silently with his eyes. As I have demonstrated in previous chapters, recitation and listening were important components in the lectio process and a pupil’s overall training. Reading required the correct pronunciation, because listeners often did not have the written text before them and had to depend on correct 113 SGT 53r, 1–53v, 6; emphasis mine; interlinear text in pointed brackets.
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aural comprehension for information. As a result, not only did graphic markers and verbal cues help the reader to perform a text correctly, but their vocal realization helped the listener to understand it correctly. Quintilian describes the reading process in detail and reminds his audience of the care and attention that must be paid to the various aspects of oral performance: Superest lectio: in qua puer ut sciat ubi suspendere spiritum debeat, quo loco versum distinguere, ubi cludatur sensus, unde incipiat, quando attollenda vel summittenda sit vox, quo quidque flexu, quid lentius celerius concitatius lenius dicendum, demonstrari nisi in opere ipso non potest. Unum est igitur quod in hac parte praecipiam, ut omnia ista facere possit: intellegat. [Reading remains to be discussed. In this, it is impossible, except by actual practice, to make it clear how a boy is to learn when to take a fresh breath, where to make a pause in a verse, where the sense ends or begins, when the voice is to be raised or lowered, what inflection should be given to each phrase, and what should be spoken slowly or quickly, excitedly or calmly. So the only advice I can give on this subject, to enable him to do all these things, is: let him understand the text.]114
Knowing intuitively where the meaning is complete and where a new sense begins, where the voice is to be raised and where it is to be lowered, where it is to be louder or softer and where the speaker is to speed up or to slow down was no easy task for the average Roman student and considerably more difficult for medieval pupils, for many of whom Latin was a foreign language.115 Pauses were important when reading aloud. Not only did they allow the reader opportunity to take a breath and emphasize particular cadences or metres, but they also helped to bring out the meaning of a text. Quintilian observes, “virtus autem distinguendi fortasse sit parva, sine qua tamen esse nulla alia in agendo potest” (“the virtue of correct phrasing may be a small thing, but without it there can be no other virtue in a pleading”).116 In the following example from the eleventh book of his Institutio oratoria, Quintilian guides his reader through the first few lines of Virgil’s Aeneid. The method is very similar to that employed in the SGT and offers clues for a more complete understanding of Notker’s verbal cues: Secundum est ut sit oratio distincta, id est, qui dicit et incipiat ubi oportet et desinat. Observandum etiam, quo loco sustinendus et quasi suspendendus sermo sit, quod Graeci vel vocant, quo deponendus. Suspenditur “arma virumque cano,” quia illud “virum” ad sequentia pertinet, ut sit “virum Troiae qui primus ab oris,” et hic iterum. Nam etiam si aliud est unde venit quam quo venit, non distinguendum 114 Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. Russell, I, 8, 1–2. 115 Saenger, “Silent Reading,” pp. 375–377. 116 Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. Russell, XI, 3, 39.
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tamen, quia utrumque eodem verbo continetur “venit.” Tertio “Italiam,” quia interiectio est “fato profugus” et continuum sermonem, qui faciebat “Italiam Lavinaque,” dividit. Ob eandemque causam quarto “profugus,” deinde “Lavinaque venit litora,” ubi iam erit distinctio, quia inde alius incipit sensus. [Secondly, speech must be distinct, that is to say the speaker must begin and stop at the right place. We must also note where our speech should be held up and as it were left in the air (the Greeks call this hypodiastol¯e or hypostigm¯e ) and where it should be brought to rest. Arma virumque cano (“Arms and the man I sing”) is left in the air, because virum belongs to what follows, giving us virum Troiae qui primus ab oris (“the man who first from the shores of Troy”), after which there is another suspension; for, although where he came from and where he arrived are two different things, yet we do not need punctuation here, because both are covered by the same verb, venit (“came”). There is a third pause at Italiam, because fato profugus (“exiled by fate”) is parenthetical and interrupts the continuity of Italiam Lavinaque. For the same reason, there is a fourth pause at profugus, after which comes Lavinaque venit litora (“and came to the Lavinian shores”), where we do at last need punctuation, because a new sentence begins from this point.]117
Speech must be distinct, that is marked with pauses that vary in length and are placed at the correct points. When a pause marks a phrase, speech must be “left in the air” (“sustinendus et quasi suspendendus sermo sit”); when the sense is completed speech should be “brought to rest” (deponendus). After “Arma virumque cano,” there should be a momentary hesitation, but no more than that, since virum still needs to be explained in the following words “Troiae qui primus ab oris.” Oris is followed by another brief pause, as is Italiam, which marks the destination. Both pauses should be brief, because both ideas are conveyed by the verb venit. The phrase “fato profugus” interrupts the continuity of the phrase “Italiam . . . Lavinaque,” and the parenthesis should be set off from the rest with a slight suspension of the breath. After “Lavinaque venit litora” a longer pause is necessary and the reader may take a breath, because the sense is picked up again afterwards. The longest pause comes a few lines later after “altae moenia Romae.” Some pauses are necessary for breath, whereas others clarify the sense. If one must breathe at a place where a pause would confuse the sense, one should do so surreptitiously, lest faulty phrasing be perceived by the listeners.118 Augustine also provides examples for performance guidelines and rhetorical analysis in his De doctrina Christiana. In an example in book IV, he analyzes Romans 5, 3–5: 117 Ibid., XI, 3, 35–37. See Notker’s references to this passage, SGT f. 42v and 45r. My analysis of this passage is based on that of Parkes, Pause and Effect, p. 66. 118 “Et e contrario spiritum interim recipere sine intellectu morae necesse est, quo loco quasi surripiendus est: alioqui si inscite recipiatur, non minus adferat obscuritatis quam vitiosa distinctio” (Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. Russell, 11, 3, 39).
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Gloriamur in tribulationibus scientes, quia tribulatio patientiam operatur, patientia autem probationem, probatio vero spem, spes autem non confundit, quia caritas dei diffusa est in cordibus nostris per spiritum sanctum, qui datus est nobis. [We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance character, and character hope, and that hope does not disappoint us; because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.]119
Augustine explains that St. Paul here uses the rhetorical figure called “climax” or gradatio, in which individual ideas are carefully linked to one another. He adds that one can also distinguish the commata and cola in the passage: Agnoscitur et aliud decus, quoniam post aliqua pronuntiationis uoce singula finita, quae nostri membra et caesa, Graeci autem et ´o uocant, sequitur ambitus sive circuitus, quem illi appellant, cuius membra suspenduntur uoce dicentis, donec ultimo finiatur. Nam eorum quae praecedunt circuitum, membrum illud est primum quoniam tribulatio patientiam operatur, secundum patientia autem probationem, tertium probatio uero spem. Deinde subiungitur ipse circuitus, qui tribus peragitur membris, quorum primum est: spes autem non confundit, secundum: quoniam caritas dei diffusa est in cordibus nostris, tertium: per spiritum sanctum qui datus est nobis. [Another ornament too may be recognized, whereby after certain sections, each articulated in a single phrase (i.e., with a continuous emission of voice without pause) – these are known to Latin teachers as “limbs” and “pieces,” but to Greeks as “cola” and “commata” – there follows an “ambit” or “circuit” (they call it a “period”), in which the parts are left hanging by the speaker’s voice until the period is completed by the last clause. The first of the cola that precede the period is “that suffering produces endurance,” the second is “and endurance character,” and the third “and character hope.” Then comes the period itself, formed of three cola of which the first is “and hope does not disappoint us,” the second “because God’s love has been poured into our hearts,” and the third “through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”] 120
According to Augustine, the elements (be they commata or cola) within a nonperiodic sequence preceding a periodic sequence are articulated in a single phrase. The units in a periodic sequence, in the above example cola, are left hanging by the speaker’s voice (suspenduntur voce dicentis) until the period is completed by the last clause. Augustine regards only the last part of the above passage (beginning with “spes autem . . .”) to be a period, which is preceded by three cola. Usually, however, cola are used to divide up periods, whereas commata are phrases and clauses 119 Augustine, De doctrina Christiana, IV, vii, 11, ed. Joseph Martin, CCSL 32, p. 123, ll. 2–6. In St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 199 (s. x) the text appears on p. 335 in a selection of Augustine’s works and is introduced by a chapter heading that reads: “Ex libro quatro sancti augustini de doctrina christiana ubi contemperat dicta beati pauli apostoli . cum praeceptis rethoricorum per membra sive circuitus vel det tribus generibus decindi idest grandi submisso et temperato cum exemplis suis et unum exemplum ex libro amos prophetae.” On the dating of the manuscript and contents, see Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 74. 120 De doctrina Christiana, IV, vii, 11, ed. Martin, p. 123, ll. 13–25.
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used in isolation or in non-periodic sequences (hence, the first three phrases above should be commata). Contrary to his own definition, however, Augustine also clearly refers to cola outside of the period in the above example, which makes it difficult to distinguish a colon from a comma. Scaglione suggests that the difference between the two may have rested solely in the method of delivery: in a non-periodic sequence all units are pronounced with the same expression, whereas in periodic sequences the cola are held “suspended by the speaker’s voice” until the last one is completed.121 Within the framework proposed by the SGT author, Augustine’s directions for performance are confusing. Augustine advises performing cola in periodic sequences with a suspensio vocis, not commata in a non-periodic sequence. Notker criticizes Augustine’s treatment of the issue and notes that, “[Augustine] in the fourth book of De doctrina christiana gives many examples of cola and commata from the Apostle, though in such a way that practically no rhyme or reason can be found in it.”122 The exact meaning of the verbal cues suspensio (uocis) and suspendenda (est uox) in the SGT is unclear. Does suspensio mean a type of pause, as in “to stop” or “to interrupt,” with or without breathing, or does it mean the exact opposite, that no pause is made but that the voice is “left hanging”? According to Quintilian suspendere involves a brief pause which helps to make clear the structure of a passage. The terminology is used to refer to a pause when performing cola in a periodic sequence in Augustine’s analysis as well. That breathing, which involves a pause, was in some way involved in Notker’s use of the verbal cue suspensio vocis is clear from his comments elsewhere. When analyzing a passage from Augustine written in the non-periodic style, he draws attention to the commata ad quae singula respirandum est . et propterea subtus punctum habent . et per se tamen nihil sunt . propter coherentiam totius sententiæ; Quid hanc sententiam nisi continuam dicamus? quæ periodum sine colo . et commate perficere non potest . et punctis locum non dat . nisi aut imum ante clausulam . aut in clausula summum; [A reader must breathe after each phrase. For this reason they have the point at the bottom, though they are still nothing in and of themselves, on account of the coherence of the entire sentence. What should we call this sentence except continuous? It cannot form a period without colon or comma, and it allows no place for points except at the bottom before the close or at the top at the very end itself.]123 121 Scaglione, Classical Theory, pp. 72–73, and Charles S. Baldwin, Medieval Rhetoric and Poetic to 1400 (1928) (repr. Gloucester, MA: Peter Smith, 1959), pp. 55–73. Another interpretation offered by M¨uller is that Augustine is referring to the fact that a period has no pauses until one reaches the end, i.e., its members are performed continually without a pause (“Rhetorische und syntaktische Interpunktion,” pp. 94–95). 122 “[Augustinus] . qui in quarto libro de doctrina christiana . eorum quæ dicuntur membra et cæsa . ex apostolo plura dedit exempla . ita tamen . ut uix possint ulla ratione discerni” (SGT 64v, 13–16). 123 SGT 62v, 7–8.
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The end of each comma shows the reader where to breathe and is marked with a point at the bottom of the line, a subdistinctio, following Donatus’ scheme. In his definition of the continuous style, Notker writes that it may be confusing when seen from the perspective of dialectic, since Aristotle in his De categoriis lists speech among those quantities which have parts distinct from one another. How can speech be distinct, yet also continuous? Notker argues that Aristotle was referring to properties such as individual words, syllables, and letters, which are distinct. The circumstantiae are not the smallest parts of speech, but larger units that hold many words together and pertain to the signification of a complete thought. Notker says that they are separate and distinct, and in the non-periodic or continuous style, when they are located in the area of the action or its effect, they show readers where to breathe (“Hæ quoque distinctæ sunt . et in continuis sententiis locum ipsæ respirandi legentibus monstrant” 46r, 14–15). Glauch translates the SGT phrase “cum suspensione uocis” with “mit schwebender Stimme” (that is “with a hovering voice” or “hanging voice”), presumably meaning that the voice should be kept on the same level and not changed in any way, including a pause.124 Here she is translating the passage in which Notker warns that less experienced readers might be led astray by pre-posed commata that contain a verb, since they might assume that the sententia is complete. These commata must be read with a suspensio vocis to avoid confusion. Later in the same passage, however, Notker applies the prosodic terms arsis (raising of the voice) and thesis (lowering of the voice) when guiding readers in the declamation of verbs: Illa ergo commata quibus singulis singula uerba coaptantur solent finem nondum finitæ sententiæ mentiri unde sepe auditor minus doctus fallitur nisi cum suspensione uocis legantur; Est enim omnis uis intellectus . nec sine eo clauditur sententia; Tunc autem uerbum minime claudit sententiam dum apponuntur ei infinitæ particulæ cum . quando . si . nisi . postquam. Vel infinita aut relatiua nomina . qui . qualis . quantus . quot . quotus. Vel comparatiua aduerbia . sicut . uelut . quemadmodum . et similia; Ad hæc discernenda . id est quando claudant uel non claudant sententiam uerba . oportet ut arsis et thesis in eis resultent; [Therefore those commata which have single words joined to single words often falsely communicate an end to a sententia which is in fact not yet finished. Less experienced listeners are often deceived by this, unless the structures are read with a suspension of the voice. Complete meaning is everything and the sententia cannot be closed without it. On the other hand, the verb hardly closes the sentence when joined to an uninflected particle like cum, quando, si, nisi, or postquam, to an indefinite or relative pronoun such as qui, 124 Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 124.
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qualis, quantus, quot, or quotus, or to a comparative adverb such as uelut, quemadmodum, etc. In order to distinguish whether or not verbs close a sentence, they should be shown by arsis and thesis.]125
In order to distinguish whether or not verbs are medial or final, they should be shown by arsis and thesis. This could be interpreted to mean that those verbs that occur in commata be read with an arsis and those that occur at the end of the sententia are read with a thesis, or perhaps that medial verbs be read with both arsis and thesis.126 The cadential formula used for a colon is not mentioned in this section. Early in the treatise, Notker writes that cola are read “cum depositione vocis,” whereas when others are performed “mutanda est vox.”127 Questions are said elsewhere to be read “interrogatiue,” which might assume a change in intonation. Setting the intonation of the cadences of commata and cola in addition to simply pausing lends a whole new dimension to discretio, which eventually came to play a very important role in medieval and particularly monastic reading and listening comprehension. Many early medieval lectores, who no longer had the necessary “Sprachgef¨uhl” to quickly analyze the rhetorical structure of a passage and thus provide the correct stress and intonation when reading Latin aloud, welcomed such guidelines. One of the earliest medieval examples for prescribed lectio intonation is found in a mid-ninth-century letter written by Hildemar to Bishop Ursus of Benevento: Quamvis itaque ars distincte legendi potissimum in posituris consistat, sunt tamen et illi accentus ineruditis lectoribus aliquo modo utiles, quos Donatus enumerat . . . Non ergo miremini, quod in medio sensu notam acuti accentus fecerim, quoniam, ut ab eruditis didici viris, his tribus punctis tres aptantur accentus: id est usque ad medium totius sententiæ sensum gravis; in medio quoque tantummodo sensu accutus; deindeque usque ad plenum sensum circumflexus. Ita ut nec ante acutum sit circumflexus, nec post acutum sit ullo modo gravis. Hoc autem omnino a lectore observandum est, ut in medio solummodo totius dictionis sensu vox ipsius paullo eminentius elevetur, et ante elevationem per singula subdistinctionis puncta gravetur atque post predictam elevationem per singula puncta circumflectatur, salvo illo sensu quem Donatus tractat in accentuum ratione. [Therefore as much as the art of reading depends chiefly on the positurae (pauses), there are nonetheless those accents which are useful to inexperienced readers and which Donatus lists . . . Do not be surprised that I have placed the sign of an acute accent in the middle of the sententia, because, as I have learned from educated men, three accents belong to these three points. Up until the middle of the entire sententia a grave accent; an acute accent in 125 SGT 60v, 12-61r, 4. On the meaning and use of the terms arsis and thesis, See Grotans, “S´ıh t´ır selbo lector: Lexical and Graphic Cues for Reading in Tenth-Century St. Gall,” Scriptorium 51.2 (1997), pp. 251–302. 126 SGT 61r, 3–4. 127 SGT 42v, 11 and 53v, 11–12.
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the middle of the meaning; and then the circumflex accent up until the completed thought. It should be done so that the circumflex in no way appears before the acute, nor that the grave occurs after the acute. This rule should in general be observed by the reader, so that the voice, itself a little louder, is raised only in the middle of the entire sense of the passage, and that before the elevation it is lowered at the individual points of the subdistinctio and raised and lowered again after this raising at the points, without being in violation of that sense which Donatus treats in his account of accents.]128
Hildemar prescribes a type of sentence intonation which is noted with a combination of pointing and accent marks, termed by the ancients prosodiae, such that the voice is lowered at all cadences before the middle of the sententia, raised at the middle and raised and lowered at any points thereafter. Although Notker’s cues primarily refer to pauses (and presumably also breathing), they may also have involved some sort of change in voice intonation, as is hinted at with the application of the terms thesis and arsis. In his book on music in De nuptiis, Martianus Capella defines the two terms as part of a foot, i.e., as a structural unit: Pes uero est numeri prima progressio per legitimos et necessarios sonos iuncta; cuius partes duae sunt, “arsis” et “thesis.” Arsis est “eleuatio,” thesis “depositio uocis ac remissio.” [The foot is the first progression of rhythm, a combination of proper and related sounds. A foot has two parts, arsis and thesis. Arsis is a raising, and thesis a lowering and slackening of the voice.]129
The Latin equivalents for thesis given in Martianus’ text, “depositio uocis ac remissio,” correspond to the verbal cue found in the SGT for the end of a sententia and for some cola. In his translation/commentary of Ni, Notker uses the phrases “remissior vocis” and “et hic remissa” to mark the end of colon that breaks up the thought of the sententia.130 In Hucbald’s ninth-century De musica, cadential formulas in song are described with terms borrowed from grammar and rhetoric: 128 “Hildemarus monachus Ursum Beneventanum episcopum de ratione bene legendi ex auctoritate grammaticorum ueterum, Isidori atque Augustini docet,” ed. Ernst D¨ummler, MGH Epist. Karolini Aevi 3 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1899), pp. 320–321. Hildemar’s comments are made in connection with an exposition of chapter 38 of the Rule of St. Benedict, a passage that deals with reading aloud in the refectory. The letter is interpolated into Hildemar’s commentary to the Rule in Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm. 18103 and is found on ff. 103–104. See also Parkes, “Punctuation, or Pause and Effect,” p. 128; Treitler, “Reading and Singing: On the Genesis of Occidental Music-Writing,” Early Music History 4 (1984), pp. 152–153; and Gilles, “La ponctuation dans les manuscrits liturgiques au moyen aˆge,” in Alfonso Maier`u (ed.), Grafia e interpunzione del latino nel medioevo (Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1987), pp. 123–124. 129 De nuptiis, ed. J. Willis, 375, 3–5; trans. Stahl et al., p. 374. 130 Ni 186, 23 and 187, 1–2. See the analysis of these sections below, chapter five, p. 231.
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Verum cantilenae corpus “arsi” et “thesi,” id est “elauatione” tonorum et “positione” completur, donec “periodo,” id est “clausula” siue “circuitu” suis membris distincta terminetur. [But the body of a song is performed with arsis and thesis, that is with a raising and positioning of sounds up until the period, that is the clausula or the circuitus, where it is finished off, made distinct by means of its parts.]131
Scholia to the same text carry even further the connection between the end of a structural unit and varying intonation: Itaque in particularis quae membra sunt cantionis, pene semper cola uel commata has in leuando aut in deponendo sonorum socialitates petunt, et in eas uel arsis quaerit attingere uel thesis . . . [And so it is in those parts, which are the divisions (membra) of a song, they nearly always expect a harmony of sounds either by raising or by lowering the cola or commata, and one seeks to touch upon them [scil. cola and commata] by either arsis or thesis.]132
In the Musica enchiriadis the same terminology is again used. Particulae sunt sua cantionis cola uel commata, quae suis finibus cantum distinguunt. Sed cola fiunt coeuntibus apte commatibus duobus pluribusque; quamuis interdum est ubi indiscrete comma uel colon dici potest. At ipsa commata per arsin et thesin fiunt, id est eleuationem et depositionem. Sed alias simplici arsi et thesi uox in commate semel erigitur ac deponitur, alias saepius. [The parts of a song are cola and commata, which distinguish the melody by means of their cadences. But cola are rightly made by joining two or more commata, although there are times when it is impossible to distinguish whether it is a colon or a comma. And commata are produed with arsis and thesis, that is with a raising and lowering (of the voice.) But sometimes the voice is raised up by means of arsis and thesis in commata only the first time, sometimes more often.]133
The author explains that a song is made up of cola and commata. Several commata can form a colon, although the two units can be difficult to distinguish. He then prescribes that in a song, commata be read alternately with arsis and thesis, that is a raising and lowering of the voice. In his Nc, Notker also uses the terms periodus, colon and comma to explain the concept of an organicus circus which 131 Cited from Hubert “Corpus,” p. 89. On the relationship between the terms distinctio, clausula, sententia and music see also P. Bourgain “Le vocabulaire,” pp. 169–170. 132 Scriptores ecclesiastici de musica sacra potissimum, ed. Martin Gerbert, I, 1784 (repr. Hildesheim: Olms, 1963), p. 181a, 30. Further references for the connection between intonation and structural analysis are given in Grotans, “S´ıh t´ır selbo lector,” pp. 269–281. 133 Cited from Hubert, “Corpus,” p. 90.
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represents a circular movement that occurs in music when a melody returns to the tone on which it began. In his explanation Notker refers to the antiphon “O sapientia”: ´ d´anne r´ıng a´n demo s´ange uu´ırt . sˆo iz ˆıo uu´ıdere-eruu´ındet . ze d´ero s´elbun st´ete . Also dˆar iz a´na-fˆıeng. H´eue u´ nde s´ıng o sapientia . sˆo f´ındest tˆu dˆıa s´elbun lˆutun a´n demo .a. d´ıu ze eˆrest uu´as a´n demo o. D´er sˆo getˆano perhiodus . d´az chˆıt circuitus . h´eizet colon . ´ d´az ne´ıst . sˆo h´eizet er comma. u´ be d´az uu´ort tˆar-ˆuz-kˆat . sˆo ´ıh tir nˆu z´eigota. Vbe [Just as a circle is formed in song when it always returns to the same place where it began. Begin and sing “o sapientia,” then you will notice the same tone on the “a” as it was on the “o” at the beginning. The periodus which is thus formed, that is circuitus, is called a colon when the word ends there, as I have just demonstrated. If this is not the case then it is a comma.]134
Here a colon is defined as a unit that respects the end of a word, a comma as a unit that does not. This is similar to the use of the terms in metrical analysis, where a colon respects the end of a foot, a comma not. Likewise in a rhetorical analysis, a colon can finish a thought, a comma cannot. The relationship between punctuation and music, and in particular liturgical practice, is significant and marked by mutual influence.135 Important for the present discussion is a system of punctuation marks called positurae, which was used to punctuate liturgical texts from as early as the second half of the eighth century.136 In liturgical manuscripts the marks could indicate both fixed melodic figures as well as sense units. A punctus versus < > was used to indicate the end of a sententia containing a statement; the punctus elevatus < > indicated a major medial pause within a sententia where the sensus was complete but the sententia was not; the punctus (circum)flexus < > indicated a minor medial pause where the sensus was incomplete; and a punctus interrogativus was used to indicate the end of a sententia containing a question.137 A punctus elevatus denoted a gradual lowering of pitch followed by a return to the tuba in one stage; a punctus circumflexus denoted a lowering of pitch by a third; a punctus versus denoted a lowering of pitch in two stages.138 The positurae or often combinations of positurae and distinctiones were 134 Nc 109, 16–21. See Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 190. 135 On the relationship between accents, punctuation and neumes see Charles M. Atkinson, “De Accentibus Toni,” pp. 17–42. Earlier important studies on this topic are Peter Bohn, “Das liturgische Recitativ und dessen Bezeichnung in den liturgischen B¨uchern des Mittelalters,” Monatshefte f¨ur Musik-Geschichte 19.3, 19.5 (1887), pp. 29–52, 61–68 and 78–80, Peter Clemoes, “Liturgical Influence on Punctuation,” Old English Newsletter Subsidia 4 (1980), pp. 7–22, Treitler, “Reading and Singing,” and Parkes, Pause and Effect, pp. 35–40. 136 Treitler, “Reading and Singing,” p. 153 and pp. 189–192. 137 Parkes, Pause and Effect, pp. 35–36. There was, of course, variation in the way in which the marks appeared; see Treitler, “Reading and Singing,” pp. 188–189. 138 See the glossary provided by Clemoes, “Liturgical Influences on Punctuation,” pp. 3–5.
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also applied to artes and other texts not read publicly outside of the classroom, perhaps because these were more easily recognizable than the system of simple points.139 The consolidation of systems simplified matters in the scriptorium and the school, since teaching and practising two distinct types of punctuation was no doubt confusing. It is unclear, however, whether or not the marks also represented directions for apropriate intonations in speech when reading aloud. Parkes, in reaction to earlier studies that stressed the oral aspects of medieval punctuation (often at the expense of their structural aspects), questions whether the full tonal repertoire of the liturgical positurae was ever completely transferred to punctuation marks in non-ecclesiastical texts.140 One can find scattered references in medieval texts in which the connection between the positurae and cadential formulae is mentioned. Thus, in the thirteenth-century Candelabrum of Bonus of Florence, the connection between the positurae and intonation is made clear, although here the punctus elevatus is associated with a comma and the simple point with a colon.141 According to Bonus, a comma must end in actual utterance with a raising of the voice tone (“per arsin, id est elevationem vocis”), and is marked with the punctus elevatus. The end of a colon is to be read with a lowered pitch (accentu gravi) and is marked with a simple dot. The period is finished off with an even lower tone and marked with the punctus versus. An ars dictaminis treatise recorded in the twelfth-century Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, MS Phillipps 1732, originally from Rheims, contains on f. 61r similar evidence for the application of arsis and thesis in reading performance. After briefly defining the structural units colon, comma and periodus, the author provides the following bit of advice: 139 In fact, the reason that the fully three-tiered distinctiones system was never successful is likely to be that the three heights were difficult to distinguish in practice. See Clemoes, “Liturgical Influence on Punctuation,” pp. 9–10 and Parkes, Pause and Effect, p. 37. See also my discussion of Ekkehard’s glossing below, chapter five. 140 Parkes, Pause and Effect, p. 77. Parkes seems largely to be reacting to the studies by Clemoes (cf. also his “Punctuation,” p. 129). 141 “Ecclesia quippe romana omnes distinctiones in pronunciando terminat puncto plano, et punctis scripturalibus utitur valde paucis, nec ullam virgulam scribit, nisi quando clausulam conclusionis finit. Alii sunt qui diverso modo quoque scribunt, dicentes quod per arsin, id est elevationem vocis, omnia sunt commata proferenda; et hoc ostendit punctum cum virgula sursum ducta. Cola vero sunt accentu gravi aliquantulum fovenda, quod denotat punctum sine aliqua virgula scriptum. At periodum censetur graviori accentu pronunciari debere, quod punctum monstrat cum virgula infra ducta. Et iste modus fere ab omnibus observatur. Nos vero tenemus quod omnes terminationes preter finitivam debent per arsin legitime continuari, sed periodus per thesin, id est depositionem vocis, nisi cum in ecclesia legimus, ubi tam in psalmis quam ceteris lectionibus auctoritas consuetudinis est servanda. De punctis vero distinctionum sedis apostolice auctoritatem servamus, dicentes quod omne punctum sine virgula esse debet, nisi ubi sermo vel epistola terminatur, quia in geminum punctum cum virgula deorsum ducta fieri [terminatio] consuevit . . . Nam si iuxta pronunciationum modos puncta scripturalia volumus variare, antiphonarium videbitur” (Extraits de divers manuscrits latins pour l’histoire des doctrines grammaticales au moyen aˆ ge, ed. Charles Thurot, 1869 [repr. Frankfurt: Minerva, 1964], p. 415).
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. . . in scolis [sic ! colis] fit ponctum ad mediam litteram . et tenetur vox suspensa . nec ascendens . in camate [sic !] ante ponitur punctum ad summam litteram cum virgula ascendente per quam arsis .i. vocis elatio fit. Per hanc enim possumus intelligere quod adhuc pendet sensus sententie. In peridos ponimus ponctum ad imum littere cum virgula iacente per quam perfecta sententia significatur et thesis .i. depositio vocis. [In cola a point is placed at mid-letter height, and the voice is held suspended and not raised. In a comma the point is placed at the top of the letters with a virgule tilted upwards at which an arsis, i.e., a raising of the voice is made. For it is through this symbol that we can recognize that the meaning of the sententia is suspended. In a period we place the point at the bottom of the letters with a virgule cast downward and by means of which a finished sententia is expressed and a thesis, i.e., a lowering of the voice.]142
Commata are to read with arsis, the end of a sententia with a thesis. In the case of a colon the voice is held suspensa, which here translates a simple pause with no change in intonation. Whether Notker, writing in the late tenth century, intended the verbal cues he prescribes in the SGT to also include some sort of cadential formulae is unclear. That he is aware of the relationship between music and rhetoric is demonstrated in his use of the terms comma and colon in the context of song and his application of the terms arsis and thesis in the SGT when referring to the performance of commata. Cola are sometimes read by “quodam modo mutanda est vox” and questions are to be read “interrogative.” These directions for intonation are, however, minimal and none of his extant texts preserve an extensive use of the positurae, as I will demonstrate in chapter five. No doubt his pupils were aware of and practised cadential formulae in their liturgical training. The additional structural information – the effect – provided by raising or lowering the voice would have helped readers to interpret the meaning of passages and to articulate texts correctly so that listeners could better understand them. In effect, his use of the verbal cues “suspensio (vocis)” and “suspendenda (est vox)” could refer to a pause (“interrupt speech”), a cadential formula (“do not let the level of your voice fall at the end of the unit” or “raise your voice”) or perhaps even to a combination (“make a pause and start up again on the same or higher pitch” or “before making a pause, raise your voice”). The cue used at the end of a period, depositio vocis, could be interpreted as either “make a pause (that is, lay down) your voice,” “lower your voice,” or both. I have argued elsewhere that the distinction between a comma and colon – units which had originally marked rhythmical cadences but were in the Middle Ages equated with semantic units – eventually became so blurred that by the 142 For a complete description of the manuscript and its contents see Valentin Rose, Verzeichniss der Handschriften der k¨oniglichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, 1 (Berlin: Ascher, 1893), pp. 409–411 [= #181]. The treatise in question begins on f. 56v with the incipit: “De dictamine tractaturus primum eius diffinitionem ostendere decreui quatinus ea cognita conuenientius tractare queam.” On f. 60v, 11 reference is made to the teachings of a certain Radulphus.
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fourteenth century several competing systems for their analysis, punctuation and vocal performance were in place.143 The confusion is already evident in the SGT written some three hundred years earlier, in which Notker devotes an entire section to the fact “That some authors have spoken ambiguously on these types of style [i.e. periodic and non-periodic].”144 Notker complains that some authors such as Bede “declined to distinguish and define colon and comma, saying that the auctores used the terms interchangeably and confusingly.”145 He himself has a particular bone to pick with his predecessors’ definition of the two types of style. Isidore defines every sententia as consisting of commata which combine to form cola which in turn combine to form a periodus. If this is true, Notker points out, how should one classify a sententia written in the non-periodic style, which has no cola but only commata? A few folios later, he quotes the Rhetorica ad Herennium, which defines a comma as single words set appart by pauses in staccato speech.146 His own definition deviates from that in Ad Herennium, since he has earlier given examples of long commata, especially those introduced by a subordinate conjunction or relative pronoun. In the end Notker breaks down and follows tradition by defining a comma as an unresolved unit of discourse and a colon as a unit that can be understood by itself.147 The confusion in distinguishing between a comma and colon is not surprising given the shift and extension in the meaning of these and related terms.148 By the tenth century the classical criteria for defining commata and cola according to rhythm and meter were no longer operative. Contemporary Latin learners had a difficult time not only recognizing the rhetorical boundaries, but also simply distinguishing sentence constituents and analyzing the syntax of a passage. With time, knowledge of Classical Latin improved among the litterati and by the twelfth century an accentual cursus had been developed to replaced the metrical cursus of antiquity. In the meantime, for example in the tenth-century school of St. Gall, 143 Grotans, “S´ıh t´ır selbo lector,” p. 281. 144 “Quod quidam auctores de illis generibus sunt ambigue locuti” (SGT 61v, ff.). 145 “. . . distinguere et diffinire cola et commata recusauit . dicens ea indifferenter et confuse ab auctoribus dici” (SGT 64v, 11–13). 146 SGT 65v, 15–66r, 2; cf. Ps.-Cicero, Ad Herennium IV.xix.26: “Articulus dicitur cum singula verba intervallis distinguuntur caesa oratione . . . hoc crebrius et celerius pervenit” (ed. and trans. Harry Caplan, pp. 296–298). 147 SGT, 64v, 1–4. 148 Treitler points out that there were also various systems for musical notation circulating at the time, and his comment on the importance of emerging written culture holds true for the competing punctuation systems as well: “The appearance virtually all at once of notations of fundamentally disparate types and purposes does, however, suggest one idea that connects them all: that their very existence is a reflection into the musical realm of the new scriptural orientation in the culture. One wrote down different kinds of music, for different particular purposes, in ways that quickly became highly differentiated. But one wrote down. And one did so in the interest of a transcendent ideal of clarity and normativity” (“Reading and Singing,” p. 142).
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the trend is clearly away from form to content. This is already evident in the fusion of the comma/colon unit with the semantic/logical circumstantiae as seen in the classroom text analyses discussed above. Once the rhetorical divisions comma and colon could no longer be sensed naturally, they were marked graphically by a system of distinctiones like the one suggested by Donatus. The seeds for meaning as a criterion of division in addition to oratorical necessity were already present in classical times.149 Originally a subdistinctio signified a pause without a breath and was marked with a point on the line.150 To this was added a semantic dimension “an incomplete thought” and eventually the performative unit coalesced with the rhetorical comma. In the Middle Ages this new unit is also marked with a punctus elevatus < > (and in some paradigms the punctus circumflexus), which with its upward slanting bar came to signify a momentarily interrupted thought that was continuing. The media distinctio, a point midway up from the line, marked a short breath taken before the end of the sententia. It originally had no connection to meaning, but played a purely performative role. When the paradigm of rhetorical units was combined with that of the distinctiones, the media distinctio was logically associated with the colon, the “middle” unit. It came to represent a complete thought that in some way contributed to the larger idea and was usually marked with a simple point, or later, depending upon the tradition, either with a punctus circumflexus or a punctus elevatus. Finally, the ultima or plena distinctio, a point at the top of the letter height, originally marked a pause and breath made at the end of a completed sententia. It was easily united with the rhetorical unit periodus and later noted with a punctus versus < >, which with its downward stroke came to signify the completion of a semantic unit. As we have seen in the SGT, punctuation played an important role in medieval grammar classrooms. An incomplete thought or comma was associated with a dependent clause; a colon with one in a series of coordinate clauses. In effect, we have five systems that are eventually consolidated: rhetorical units, performance pauses, punctuation marks, completion of meaning, and finally grammatical units.151 As I will demonstrate below in chapter five, Notker Labeo made use of the reading methodology laid forth in the SGT when compiling his own translation/commentaries. In addition to providing his students with a simplified version of the original Latin and an OHG translation, Notker augmented his texts with grammatical and interpretive commentary, including a two-fold structural commentary that mirror the SGT guidelines. On the one level, emblematic punctuation 149 Walther Ong, “Historical Backgrounds,” pp. 353–354. 150 For a more complete discussion of the development in terminology, see Grotans, “S´ıh t´ır s´elbo lector.” 151 See also Smits van Waesberghe, “Studien u¨ ber das Lesen (pronuntiare), das Zitieren und u¨ ber die Herausgabe lateinischer musiktheoretischer Traktate (9.–16. Jahrhundert),” Archiv f¨ur Musikwissenschaft 28 (1971), p. 185.
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is systematically applied to break down large passages into smaller, more easily manageable sense units that are defined according to semantic criteria. On a second level, we also occasionally find performance punctuation and verbal cues that were meant to guide young lectores in the oral production of texts by marking length and type of pauses and perhaps cadential intonation. The method was carried on at St. Gall by Ekkehard IV and is found in glosses written by him. These two additional “real” sources provide us with an invaluable glimpse at how theory was put into practice and reading actually carried out in the medieval monastic school. If we compare the SGT to Hildemar’s guidelines for monastic lectio as prescribed in his commentary to the Rule, we see a clear development of method and its application in the tenth century. Hildemar’s work, composed in the middle of the ninth century, reflects the influence of the Carolingian movement to standardize texts and their performance. Hildemar concentrates on the practical aspects of monastic reading and draws upon grammatical theory and practice in order to provide directions for correct reading in the refectorium and during other monastic lectiones. He discusses punctuation and the corresponding voice intonation, which aid listeners in understanding texts read out loud. The second part of his chapter underscores the importance of correct accentuation in order to make the meaning of individual words clear.152 Like Hildemar, Notker draws upon material from grammatical and rhetorical sources as well as from the commentary tradition of monastic lectio. He cites Cicero, Priscian and Donatus as well as Jerome, Isidore, Augustine and “moderni” such as Bede. The difference is that he not only applies their teachings, he analyzes them critically. Furthermore, his approach to text analysis is permeated with concepts of language structure borrowed from the field of dialectic, which he tries to integrate with the concomitant arts of grammar and rhetoric. While many of his example sentences are taken from the Scriptures, others he borrows from Aristotle and Boethius. The ninth-century monastic lectio is transformed into classroom lectio and a study of language in its own right. 152 For a summary of Hildemar’s comments and sources see above, chapter one.
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5 Discretio in the classroom
[C]onstrue scriptorum qui scis loca plura suorum . cernis inoffensos structura excedere sensus nullaque grammatices documenta uiro fore dices . comitis eximia probat id quoque lectio prima doctus et e cælis mage quam pede Gamalihelis ructat corde bonum sine lege Donatica uerbum.1
The reading methodology outlined in the SGT was designed for training young lectores to analyze the grammatical and rhetorical structure of texts and to perform them orally according to sense. Notker adopted and further developed the same guidelines in his own translation/commentaries. Evidence from numerous construe marks, ordo-est glosses, and rearranged word order in commentaries attests that the practice was not new to St. Gall but was used throughout medieval European classrooms. Indeed, some of the possible exemplars and commentaries with which Notker worked contain guidelines for simplifying syntax. The St. Gall schoolmaster, however, did not borrow from his sources blindly nor indiscriminately, be it his exemplars or his own SGT methodology. He varied the traditional and prescribed “natural order” according to the passage at hand, taking into consideration the level of textual difficulty and pedagogic relevance as well as the text building strategies of the original. Sometimes the grammatical ordo naturalis is overshadowed by the ordo rerum, the order of thoughts, which can roughly be equated with functional sentence perspective or iconic word order. In a few instances Notker even combined the natural order of rhetorical/grammatical theory with the practical and – at least for his pupils – “natural” order of OHG. In effect, Notker expanded upon and modified pedagogic tradition with his own common sense, thus tailoring his teaching materials to the needs of his pupils. In addition to rearranging the Latin word order, Notker also used syntactical and performance punctuation and verbal cues in order to help his readers distinguish phrases, clauses, sentences and paragraphs. Pointing is used to break up longer thought units, the sententiae of the 1 From the poem of Ekkehard IV “Confutatio grammaticæ,” St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 393, p. 146, 9–15. Printed in Ernst D¨ummler, “Ekkehart IV von St. Gallen,” p. 66.
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SGT, into smaller, more easily manageable groupings that are defined according to both semantic and syntactical criteria. A low to mid point served to separate short groups of words similar to our modern-day phrases and clauses; a high point marked the end of clauses and sentences. In many cases Notker distinguished one Latin clause or sentence from the next by breaking it up with intervening OHG translation/commentary. A sentence thus “distinguished” was then in some cases further encoded with graphic markers that served to guide readers in vocalization. These markers indicate the length and type of pause and perhaps corresponding cadential intonation at the end of a comma, colon or sententia. In a few cases the markers were expanded to lexical glosses such as suspensio vocis (“suspension of the voice”), remissior (“more slack”) and depositio (“laying down of the voice”). s i m p l i f i e d word order In his versions of the stylistically difficult De consolatione Philosophiae by Boethius and De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii by Martianus Capella, Notker often simplified the word order of the Latin text that he included alongside his translation/commentary. His restructuring of the original is in essence a select commentary, much like ordo-est glosses and construe marks, which are never found throughout an entire text, but only in specific, presumably difficult or key passages.2 In his versions of the Aristotelian De categoriis (Nk) and De interpretatione (Ni), Notker is less likely to modify the original word order. As explained above in chapter two, this is probably due to the fact that the syntax in these texts is already fairly straightforward and sentences are on the whole short and to the point. Indeed, it is likely that the logical word order used in these texts influenced the application of the ordo naturalis to other genres for the purposes of classroom analysis.3 Notker also seldom rearranges the Latin word order in his Psalter translation (Np). Either he did not want to tamper with the sacred word order or the syntax of the original was already straightforward enough. Indeed, in early medieval pedagogic treatises like the SGT, the logically “natural” word order, the ordo naturalis, is often equated with the “natural” word order of the Scriptures.4 2 On construe marks in medieval texts, see Martje Draak, “Construe Marks in Hiberno-Latin Mss,” Medelingen d. Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschapen, Afdeling Letterkunde NS 20, Nr. 10 (1957), pp. 261–282, and eadem, “The Higher Teaching of Latin Grammar in Ireland during the Ninth Century,” Medelingen d. Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschapen, Afdeling Letterkunde, NS 30, Nr. 4 (1967), pp. 109–144; Fred C. Robinson, “Syntactical Glosses in Latin Manuscripts of Anglo-Saxon Provenance,” Speculum 48 (1973), pp. 443–475; Michael Korhammer, “Mittelalterliche Konstruktionshilfe und altenglische Wortstellung,” Scriptorium 34 (1980), pp. 18–58, and Henkel, ¨ Deutsche Ubersetzungen, pp. 80–86. 3 Saenger, Space, pp. 16–17. 4 In the SGT, Notker often uses biblical quotes to substantiate the principles he is laying down. In one instance, he notes the straightforwardness of biblical word order, such as that in the Psalms,
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Notker’s dependence on the SGT and the concept of the ordo naturalis outlined therein has been studied in detail by Anton N¨af and Herbert Backes.5 N¨af calls Notker’s rearranged Latin word order a “konstruktionelle Normalstellung” and suggests that it reflects a “logical,” or centrifugal ordering of sentence elements, in other words, a linear dependency from left to right, as in the Romance languages.6 He compares the Latin and OHG passages in Notker’s De consolatione translation and concludes that Notker followed the basic principles of the “konstruktionelle Normalstellung” only in the Latin; according to N¨af, Notker’s OHG reflects the pure syntactical structure of his native tongue.7 He admits, however, that Notker occasionally deviated from the ordo naturalis in the Latin text and he traces correspondences between the Latin and the OHG to a possible influence of the vernacular, especially with regard to verb-second position in indicative clauses as opposed to verb first in interrogatives, and to the preposition of adjectival attributes.8 Indeed, if Notker was as free a translator as N¨af suggests, it is possible that he was equally free when applying the ordo naturalis – at times adhering to the rules when these served his purpose and at times deviating from them, especially if the prescribed order did not agree with his own sense of what was stylistically acceptable or understandable to his students. It is precisely Notker’s independence from the ordo naturalis that Backes stresses. He compares Notker’s Latin word order in De nuptiis with the rules prescribed in the St. Gall Tractate and concludes that Notker reshuffled a major portion of Martianus’ text into his own version of the ordo naturalis.9 Notker, however, did not always follow the SVO pattern, especially with respect to the filling of the sentence-initial slot. Backes designates Notker’s variant principle as a constructio in legendo, which was influenced by rhetorical and logical factors such as the ordo rerum as well as by Notker’s own personal style and rhythmical sense.10 But if a teacher is parsing a text in class, one can assume that he will attempt to present the material in the simplest form possible and try to link it with students’ existing knowledge. It is doubtful whether Notker set out to create a medieval Latin literary text. To rewrite the classical Latin according to a medieval variant would have defeated the pedagogic value of the text, since, after all, the goal of the exercise was to understand the structure of the original Latin, not that of vulgar spoken or written medieval Latin. Furthermore, neither N¨af nor Backes seriously considered that Notker was working within an established pedagogic tradition that reached far where it is easy to rearrange the text, “levis . . . verborum transposicio ut in psalmo” (SGT 45r, 8–10). Cf. Alfred Dolch, Stil- und Quellenprobleme zu Notkers Boethius und Martianus Capella (New York: Ottendorfer Memorial Series, 1951), pp. 302–304; A. Borter, Syntaktische Klammerbildung in Notkers ¨ Psalter (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1982), p. 23; and E. Luginb¨uhl, Studien zu Notkers Ubersetzungskunst (Weid i. Th¨uringen: Thomas and Hubert, 1933), p. 119. 5 Backes, Die Hochzeit and N¨af, Die Wortstellung. 6 N¨af, Die Wortstellung, p. 73. 7 Ibid., p. 97. 8 Ibid., p. 74. 9 Backes, Die Hochzeit, p. 61. 10 Ibid., p. 63.
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beyond the walls of the St. Gall abbey. To what extent was Notker simply following the guidelines of existing commentaries and the glossing of his exemplars, whose authors themselves may have been working with variant ordo naturalis principles similar to the constructio in legendo? To what extent was Notker influenced by extra-grammatical factors such as the ordo rerum? And finally, does the vernacular have any influence on Notker’s Latin, or was he able to successfully divorce the traditional and prescribed parsing paradigm from pragmatic reality? Studies by Schulte, Naumann, Schr¨obler, Dolch, and most recently the references provided in the ATB Notker latinus volumes by King and Tax and the work of Glauch and Hehle show that Notker relied heavily on secondary literature when producing his translation/commentaries. These same commentaries, in addition to providing synonyms, explaining figures of speech, and suggesting various levels of interpretation, often included simplified word order in the form of ordo est glosses, rearranged lemmata and construe marks. Schulte was the first to note correspondences between the commentary by Remigius of Auxerre preserved in Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm. 14271 and 14792 and Notker’s De nuptiis. In the excitement of his discovery, however, Schulte was very critical of Notker’s ability to work independently of his sources. Since he was able to show that Notker based much of his additional commentary on Remigius, Schulte argued that the rearranged word order must also be based on some exemplar or source.11 A comparison of the word order supplied in Remigius’ commentary to De nuptiis with Notker’s text reveals that the two do at times correspond, although not always exactly: (1) o Hymenaee decens, Cypridis quæ maxima cura es.12 (Remigius): Ordo verborum: O tu Hymenee decens id est elegans, pulcher atque formose, qui es maxima cura Cypridis id est de quo multum curat Cypris, genetrix tua, hoc est Venus, quae Cypris vocatur a Cypro insula ubi colitur. Cyprus interpretatur mixtura; est autem feracissima aromatum. [The order of words [is thus]: Oh you beautiful Hymen, i.e., elegant, pretty and handsome, you who are the greatest responsibility of Cypris, i.e., about whom Cypris cares greatly, your mother, that is Venus, who is called Cypris after the island Cyprus where she is worshiped. Cyprus is interpreted as “a mixing”; it is however the most fruitful of aromas.]13 O himenee decens. qui maxima cura es cipridis. Uu´olge nˆu uu´olge. dˆu zˆımigo hˆımachare. tˆu dˆınero muoter z´eizesto b´ıst. in papho ciuitate cypri s´ızzentero. [. . . Hail now to you, you fitting one who marries. you who are at the right hand of your mother, sitting in the Paphus city of Cyprus].14 11 Karl Schulte, Das Verh¨altnis von Notkers “De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii” zum Kommentar des Remigius (M¨unster: Aschendorff, 1911), p. 93. 12 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 1, 12. 13 Remigius, Commentum, 3.13, ed. Lutz, p. 69, 6–9; lemmata from Martianus in italics; cf. NcL 8. 14 Nc 4, 8–10; Martianus’ text in italics.
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In example one, Notker follows Remigius’ model and places the genitive modifier Cypridis after its head cura, but he does not move the finite verb es to the beginning of the relative clause as Remigius does. The expanded OHG translation, however, is clearly based on the additional commentary provided by Remigius. The following example compares Notker’s translation of Boethius’ Nb with Remigius’ commentary: (2) Tu causis animas paribus uitasque minores prouehis et leuibus sublimes curribus aptans in caelum terramque seris [From causes like Thou bringst forth souls and lesser lives, which from above in chariots swift Thou dost disperse through sky and earth . . .]15 (Remigius): Ordo verborum est: Tu prouehis animas uitasque minores paribus causis et seris in caelum et terram aptans sublimes animas levioribus curribus. [The order of words is [thus]: You bring forth souls and lives lesser from like causes and you disperse through sky and earth equipping the uplifted souls with swift chariots.]16 Tu prouehis .i. producis animas . uitasque minores paribus causis . hoc est causis . ut essent ´ qui deo gratis obedirent. Umbe gelˆıch´ıu d´ıng scˆuofe du a´ngelos . u´ nde dˆıe ´ın h´ınderˆoren m´ennisken. Uu´az uu´as t´ıu causa? T´az sie d´ıh ´ıro sk´epfen bech´ennˆen . u´ nde eˆreˆen. Uel sic. M´ıt kelˆıchˆen d´ıngen h´abest tu a´ngelos u´ nde homines f´ure gez´ucchet f´ure a´nder´ıu tˆıer . ´ ´ıh m´eino . ratione . et intellectu. Et aptans sublimes . leuibus curribus. Unde sˆıe h´oho erh´euendo inspˆuotˆıgˆen s´ınnen. Seris in cælum terramque. S´ezzest tu sie inh´ımele . u´ nde in´erdo. Angelos inh´ımele . homines in´erdo. [You bring forth [i.e., you draw forward] souls. and lives lesser from like causes [that is from causes so that they would be such, who would willingly obey God]. For the same reason you created angels and those lesser people. What was the reason? So that they would acknowledge you as their creator and honor you. [Or so]. With like things you placed angels and men before other creatures. I mean with reason and intellect. And equipping the uplifted with swift chariots. And the high ones equipping with quick minds. You disperse them in heaven and on earth. You place them in heaven and on earth. The angels in heaven and the men on earth.]17
Here Notker follows Remigius in the first clause and rearranges the Latin SV + accusative object + adverb of manner. In the second clause, however, he departs from this particular commentary and places the finite verb (seris) and adverb of place (in cælum terramque) after the introductory participial clause. Note that the additional Latin commentary appears to be taken from another source, or it 15 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, bk. III, m9, 18–20; trans. V. E. Watts, The Consolation of Philosophy (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969), p. 97; in this and many of the following examples I place the verbal forms in bold for easier comparison. 16 Saeculi noni auctoris in Boetii consolationem Philosophiae commentarius, ed. Edmund Silk (Rome: American Academy, 1935), p. 338. 17 Nb III, 150, 21–151, 1.
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could be Notker’s own addition. The rearranged word order could also have been borrowed from some other commentary. But, as will become clear below, it is more likely that Notker’s practice here departs from tradition. Although his exemplars provided him with ready-made classroom word order, he did not always follow it. A comparison of Notker’s Latin word order with texts glossed with construe marks also proves enlightening. An early eleventh-century English copy of Boethius’ De consolatione, now Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 214 (CCCC 214), of unknown origin or medieval ownership, is marked with the alphabet type of sequential construe marks that follow the general insular ordo naturalis pattern (VSO). By rearranging the Latin words according to the sequence of the alphabet, one arrives at the following order for the beginning of the seventh meter of book II:18 (3) Quicumque petit gloriam solam praecipiti mente / que credit summum / cernat late patentes plagas aetheris que artum situm terrarum / non ualentis replere breuem ambitum / pudebit fama nominis / o quid gestiunt superbi frustra leuare colla mortali iugo? [Let him whose headstrong thoughts no other end than praise, nor higher purpose contemplate than fame, the width and breadth of heaven regard and with the narrow earth their magnitude compare. This narrow circle of the world – o shame – his spreading glory cannot fill. Why do the proud endeavor to escape the destined yoke of man’s mortality?]19
Notker’s Nb reveals some correspondences with the Cambridge manuscript. Only Notker’s Latin is cited: Quicumque precipiti mente petit solam gloriam . / et summam credit . / cernat late patentes plagas ætheris . artumque terrarum situm . . . Pudebit aucti nominis ./ non ualentis replere breuem ambitum . . . / O . quid frustra superbi gestiunt leuare colla mortali iugo?20
In the first clause, Notker places the finite verb petit after the adverb of manner “with headstrong thoughts.” He joins the constituents of the accusative object solam gloriam and moves the entire phrase behind the verb; as in the Cambridge 18 The letters after are ordered (=ond), <w>, < >, and . See Robinson’s discussion of the order of letters in the alphabet (“Syntactical Glosses,” pp. 449–451) and Gretchen Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses in Latin Mss. of Anglo-Saxon Origin,” PhD thesis, Stanford University, 1973, p. 42. 19 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” pp. 62–63; trans. Watts, p. 75. I have divided the clauses with to facilitate analysis. Boethius’ original reads: “Quicumque solam mente praecipiti petit / summumque credit gloriam,/ late patentes aetheris cernat plagas / artumque terrarum situm; / breuem replere non ualentis ambitum / pudebit aucti nominis. / Quid, o superbi, colla mortali iugo / frustra leuare gestiunt?” (De consolatione, ed. Bieler, II, m7, 1–8). 20 Nb II, 102, 2–3, 6–7, 9–10. The OHG translation reads: “T´er nˆah tero gˆuollichi strˆıtigo f´ehte . u´ nde si ´ımo d´unche d´ıngo h´euigˆosta . t´er s´ehe uˆ f a´n dˆıa uuˆıti des h´ımeles . u´ nde n´ıder a´n dˆıa sm´ali dero e´rdo . . . T´anne mˆıdet er s´ıh sˆınes l´ıumendigen n´amen . n´oh sˆar ze´ende dero sm´alun e´rdo ger´eichˆontes . d´ıu e´in st´upf ´ıst uu´ıder demo h´ımele . . . Uu´az lˆeuues ´ıst tien u´ bermˆuotˆen gedˆaht . z´ıu b´eitent sie s´ıh ingem´eitˆun ´ıro h´alsa irlˆosen . uˆ zer des tˆodes i´oche?” (Nb II, 102, 3–6, 7–9, 10–12).
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manuscript, the adjective solam is joined to the noun gloriam, but Notker places the adjective first. In the second clause, he places the accusative object summam (a variant of summum) before the verb. The order of phrases in the third clause matches that found in the Cambridge manuscript: both begin with the finite verb cernat followed by the accusative object (adjective + noun + genitive), with the short adverb late before the object. Notker does not rearrange the constituents in the second accusative phrase, whereas CCCC 214 again follows the ordo naturalis. The order of phrases in the fourth and fifth clauses is the same as in the Cambridge manuscript, except for the initial placement of the participial clause ualentis replere. In the last clause Notker puts the subject in front of the verbal cluster and the adverb frustra before the noun superbi. In both texts, the accusative phrase and adverb come at the end of the clause. The linking variety of syntactical glosses is also found for this meter in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 844. Two horizontal dots link the subject with the verbs petit, credit, and cernat. Vertical double dots are used above the adjective solam of the accusative object gloriam and a dot with a stroke above it links another accusative object breuem ambitum. Whereas the continental version of the ordo naturalis usually calls for a SV order, in the Insular tradition the subject is more often found after the finite verb, if it is a full noun phrase; a pronoun subject can either precede or follow the verb.21 The SGT prescribes an SV order, although the author notes that VS is equally correct; he makes no distinction in the type of subject, in other words, whether it is a noun phrase, pronoun or adjectival noun.22 My analysis of thirteen meters and four prose passages from Nb, shows that Notker prefers the SV order in unmarked clauses with a subject (95 instances or 67% of the clauses), although the occurrences of a VS order are in no way insignificant (46 instances or 33%).23 In Nc, which he translated after the Nb, Notker chooses the VS variant far less frequently. My 21 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” p. 75. 22 SGT 39v–40r. 23 The meters analyzed were: bk. I, m1, m4, m6, m7; bk. II, m2, m3, m4, m6, m7; bk. III, m2, m9; bk. IV m1, bk. V, m1. The prose sections analyzed were: bk. II, p1 and p2; bk. III, p2, and bk. IV, p1. In my analyses I concentrated on the ordering of phrases in those clauses which have a rearranged word order and in particular on the following points: (1) position of the subject, if it is expressed, (2) position of the finite verb, and (3) position of objects and adverbials relative to the finite verb and subject. Each of these three points were considered in “unmarked” and “marked” clauses. Unmarked, or neutral clauses were considered to be clauses that do not serve a special function; the finite verb found in them can be in both the indicative and the subjunctive mood. Interrogatives and imperatives, in which the verb contains a special stress, were considered to be “marked” clauses. The order of words in relative clauses, the reciprocal ordering of the finite verb and infinitive, and accusative and infinitive constructions were dealt with separately. My analysis shows that Notker does not usually distinguish between principal and subordinate clauses (whether or not they are introduced by a conjunction) when rearranging the Latin words. Relative clauses, however, are treated differently, since each relative clause is introduced by the relative pronoun, regardless of whether this represents the subject of the clause, an object or an adverbial. The obligatory clauseinitial placement of the relative pronoun marks the sentence and influences the ordering of the remaining elements.
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analysis of all the rearranged Latin clauses in the first book of Nc shows that Notker chooses the SV variant 81% of the time (39 of 48 occurrences). Notker’s occasional use of the VS variant could be traced to several possible sources. It may simply have been an earlier school tradition based on classroom experience, in other words, “first find the verb, then move on to the rest.”24 The St. Gall school may be presumed to have been under strong Irish influence in the century before Notker, and the insular VS order, which may be influenced by the syntactical structure of Old Irish or Welsh, could have been adopted for classroom construing at that time.25 The VS variant may also have been present in commentaries or exemplars to which Notker referred. Construe marks in some of Notker’s possible exemplars (or manuscripts closely related to them, such as St. Gall, ¨ Stiftsbibliothek, MS 844, and Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek, MSS 271 and 242) link only a conjunction and a verb, although a subject is also present. Notker may periodically have borrowed the suggested order when he rearranged the text, although there are numerous instances in which he places the verb before the subject, even though the marks do not dictate such an order. Furthermore, a majority of the VS clauses were found in meter sections, in which the syntax of the original is particularly difficult. In many of these cases the verb already appears toward the beginning of the clause, or at least precedes the subject. On the other hand, Notker’s general preference for the SV order could be explained by the fact that SV is often closer to the SOV of the original Latin, in which the subject usually precedes the verb in prose, although it is separated from it by the object. When rearranging the text Notker only had to move the verb toward the beginning of the clause, whereas with a VS order, the two phrases had to be inverted. Lastly, in choosing between the VS and SV construing order, Notker may also have given preference to the latter variant, since SV is the usual order in OHG.26 In example 4 from Nb, Notker moves the subject from last to first position in the clause: (4) Signat tempora propriis aptans officiis deus. [For God has fixed the seasons’ tasks and each receives its own.]27 Deus signat tempora . aptans propriis officiis. K´ot h´abet a´lle zˆıte gez´eichenet . u´ nde gefˆuoget ze ´ıro a´mbahten. [ . . . God has noted all the season. and joined (them) to their tasks.]28 24 Korhammer, “Mittelalterliche Konstruktionshilfe,” p. 50. 25 Cf. McKitterick, Frankish Kingdoms, p. 298, and Clark, The Abbey, pp. 18–24. On possible Celtic influence on the ordo naturalis see Robinson, “Syntactical Glosses,” p. 474 and Korhammer, “Mittelalterliche Konstruktionshilfe,” pp. 49–51. 26 N¨af, Die Wortstellung, p. 114. 27 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, m6, 16–17; trans. Watts, p. 50. 28 Nb I, 36, 4–6.
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The glossator of CCCC 214 retains the verb-initial position: Signat deus aptans tempora propriis officiis.29
In example 5, the SV order is already found in the original Latin; Notker simply joins constituents that belong together and moves the adverb back into the phrase. The insular construe marks, however, ensure that the verb precedes the subject: (5) Dum leuibus male fida bonis fortuna faueret [First fickle fortune gave me wealth short-lived.]30
CCCC 214: Dum faueret malefida fortuna leuibus bonis.31 ´ m´ır sˆalda f´olgetˆon . in´allemo mˆınemo Dum male fida fortuna faueret leuibus bonis. Unz gˆuote . m´ır u´ nstˆatemo . a´lso iz nˆu skˆınet. [ . . . As long as fortunes followed me . in all my good . me the unstable one . as it now appears.]32
The next example, also taken from the Boethius text, compares Notker’s practice to linking construe marks found in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 844 p. 33, 13–18, which may have been one of Notker’s exemplars.33 Although the linking type of construe marks is not as detailed as the sequential type, it is clear that Notker was influenced by them. St. Gall 844 reads (plate 2): (6)
¨ Cum
Pho,ebi radiis, grave ¨ Cancri, sidus inaestuat ’ Tum qui larga negantibus ., :, :, ., Sulcis semina credidit . Elusus cereris fide . . Quernas pergat ad arbores
29 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” p. 52. 30 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, m1, 17; trans. Watts, p. 35. 31 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” p. 45. 32 Nb I, 7, 8–10. ¨ 33 On Notker’s possible exemplars see Johann Kelle, “Uber die Grundlage, auf der Notkers Erkl¨arung von Boethius De consolatione Philosophiae beruht,” Sitzungsberichte der k¨oniglichen Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, philolog.-philos. Klasse (Munich: Akademie, 1897), p. 350, Tax’s introduction to Nb, pp.xix–xxiv, and most recently Christine Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 94–103.
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Plate 2. Syntactical glosses to Boethius, De consolatione Philosophiae, I, m6, 1–6. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 844, p. 33.
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[If when summer solstice brings the crab with parching heat, in furrows that refuse the seed the farmer sows his wheat, no crops will spring to glad his hopes and acorns shall he eat.]34
Notker rearranges the text: Qui tum credidit larga semina negantibus sulcis . cum graue sydus cancri inæstuat radiis phæbi . elusus fide cereris . pergat ad quernas arbores. T´er dˆo . dˆo diu s´unna incancro m´eistˆun h´ızza t´eta . f´ılo sˆata in u´ nuu´ılligen a´cher . uu´anda iz u´ nzˆıt uu´as . t´er g´ange bed´ıu ch´ornlˆosˆer zeh´olz . e´ichelˆon . u´ nde d´ero n´ere s´ıh. [. . . That one . when the sun in the sign of Cancer produces the most heat . he sows much in the unwilling field . because it wasn’t the right time . he will go both without crops to the woods . to gather acorns . and to nourish himself with them.]35
He places the principal before the subordinate clause (tum . . . cum [“then . . . when”]) and joins the constituents of the various phrases. Construe marks in St. Gall 844 already link some of the words: tum qui credidit, cum sidus, larga semina, negantibus sulcis, and phoebi radiis. Notker makes some additional changes not explicitly prescribed in his possible exemplar: he places the genitive phoebi after radiis, the adjective graue directly before sydus and the genitive cancri after it; quernas arbores are joined and fide is placed before the genitive cereris. In example 7, the adverbial phrase roseis quadrigis “in (his) rosy chariot” is placed before the verb, since it describes the location of the verbal event. Construe marks in St. Gall 844 suggest this order by linking the words Phoebus, roseis, quadrigis and polo. A similar order is found in Notker’s OHG, where the adverbial is freely translated uˆ fen ´ıro r´eito, “on her journey”: (7) Cum polo Phoebus roseis quadrigis lucem spargere coeperit [When Phoebus in his ruby car through heaven begins to spread his light.]36 Cum phoebus roseis quadrigis cæperit spargere lucem polo . . . Sˆo m´orgen-rˆot´ıu s´unna uˆ fen ´ıro r´eito . sˆo fabulæ s´agent . rˆıtent´ıu beginnet skˆınen. [Just as when morning-red sun on her journey . so stories tell us . riding along begins to shine.]37
In CCCC 214, in accordance with the ordo naturalis, the adverbial is placed at the very end of the clause, where its function, however, is not as clear: cum . . . coeperit Phoebus spargere lucem polo roseis quadrigis.38 34 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, m6, 1–6; trans. Watts, p. 49. 36 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, II, m3, 1–2; trans. Watts, p. 60. 38 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” pp. 57–58.
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Clearly Notker referred to the guidelines of his exemplars and commentaries when constructing his text, but he was not a slave to his models nor to the ordo naturalis, either the continental or insular variety. Particularly interesting are those cases in which the ordo rerum comes into play, and a constituent other than the subject is placed in clause-initial position. In the following passage, the ablative absolute describes the subject sordida unda and is hence placed first. That particularly this part of the passage may have posed difficulties to students is indicated by the fact that only the words resoluto and caeno and uitrea una are glossed in St. Gall 844: (8) (Si mare uoluens turbidus Auster misceat aestum) uitrea dudum parque serenis unda diebus mox resoluto sordida caeno uisibus obstat [If boisterous winds stir the sea causing a storm, waves once crystal like days serene soon turn opaque and thick with mud prevent the eye piercing the water.]39 ´ o´ uh ter uu´ınt m´ıskelˆot tia c´essa . u´ nde (Si turbidus auster uoluens mare . misceat æstum. Ube den m´ere getˆuot uu´ellˆon.) Mox resoluto cæno . obstat uisibus sordida unda. Sˆar h´orouue uu´ortenemo . uu´eret s´ıh tien o´ ugˆon das trˆuoba uu´azer. Dudum uitrea . et par . serenis diebus. D´az f´ore uu´as lˆuter . u´ nde h´eiterˆen d´agen gelˆıh. [(. . . And also if the wind mixes the foaming waves and makes the sea undulate . . .) As soon as it has become muddy, the murky water impedes the eyes . . . that which before was clear and like cheerful days.]40
Notker’s OHG here has a structure nearly identical with the Latin and also begins with an absolute construction. The ordo rerum of Notker’s version goes against the usual construing order dictated by the construe marks in CCCC 214. Here the verb and noun subject unda follow the short adverb mox; the subject modifiers are placed after the subject and before the object. The ablative absolute is placed at the very end after the adjective sordida and explains how the water became murky: mox obstat unda dudum uitrea que par serenis diebus sordida resoluto caeno uisibus.41
Sometimes Notker retains the text-building strategies of his source and keeps the same constituent in clause-initial position as in the original Latin. In example 9, taken from Nc, the prepositional phrase is retained in first position, since it refers back to the previous clause, in which Diana and Venus are introduced; Notker also reminds his pupils who Ceres’ companions were. In the OHG translation/commentary he adds further explanation about Ceres herself: 39 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, m7, 5–13; trans. Watts, p. 52. A more literal translation would read: “If the troubled south wind stirring the sea causes a storm, then soon when the mud is loosened, the dirty wave impedes the view.” 40 Nb I, 40, 16–22. 41 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” p. 53.
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(9) cum his grata Ceres, admodum gravis femina alumnaque terrarum ac nutrix mortalium, videbatur [With these appeared welcome Ceres, a truly sedate lady, the nourisher of lands, and the nurse of mortal men.]42 Cum his .s. diana et uenera grata ceres uidebatur. S´ament t´ıen g´ıengh t´ıu lˆıebs´ama cere . ´ suˆare uuˆıb. t´az chˆıt ch´orng´eba. Uu´eliu ´ıst t´az aˆne diu e´rda? Admodum grauis feminae. Ein ´ Uu´anda sˆo suˆare ´ıst tiu e´rda. Alumnaque .i. cultrix terrarum . ac nutrix mortalium. Allero l´ando bˆuuua . u´ nde m´enniscon z´ugedˆara. [. . . With those went the loving Ceres . that means giver of grain. Who could that be other than earth? . . . A large woman. Because the earth is also heavy . . . (She is the) cultivator of all lands . and the nourisher of the human race.]43
In example 10, a short adverb of place occupies the first position, thus linking the passage to the previous clause. Note however that the subject (dominus) appears after the direct object (sceptrum). It may be that Notker simply moved the verb (tenet) to second position, postponed the genitive attribute (regum) and left the remaining word order intact: (10) Hic regum sceptrum dominus tenet orbisque habenas temperat [Here the king of kings holds the scepter and holds the reins of the world.]44 Hic tenet sceptrum . dominus regum . orbisque habenas temperat. Tˆar s´ızzet m´ıt sceptro . ´ hˆerro a´llero ch´uningo. Unde des uu´erltz´ımberes zˆuol z´ıhet er . u´ nde intlˆazet er. [. . . There sits with a scepter . the lord of all beings. And he pulls the reign of the globe . and he lets it slack.]45
Often the initial position in the OHG translation is different from the original and rearranged Latin, as in example 11: (11) nec quaeras auida manu uernos stringere palmites [nor (if you wished to enjoy the fruit) would you seek in spring with a greedy hand to pluck the vines.]46 ´ d´ıh uuˆınebero (Nec si libeat frui uuis .) uerno queras auida manu stringere palmites. (Ube l´anget .) t´urh t´az neged´enche in l´enzen h´andelˆon die drˆuoben. [ . . . (If you wish to have the wine-berries) for that reason don’t think to handle the grapes in spring.]47 42 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 24, 16–22; A Philosophical, trans. Shanzer, p. 217. 43 Nc 76, 8–13. On the commentary, see Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 2, pp. 569–570. 44 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, IV, m1, 18–19. 45 Nb IV, 185, 25–26. Only regum and dominus are linked in St. Gall 844. 46 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, m6, 11–12. 47 Nb I, 35, 30–36, 3.
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That the time of year, uerno, is meant to be stressed in the rearranged Latin is clear from the sentence that follows, which begins with the opposite season, autumno: (12) autumno potius sua Bacchus munera contulit [. . . it was to autumn that Bacchus gave his gifts.]48 autumno potius contulit sua munera bachus . . . H´erbeste g´ab k´ot tˆıe eˆra . n´als temo l´enzen. [. . . To Autumn gave God the honor . and not to spring.]49
In this example, Notker deviates markedly from the ordo naturalis and places the subject (bachus) at the very end of the clause; by beginning the passage with autumno, he is able to stress the juxtaposition with spring (uerno) in the previous clause, thus making the overall structure of the passage clearer. The OHG translation drives the point further home. In example 13 Notker retains the initial adverbial “inter quarum uirorem,” which refers back to the greenness of three gems located in the crown around the sun’s head – Emerald, Scythis and Jasper. The example contains the phrase “feta mari lumina,” which is, according to Shanzer, one of the messiest textual tangles in all of book one. She interprets it as a phrase in loose apposition “lights pregnant with the sea.”50 Notker solves the problem by supplying an additional verb resplendebant for the noun lumina and interprets mari as a dative object. He also begins his OHG translation of the first clause with the adverbial, but here the finite verb precedes the dative object and the subject. Notker’s Latin word order in the second clause is puzzling: he moves up the genitive modifier interiorisque, which in his OHG translation and in Remigius’ commentary modifies the subject quaedam suauitas; in Notker’s Latin it precedes the dative object fonti, i.e., fˆontibus.51 The resulting meaning is “a certain beauty shone forth to a fountain of inner gleaming”: (13) inter quarum virorem feta mari lumina coruscatus fonti quaedam interioris suavitas resplendebat [Among their greenness – lights pregnant with the sea! – sparkling on his forehead in a fountain of glittering, a certain inner beauty shone forth.]52 Inter quarum uirorem foeta mari lumina .s. resplendebant interiorisque coruscatus fonti .i. ´ fˆontibus quædam suauitas resplendebat. Under d´ero gimmon grˆuoni . sk´ınen demo m´ere f´eseligiu lˆıeht . uu´anda diu l´enzesca s´unna getˆuot f´eselen diu m´eretˆıer . u´ nde d´ıu sˆuozi des ´ınneren bl´ıcches . ersk´ein d´ıen r´ınnenten uu´azeren . uu´anda o´ uh t´ıu n´uzze uu´erdent inl´enzen. 48 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, m6, 14–15. 49 Nb I, 36, 1–4. 50 Shanzer, Philosophical and Literary Commentary, p. 167. 51 Here the scribe has placed a circumflex accent, usually reserved for OHG, over the of fontibus. 52 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 23, 2–3; trans. Shanzer, p. 216.
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[ . . . Among the greenness of the gems . the fruitful lights shone unto the sea . because the spring sun makes the animals of the sea fruitful . and the sweetness of the inner sparkle . lit up the running waters . because these too become useful in the spring.]53
Remigius’ commentary provides a much simpler word order for the passage, but it also begins with the adverbial inter quarum. It is followed by the finite verb (resplendebat), which is placed before the subject (suauitas). Here the phrase lumina foeta is understood as an adverb of means and marked with the preposition per: Inter quarum [.s. trium gemmarum] uirorem resplendebat quædam suauitas interioris coruscatus fonti per lumina foeta . . .54
Construe marks in Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS 14271 dictate an even more straightforward word order. The subject quaedam suauitas and the finite verb resplendebat are placed at the beginning of the clause and the adverbials follow. Here, as in Notker’s Latin, the genitive interiorisque is linked with fonti: quaedam suauitas resplendebat per lumina fonti coruscatus interiorisque inter quarum uirorem feta mari (f. 5v).
In example 14 as well, the original clausal structure is retained and the accusative object precedes the subject: (14) et quicquid ille exprompta sententia, Parcarum pugillo asservante, dictaverit delenitum suadae coniugis amplexibus iussuque removere [(once his wife was appealed to,) it would be forthcoming and he would rescind whatever he had decreed as his published opinion, as recorded in the tablet of the Parcae, once he had been mollified by the embraces and injunction of his persuasive wife.]55 Et quicquid ille dictauerit ex prompta sententia . asseruante pugillo parcarum . delinitum ´ amplexibus suade coniugis . iussuque remouere . . . Unde souu´az er fr´eisiges kespr´ochen h´abeti zetˆuonne . dero brˆıeuaron scr´ıfte d´az kehalt´entero . f´one dero ch´enun h´alsenne . ´ın d´es eruu´anten uu´esen . u´ nde daz ferbˆıeten. [. . . And whatever harm he had promised to do . that having been recorded in the secretary’s writing . from his wife’s embrace . being wrapped up in it . he forbade it.]56
Remigius paraphrases the passage, but provides Notker with the basic framework for rearrangement, including the OSV order: Et .s. dicebat illa fides remouere illum iouem quicquid ipse dictauerat .i. quicquid mali disposuerat facere mortalibus. Asseruante .i. excipiente . pugillo .i. scriptura parcarum.57
In example 15, both an adverbial and an accusative object precede the subject. The previous clause introduced Cyllenius’ decision to marry. In order to make 53 Nc 67, 6–12. 56 Nc 8, 5–10.
54 NcL 105–106. 57 NcL 16.
55 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 3, 4–6; trans. Shanzer, p. 203.
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the progression of the thought clear, Notker retains the adverbial phrase in quam sententiam and the accusative illum (referring back to Cyllenius) at the beginning of the clause; thereafter follows the usual SV order. In the temporal clause that follows, Notker misinterprets or misreads the object of the temporal clause and has eum for eam.58 Hence, he has Maia greeting Mercury, instead of Mercury greeting Maia. In any case, the clause has the order (S)VO + adverbial. In Notker’s OHG translation the adverbial is in clause-initial position; the accusative object follows the verb, but precedes the subject as in the Latin. (15) in quam sententiam mater illum anxia, cum annua peragratione zodiaca eam in Pliadum numero salutaret, impulerat . . . [His nervous mother, when he greeted her from among the Pleiades in his annual journey through the Zodiac, had pushed him to this decision.]59 In quam sententiam illum mater anxia inpulerat . cum salutaret eum annua zodiactea ´ d´en uu´ıllen br´ahta ´ın sˆın mˆuoter maia . dˆo si ´ın ch´atta peragratione in pliadum numero. An . a´nder iˆar-´umbe-u´erte des zodiaci . u´ nder dien a´nderen pliadibus . dero sˆı einiu ´ıst. T´az t´eta si in maio mense . sˆo ˆıo mercurius m´ıt tero s´unnˆun darach´umet . a´ngestendiu daz er aˆne ch´ınt uu´as. [. . . To that decision his mother Maia brought him . when she greeted him in the annual travel around of the Zodiac . among the other Pleiades. of which she is one. She did that in the month of May . when Mercury always comes there with the sun . worried that he was without a child.]60
The above examples show that Notker’s Latin word order is based on a combination of the following principles: (1) the ordo artificialis (in which the structure of the original Latin is retained); (2) ordo naturalis (usually SVO; unmarked word order based on logic and employed in classroom construing); or (3) ordo rerum = T(heme) + (S) + V + O (non-emotive) or R(heme) + (S) + V + O (emotive word order). The ordo rerum may be borrowed from the original and retained to comment on its rhetorical or logical structure; in other cases, the clause-initial assignment is made by Notker independently of the original in order to stress a point and thus make the construed text clearer.61 In those cases where the ordo rerum differs from the original, the new word order can be borrowed from commentaries with which Notker worked, but in many cases it is Notker’s original contribution. In many of the ordo rerum sentences I found and analyzed in both Nb and Nc, the order of the clauses and phrases in the OHG translation matches that of the rearranged Latin.62 Clearly there is a dynamic relationship between Notker’s 58 Notker could, of course, have found this reading in his exemplar. 59 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 3, 16–18; trans. Shanzer, p. 203. 60 Nc 9, 17–10, 1. 61 Backes refers to it as “Sinnakzent” (Hochzeit, pp. 50–56). 62 In the case of Nc, Dolch was convinced that the correspondences were due to the fact that Martianus’ syntax was closer to Notker’s (Stil- und Quellenprobleme, p. 303). The relationship between the
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Latin and OHG text, and it appears that in some cases the structure of the OHG translation is modeled on that of the rearranged Latin (see examples 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, and 15 above).63 By structure, I mean the order of clauses and occasionally phrases, not the order of words or constituents, although these can correspond as well, as in examples 18 and 20 below. So, for example, a longer adverbial can be placed in clause-initial position and precede the subject or the verb in both Notker’s Latin and his OHG. In some cases a thought from a previous clause is either repeated or substituted by a pronoun. In other cases a contrast is made with an element of the preceding clause. Often, if a new thought is being introduced, it will be placed at the head of a clause, etc. In order to fully understand the various aspects of Notker’s translation and commentary techniques, future studies will need to consider logical factors such as the ordo rerum – in both the Latin and OHG. They are difficult to pin-point, since the modern reader can only speculate about Notker’s interpretation of a passage and degree of dependence on “secondary literature.” In this respect the Notker latinus volumes that have appeared in connection with the latest Altdeutsche Textbibliothek edition provide a valuable source of information. They furnish us with much of the secondary literature that Notker had at his disposal and help us to gain insight into contemporary interpretations that may have influenced Notker’s analysis. Correspondences between the rearranged Latin and OHG are also evident in the Nb translation (cf. examples 8, 10 and 12 above), although my analysis shows that they are not as consistent as in Nc. In general, Notker rearranges the word order in Nc far less than in Nb; and when he does rearrange it, it is more in accordance with the ordo rerum than with the ordo naturalis.64 Either the discrepancy could be due to the chronology of the works and a development in Notker’s practice, or it could be traced to the proficiency level of students, for whom Notker’s translation/commentaries were intended. Whereas Nb is usually thought to be one of Notker’s early works, Nc is placed the middle of his career.65 Perhaps Notker simply developed his classroom construing techniques with time, relying less on traditional models such as the ordo naturalis, and more on pragmatic, text-based principles such as the ordo rerum. It might even be that, with time and Notker’s tenure as schoolmaster, the students’ knowledge of Latin had improved so much as not to warrant such extreme use of the ordo naturalis. A more likely explanation, however, can be found in the level of difficulty of each of the texts. Martianus Capella is an rearranged Latin and OHG was also mentioned by Backes, but he does not dwell on the issue (Hochzeit, p. 64). 63 See above, chapter two, pp. 103–104. 64 Book one of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis contains five meters with a total of 126 clauses; only 55, or 44%, of these have a rearranged word order. The ratio of rearranged to not rearranged clauses for each meter is as follows: m1: 10/3, m2: 14/13, m3: 5/13, m4: 14/13, m5: 12/29. 65 Stefan Sonderegger, “Notker III von St. Gallen,” col. 1217.
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extremely complicated work, and it is highly unlikely that Notker, or any other conscientious teacher, would assign it to a group of beginning or intermediate Latin language learners.66 The text was probably read by more advanced pupils, who already had a fairly good grounding in Latin grammar and rhetoric, and were expected to concentrate on the rhetorical intricacies of the original, among other things. Presumably at some point in their education they had to learn to comprehend a text that was not simplified according to the ordo naturalis and to begin to understand the stylistic variations used by writers (ordo artificialis and ordo rerum). The question then arises, however, if the students understood Latin grammar so well, was an OHG translation even necessary? Martianus’ text is difficult not only because of its florid style and disrupted syntax but also because of its unusual vocabulary and numerous hapax legomena. That students and other readers had great difficulty in understanding the words is indicated by the abundance of lexical glosses and commentaries to the text dating from the ninth and tenth centuries. Often several alternatives are suggested, with no preference being given to any one synonym. Notker’s OHG translation, by furnishing obscure Latin words with vernacular equivalents (many of which Notker himself created) helped the students get through the semantic cruces they may have encountered while reading. But not only the words were foreign. The text, especially the first two books, was difficult for a monastic audience because of its allegorical framework of classical mythology, which must have been new to many pupils. Notker’s OHG translation served as a key to the classical, pagan background and helped to expound the mythological images based on information culled from the available Latin commentaries. A further important factor to consider when tracing the influences on Notker’s Latin word order is the possibility of vernacular influence. Did Notker perhaps “slip” on occasion and subconsciously rearrange the Latin lemmata according to his native language instincts? A good testing ground for Notker’s allegiance to Latin tradition and the constructio in legendo is the glossing of extended verbal clusters consisting of a finite and non-finite form. In OHG the usual practice was to place the non-finite form later in the sentence thereby creating a pronged clause.67 The non-finite form could come at the very end of the sentence, or it could be followed by other elements; rarely does the infinitive immediately follow the finite verb. The following examples taken from Nb show two common possibilities for such constructions in Notker’s OHG: (16) Nˆu uu´ıle ´ıh m´ıh is zeg´ote irrˆuofen.68 (17) Uu´az uu´ellent ´ır d´oh nˆu getˆuon . m´ıt sˆo m´ıchelemo o´ stˆode ´ıuuerro s´achˆon?69 66 See above, chapter two, pp. 99–100. 67 W. B. Lockwood, Historical German Syntax (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), p. 265. 68 Nb I, 31, 2–3. 69 Nb II, 80, 23–25.
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In examples of Latin passages marked with construe marks or in ordo est glosses, the non-finite form usually immediately follows the finite verb, thus agreeing with the principle of the ordo naturalis that the verbal form, whether it be simple or complex, follows the subject. In the SGT Notker gives only one example for the placement of an infinitive, uolo te legere (“I wish to choose you”) but gives no further instructions.70 In the Latin sections of Nb analyzed, the infinitive immediately follows the finite verb in twenty-eight of forty-nine clauses containing a dependent infinitive, and in Nc book 1, in nine of seventeen clauses.71 It would appear that the two verbs are treated as one unit in a little over 50% of occurrences. (18) fortunamque tuens utramque rectus inuictum potuit tenere uultum [And look unmoved on fortune good and bad, and keep unchanging countenance.]72 (CCCC 214): que tuens rectus utram que fortunam potuit tenere inuictum uultum.73 et rectus tuens .i. recte intuitus est utramque fortunam. So uu´eler in sˆınemo a´ltere st´ıllˆer . u´ nde gez´ogenˆer . . . Potuit tenere inuictum uultum. T´er m´ahta h´aben u´este gehaba. [. . . Whoever in his age quiet and well brought-up . . . He may have unchanging countenance.]74
Even in the case of a relative clause, the two verbs are treated as a cluster: (19) facili quae sera solebat ieiunia soluere glande [They would not eat before due time their meal of acorns quickly found.]75 Quæ solebat soluere sera ieiunia . facili glande. T´ıu-dir s´ıtig uu´as spˆato inbˆızen . m´ıt sl´ehtero fˆuoro [. . . He who was accustomed to eating late with bad sustenance.]76
The same “natural” order is found dictated in the CCCC 214 copy: quae solebat soluere sera Ieiunia facili glande.77
As in the example sentence given in the SGT, in example 20 an object pronoun separates the two verbs. The Latin structure appears to be modeled on Remigius and differs from the OHG translation: (20) an vero quisquam est, qui Philologiae se asserat pervigilia laborata et lucubrationum perennium nescire pallorem? 70 SGT 51r, 11–13. 71 Grotans, “Syntax,” pp. 279–282 and 320–326. 72 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, m4, 3–4; trans. Watts, p. 40. 73 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” p. 49. 74 Nb I, 17, 28–18, 2. 75 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, II, m5, 4–5; trans. Watts, p. 68. 76 Nb II, 83, 27–28. St. Gall 844 links only facili glande. The initial of glande has been corrected from a , demonstrating confusion in the quality of the initial stop. See the discussion of the “Anlautgesetz” below, chapter seven. 77 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” p. 59.
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[Is there anyone who can claim that he does not know the arduous vigils of Philologia, and the pallor come of perennial burning of the midnight oil?]78 An uero quisquam est qui asserat se nescire laborata peruigilia . . . Et pallorem perennium lucubrationum79 An uero quisquam est qui asserat se nescire laborata peruigilia philologiæ . et pallorem lucubrationum perennium? ´Ist ´ıoman der s´ıh ch´ede ne-uu´ızen dia a´rbeitsamen uu´achˆa philologiæ . u´ nde dia bl´eichi ´ıro e´mezˆıgen u´ nslˆafes? [. . . Is there anyone who claims to not know the arduous vigils of Philology . and the paleness of her continuous waking?]80
As in example 18 above, however, and in example 21, sometimes Notker mirrors the position of the verbal cluster in the OHG translation, although this would seem to impinge upon the natural structure of the vernacular: (21) Maiae tuumque flagitat pignus sacrum, thalamis iugetur virginis doctissimae [Your and Maia’s sacred son urges that he be joined in marriage to a most learned virgin.]81 Maiæ tuumque sacrum pignus flagitat iugetur thalamis uirginis doctissimæ. Tˆın s´un u´ nde maiæ . kerˆot zegeh´ıenne ze dero gelˆertun dˆıernun philologiæ. [. . . Your son and Maia’s . wishes to be married to that learned maiden Philology.]82
Remigius places the finite verb first followed by the subject and then the infinitive. He interprets the infinitive iugetur as part of an indirect statement, since he adds the lexical gloss ut (“that”): Flagitat sacrum pignus maiæ et tuum . . . Iugetur .s. ut thalamis doctissimæ uirginis .i. philologiæ.83
In the next three examples, Notker deviates from the traditional ordo naturalis treatment of extended verbal constructions. In example 22, the original Latin has the finite verb deceat between the two clauses with dependent infinitives (for example, deceat promere and deceat iungere). Notker moves up deceat by placing it at the very end of the first clause, which is marked with a suspensio, that is, a verbal cue informing the reader/listener that the thought is continuing. With the verb at the very end of the clause, readers are better able to remember it and bridge the thought to the following clause. In the second clause Notker places the adverb of manner (certo foedere) in clause-initial position followed by the infinitive and the direct object; the remaining adverbials of manner follow: (22) at cum laeta patrem promere gaudia et certo deceat foedere pignora palam perpetuis iungere nutibus, cassum est nolle loqui sensa decentia. 78 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 15, 20–21; trans. Shanzer, p. 211. 81 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 14, 19–20; trans. Shanzer, p. 211.
[But since it is certainly fit for a father to make joyful tidings known, and publicly to join children in a sure pact by his eternal will, it is fruitless not to tell worthwhile feelings.]84 At cum læta patrem promere gaudia deceat. [Suspensio.] . . . Et certo foedere . iungere . pignora . palam [.i. coram] perpetuis nutibus [.i. diis. Et hic.] . . . Cassum est nolle loqui sensa decentia. [Depositio.]85
In Remigius’ commentary the verb deceat is repeated in the second clause and immediately followed by the infinitive and the accusative object; all of the adverbials are placed later, as the ordo naturalis would have it: At cum deceat patrem .i. me promere læta gaudia .i. cum sim locuturus de nuptiis filii . . . Et cum deceat iungere pignora .i. filium meum perpetuis nutibus .i. æternis diis certo fædere .i. legitimo coniugio et hoc palam . hoc est in præsentia deorum. Cassum est .i. inane et inutile nolle .s. me loqui decentia sensa .i. decreta.86
The OHG translation is closely modeled on Notker’s commented Latin, but the order of phrases is different. The accusative object and one adverb of manner are placed before the infinitive s´ıton, forming a partial frame. Note that Notker relies heavily on Remigius for other commentary by placing the passage in the first person and integrating the glosses filium meum and in praesentia deorum: ´ Sˆo m´ıh a´ber l´ustet h´ugelichiu d´ıng ze´ahtonne . . . Unde mˆınen s´un zef´estemo geh´ıleiche s´ıton f´ore ´ıu g´oten . . . Sˆo ´ıst u´ nn´uzze den rˆat ´ıuuih zeh´elenne. [As it however pleases me to consider happy things . . . And to prepare my son for a sure marriage before you gods . . . So it is fruitless not to make known to you the plan.]87
In other examples Notker’s departure from the ordo naturalis can be traced to influence of the vernacular, as in example 11 above. Glosses in CCCC 214 follow the ordo naturalis and dictate an order: nec quaeras stringere uernos palmites auida manu.88
Notker splits the two verbal elements in both the Latin and OHG; in Latin the adverb of means auida manu intercedes, in the OHG the adverb of time in lenzen; in both versions the direct object (palmites/die drˆuoben) is last. In example 23 the verbal group is again split in both the Latin and OHG, although the order of the direct (legem/ˆea) and indirect objects (ei/dˆınero fr´ouuun) is inverted: (23) Quodsi manendi abeundique scribere legem uelis ei [If (after freely choosing her as the mistress to rule your life) you want to draw up a law to control her coming and going.]89 84 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 26, 1–4; trans. Shanzer, p. 218. 85 Nc 80, 16–17, 18–20, 21–22. 86 NcL 125. 87 Nc 80, 17–18, 20–21, 22. 88 Brunk, “Syntactic Glosses,” pp. 51–52. 89 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, II, p1, 45–46; trans. Watts, p. 55.
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Quodsi uelis legem manendi . legemque abeundi scribere ei. Uu´ıle dˆu dˆınero fr´ouuun dˆıa dˆu d´anches kuu´unne . s´ezzen eˆa . . . [. . . Should you wish to put down the law to your mistress to whom you owe thanks.]90
In examples 24 and 25, the correspondences between the rearranged Latin and the OHG are striking on all counts: (24) possem minore ambigens fiducia solum Tonantem pignoris pro foedere bupaeda vixdum vel paterna contremens praecepta adire, ni iugata caelitum omen pararent prosperum consortia, tabensque divum nunc moneret nexio. [Arguing with less confidence and trembling in my clumsy youthfulness at paternal admonitions, I shall scarcely yet be able to approach the Thunderer alone concerning the marriage of his child, were it not that Jupiter’s own conjugal love provided a favorable omen and the propitious union of the gods advised me.]91
Notker analyzes the text: Possem pubeda uixdum [.i. adhuc] . uel paterna contremens præcepta . minore ambigens fiducia solum adire tonantem pro foedere pignoris . ni iugata consortia cælitum . omen pararent prosperum . tabensque [.i. quieta] diuum nunc moneret nexio.92
He begins with the finite verb possem followed by the nominal subject pubeda (bupæda) and its modifier uixdum.93 The next sequence, which modifies the subject, retains the order of the original. The following sequence begins with another subject modifier minore ambigens fiducia, after which the subject is repeated in a pronoun that also serves as a circumstance of manner solum; next follows the infinitive adire with the object tonantem and the circumstance of cause pro foedere pignoris. The conditional clause that follows is broken up into three segments: the first marks the subject and begins with the conjunction ni followed by the adjectival modifier iugata, the noun consortia and the genitive modifier cælitum. The next sequence marks the finite verb and the object, and the original word order is left intact. In the final sequence a second circumstance of cause is given, and the original word order is again retained. In Remigius’ gloss, the Vf and Vi are already split by the subject: 90 Nb II, 46, 19–22. 91 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 13, 23–28; trans. Shanzer, p. 210. 92 Nc 40, 22–41, 3. 93 Notker understands uixdum to mean “scarcely a youth,” as is clear from the following lexical gloss .i. adhuc.
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Possem ego pubeda . . . adulescens uel iuuenis adire solum tonantem pro fædere pignoris.94
A variant commentary to this passage printed by Lutz, however, keeps the two verbal elements together: et est sensus suasoriæ huius orationis: Possem, inquit, per me ipsum absque te, O Iuno, adire meum patrem, minore tamen fidutia si abesses, eumque suadere de nuptiis sui pignoris, sui filii, dico Mercurii.95
The extended verbal cluster in the OHG translation is split up in a fashion similar to the Latin. Notker, with a choice in word order from the commentaries, may have chosen the one closer to his native tongue: ´Ih m´ahti i´oh ch´ındisker . u´ nde mˆınes f´atir uu´ort in zuu´ıuelˆıgero unb´aldi f´urhtender . mˆer d´anne ´ıh nˆu f´urhte . a´lles e´inen uu´ola grˆuozen u´ mbe sˆınes s´unes kehˆıleih . u´ be mir dero a´nderro g´oto geh´ıleicha h´eilesod netˆatin . u´ nde m´ıh is ´ıh m´eino des h´eilesodes ´ıro mˆuozeglichen zes´amene-geh´efteda nem´anetˆın. [Even if I were still child-like . and feared more my father’s word in doubtful hesitancy . than I fear now . I could easily greet (him) concerning only the marriage of his son . were it not that the marriages of the other gods gave me a good sign . and were it not that their loving “joinings” reminded me of it . I mean reminded me of of that good sign.]96
The OHG translation is constructed in much the same way as the Latin. Notker supplies the personal pronoun ´ıh (which is understood in the Latin verb) and transforms the noun bupeda into the adjective ch´ındisker. The next sequence modifies the subject; Notker transforms the two Latin clauses into one and translates, “fearing my father’s admonitions in trepidation of the things to come more than I at present.” The next segment contains the circumstance of manner, the infinite verb and the circumstance of cause. The two sequences that follow it mark the conditional phrase and appear in an inverted order. In example 25, the passage that follows example 24, the parallels between Notker’s Latin and OHG are even more striking, and vernacular influence is clear. Martianus’ original reads: (25) Iunone thalamos quis rogare conscia nollet deorum, cum futura Pronuba eadem profecto quaeque suffragabitur? [Which of the gods would not prefer to ask for marriage with Juno party to the request, since, as she is going to be the sponsor of the bride, she will surely also do all the canvassing?]97 94 NcL 63. 95 NcL 63. 96 Nc 41, 3–8. See Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 2, pp. 430 and 433–434. 97 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 14, 1–3; trans. Shanzer, p. 210.
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Notker construes the passage as follows: Quis deorum nollet iunone conscia thalamos rogare? Uu´elih c´ot s´olti nˆu aˆne iunonis uu´ızentheit kehˆıennes k´eron? Cum eadem profecto pronuba futura quæque suffragabitur? Sˆıd sˆı diu hˆıreisˆara ´ıst . t´ıu is t´ara-nˆah a´lles h´elfen s´ol? [Which god would now choose marriage without Juno’s wisdom . . . since she is the goddess of marriage . who will help concerning it all thereafter?] 98
In this example, the modal nollet and the infinitive rogare enclose the circumstance of manner and the object, just as their counterparts in the following OHG translation. The gloss provided by Remigius in his commentary places the infinitive rogare immediately after the modal nollet: Quis deorum nollet rogare thalamos conscia iunone . . .99
In the second clause, Notker leaves the finite verb suffragabitur in final position; he moves up the adverb profecto, but places the adjective futura after its noun pronuba. In view of examples such as these it would seem that the pedagogic practice used in the St. Gall school was deeply rooted in Latin tradition, but that in those cases where the vernacular deviated radically from the basic pattern of the ordo naturalis, its “natural” syntactical structure may have at times taken precedence. It is difficult to determine the exact influence the vernacular exerted on construing in medieval classrooms. Little research has been done on the practical aspects of medieval pedagogy and much of the evidence needed for further analyses, to the extent that it has been preserved, is not reproduced in the available printed editions. Most texts containing construe marks and ordo-est glosses have simply not yet been edited, and, if they have, the glosses have been left out. The situation is further complicated by the knotty history of many classroom commentaries. Because most commentaries are an amalgamation of various texts, it is difficult, if not impossible, to trace the individual sources geographically and chronologically. A third problem lies in the very nature of the ordo naturalis itself. The general characteristics of the ordo naturalis correspond to the surface structure of unmarked and even some marked clauses in many European vernaculars, such as the emerging Romance languages, English, and German. It is difficult to determine whether medieval teachers were aware of the correspondences and whether they used the ordo naturalis because it was essentially “natural” to most Indo-European languages on the Continent, or whether they used it because tradition and their logic handbooks dictated it. In future studies it will be important to compare the rearranged word order for the same text in sources stemming from different linguistic areas, and to concentrate on the discrepancies in order to account for them. 98 Nc 41, 8–11.
99 NcL 63.
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Notker’s application of the ordo naturalis provides a good starting point for such a comparison. Notker’s method of rearranging the Latin text is complex and cannot be traced to a single source. It represents a mixture of tradition and innovation – a complex tapestry made up of numerous strands. The foundation of this tapestry is the ordo naturalis tradition. Although Notker was acquainted with the ordo naturalis from the commentaries he used and himself discussed it in theory in the SGT, he was creative and resourceful when applying it in his own texts. Often Notker rearranged the word order not only of the original Latin, but of the commentaries as well, according to his personal construing order (constructio in legendo). For example, if the commentary had the verb preceding the subject, Notker often – but not always – inverted the two elements. In other cases he opted for a different word order, even when the commentaries had a sequence that mirrored the SVO variant of the ordo naturalis. Sometimes Notker’s word order took into account the grammatical or logical factors, the ordo rerum, as explained in the SGT. In a few cases Notker’s Latin word order may even have reflected structural characteristics of his vernacular. Finally, in some cases it may simply exhibit Notker’s personal style and idiosyncrasies. s y n tac t i c a l p un c t uat ion The Latin passages Notker restructured were meant to facilitate reading and comprehension by presenting words in an analytic and more logical sequence. A similar “logical” word order is already found in the Latin versions of Aristotle’s Logica vetus, and Notker usually retains it in his De categoriis and De interpretatione texts. By joining elements into their respective syntactical groupings and following an analytic word order, these texts, as well as the rearranged portions of Nb and Nc, had a further important advantage in that they made syntactical punctuation possible. In “normal” classical Latin sentences, words are often displaced because of rhetorical devices, and ambiguities can arise from the fact that one or several words can often perform discrete functions in two or more discrete constructions, thus making syntactical punctuation awkward and sometimes impossible. In Notker’s texts, punctuation can be both syntactical and elocutionary.100 On the one hand, pointing paves the reader’s way through grammatical structures by separating longer thought units into phrases, clauses and sentences. On the other hand, graphic 100 Notker’s major secular translation/commentaries are preserved in three main manuscripts, St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 818, 825 and 872, which were copied in the first half of the 11th century, i.e. during Notker’s lifetime or soon after his death; for further details see the introductions to the separate ATB Notker volumes by King and Tax. See also King’s review of punctuation in Nc, pp. xxviii–xxix, Nk, pp. xviii–xix; Ni, pp. xviii–xix and Tax’s comments in Nb, pp. xlviii–li; and Np, pp. xxxviii–xl.
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markers and related verbal cues are used to direct the lector in oral performance. Simple pointing is also used to punctuate a passage according to rhetorical groupings, and is often found in passages from Nb and Nc in which the original Latin word order has not been arranged. Syntactical punctuation in Notker’s texts breaks up passages into what could be called hierarchical “sense blocks.” The smallest grouping of meaning – the phrase – often corresponds to the semantic unit defined in the SGT, as a circumstantia. In the SGT, Notker also refers to such units as conuenticula dictionum, which he defines as “a group of words connected by case but without resolution of a verb.”101 Phrases like these can be distinguished in Notker’s manuscripts by means of a low to mid point (transcribed in this study as a point on the line with a space before and after). The practice, however, is not carried through systematically and is used only in select passages. In some cases the phrase consists of an example sentence or an important point that Notker is making or introducing; in such cases it can even consist of just one word. The low to mid point is also used to separate combinations of phrases into clauses, in other words, the next level of discourse. These clauses are more complete than the phrases, since they contain a subject and verb, although they must at times be supplied from a previous or following clause. A high point (transcribed here as a point on the line with no preceding space) is used to distinguish what we today classify as sentences and in some cases clauses as well. In the manuscripts, the high point is almost always followed by a littera notabilior (a “more noticeable” letter, sometimes a majuscule). In addition, one finds a question mark < > and more elaborate symbols of punctuation, such as combinations of points and virgulae and and the triagon , used at the end of larger sections such as chapters. In many cases the OHG translation complements the function of the punctuation marks and also serves to break up a passage. The practice of analyzing passages according to circumstantiae was common in the St. Gall school. In a gloss on p. 68 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 96, Ekkehard introduces the circumstances by pointing out that they bring an end to all causae and fashion the course according to which all speech flows: “Septem sunt circumstantiæ rerum . quibus omnis causa clauditur . et currit oratio. Quis fecerit. Quid. Quando. Ubi. Quare. Quomodo. Quibus . adminiculis.” Below this gloss, once again in Ekkehard’s hand we read: “Quis. Quid. Ubi. Quando. Cur. Cuimodus. Unde facultas.” In a gloss to Orosius found on p. 35 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 621, he applies the circumstantiae pronouns in expounding the meaning of a passage: 101 “conuenticula dictionum . quæ casibus tantum constant . sine conclusione uerbi” (SGT 62v, 3–4).
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Nam inter septem quas se uocant sententiarum circumstantias Ubi postremvm non est; Ex quibus quidam tale Distichon posuit; Quis, Quid, Ubi, Quando, Cur, Quimodus. Unde facultas. Ex his septemis sententia uim tenet omnis; Ita quidem: Sylla consul Romam Marii causa Cum legionibus Mane prima Facibus Adcensis Aggreditur.(Emphasis added) [For among the seven, which are thus called the circumstances of sententiae, where there is no end, from which this distich can be made: who, what, where, when, why, in what way and with what means. From these the sententia takes all of its strength through meanings. So, for example: (who) the consul Sylla (where) in Rome (why) because of Marius (with what means) with legions (when) on the first morning (in what way) approaches with flaming torches.]102
That the pronouns were fashioned into an easily memorized distich further points to their classroom function. According to the SGT, if a given circumstance is extraordinarily long and itself consists of several sentence constituents, it can be broken up by means of pointing. This method can be seen in the following passage from Nc, in which Notker has also simplified the word order: (26) Hi igitur amnes discoloris cursus . prædictas rerum nationumque fortunas . inmensis primo sinibus ambiebant.103
In Notker’s version, the Latin text is divided into three segments marked off from one another by means of a low to mid point. The first segment, hi igitur amnes discoloris cursus (“these rivers of variegated stream”), marks the subject of the sentence. The second segment, prædictas rerum nationumque fortunas (“aforesaid fortunes of things and nations”), discloses the object; the last segment, inmensis primo sinibus ambiebant (“first with wide circles went around”), expresses the finite verb and the circumstances of means and time. The structure of the following OHG translation comes closer to a logical order “who did what,” and is pointed differently: S´us m´ıssef´areuue a´hˆa . u´ mbegr´ıffen zeˆerist . m´ıt chr´eftigˆen b´ıugˆon . a´lle dˆıe uuˆılsalda d´ero uu´erlte . i´oh tero dˆıetˆo . . .104
The first segment S´us m´ıssef´areuue a´ hˆa (“such variously colored rivers”) expresses the subject and is marked off from the next unit which expresses the circumstance of time and the finite verb u´ mbegr´ıffen zeˆerist (“went around at first”); the circumstance 102 D¨ummler, “Ekkehart IV von St. Gallen,” pp. 22–23. Further glosses by Ekkehard using the circumstantiae are found in St. Gall 830 on p. 342 and p. 349. 103 Nc 25, 8–9. The original reads: “Hi igitur cursus discoloris amnes praedictas rerum nationumque Fortunas immensis primo sinibus ambiebant” [These rivers of variegated stream went around the aforesaid fortunes of things and nations first with wide circles] (De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 8, 8–9; trans. Shanzer, 207). 104 Nc 25, 9–12.
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of means is marked off in the next segment m´ıt chr´eftigˆen b´ıugˆon (“with large circles”). The object, which in the Latin is contained in one sequence, is divided into two units in the OHG a´ lle dˆıe uuˆılsalda d´ero uuerlte . i´oh tero dˆıetˆo (“the fortune of the world . and of those peoples”). In the following example, taken from the beginning of Notker’s De interpretatione text, the low to mid point is used to distinguish both clauses and phrases and a high point a complete sentence (see plate three): (27) p r i m u m o p o r t e t c o n s t i t u e r e . quid sit nomen . et quid uerbum . postea quid negatio et affirmatio. Ze eˆrist s´ol man s´agˆen . uu´az nomen . u´ nde uerbum sˆı . uˆ zer dˆıen ´ negatio uu´ırdet . u´ nde affirmatio. t´ara nˆah . uu´az s´ıu s´elben sˆın. Et enuntiatio. Unde uu´az ´ ´ıro zu´eio genus sˆı .i. enuntiatio. Et oratio. Unde uu´az o´ uh t´es genus sˆı .i. oratio. Sunt ergo ea quæ sunt in uoce .i. ipse uoces . earum quæ sunt in anima passionum .i. conceptionum notæ . et ea quæ scribuntur .i. literæ . eorum quæ sunt in uoce .i. uocum. Fern´ım ze eˆrist . t´az t´ıu gen´amden s´ehs´ıu . uoces s´ınt. Samo so er ch´ade. Nomen. Verbum. Negatio. Affirmatio. Enuntiatio. Oratio. s´ınt o´ ffen´unga . u´ nde z´eichen dero ged´ancho . u´ nde a´ber ´ıro z´eichen s´ınt litere. T´ıe s´elben ged´ancha . tˆuont tero sˆelo e´telˆıcha d´ol´unga . sˆo sie conceptæ uu´erdent inanima. Ped´ıu h´eizet er sie passiones animæ.105
In this passage a “circumstance,” in this case the subject “t´ıe s´elben ged´ancha” is only once marked off by a low to mid point in the last sentence. In other cases the mark is used to mark off clauses, in which the verb is often understood. For example in the first sentence: “Primum oportet constituere . quid sit nomen . et quid [sit] uerbum. postea quid [sit] negatio et affirmatio.” The OHG translation could be analyzed thus: “Ze eˆrist s´ol man s´agˆen . uu´az nomen [sˆı] . u´ nde [uu´az] uerbum sˆı . uˆ zer dˆıen negatio uu´ırdet . u´ nde affirmatio [uu´ırdet] . t´ara nˆah [s´ol man s´agˆen] . uu´az s´ıu s´elben sˆın.” In this passage the main concepts, which Notker discusses in the following chapters, are highlighted through capitalization and separation by a mid to high dot: “Nomen. Verbum. Negatio. Affirmatio. Enuntiatio. Oratio.” The important concepts “enuntiatio” and “oratio” are also highlighted in the first part of the passage by means of intervening OHG translation/commentary. pe r f orm a n c e c ues a n d ma rkers In addition to the syntactical punctuation, Notker’s texts also preserve performance pointing and commentary in the form of graphic markers and verbal cues. It is not applied as systematically as the syntactical punctuation, but rather is “deictic” and based on a subjective reading of the passage.106 In some cases we find verbal 105 Ni 4, 9 – 5, 1. 106 M. B. Parkes uses the term “deictic” to refer to this selective kind of pointing and contrasts it to a more neutral and systematic variety, which he calls “equiparative” pointing (Pause and Effect, p. 70).
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Plate 3. An example of syntactical punctuation from Notker’s translation/commentary of the Latin De interpretatione (Ni 4,9–27). St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 818, p. 144.
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cues similar to those used in the SGT. The preserved copies of Notker’s texts also contain sporadic use of the punctus elevatus and punctus versus in what appears to be a performative function. These graphic markers could of course be remnants of an earlier St. Gall punctuation system that was copied from older exemplars. It is more likely, however, that the graphic markers are remnants of a structural commentary that was preserved in Notker’s originals, from which the extant copies were made. Furthermore, in most cases the markers occur in Notker’s OHG and added commentary sections and cannot have been copied from any possible exemplars. Verbal performance cues The verbal performance cues discussed and applied in the SGT are used in nearly all of Notker’s translation/commentaries, but particularly in Nc, where they are found in twelve passages.107 In the following passage from his version of Nb, Notker distinguishes Boethius’ text into meaningful groups, rearranges the phrases and constituents according to a “natural” SVO order of constituents, and provides verbal cues. Boethius’ original reads: (28) Nam cum quidam adortus esset hominem contumeliis, qui non ad uerae uirtutis usum sed ad superbam gloriam falsum sibi philosophi nomen induerat, adiectissetque iam se sciturum an ille philosophus esset si quidem inlatas iniurias leniter patienterque tolerasset, ille patientiam paulisper assumpsit acceptaque contumelia uelut insultans: “Iam tandem,” inquit, “intellegis me esse philosophum?” [Whenever someone attacked a person with sharp words, a person who had taken up the name of a philosopher not for the sake of true virtue but falsely for the sake of vain glory, and added that he would surely know whether the other were a philosopher, if he were able to patiently suffer the insult brought against him; then the person feigned patience for a little while, put up with the abuse and then called out triumphantly: “Can’t you see that I am a philosopher?”]108
Notker constructs the text as follows: Cum quidam adortus esset contumeliis hominem . qui induerat sibi falsum nomen philosophi . non ad usum ueræ uirtutis . sed ad superbam gloriam. Suspensio uocis. 107 In Nc the directions are found on pp. 6, 21–29, 13; 43, 3–44, 5; 47, 9–14; 55, 18–56, 6; 76, 16–21; 77, 16–78, 5; 80, 1–7 (interlinearly); 80, 16–22; 112, 6–113, 19; 133, 14–134, 22; 145, 10–22; 160, 10–162, 3. They also occur in Nb II, 73, 13–25; II, 74, 21–26 (no depositio); II, 100, 23–29; II, 107, 9–28; III, 129, 5–10; IV, 215, 2–14; in Ni on pp. 186, 9–187, 5 and in Nk in the St. Gall 818 copy on p. 83, 4–14. In most cases, the voice directions come immediately after the Latin passage. On only four occasions, Nb II, 53, 17, Nb II, 73, 13–25, Nb V, 258, 13–26, and Nk B83, 4–14, do they follow a passage with integrated OHG translation. Cf. the Latinus commentary volume to Nc 14; Backes, Hochzeit, pp. 62–63 and Michael Stolz, “‘Figurate dicta’”, pp. 1–14. 108 De consolatione, ed. Bieler, II, p7, 60–66.
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Adiecissetque iam se sciturum anne ille esset philosophus . si quidem leniter patienterque tolerasset inlatas iniurias. Et hic. Ille patientiam paulisper assumpsit . et accepta contumelia . uelut insultans inquit. Iam tandem intellegis me esse philosophum? Depositio.109
The passage is divided into three larger segments which mark the three main points: the man is insulted and told he is not a true philosopher; his adversary tests him; and the man fails the test. Together the three segments comprise a larger thought – the sententia. The first two segments are dependent clauses, rhetorically commata, and each is to be finished off with a suspensio vocis. The semantic core of the passage is revealed in the last segment, the colon, which is concluded with a depositio to signal the end of the sententia. Each of the three “rhetorical” segments is in turn broken down into semantic/syntactical units, which are marked by a low to mid dot in the manuscript. The first comma, for example, is made up of four such units: the first contains the dependent cum-clause; the second a relative clause describing the object of the first clause; the third and fourth units mark circumstances of purpose, “why?”. Whereas the first two contain a finite verb, the last two do not, thus demonstrating that these smaller units are not purely syntactical groupings. The reciprocal ordering of elements within the units follows the basic SVO pattern outlined in the SGT. In the first sequence we have the subject quidam, the finite verb adortus esset, the object hominem and the circumstance of instrument contumeliis. In the first part of the second comma, Notker retains the word order of the original: it begins with the finite verb adiecisset, which is followed by an indirect statement constructed with an accusative + infinitive. The second unit in this segment is a conditional clause: Notker places the object inlatas iniurias after the adverbials and verb leniter patienterque tolerasset. The final colon is again broken down into four units that describe the attacked man’s response. The word order of the first group is left unchanged: object + adverb + finite verb; the following ablative absolute construction is made clearer by transforming the enclitic conjunction -que to et; in the next unit the verb inquit introducing the direct quotation is moved forward, but the remaining word order is left intact. Often Notker structures his text so that a longer circumstance or sentence constituent in the Latin text is immediately followed by the OHG translation, which has the effect of breaking up a large sententia into its constituent parts even more clearly than punctuation alone. In other cases, the OHG translation follows each rhetorical/syntactical unit of comma or colon. In the next example, the performative cues were added later as interlinear glosses. The passage is taken from Nc (see plate 4): 109 Nb II, 100, 23–29; my emphasis. In this passage, the entire Latin period is presented as one unit and the OHG translation follows.
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Plate 4. Interlinear verbal performance cues in Notker’s translation/commentary of Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii (Nc 80, 2ff.). St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 872, p. 80.
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(29) Ni nostra astrigeri nota benignitas . conferre arbitrium cogeret intimum. ´ m´ıh nesc´unti mˆın gˆuotuuilligi . m´ınen t´ougenen uu´ıllen m´ıt ´ıu a´hton. Et quicquid Ube ´ tacito uelle fuit satis . id ferre in medium collibitum foret. Unde u´ be m´ıh nel´usti f´ure i´uuih pr´ıngen . d´es m´ır su´ıgentemo s´amo uu´ola spˆuoti. Possem certa .i. mea decreta meis ´ promere ductibus .i. sententiis. . Anderes-uu´ ıo m´ahti ´ıh e´inrˆate gefr´ummen mˆıne ben´eimeda. [Emphasis added.] [O dwellers in the stars . had our well known magnanimity . not compelled us to reveal our secret judgment. <Suspension> If me not my magnanimity compelled . my secret judgement to discuss with you. And had it not been pleasing to make public . what it was sufficient to will in silence. And had it not been my wish to bring before you . that which from me remaining silent equally well would have proceeded . I could make known completed things (that is my decisions) on my own authority (that is my judgment) Otherwise I could with others’ advice carry out my decrees.]110
This passage is a carefully constructed period, which is introduced by two negative conditional clauses that mark the circumstance of cause, the first one beginning with ni. Both are interpreted as commata and read with a suspensio to inform listeners that the thought is continuing. The third clause, which provides the agent and action (“I could present”), is a colon and marks the end of the period with a lowering of the voice. Usually the cues form an integral part of Notker’s Latin commentary, although in a few cases they were added as glosses, as in example 29 above. Further down on p. 80 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 872 the cues are again found, but here they are woven into the text (see plate 4): (30) At cum læta patrem promere gaudia deceat . Suspensio. Sˆo m´ıh a´ber l´ustet h´ugelichiu d´ıng ze´ahtonne. Et certo foedere . iungere pignora . palam .i. coram perpetuis nutibus .i. diis. ´ Et hic. Unde mˆınen s´un zef´estemo geh´ıleiche s´ıton f´ore ´ıu g´oten. Cassum est nolle loqui sensa decentia. Depositio. Sˆo ´ıst u´ nn´uzze den rˆat ´ıuuih zeh´elenne. [Emphasis added.] [But since it is certainly fit for a father to make joyful tidings known. Suspension. As it however pleases me to discuss joyful things. And his children in a sure pact to join in the presence (that is before) of the constant consent (that is of the gods). And here (there is a suspension). And to prepare my son before you gods for a binding marriage. It is fruitless not to tell worthwhile feelings. A deposition of the voice. So it is useless to hide the plan from you.]111
In most instances the terms “Suspensio [scil. vocis] . . . Et hic . . . Depositio” are used. Once in Notker’s version of Aristotle’s De interpretatione 186, 9–187, 5 the set “Hic suspensio uocis . . . Et hic . . . Et hic . . . Hic remis[s]ior uox . quia interposita ratio est” marks a series of commata followed by a medial colon. The phrase also occurs once in Nb 258, 18–19 as part of the OHG translation/commentary to mark 110 Nc 80, 1–8; trans. based on Shanzer, p. 91; cf. Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella-Bearbeitung, 1, p. 54, and 2, p. 584. Martianus’ simplified Latin is in italics; pointed brackets here denote interlinear text above the line. 111 Nc 80, 16–22 and Glauch, Die Martianus-Capella Bearbeitung, 2, p. 585.
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the beginning of the following colon which will finish off the sententia: “Nˆu ch´umet interposita ratio.” “Remissior” could dictate a slight lowering of the voice as was associated with the punctus circumflexus described above in chapter four.112 In Nc 133, 14–134, 22 the series “Suspensio . . . Et hic . . . Et hic . . . interposita ratio . . . Et hic interposita . . . Et hic . . . Et hic . . . Et hic . . . Clausula” is used, where the cue clausula marks the depositio and the end of the sententia.113 In the St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 818 copy of Nk 83, 4–14, the following directions are used: “Hic suspende uocem . . . Et hic suspende . . . Hic depone.” The function of the verbal cues is clear within the context of the SGT, although in the past they have been misinterpreted or most frequently glossed over. The cues were first explicitly mentioned in a study by Kurt Ostberg, who suggested that they marked some sort of interruption in the lesson plan, during which Notker took time to further explain a given passage with examples. He interpreted the phrase “suspensio uocis” to mean “here there is a pause in the text,” and “depositio” to mean “here we return to the text”; the phrase “et hic” was supposedly used to break the explanation down into smaller segments.114 Ostberg’s hypothesis was adopted by Dennis Green in his study Medieval Listening and Reading as well as in an earlier article on the primary reception of Notker’s works. Green uses the verbal cues as evidence for Notker’s classroom audience. He correctly interprets the meaning of the depositio cue as the end of a period and associates the suspensio with an interruption in speech. He concludes that the marks provide evidence that “at difficult points this pedagogue [Notker] paused in his prepared delivery and met difficulties in his pupils’ comprehension by extemporizing a further explanation.”115 This, in turn, points to the oral context of the classroom and the reception of Notker’s texts. Although I agree with Green regarding the classroom reception of the St. Gall teacher’s works, I disagree with his interpretation of the suspensio cue. In view of the evidence presented above it is clearly a performance marker and not a “time out” cue.116 Because the verbal cues are never used consistently throughout any one of Notker’s classroom texts, we can assume either that not all passages were commented on in this manner and only certain passages were highlighted,117 or that the commentary is simply a reminder of what the pupils were supposed to be doing all along. One could also argue that the cues were not always possible, since, by 112 SGT 53r, 9–12. 113 The term clausula meaning “the end of the thought” is also used once in an example in the SGT to mark the lowering of the voice: “Sequitur clausula cum demissione uocis” (58r, 10). 114 K. Ostberg, “Notker III. als Lehrer,” pp. 23–24. 115 Green, Medieval Listening, p. 186; see also idem, “The Primary Reception of the Works of Notker the German,” Parergon NS 2 [1984], pp. 57–78. 116 See also Michael Stolz, who was the first to point out Green’s misinterpretation, “‘Figurate dicta elucidare’,” pp. 9–12. 117 Cf. ibid., p. 12. My analysis of the Boethius and Martianus Capella texts shows that verse sections are analyzed far more frequently than prose.
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simplifying the word order, Notker inevitably had to break down the rhetorical structure of the original.118 By placing the finite verb toward the beginning of the clause, preferably in second position and pushing back the phrases that denoted adverbial circumstances, the structure of the passage was drastically altered: short commata (which normally would have required a suspensio) were often joined to larger segments, and conditional and relative clauses were often placed after the main clause, thus making them more easily understood within the context of the whole passage. Finally, longer commata and cola were divided up into smaller syntactical groups by means of distinctiones. Furthermore, in the SGT, Notker states that the pauses are most important in the continuous style, in which the progression of the thought is linear.119 It is, of course, also possible that the voice directions were more frequent in Notker’s copies of his works but were skipped over by later copyists. Further, the occasional voice instruction could have been added at a later date – either as a gloss or integrated into the text – when Notker’s texts were copied, perhaps under Ekkehard’s guidance.120 The verbal cues are also found in a few isolated marginal and interlinear glosses written by Ekkehard IV in Latin manuscripts. In Ekkehard’s structural commentary to a section from Eugyppius’ Thesaurus to Augustine, on pp. 55–56 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 176, the constituent parts of two relatively long sententiae are commented upon in the margin (see plate 5).121 The interlinear commentary begins with “incipit longa suspensio” and is placed before a passage that sets up a hypothetical situation described by several dependent clauses introduced by the conjunction si, “if this and this and this and this . . . then.” In the manuscript each clause is marked with a punctus elevatus. The second comment reads “usque huc suspensio media” and is placed marginally at the beginning of a dependent clause introduced by the conjunction cum. The following colon that finishes off the section is introduced with the marginal gloss “demissio longa” and its end is marked with “usque huc demissio.” The last clause is marked with a punctus versus. The three parts of another sentence that soon follows are marked “item suspensio longa,” “suspensionis medietas” and “demissio.”122 In the bottom margin of p. 301, Ekkehard 118 Note that in the Virgil passage analyzed in the SGT, the rhetorical analysis is applied only to the original text and not to the parsed version. 119 See above, chapter four, p. 181. 120 This hypothesis is supported by the interlinear voice cues in St. Gall 872 cited in example 29 above. It is likely that in this case the voice cues were not in the original, since it is highly doubtful that a scribe would forget to copy them three times (and thus have had to add them in the margin later). 121 The text was copied in the ninth century; numerous corrections and marginal as well as interlinear glosses were added by Ekkehard and perhaps other scribes (Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 63). 122 Clemoes demonstrated that in England the punctus circumflexus was often used before a coordinating conjunction to join two parts of a compound sentence; the punctus elevatus, with its rising intonation, reflected a suspension of the sense and was used to mark off subordinate and relative clauses and participial constructions or a vocative from a main clause (“Liturgical Influence,” pp. 15–16).
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Plate 5. Interlinear structural commentary in the hand of Ekkehard IV. The text is Eugippius’ Thesaurus to Augustine. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 176, p. 55.
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again provides a structural gloss to a passage made up of several dependent si-clauses: “ab ista si . usque ad aliud si . cum suspensione legendvm.” On p. 61 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 178, we find Ekkehard’s marginal commentary “interposita” and a few lines later “usque huc.”123 On p. 358 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 830, Ekkehard adds the gloss “longa suspensio” marginally before a series of dependent clauses.124 Ekkehard modifies the terminology found in the SGT and Notker’s texts by adding adjectives that appear to describe the length of the unit being commented on, for example, “longa suspensio,” “media suspensio,” and “longa demissio.” He also places the cue at the beginning and sometimes middle and end of the structural unit in question and prefaces it with “incipit” (“here begins”). A suspensio is a combination of several units, which would traditionally be called commata, whereas a demissio is a unit that in classical rhetoric would have been called a colon. That the demissio is also conceptualized as a unit in addition to a type of pause or intonation is supported by the use of adverbs such as huc and usque to mark its conclusion. It appears thus as if Ekkehard uses the terms suspensio and demissio to refer to a type of structural unit, in addition to a type of pause or perhaps a cadential formula. In his scheme, commata and cola no longer exist and have been supplanted lexically with the terms that before marked their cadences. The extension in meaning is not surprising, given the general development of related terms. Both distinctiones and positurae originally referred to structural units, but soon came to represent the graphic symbols used to mark them off.125 The terms comma, colon and periodus had the same fate. In Ekkehard’s case, however, we have a reverse development from pause to the unit it marks. In any case, the progression from rhythm and breathing to meaning to syntax is well underway.
g ra ph i c pe r f o rm a n ce ma rkers In addition to the verbal cues, which to my knowledge are unique to St. Gall,126 performative commentary could also be noted by means of graphic markers in the 123 The text in question here is Augustine’s De civitate Dei, XIII, 15, ed. B. Dombart and A. Kalb, 2 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1955), p. 396. Ekkehard’s glosses mark the parenthetical commentary “non enim deserta est . . . quia lapsa perierat.” In the manuscript, a punctus elevatus is found both before and after the section. 124 The text being glossed is the Liber divisionis. 125 See above, chapter four, p. 180. 126 The closest analogue I have found is in an illustrative sentence by Odo of Cluny in his Dialogus de musica, written at the end of the tenth century. Odo, however, does not distinguish between the sub- and media distinctio (i.e., the comma and colon): “Tribus miraculis (ecce una distinctio) ornatum diem sanctum colimus (ecce alia): hodie stella magos duxit ad presepium (ecce tercia); hodie vinum ex aqua factum est ad nuptias (ecce quarta); hodie a Johanne Christus baptizari voluit (ecce ultima)” (cited from A. V. Gilles, “La ponctuation dans les manuscrits liturgiques au moyen aˆge,” p. 127).
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form of pointing. In addition to a two-tiered distinctiones system, the positurae were already used in ninth century St. Gall, but appear to have had a largely syntactical and not a rhetorical function. They are found in numerous St. Gall manuscripts dating from this period, both prose and poetry, as well as in those used for public reading and in the classroom. The punctus elevatus < > is used to note short pauses, the punctus versus < > or occasionally a punctus circumflexus < > to mark the end of a sententia.127 The punctus versus is also found at the end of larger sections or chapters in “heavy pointing” combinations and is used in this function, especially to close a sententia, well into the early eleventh century, at which time it is replaced by the high point. The positurae system seems to have fallen out of general use in the late ninth and early tenth centuries – at least in classroom manuscripts – and was replaced by the two-tiered distinctiones system: a subdistinctio or point on the line for the short pause and a plena distinctio or a point at the top of the writing line for the long pause. By the end of the tenth century, the positurae symbols had been freed up and were occasionally used as specifically structural performance markers, as I will discuss below. The punctus interrogativus was used early on in the positurae system at St. Gall and was later integrated into the distinctiones system, once it was again adopted. It is difficult to make any definitive statements about the development of punctuation in St. Gall, because it is often unclear exactly at what stage the pointing was done and by whom. Punctuation could have been noted at the time of copying either by the scribe writing the text or by a corrector; or it could also have been added at some later date, perhaps by a precentor or armarius, who in addition to being responsible for the chant also looked after preserving and correcting the manuscripts. In view of the oral nature of the punctuation marks, the responsibilities of the precentor clearly complemented one another, at least as far as liturgical manuscripts were concerned.128 Finally, pointing could be copied from the exemplar, in which case we could be dealing with influence of pointing traditions from several houses. The positurae are especially common in manuscripts that were produced for monastic lectio in the refectory or chapter house, such as St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 102, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178 and 206.129 All seven codices were produced in the ninth century, but were glossed, corrected and punctuated rhetorically in the late tenth or eleventh century by Ekkehard IV and others.130 They contain works 127 A. Bruckner, Scriptoria medii aevi Helvetica: Denkm¨aler schweizerischer Schreibkunst des Mittelalters, vol. III (Geneva: Roto-Sadag, 1938), p. 27. The punctus circumflexus is found more often in poetry, as in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 242. 128 Parkes, Pause and Effect, p. 38. 129 St. Gall 102 contains works of Ambrose; St. Gall 174 contains Augustine’s letters; St. Gall 176 is a copy of Eugippius, Excerpta ex operibus S. Augustini; St. Gall 177 and 178 contain Augustine’s De civitate Dei; St. Gall 206 has the first five books of Gregory’s Moralia in Job. 130 Many of Ekkehard’s corrections are orthographic in nature and bring the texts up to Carolingian spelling standards. See below, chapter seven.
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well suited for monastic lectio, such as works of Ambrose, Augustine and Gregory’s Moralia in Job, and are in large format making it easier to read from them at a lectern. The manuscripts had originally been pointed in the ninth century with a syntactical, distinctiones layer of punctuation, which employed a low/mid point and a high point. This punctuation was subsequently often augmented and the distinctiones were transformed into positurae: for the punctus elevatus the corrector placed a thick-shaped virgula above the low/mid point and for the punctus versus he added a comma-shaped virgula below the high point. In addition to pointing the texts, the corrector(s) also occasionally added apices (accent marks) to some of the more difficult words to pronounce with the correct stress (for example, hˆıc “here” vs. h´ıc “this,” refrˆenat, cam´elos, elab´orat, oˆs, pler´ıque, amˆos) and inserted word separation lines, often in the form of hairline strokes (for example, tantum/modo, ne/sitis).131 These various forms of commentary improved the legibility of the texts and belong to the grammatical subcategories of lectio and emendatio. That the corrector, very possibly Ekkehard IV, was not always confident of his emendations is apparent in his own comments on p. 1 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 174: Liber optimus . nimis autem uitiose scriptus. Hunc ego quidam corrigere . exemplar aliud non habens si poteram temptaui; Ergo ubi minus potui r literam apposui; Nihil autem nisi ubi certissimus eram abradere uolui; Omnia uero quæ ascripsi . sanioris lectoris arbitrio reliqui; [This is an excellent volume, though plagued by errors. I have tried to correct it as much as I could, although I did not have another copy. Where I was less able to correct it, I added the letter (in the margin). I took care not to erase anything unless I was very sure. And so I have left everything I have added to the judgment of my reader, clearer of mind that he may be.]132
The corrector points out that he was not always sure of the correct readings, since he did not have at his disposal another copy for cross-reference. In some cases he added the letter (perhaps for “require”) in the margin to warn future readers that the text may be faulty.133 That the corrector’s labors were not always appreciated by later lectors and correctors is made clear in the following late eleventh- or twelfth-century comment on the inside cover of St. Gall 176: 131 See below, chapter six. On stress marks in monastic books for public reading, see Leonard E. Boyle, “Vox paginae”: An Oral Dimension of Texts (Rome: Unione Internazionale degli Istituti di Archeologia Storia e Storia dell’Arte in Roma, 1999). 132 The comment could have been written by Ekkehard IV, although given the appearance of the script, it could also date from the early to mid-tenth century. Many of the lexical glosses stem from Ekkehard’s hand, and the ink of the additional punctuation in many cases is very similar in color to the brownish ink frequently used by Ekkehard. See Ekkehard IV, Liber Benedictionum, ed. Egli, pp. xxiii–xxiv and footnote 9. For a list of manuscripts either written or corrected by Ekkehard, see Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 630. 133 On the meaning of the marginal , see also Tax, Np, p. xxiii and Nb, p. xxxi.
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Librum hunc inprimis scriptor uitiauerat. Post ea eum etiam quidam quasi corrector ubi cumque deprauauerat. Nos autem singulorum capitulorum requirentes codices potuimus. quæ saniora uidebantur . ita iussi super scripsimus. Neutrum autem ipsorum abrasimus ut lector quid malit . eligere habeat. Ille enim plurima inconsiderate deleuerat que nos iterum ut uidere est asscripsimus. [The first scribe deflowered this book. Then a certain fellow depraved it acting as a corrector. However, we, after searching out copies of the individual chapters wherever we could, have written over the readings that are better. Moreover, we have erased none of them so that the reader can choose what he wants. For that one thoughtlessly erased many, and we have put them back as you can see.]
It appears that the first corrector did indeed erase some of the text, or perhaps someone else later carried through the suggestions that had been marked with . In St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 175 Ekkehard on several occasions comments on incorrectly erased text (“male deletum est”) and notes the passages with a the “requirendum” mark in the margin.134 Nearly all of Notker’s major secular translation/commentaries contain graphic performance markers. The copy of Nb in St. Gall 825, Nc in St. Gall 872 and Nk in St. Gall 818 and 825 all contain punctus elevati.135 The punctus versus is found in all of Notker’s texts with varying frequency, most often at the end of a larger section or chapter. The editors of the first Altdeutsche Textbibliothek Notker edition, Sehrt and Starck, interpreted the “tick” plus point combination of the punctus elevatus to be two separate symbols, and assumed that the “tick” was a correctional sign indicating that the point should be placed lower, bringing it to the level of a subdistinctio. The punctus versus, on the other hand, was interpreted as signifying that the point had been placed too low and should be raised, thus bringing it to the level of a plena distinctio.136 The evidence presented above in the first part one of this chapter and in chapter four disproves this hypothesis, since it is clear that the two graphic markers are positurae and represent structural and performative commentary. 134 Cf. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 175, pp. 64 and 348. On p. 64 Ekkehard adds: “Sed et alias in cautus erat . qui hunc librum uelud corrigebat.” The manuscript is a copy of Augustine’s De trinitate. On p. 128 Ekkehard provides a marginal gloss summarizing the ten categories, to which Augustine refers in the text: “Haec sunt decem cathegoriae secundum substantiam homo. Quantitas . quadripes Qualitas . candidu Relatiua . propinquus Situs . Iacet Habitum . armatus Tempus . hesternus Locus . Roma est Facere . uapulat.” 135 The copy of Notker’s Ni, which follows the Nk text in St. Gall 818, has no punctus elevati. My analysis does not include Notker’s Psalter, which is preserved in numerous copies, many of them much later than the eleventh century. 136 Notkers des Deutschen Werke, ed. E. H. Sehrt and Taylor Starck, vol. 1.1, Boethius De consolatione Philosophiae (Halle/Saale: Niemeyer, 1933), pp. xvii–xix. Sehrt and Starck were aware of the symbols’ possible rhetorical value, which had already been noted by Kelle in his review of Piper’s Notker edition (AfdA 9 [1883], p. 315), but opted instead to interpret them as a correctional mark. Tax disagrees with Sehrt and Starck and rightly suggests that the combination was meant to mark a suspensio vocis, much like the written-out directions discussed above (Nb, pp. xlviii–xlix).
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The punctus elevatus appears most often in Nb, with 177 occurrences.137 The symbol is used a total of 120 times in Notker’s OHG translation or his Latin commentary, and fifty-seven times in the original Latin. The exact function of the symbol is difficult to pin-point, since it occurs so sporadically, but some generalizations can be made. My analysis of the symbol in the OHG passages shows that it is most often used to introduce a dependent clause, either one headed by a dependent conjunction, or one that is in some way – grammatically or semantically – dependent on the preceding clause. Nineteen of the punctus elevati in OHG sections appear before the conjunction unde “and” used in an incomplete clause that depends for full meaning on the preceding clause, e.g. “zˆala ´ın demo hˆus s´ınt u´ nde b´urdi” (Nb II, 80, 1–2: “dangers are in the house and burdens”); “Tˆıe a´ber fr´eh s´ınt . uu´anda ´ın nˆıehtes f´ollˆun ned´unchet . ped´ıu s´ınt sie ˆıo a´rm unde ˆıo d´urftˆıg.” (Nb III, 122, 22–23: “They however are greedy . because nothing seems enough to them . and for this reason they will always be poor and needy”).138 A punctus elevatus is also found before the following conjunctions and adverbs: uu´anda “because” (7 times; e.g., “Dˆıe negu´ınnent sie a´ber uu´anda u´ bele nech´oment ze sˆaldˆon.” [Nb IV, 194, 27–28: “They however will not achieve it ´ because they do not come to praise evil”]), u´ be/n´ube “if/if not” (5 times; e.g., “Also d´ıngolih t´az man s´ehen m´ag . u´ nde grˆıfen . a´llelih ´ıst u´ be man zed´ero r´edo s´ıhet.” [Nb V, 269, 16–18: “Just like everything that one can see . and touch . is universal ´ if one looks to rational thinking”]), d´az “so that” (8 times; e.g., “Unde lˆa m´ıh t´ır mˆer s´agen d´az tu bech´ennˆest neh´eina uuˆara eˆrh´aftˆı ch´omen f´one d´ısˆen l´ukkˆen hˆerskeften.” [Nb III, 125, 21–23: “And let me explain to you more so that you will see that no true honor comes from these false rulers”]), and ˆer “before” (twice; ´ si sp´ıloe zed´ır . u´ nz kemˆıd t´ıh ´ıro eˆr si d´ır gebr´este.” [Nb II, 45, 10–11: e.g., “Unz “As long as she plays to you . avoid her lest you miss her”]). A punctus elevatus ´ also occurs before the adverbs sˆo, alsˆo, samosˆo “like” thirteen times, e.g., “Unde s´ınt sie dˆıen f´ogelen gelˆıh . tˆıe der t´ag pl´endet . tiu n´aht s´ehende getˆuot a´lso h´uuuen . u´ nde h´uuuelˆa. u´ nde der n´aht-r´am.” [Nb IV, 205, 13–14: “And they are similar to those birds . which the day hides. (but) the night makes visible like owls, and night owls, and the night-raven.”]). It is used twelve times in similar constructions that enumerate or explain something, five times with the introductory phrase “daz ´ ´ıst imo similis chˆıt,” (“that means”), “hoc est” or “´ıh m´eino,” (“I mean”), e.g., “Er n´als æqualis t´az chˆıt kelˆıh . n´als kemˆaze.” (Nb I, 29, 2–3: “He is similis to him but not æqualis that means similar but not equal”); “Tˆar m´ıte t´oug zebech´ennenne . d´az romani ciues kesk´eiden uuˆaren in patres . u´ nde in plebem.”(Nb III, 128, 13–14: “Therefore is it useful to know . that roman civilians were divided into 137 See also Tax, Nb, p. xlviii. Sometimes the symbol is used to mark an insertion as on p. 21, 17. A combination similar to the punctus elevatus is used elsewhere in St. Gall 825 as a correctional symbol to invert two words in the text, e.g., p. 94. 138 In the previous two examples the stroke above the point is placed a little to the right.
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senators and plebeians”) and later on the same page “Plebis uuˆaren zuˆo ordines equestris . u´ nde pedestris.” (Nb III, 128, 21–22: “The plebeians were [divided] into two orders the equestrians and the pedestrians.”).139 The punctus elevatus also frequently introduces a relative clause, with eighteen occurrences in this position, ´ e.g., “Unde uu´ırdest tu b´ıtendo sm´ahera . dien a´nderˆen dˆıen dˆu g´erˆost f´orderˆora uu´erden.” (Nb III, 137, 13–15: “And wishing you would become more worthless than those who you before wanted to become”). Another eight occurrences are before a final phrase that could be interpreted as an adverbial circumstance, e.g., ´ “Unde lˆazent m´ıh ´ımo sˆın mˆuot n´eren . u´ nde h´eilen m´ıt mˆınˆen carminibus.” (Nb I, 10, 21–22: “And let me nurture his spirit . and heal it with my songs”); “ . . . t´az tien e´del´ıngen d´es nˆot t´unche . nˆah tien f´orderˆon zesl´ahenne an ´ıro t´ugede.” (Nb III, 134, 25–26: “that it appeared necessary to the nobility . to fight the ones in front with regard to their honor”). In eleven occurrences the punctus elevatus marks the midway point in a contrastive construction, or helps to stress an opposition, e.g., “´Iz k´ıbet sia u´ ns . sˆo iz kesk´ıhet nˆıeht eˆr.” (Nb V, 249, 4: “she gives it to us . as it happens not before”), or “T´az sie u´ bel sˆın . d´es neuers´ago ´ıh sie d´az sie inlˆuttera . u´ nde in´einf´alta uuˆıs sˆın . d´az fers´ago ´ıh.” (Nb IV, 192, 6–7: “That they may be bad . that I do not deny of them that they are of a clear and simple form . that I deny”). A few of the punctus elevati could have been copied from an exemplar, since they are found in Latin passages where Notker has retained the original word order or rearranged it only somewhat. On p. 13, 22 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825 the mark appears in a short sententia from the original Latin and marks off a following conditional clause: “Recordabitur facile si quidem ante cognouerit nos” (“He will easily recall [who he is] once he has recognized us”). The corresponding OHG ´ beh´uget s´ıh uu´ola sˆın . e´chert translation, however, uses a simple low/mid dot: “Er er m´ıh eˆr bech´enne” (Nb I, 13, 22–23). In this case, identical punctuation in two possible exemplars, St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 844 (G) and Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuele, MS IV G 68 (N), may have influenced Notker.140 Both G and N read: “recordabitur facile si quidem nos ante cognouerit;”141 139 In the introduction to his edition of Notker’s Psalter (Np), Tax comments in a footnote that the combination is often found before an introductory phrase with a meaning “such as for example” (Notker der Deutsche, Der Psalter 1–50, ed. Petrus W. Tax [T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1979], p. xxxix, fn. 62). 140 St. Gall 844 was copied in St. Gall in the tenth century; Naples MS IV G 68 was also in St. Gall during Notker’s lifetime. Tax suggests that the Consolatio text in it was copied in the second half of the ninth century by a French hand (perhaps Tours, Corbie or Fleury) and came to St. Gall in the late ninth century. The glosses in it were added by various St. Gall hands in the early tenth or very late ninth century. Both manuscripts contain the shorter version of the Anonymus St. Gall Commentary. For a description of these two manuscripts and Notker’s dependence on them, see Tax Nb, pp. xix–xx and xxiv–xxv and Hehle, Boethius in St. Gallen, pp. 94–103. 141 St. Gall 844 p. 18, 12–13, and Naples, Bibl. naz., MS IV G 68 f. 7r, 15.
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Although in a few cases the symbol may have been borrowed from an exemplar, in others Notker’s Latin punctuation does not match that found in either G or N and in fact contradicts it. The text from example 28, above, for instance, with verbal voice cues in Notker’s version, is punctuated very differently in G: Nam cum quidam adortus esset hominem contumeliis qui non ad ueræ uirtutis usum sed ad superbam gloriam . falsum sibi philosophi nomen induerat . adiecissetque iam se sciturum si quidem inlatas iniurias leniter patienterque tolerasset an ille philosophus esset ille patientiam paulisper adsumpsit acceptaque contumelia uelut insultans iam tandem inquit intellegis me esse philosophum; Tum ille nimium mordaciter intellexeram inquit . si tacuisses;142
As I noted above, in many cases Notker completely restructures the Latin, so that it would have been difficult for him to retain the original punctuation. And even where Notker’s reshuffled text is close enough to the original structure to assume the punctuation of the exemplars, Notker works independently and analyzes the text according to his own methods. In the following example, a sententia consists of four commata in the form of conditional clauses preceding a final colon. Notker takes the opportunity to comment on the oral performance of the introductory clauses, whereas in both G and N one finds only a point placed at low or middle height separating the units. The G copy reads: (31) Si igitur reuerendos facere nequeunt dignitates . si ultro improborum contagione sordescunt . si mutatione temporum splendere desinunt . si gentium æstimatione vilescunt . quid est quod in se expetende pulcritudinis habeant . nedum aliis præstent . , ,143
Notker analyzes the passage: Si igitur dignitates nequeunt facere reuerendos. Suspensio. Si ultro sordescunt contagione improborum. Et hic. Si desinunt splendere mutatione temporum. Et hic. Si uilescunt estimatione gentium. Et hic. Quid est quod habeant in se expetendæ pulchritudinis . nedum . i . ne dicam . aliis prestent? Depositio.144
On p. 68, 17 of the copy of Nb, a punctus elevatus is corrected to a punctus versus preceding a colon that expresses an appended thought: “Tr´ıuuo n´oh l´ebet kes´unde . a´llero m´anno eˆra . symmachus tˆın suˆer; Et quod uitæ precio non segnis emeres” (“Truly . still living unharmed . is the greatest of all men . Symmachus your father-in-law. A state you would not be slow to purchase even at the cost of your life.”)145 142 St. Gall 844 pp. 64, 21–65, 7. 143 St. Gall 844 p. 81, 12–16: “If, therefore, high offices cannot make people worthy of respect and if, furthermore, they become tarnished by contact with evil men; if their splendor can disappear with the change of time and they grow cheap in the estimation of foreign peoples, without asking what beauty they can confer, what beauty worth desiring do they even possess?” (The Consolation, trans. Watts, pp. 86–87). 144 Nb III, 129, 5–10; emphasis mine. 145 In his edition, Tax corrects the mark to a high point and notes the original mark in the apparatus.
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The punctus elevatus does not occur in Ni. It occurs three times in the copy of Nk which precedes Ni in St. Gall 818. Here it is used to stress a contrast (Nk 4, 10), once before an additional explanation (Nk 6, 3), and once within a verbal voice cue itself, before a dependent clause: (32) Si enim aliquis nouit quiddam. quia adaliquid est. U´ueiz iˆo m´an d´az e´ina u´uesen adaliquid . hic suspende uocem quia pendet sensus. Est autem esse quæ adaliquid sunt . quomodo se habet idem ad aliquid. Sˆıd nˆu daz ´ıro uu´esen ´ıst . uuˆıo daz e´ina s´ıh h´abe zu a´ndermo . taz ´ıst interposita ratio. Et illud nouit ad quod hoc quo quomodo se habet. Sˆo uu´eiz er o´uh t´az a´nder . zˆu d´emo ´ız ´ıst . e´teuui´o h´abit . per genitiuum aut per alios casus.146
Here the explanation “quia pendet sensus” reminds the reader of the incomplete structure of the comma. The mark is used to highlight a contrast once in the copy of Nk, in St. Gall 825, on p. 279, 41: ´ scientia inanima ´ıst ´ıro stˆuole. u´ nde a´ber gespr´ochen uu´ırdit. f´one grammatica. (33) Also t´ıu u´ nder ´ıro n´amen stˆat. Taz e´ina subiectum tr´egit sˆıa Daz a´nder o´ uget sˆıa.147
The punctus elevatus is found only twice in the first book of Nc,148 but forty-six times in the second book.149 Its function in Nc is identical to that in Nb, e.g., “Uu´az m´ag in uu´erelte sˆın ´ız neuu´erde u´ mbef´angen m´ıt t´ıen r´ıngen dero planetarum?” (Nc 25, 11: “What else can there be in the world unless it is encircled with the rings of the planets”); “Uu´ande a´lte l´ıute uuˆandon . s´ıh sˆela u´ nde s´ın h´aben f´one sole u´ nde lˆıchamen f´one luna” (Nc 154, 2: “Because old people think that they have their soul and mind from sun and their body from moon”); “Gl´ızemo des scˆones h´ımeles t´az chˆıt tero l´ufte” (Nc 154, 9: “The shine of the beautiful sky that is of the air”). The punctus elevatus is also found in several manuscripts associated with Notker and his school. All of the manuscripts were copied at St. Gall in the late tenth or eleventh centuries. The mark occurs eleven times in the Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.98 copy of the SGT, nine of those times on the first five folios.150 Six of these occurrences are before an example sentence or further explanation, for example, “Nec minor his duabus partibus esse poterit . nisi in inpersonalibus sententiis Vt disputatur a cicerone . plena enuntiatio est facta ex indicatiuo uerbo et ablatiuo 146 Nk 84, 20–85, 2. 147 In the corresponding passage in St. Gall 818 12, 2–5, the passage has been augmented with a lexical gloss, but no punctus elevatus is used. “Just as scientia has its home in the anima . but it is said . of grammatica . which is classified under its name [scil. the name of scientia]. Whereas it carries the one subject . it signifies the other.” 148 Nc 18, 16 and 25, 11 149 Nc 94, 1; 94, 2; 96, 3; 96, 21; 99, 14; 99, 21; 100, 10; 100, 14; 101, 13; 102, 7; 102, 17; 105, 22; 106, 2; 107, 21; 109, 12; 111, 11; 113, 21; 114, 10; 116, 10; 117, 6; 117, 13; 117, 21/22; 118, 11; 119, 3; 119, 5; 119, 12; 122, 13; 129, 2; 132, 8; 138, 13; 139, 16; 140, 8; 142, 5; 146, 8; 147, 8; 153, 7; 154, 2; 154, 9; 154, 14; 158, 15; 164, 1; 165, 17; 165, 22; 167, 4; 169, 5; 170, 11). 150 See description of this manuscript above, chapter four, fn. 4, and chapter two, fn. 200.
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casu;” (39r, 8–11: “Nor can it consist of anything less than these two parts . except for in impersonal constructions Such as ‘it is disputed by Cicero’. is a complete enuntiatio made up of an indicative verb and a phrase in the ablative case”). The capital letter that follows the mark in the last example might serve to set apart the example sentence even more. In the other instances the punctus elevatus marks a contrast or is used before a coordinate clause in which the verb is understood from the preceding clause, such as “Et subiectiua pars nominatiuum habet declaratiua uerbum indicatiuum;” (39r, 7–8: “And the subject part has a nominative the predicate an indicative verb”). The punctus elevatus is also used in other treatises associated with Notker and preserved in the same manuscript, although it is found more sporadically. Most often it appears before an illustrative sentence introduced by ut. In the following passage from Notker’s Dialectica, the punctus elevatus functions to set off a relative clause and to mark a contrast, just as in his translation/commentaries: (34) Horum principalis oratio est. quæ dicitur enuntiatio cuius primæ sunt species affirmatio et negatio ut socrates disputat . socrates non disputat, H´ec autem partes habent subiectiuum et declaratiuum, Subiectiuum est quod subicitur . ut socrates Declarativvm est quod de eo prædicatur . ut disputat. (27r, 7–13) whose main [Of these the principal speech is the one . which is called declarative characteristics are affirmation and negation for example “Socrates disputes.” “Socrates doesn’t dispute;” These have a subject and a predicate; The subject is that which is placed under . like “Socrates” The predicate is that which is predicated of it . like “disputes.”]151
A very interesting additional function of the punctus elevatus is to distinguish the parts of a syllogism: (35) Vt omnis homo animal est non est homo, (f. 32r, 5–7)
et omne non uiuum non est animal
[For example all men are living beings all non-living beings are not man.]
omne non uiuum
and all non-living things are not living beings
and (36) Vt quidam homo caro est est, (f. 32r, 9–10)
omnis homo substantia est
[For example a certain man is of flesh flesh.]
all of man is a subject
quedam substantia caro a certain subject is of
151 The hand that wrote this particular section has a very distinct punctus versus, in which the point above the comma-shaped virgula is barely visible and often joins together with the virgula. I cite the text as it appears in the manuscript.
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In the case of many of the marks, it appears that a later hand has added the tickshaped virgula, thus transforming a simple punctus into a punctus elevatus.152 A punctus elevatus is also sporadically found in Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.121 in Notker’s De syllogismis, in a copy of Isidore’s De differentiis that precedes it in the manuscript, and in a text of Bede:153 (37) Et nisi prius sumat aduersarius quæ ei proponuntur Non habet proponens . quod inferat. Ter aduersarius ne i´ehe . a´nderis neb´ındit ´ın . t´er i´ıhtˆare. (f. 35r, 11–14) unless the adversarius [And the proponens does not have that with which to conclude first states to him those things . which are given as the first premise. The adversary does not offer up the premises . unless him to it leads . the concluder.]154 (38) Primus modus est secundum boetium. Quotiens inconexa propositione . primum ut in propositione locatur assumitur . ut consequatur secundum. Tiu eˆrista uuˆısa ist Sˆo der eˆrero t´eil . d´ero zes´amine h´aftentˆun piˆetungo . a´ber a´nderˆest zˆuo ´ıro gestˆozin uu´ırdit . t´az ter gem´acho t´eil geuuˆarit uu´erde Hoc modo . . . (f. 37r, 13–19) [The first way is that one according to Boethius. As often as the minor proposition is added in a conjunctive proposition so that the first part stands in the proposition . and the second part follows. The first way is When the first part . of the initial premise that binds together . is however connected to the second part . so that its partner is made true In this way . . .] (39) Predicatiuus est iste syllogismus . aut conditionalis? Si prædicatiuus est . cur ei datur propositio . assumptio et conclusio? Si conditionalis est ubi sunt formule eius Uuˆar s´ınt sˆıniu m´odul . si . nec . aut . coniunctiones? (42v, 5–9) [Is this syllogism predicative or conditional? If it is predicative . why is it given a major and Where minor term and a conclusion? If it is a conditional one where are its formulae are the clauses . the conjunctions si . nec . aut?]
It is clear from these mid to late tenth-century manuscripts that the punctus elevatus functioned more than just to mark off syntactical groups. In order to reach any definite conclusions about its significance, more manuscripts from approximately the same period need to be studied. It will also be important to analyze the punctuation in codices certainly destined for public reading, to see if the punctuation in them differs from the classroom texts. In many cases it appears that the mark was added later, after the manuscript had been copied, in much the same way that 152 For example f. 9v, 7; 23v, 17; 24v, 3; 25r, 13. Many of the punctus elevati in the SGT text also appear to have been corrected or added by a later hand. 153 Zurich C.121 came to Zurich from St. Gall in 1712 as booty from the Toggenburger War. The first part of the manuscript was copied at St. Gall at the same time as Zurich C.98, and is textually very closely related to it. See above, chapter two, p. 92, fn. 200. 154 I cite the texts as they appear in the manuscript.
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lexical and grammatical glosses were often added to a text the more it was read and the more hands it passed through. The punctus versus, used rhetorically to mark the end of a period or sententia, usually appears in Notker’s translation/commentaries in “heavy punctuation,” that is, combinations of points at the end of larger sections, often before a new chapter marked by a chapter heading in rustic capitals, or at the close of the chapter heading. In Ni, I have found only nine occurrences, seven of them at a section break before a chapter heading in capitals; in Nk I found only one occurrence in the St. Gall 818 copy and none in the copy in St. Gall 825.155 The punctus versus is found much more frequently in the Nc text, where it occurs thirteen times in the section copied by the second scribe; eight of those occurrences are after or within a chapter heading in capitals.156 The remaining four are clearly rhetorical punctuation and mark off the end of a sententia. In the copy of Nb in St. Gall 825, copied largely by the same scribe as the second half of Nc, the punctus versus is far more frequent. Up to p. 166, the scribe uses the punctus versus in combination with a pair of points, one above the other to mark the end of a chapter heading; after p. 166 he usually uses a simple high point, and in a few cases the punctus versus < > alone. The punctus versus is also used within the text for rhetorical punctuation, especially in books three and four after p. 166.157 It appears that once the scribe stopped using the punctus versus for the end of chapter headings, the symbol was freed up to the mark the end of a sententia. The punctus versus is used very frequently in the two tenthcentury manuscripts, Zurich C.98 and C.121. In Zurich C.121, the sign marking an interrogative at the end of a sententia appears as a combination of a punctus versus and the wavy bar < >, and is distinguished from the interrogative used within a sententia, which appears as a regular punctus interrogativus < ˜>. Other than the verbal cues “interposita ratio” and “remissior vocis” discussed above, there is no specific graphic marker used to mark off a colon. The punctus circumflexus occurs in none of the extant Notker manuscripts, nor have I found it in Ekkehard’s punctuation. According to the thirteenth-century Candelabrum glosses in Paris, Biblioth`eque Nationale, MS latin 15082, the simple point could serve the
155 Ni 146, 15; 194, 21; 203, 7; 209, 11; 210, 15; 213, 8; 214, 19; 239, 3; 244, 14; Nk 7, 2; 12, 23 and 96, 18. 156 Nc 106, 22; 108, 11; 114, 2; 115, 10 (x2); 117, 11; 121, 14; 123, 7; 128, 5 occur in a heading. Nc 113, 5; 117, 16; 124, 4 and 127, 22 occur within the text. The first hand uses a different symbol in a chapter heading (Nc 3, 6; 6, 21; 10, 15; 12, 1; 13, 19; 16, 8; 19, 6; 25, 7). 157 Nb 7, 7; 10, 18; 20, 19; 39, 20 (book 1); 58, 19; 78, 22; 79, 24; 80, 27; 82, 05; 83, 13; 85, 26; 88, 7 (book 2); 120, 7; 130, 15; 141, 20; 151, 25; 157, 30; 159, 21; 160, 27; 167, 19; 168, 19; 170, 14; 172, 4 (.;); 181, 5 (book 3); 187, 12; 193, 7; 204, 4; 204, 11; 207, 2; 207, 19; 209, 5; 211, 7; 213, 22; 222, 29; 227, 19; 229, 25; 233, 10; 238, 24; 244, 24; 245, 6; 271, 14. The punctus versus is also used twice to mark an insertion (185, 29 and 211, 7).
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same function as a punctus circumflexus.158 In addition to marking circumstantiae, the low/mid point could have worked this way in the St. Gall scriptorium as well. That the graphic markers and verbal performance cues are not used more frequently and consistently in Notker’s texts is at first puzzling, especially in view of the importance Notker placed on other graphic aspects of his translation/commentaries, including accentuation and orthography. Parkes points out that medieval scribes and correctors often only punctuated those sections of a text where confusion was likely to arise. What appears “irregular” to modern readers may have been very natural to medieval ones.159 Another explanation could be that the performative commentary served not so much to remind the student/lector, but the teacher.160 One can imagine Notker, or any other magister, standing in front of his pupils, dictating and explaining the text. Whenever a good example, let us say, for the structure of a period came up, Notker would take the time to point it out and then practise its performance. As mentioned above, just because the cues do not occur more often does not mean that lectio was not practised according to them more often. It is interesting that the Nb text contains the most graphic commentary, since most Notker scholars generally believe that the first two books of Nb best preserve Notker’s language, that is, the language as Notker presumably intended it to be recorded.161 According to my analysis, however, the punctus elevatus occurs just as often in books three, four and five, and hence cannot be used to support the hypothesis that the first two books are in any way more representative of Notker’s original intent. The shift from graphic markers to verbal cues from Nb to Nc is also interesting. Nb is considered by many to be Notker’s first translation, whereas Nc was done sometime in the middle of his career.162 It may be that Notker first marked the performative commentary by means of graphic markers and then switched over to the more easily recognizable verbal cues with time and experience.163 Young pupils performing texts during classroom lectio in classical Rome looked to commata and cola as guides to help break down longer passages and show them where to steal a breath and pause for effect. Rhythm, physiological factors (lest 158 “Cola uero sunt accentu graui aliquantulum fouenda, quod denotat punctum sine aliqua uirgula scriptum” (M. Hubert, “Le vocabulaire,” p. 126). 159 “Punctuation, or Pause and Effect,” pp. 138–139. 160 On the use of glosses for teachers, see Gernot Wieland, The Latin Glosses, p. 192. 161 Petrus Tax, “Einige Gedanken zu Notker und dem Philologischen,” Nb, pp. lii–lv. On the “ideal” Notker language see Evelyn S. Firchow and Anna A. Grotans, review of Notker Labeo, De consolatione Philosophiae, books I and II, in JEGP 89.1 (1990), pp. 91–94, and eaedem, “Pride and Prejudice: Notker Labeo and his Editors,” in Heiko Uekker (ed.), Studien zum Altgermanischen, Festschrift f¨ur Heinrich Beck (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994), pp. 116–125. 162 Sonderegger, “Notker III. von St. Gallen,” col. 1217. 163 On further developments in classroom technique between Nb and Nc, see Grotans “Syntax in the St. Gall Classroom,” pp. 235 and 334–335.
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one turn blue in the face), and, to a lesser extent, meaning influenced where the pauses were placed. Punctuation as a means of structural commentary was virtually non-existent, as were other visual aids for that matter, such as word division and the use of minuscule and majuscule letters to mark syntactical boundaries.164 Roman teachers could assume that their pupils understood the meaning of a passage (at least superficially), since Latin was their mother tongue. The scenario in the medieval school of St. Gall was very different. Latin was a foreign language, and teachers constantly had to reckon with conveying meaning on various levels, such as the level of the word, the phrase, the clause, the sentence, and the sententia. It is no surprise that the reading methodology laid out in the SGT and applied in Notker’s texts and Ekkehard’s glosses is anchored more in meaning and grammatical structure than rhythm and dramatic effect. Before these magistri could teach the latter two, finer, aspects of reading performance, they first had to assure basic reading comprehension. Once native equivalents to the individual words had been determined and their basic syntactical relationships puzzled out, the overall meaning of the passage, the sententia, could be resolved. Each sententia was dissected according to its semantic content, its meaningful constituents or circumstances, which answered to the questions: “who did what, where, when, why, and with what assistance?” These semantic units were often reshuffled according to a variety of an SVO ordo naturalis principle and joined into clauses, which were clearly marked off by means of a mid/low point sentence-internally and a high point sentence-finally. In some cases, a semantic unit was itself marked off from the rest of the circumstantia, if it was extremely long. For example, the subject could be modified by a series of relative clauses; although within the context of the sententia all of them answered the question “who,” each was nonetheless distinguished by punctuation. The next step paving the way for oral performance was to analyze the same sententia according to the traditional rhetorical units, the colon and comma, which were, however, defined according to semantic completion, and not rhythm. A comma was a semantically incomplete, dependent clause and was finished off in declamation with a “suspensio vocis.” This referred to a short pause and perhaps also involved a steady or change in intonation at the cadence. The end of a complete sententia – a periodus – was marked with a depositio vocis, which called for a longer pause, breath, and perhaps a lowering of intonation at the cadence. Cola were considered to be independent clauses that contributed to a larger thought, although in many cases they provided secondary information. When they occurred in the middle of a sententia they were pronounced with a specific change in intonation. Any cola or comma that finished off a sententia was marked with a pause and perhaps a lowering of the voice. In the SGT, Notker provides clear guidelines for pronouncing these rhetorical units in the form of verbal performance cues. This 164 Parkes, Pause and Effect, pp. 9ff., and Paul Saenger “Silent Reading,” p. 377.
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practice is also found in the translation/commentaries of Notker Labeo and in a few glosses by Ekkehard IV and was, to my knowledge, used specifically in the St. Gall school. In Notker’s texts the terms suspensio and remissio still refer to a pause and possible intonation. In Ekkehard’s glosses, the performative meaning of the cues is enhanced with a new structural connotation. He modifies them with adjectives referring to the length, and a term like suspensio assumes the transferred meaning of “unit” as well, in this case an “incomplete unit.” In other medieval grammatical and secretarial treatises, graphic symbols associated with liturgical practice (called positurae) were used in a function similar to the St. Gall verbal cues. Depending upon the tradition, a comma was associated with either a punctus elevatus < > and a raising of the voice, and a colon with a punctus circumflexus < > and a different change in intonation, or vice versa. The end of a sententia was in both traditions marked with a punctus versus < > and pronounced with a lowering of the voice.165 Texts in several tenth- and eleventh-century St. Gall manuscripts, including those of Notker, are also sporadically marked with these graphic markers that appear to combine aspects of structural and performative commentary. They represent a second layer of punctuation and augment the semantic/syntactical distinctiones punctuation that makes use of the high and low/mid points. In Notker’s texts we find the punctus elevatus and the punctus versus. The former is used to mark off clauses that are in some way incomplete and depend upon a preceding clause. The mark also occurs before a following explanation or example sentence, and is often preceded by a phrase like “id est” or “d´az chˆıt.” Whereas the verbal cues were intended for less experienced readers and belonged to the repertoire of classroom commentary, their less obtrusive graphic counterparts also paved the lector’s way in manuscripts intended for public performance in the refectory and during the liturgy. 165 See Anna A. Grotans, “S´ıh t´ır s´elbo lector,” pp. 251–302.
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6 Accentus
Accentus est anima verborum sive vox syllabae. quae in sermone plus sonat caeteri syllabis1
In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, Notker Labeo justifies using Old High German translations to teach young pupils Latin. He argues that although his pedagogic approach may strike some as unusual, perhaps even outrageous, it is nonetheless practical and aids greatly in reading and understanding. Immediately following the justification, in what almost appears to be an afterthought, Notker provides some guidelines for writing and pronouncing OHG: Oportet autem scire quia uerba theutonica sine accentv scribenda non sunt . præter articulos ipsi soli sine accentu pronuntiantur acuto aut circumflexo [One should know, however, that German words are not to be written without accents except for articles. These alone are pronounced without an accent, be it acute or circumflex.]2
According to Notker, all German words except articuli are to be written and pronounced with acute or circumflex accents. Notker’s comments about the use of accents in OHG have fascinated philologists and linguists ever since Jacob Grimm first published the letter in 1835.3 They represent one of those rare instances of an eyewitness account regarding the linguistic nature of OHG and testify to the care with which Notker intended his mother tongue to be recorded and pronounced. Historical phonologists have found in the Notkerian corpus a gold-mine of information, and analyses of the accents in the extant Notker manuscripts have provided valuable insights into the quality and quantity of Alemannic vowels in the tenth and eleventh centuries. Many questions, 1 Mallius Theodorus, St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 877, p. 109, 5–6. 2 NkS 349, 25–27. 3 Jacob Grimm, “Review of Altdeutsches Lesebuch by W. Wackernagel,” G¨ottingen Gelehrten Anzeiger 92 (1835), p. 910.
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however, remain unanswered. Do the accents mark vowel length alone, or do they also indicate stress and intonation? If the latter is true, is it word or sentence stress, or a combination of the two? Although various accentuation rules have been proposed, none of the extant Notker manuscripts preserves them all consistently. Deviations from the rules, or “errors” as they are usually called, are conveniently blamed on careless, hasty or inexperienced scribes, who either did not understand Notker’s system or were too lazy or stupid to apply it. In their attempt to excavate Notker’s langue, some scholars have overlooked the original classroom function of the evidence upon which their studies are based. In order better to understand Notker’s use of accents and to account for apparent inconsistencies in their preserved form, it is helpful to view the marks not only as evidence for a linguistic system, but as a pragmatic component of a tenthcentury St. Gall classroom parole. Notker’s accents are graphic indicators for the oral performance of texts and their application is based on the theories of classical grammar as well as the practice of medieval monastic lectio. In medieval monastic manuscripts produced for liturgical and other public readings, individual words are often accented. The marks reflect a form of supra-segmental commentary for oral reading that can note stress and/or vowel length and help to clarify word separation.4 Notker adopted the traditional lectio practice of accentus and implemented it on a much larger scale in the German portions of his texts. He insisted that all OHG (except for “articuli”) be written with accents so that his pupils would pronounce the vernacular correctly. On the one hand, this made the meaning of words and function of morphological endings more readily comprehensible to other pupils in the classroom, who most frequently listened to the texts as part of their study; on the other hand, it made the OHG conform, albeit in a small way, to the principles of medieval grammatica. It is perhaps no coincidence that Notker comments on the use of accents in written German immediately after he expresses his anticipation that some may find his texts unusual. By specifically pointing out that OHG must be accented, he reminds Bishop Hugo that the vernacular too has rules, just like Latin.
n ot k e r’s acc e n tuat ion “syst em” Scholars have devised principles or rules to describe patterns in Notker’s use of accents, from which statements regarding OHG phonology are derived. Most of the studies, however, are based on the accents preserved in only the first two books of Notker’s translation/commentary of Boethius’ De consolatione Philosophiae, where 4 See Boyle, “Vox paginae.”
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they appear to be applied most consistently and to preserve best what scholars assume Notker intended.5 Edward Sehrt and Taylor Starck, in the first ATB edition of Notker’s works which appeared earlier in the last century, went so far as to correct all of Notker’s texts according to these rules, and placed manuscript readings in the apparatus.6 Even the recently completed ATB edition by James C. King and Petrus Tax retains the corrected forms, albeit in the apparatus and marked with an asterisk.7 Early studies assumed that Notker’s accents marked vowel quantity, the acute on short and the circumflex on long vowels.8 Later studies demonstrated that Notker also intended to mark primary and secondary word and perhaps even sentence stress, yet what the nature of that stress was, tonal or dynamic, remains to be proven.9 Oskar Fleischer, who later became a professor of music, was interested in the rhythmic qualities of Notker’s accents. He argued that the accents marked both vowel quantity and syllable stress and that Notker’s system reflected Germanic stress rules.10 Paul Sievers argued for tonal stress in root syllables and sometimes in secondary syllables; long stressed vowels are marked with a circumflex and short stressed vowels with an acute.11 Eugen Gabriel, in one of the most recent studies to appear on the topic, argues that Notker did not intend the accents to mark vowel quantity, but intonation. As in Greek, the acute was meant to mark a rising intonation and the circumflex a rising and falling one. He notes that the accents “served to characterize the stress of vowels and were certainly also meant to help those performing.”12 Gabriel agrees with Eduard Sievers that marking vowel quantity was not Notker’s goal, but an indirect result, since vowels pronounced with a rising and falling tone would
5 Eugen Gabriel, Die Entwicklung der althochdeutschen Vokalquantit¨aten in den oberdeutschen Mundarten (Vienna: B¨ohlau, 1969), p. 61. See also James C. King, “Die Akzente bei Notker und in der Fachliteratur, besonders bei Sehrt und Starck,” Nb, p. xlii. 6 Die Werke Notkers des Deutschen, ed. Edward H. Sehrt und Taylor Starck (Halle/Saale: Niemeyer, 1933ff.). 7 Die Werke Notkers des Deutschen, ed. James C. King and Petrus W. Tax (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1972–2003). ¨ 8 See Willhelm Braune, “Uber die quantit¨at der althochdeutschen endsilben,” PBB 2 (1876), pp. 125–167. 9 In addition to the studies cited below, see H. A. Feneslau, Die Quantit¨at der End- und Mittelsilben ¨ einschließlich der Partikeln und Pr¨afixe in Notkers althochdeutscher Ubersetzung des Boethius (Halle: Hofbuchdruckerei Kaemmerer, 1892). 10 Oskar Fleischer, “Das Accentuationssystem Notkers in seinem Boethius,” ZfdPh 14 (1882), pp. 129– 172, and pp. 285–300. 11 Paul Sievers, Die Accente in althochdeutschen und alts¨achsischen Handschriften (Berlin: Mayer and M¨uller, 1909), p. 27. 12 Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, pp. 64–65.
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naturally be longer.13 As a result, accents are often missing on vowels with secondary stress; the fact that some are marked, Gabriel attributes to Notker’s musically and phonetically trained ear. Studies in the history of music have demonstrated that the acute and circumflex accents were used in ecclesiastical texts to provide readers guidance in singing and voice movement. An acute accent noted a rising voice, the grave a falling one, and a circumflex a rising and falling.14 Hildemar, in his letter to Bishop Ursus, suggests that accents be used to mark the cadences of syntactical units, as discussed above in chapter four. Roger Bacon, writing in the thirteenth century, classified both accentuation and punctuation under the rubric of music explaining that “because all these things consist in the raising and lowering of the voice and are therefore like some kind of chant, it is obvious that the explanation of all these matters pertains to music.”15 Both Hildemar and Roger Bacon associate accent with lectio and its concomitant subdivision, punctuation. In his letter, Hildemar also discusses the use of accents for individual words. Here accents are used to mark correct stress and syllable quantity for the purposes of metrics.16 Martianus Capella, upon whose work Notker relied heavily in many areas of the liberal arts, stresses the connections between grammar and music and even refers to accents as the “germ of music.”17 According to the Latin grammarians, accentuation is a matter of tone or pitch and regulates when the voice is raised (arsis) or lowered (thesis) on a particular syllable. Although terms such as arsis and thesis clearly point to a change in tone, the terms may simply be direct translations from the Greek, which had tonal accent. Whether Latin accentuation was actually a stress accent or a pitch accent remains open to controversy. Allen argues that Latin in fact did not have pitch accent and that references to it in grammars simply reflects grammarians slavishly misapplying the Greek model.18 As Keller rightly points out, Latin grammarians could neither hear nor imitate the tonal qualities of Greek accents; they represented to them no more than a graphic symbol to distinguish short and long vowels.19 Nonetheless, 13 E. Sievers, “Steig- und Fallton im Althochdeutschen mit besonderer Ber¨ucksichtigung von Otfrids Evangelienbuch,” Festschrift f¨ur Wilhelm Braune (Dortmund: Martins, 1920), p. 154. 14 See Treitler, “Reading and Singing,” p. 174, for an example of the use of accents in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 381. On the connections between accents and musical notation, see Charles M. Atkinson, “De Accentibus Toni Oritur Nota Quae Dicitur Neuma,” pp. 17–42. 15 Roger Bacon, Opus tertium, ch. 62; cited and trans. by Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record, p. 265. 16 De ratione bene legendi, ed. Ernst D¨ummler, MGH Epis. Karolini Aevi 5, pp. 320–321. 17 “Et est accentus, ut quidam putaverunt, anima vocis et seminarium musices, quod omnis modulatio ex fastigiis vocum gravitateque componitur, ideoque accentus quasi adcantus dictus est” (Martianus Capella, De nuptiis, ed. Willis, II, 268). 18 W. Sidney Allen, Vox latina (Cambridge: University Press, 1965), p. 84. ¨ 19 Wolfgang Keller, “Uber die Akzente in den angels¨achsichen Handschriften,” Untersuchungen und Quellen zur germanischen und romanischen Philologie Johann von Kelle dargebracht von seinen Kollegen und Sch¨ulern, part 1 (Prague: Carl Bellmann, 1908), p. 100.
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they continued to copy the information they found in the Greek tradition, which was then carried over into the Middle Ages. In effect, Notker could have been familiar with the tonal distinctions of the Greek acute and circumflex accents, at least in theory. In this chapter, I shall concentrate not on the nature of Notker’s accents, but on their practical application and possible origin. I shall suggest that Notker’s accentuation is, as Fleischer argued, a mixture of two systems and not, as Sievers and Gabriel thought, one system with indirect consequences of another. On the one hand, the circumflex accent is used to mark vowel quantity and is a component of Notker’s graphemic system that had precedence in Latin grammar. The acute accent, on the other hand, is a component of a lectio commentary, meant to guide readers in the correct declamation of texts by prescribing stress, and may have been borrowed by Notker from the practices of monastic reading. What the exact nature of the stress involved was and whether it reflects a specific tone or only degree of energy, I shall leave open to debate.
t h e “rul e s ” Both acute and circumflex accents are found in manuscripts of Notker’s texts and can occur on different syllables in the same word.20 According to past studies, the acute accent is found on short vowels in root syllables and on certain derivational suffixes (-f´alt, -h´aft, -h´eit, -n´ısse, -sc´aft, -uu´art, -uu´ert); the circumflex is found on long vowels in root syllables, on flexional endings, and on certain derivational suffixes (-ˆan, -bˆar, -ˆer, -ˆest, -ˆın, -lˆos, -ˆont, -sˆam, -tˆuom). The suffixes -are, -en, ing, -unga are usually unaccented. If the first element of a diphthong is short, it is marked with an acute (´ei, a´ u, ´eu, ´ıu, o´u) including the derivational suffix -h´eit and the flexional ending -´ıu. The indefinite article ´ein is always accented. If the first element of a diphthong is long it is marked with a circumflex (ˆıa, ˆıe, ˆıo, uˆ o) including the derivational endings -tˆuom and the definite articles dˆıa, dˆıe and dˆıen. Stressed prefixes (´ant-, ´ete-, u´ n-, u´ r-) receive an acute accent, whereas unstressed prefixes (be-, deh-, er-, fer-, ge-, in-, ind-, int-, ne-, neh-, ze-) are not accented. The enclitic particles na, no, nu, dir, de and lio are also unaccented. Each element of a compound can be but is not always accented, one part taking the main, the other the secondary stress. The rules governing the placement of accents on definite articles, certain personal pronouns, prepositions, the suffixes -¯ıg and -l¯ıch and the second (-¯on-) and third 20 Helpful overviews of Notker’s use of accents and the problems connected with it are given by Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, pp. 62–64, and King, in the introduction to Nb, pp.xxxvii–xliii.
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(-e¯n-) conjugation verbs are more complicated.21 Articles are accented in the surviving manuscripts according to what appears to be a specific set of criteria, for example, when (1) they precede a noun which is followed by a dependent genitive (thereby stressing and distinguishing this article from the one preceding the genitive); (2) they precede a form of -s´elb (i.e., “the same”); (3) they precede a cardinal number (if this number is not further modified) and b´eide; (4) they are used in certain adverbial phrases (such as “in dˆıa uuˆıs”); and (5) they precede a noun that serves as an antecedent for a substantial (“wesentlichen”) relative clause. Personal pronouns in the nominative appear with and without an accent, but usually with an accent at the beginning of a sentence. The neuter forms iz (nom./acc.), is (gen.) and siu (pl. nom./acc.) and the indefinite pronoun man have accents only when they occur sentence initially. Stressed prepositions are usually marked with an accent except for in and an, which are usually found without an accent unless they occur before an unstressed definite article. When undeclined, -¯ıg and -l¯ıch are usually accented, except when they follow a short root syllable (such as b´ırig). When declined, they lose the accent before a flexional ending with a long vowel. In the case of the weak second conjugation -¯on- verbs, the /o/ of the stem is accented in the present indicative, imperative plural, infinitive and gerund; it is not accented in the present subjunctive nor the imperative singular; in the preterite indicative and subjunctive, it is accented only before the flexional ending /-ta/. In the past participle, one finds before a short vowel in the ending, but otherwise ; in the present participle the vowel is always marked with a circumflex. Weak second conjugation -e¯n- verbs have the same rules except that one finds throughout the preterite. In the case of the past participle, is found only in the uninflected forms; an unaccented <e> is found in all inflected preterite forms and in all forms of the present participle. The common verbs h´aben and l´eben, however, never have an accent on the <e> of the stem.22
e xc e p t i o n s to t h e “rules” Some scholars have attempted to account for some of the variation or inconsistencies in Notker’s use of accents by establishing even more rules. Fleischer, for example, devised a set of principles governing the insertion or omission of accents on some of the problematic words discussed above. In a few cases he succeeded in defining secondary, albeit quite intricate patterns, while in others he admitted 21 See Gabriel’s list (Die Entwicklung, pp. 62–63), which is based on Fleischer’s “Das Accentuationssystem.” 22 See Johann Kelle, “Das Verbum und Nomen in Notkers Boethius,” Sitzungsberichte der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien. Philosophisch-historische Klasse 109 (1885), pp. 258–60 and 269.
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that Notker’s usage must have varied.23 Whereas Fleischer trusted the scribes and looked for regularities in the preserved evidence, Kelle took the opposite view and maintained that deviations from the basic rules were not exceptions, but scribal errors. He argued that vowel length was consistent in Notker’s Alemannic and that Notker meant it to be recorded consistently, even if the scribes didn’t hold up their end of the deal.24 That the scribes had a difficult time following the rules should not surprise us since, as King points out, modern scholars do too.25 There are no explicit rules for OHG accentuation dating from the period, nor does Notker explain his system other than the short comment in his letter to the bishop. Indeed one wonders whether Notker ever conceived of an iron-clad accentuation “system.” And, if he did, did he change the rules with time and experience in the course of his career? Barring the discovery of a long-lost Grammatica Notkeri Labeonensis, we will probably never know. The fact remains that if Notker envisioned an accentuation system for OHG, most of the preserved manuscripts do not reflect it in any consistent manner. I have made a sampling of corrected and incorrectly placed accents in Notker’s translation/commentary of the Boethian version of Aristotle’s De categoriis in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 818, pp. 3, 1–143, 7 (NkB) and in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825, pp. 275, 1–338, 30 (NkA; fragmentary), of the Boethian version of Aristotle’s De interpretatione in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 818, pp. 143, 8–246, 11 (Ni), of the first book of Notker’s version of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 818, pp. 2, 1–170, 22 (Nc), and of Notker’s De syllogismis in Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.121, ff. 28r, 3–49r, 12 (Ns), in order to get a better of idea of what kind of mistakes the scribes/correctors were making.26 I consider the possible agency of a “corrector,” because the marks could have been added at a later date by someone other than the scribe copying the text. Often a circumflex is corrected to an acute and vice versa. The pages analyzed in Nc show that a circumflex is corrected to an acute twenty times, such as, tr´oumet (13, 6), uu´einondiu (15, 8), ´einemo (18, 19), bes´oufti (26, 1), l´ıde (44, 9), fl´eho (46, 21), gel´ıutpˆaret (50, 15), h´eiteri (64, 4). In NkB a circumflex is changed to an acute in the following cases: h´eizint (7, 16; h´eizent A), z´eeniu (13, 1; zˆeeniu A), n´ahˆor (22, 13 23 Fleischer’s evidence is often unreliable, since his analyses were based on Hattemer’s at times faulty edition. Furthermore, Fleischer’s comments on the accenting of morphological endings are misleading, since he simply repeats Braune’s earlier analysis, which was based on a study of only the first thirty pages of the Nb text (Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, p. 61). 24 Kelle, “Das Verbum und Nomen in Notkers Boethius,” p. 236. 25 King, Nb, p. XLIII. 26 Since most previous analyses of Notker’s use of accents are based on Nb, I have excluded this text from my calculations but refer to previous scholars’ findings when they offer a helpful comparison. My analyses of Ni and Nk are based on the diplomatic transcriptions and concordances recently edited by Evelyn S. Firchow. The apparatus prepared by James C. King for the new ATB editions of Ni, Nk and Nc and by Petrus W. Tax for Ns also greatly aided analyses. See also A. Grotans “The Scribes and Notker Labeo,” pp. 101–117.
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and 23, 18; nˆahˆor A in both cases), F´one (81, 4–5; Fone A), b´ed´ıu (second acute 84, 20; b´eid´ıu A), s´ıu (86, 26; s´ıu A), ur´ost (97, 20; fr´ost A), t´oh (105, 22; t´oh A), dr´ıo´rtˆer (first acute 108, 24; dr´ıortˆer A), Uu´ıo (123, 23; Uu´ıo A). In NkA the following cases ´ occur: ´eines (279, 18; ´eines B), deh´einemo (279, 52; deheinemo B; here the accent is placed on the between the two vowels), s´umelˆıh (280, 13; s´umelˆıh B), ´etelˆıcha (303, 33; ´etlˆıcha B), Uu´ır (311, 05; U´uir B), be´ıdˆen (311, 12; b´eidˆen B); Z´uiualtemo (312, 16 Z´uiu´altemo B), s´ehent (312, 62; s´ehent B), and b´eidiu (322, 24; b´eidiu B). In many of these examples the corrected accent is on a diphthong, a situation which appears to have been confusing for the scribes, since some diphthongs took an acute and others a circumflex. In Ni only one circumflex is changed to an acute: dr´ıttˆun (86, 7); the change does not occur in Ns. An acute is changed to a circumflex thirteen times in Nc, such as dˆu (3, 12 and 64, 11), sˆıe (23, 10), ˆerist (25, 10), Eˆın (32, 4), uuˆıngot (53, 4), chˆaden (76, 5). In NkB only one acute is changed to a circumflex: hˆufo (46, 12; h´ufo A). In one case, an acute is erased and then replaced (gel´egitiu [9, 6; gel´egitiu A]). In NkA five acutes are changed to circumflexes, often involving cases with a diphthong: dˆıa (282, 60; dˆıa B), aˆ na (286, 26; aˆ næ B),27 niˆeht (292, 27; nˆıeht B), rˆeiz (295, 10; r´eiz B), ´eiscˆont (309, 60; e´ıscˆont B). In Ns, two acutes are changed to a circumflex, both on f. 40v eˆına (12) and keloˆubit (14). The corrected form is in both cases “incorrect,” and one would expect ´eina and kel´oubet. In Ni one acute is corrected to a circumflex, uuˆar (71, 19). In one case in NkB, a circumflex is corrected from an earlier, difficult to distinguish accent d´annˆan (8, 16; d´annˆan A). Once in NkB 129, 13, a second accent on the of n´e´ın is erased. The same type of mistake occurs in Ni 102, 8, where the first acute on is erased on u´u´ıderuuartig, and on p. 103, 13, where the second acute on the of o´u´ h is erased. Often the corrections involve accents incorrectly placed on OHG words and then erased.28 In many cases the misplaced and erased accent is found on an unstressed prefix or enclitic, such as, b´en´eme > ben´eme (Nc 6, 17), uˆ f´en > uˆ fen (Nc 12, 7), P´ech´ennendiu > Pech´ennendiu (Nc 32, 11), ´erb´uretˆen > erb´uretˆen (Nc 47, 3), gu´u´ınnet > guu´ınnet (NkB 8, 17; geuu´unet A), F´ern´ım > Fern´ım (NkA 286, 35), u´ern´emin > uern´emin (NkA 328, 14), n´euu´eiz > neuu´eiz (NkB 86, 21), P´ed´ıu > Ped´ıu (NkB 86, 23). In other cases the misplaced accent involves the “problematic” words discussed in the section on Notker’s used accents above: (1) 27 The word a´ na “on, within” could easily be confused with aˆ na/ˆane “without,”as seen in the following passage from NkB: “Preter quibus naturaliter unum inest . ne d´ıu lazo ´ıh f´ore dˆıen natˆurlˆıcho iˆo daz e´ina a´na ´ıst . a´na daz a´nder” (pp. 122, 22–123, 3). NkA gets the text right here with “ne di´u lˆazo ˆıh f´ore dien natˆurlˆıcho iˆo d´az e´ına a´na ´ıst . aˆne daz a´nder” (pp. 338, 21–23). The same type of error is found in Ns 47r, 15, where a´ ne is corrected to aˆ ne. 28 Carr was of the opinion that the erasure of accent marks in NkB was the work of someone other than the scribe and incorrect in most cases (Charles T. Carr, “Notker’s Accentuation System in His Translations of Aristotle’s ‘Categories’ and ‘De interpretatione’,” Modern Language Review 30 [1935], p. 189).
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Accentus
definite articles (diu, daz, den, dia, die, demo, dero, tes); (2) personal pronouns (er, sia, si, iz, sie, siu, man, dir/tir); (3) prepositions (fone, ana) (4) suffixes and morphological endings (-ig, -ich-, -ih, -iu, -o-); to these can be added two more categories: (5) adverbs (dannan, also, nieht, uuio, nein, so, tar); and (6) compounds (gemeinnamig, ungeuuando, ungemeinen, ungelicha, ungeuuissoten, manignamigiu, missenamigiu, einfara). A mistakenly placed accent is also erased on some Latin words, such as, u´ nda (Nc 22, 9; cf. OHG u´ nde), l´onga (Nc 25, 21; cf. OHG l´ang), bl´anda (Nc 41, 12; cf. ´ (Nc 78, 21; cf. OHG a´ l), l´ıget (Nc 81, 22; cf. OHG l´ıgen), OHG inbl´anden), Alia fˆontibus (Nc 67, 7/8; cf. OHG f´one). In NkB the accent is erased from: sp´ecierum (23, 21; specierum A), br´euis (41, 22; breuis A), alb´edo (98, 10; albedo A; cf. the not erased a´ lbedo B 130, 15 and B 131, 11, as well as a´ lbo B 27, 8 and a´ lbum B 20, 26), and hˆıs is changed to h´ıs (101, 10; his A). In NkA the accent is removed from s´ınt (276, 24; sint B), ´esse (278, 57; esse B), and alterum (301, 5, accent on ; alterum B; cf. the not erased a´ lterius A 305, 57), h´abeant (303, 11; habeant B). Not all of the “mistakes,” however, were caught, and many incorrect forms mar the manuscript pages. I analyzed the first few pages of Nc, Ni, NkA, NkB and Ns and found the following incorrectly placed or missing accents according to the guidelines of the critical apparatus provided in the ATB Notker edition. Many of the words again fall neatly into the “problematic” word groups mentioned above: (1) diphthongs, such as buˆoche for *bˆuoche (NkA 278, 14), ´einiu for *´ein´ıu (Ni 143, 18), hˆeime for *h´eime (Ns 29r, 2), i´oh for *´ıoh (Nc 2, 11 and 12), niˆeht for *nˆıeht (Ni 151, 8), oˆuh for *´ouh (Ni 149, 2), s´elbiu for *s´elb´ıu (Nc 5, 5), s´ıa for *sˆıa (Nc 4, 7), s´ıe for *sˆıe (Nc 3, 11), T´ıe for *Tˆıe (Ni 144, 25) and d´ıe for *dˆıe (Ni 152, 7 and 8), T´ıa urˆıheit for *Tˆıa urˆıh´eit (Ns 28r, 19); (2) suffixes, such as, d´ıngolih for *d´ıngolˆıh (Nc 3, 14) and d´ıngelih for *d´ıngolˆıh (NkB 7, 6), gehˆıleih for gehˆıl´eih (Nc 5, 6), kem´einlicho for *kem´einlˆıcho (NkB 5, 11), lˆıebsamero for *lˆıebs´amero (Nc 4, 4), s´umelih/s´umilih for *s´umelˆıh (5 times in Ns), z´ımilih for *z´ımelˆıh (5 times in Ns); (3) morphological endings, such as, pˆıeten for *bˆıetˆen (Ns 29r, 12), l´ıudoest for *l´ıudoˆest (Nc 6, 2), m´achot for *m´achˆot (Nc 4, 20), nel´egest for *nel´egˆest (Ni 149, 27), u´ nsˆaldon for *´unsˆaldˆon (Ns 28v, 19), u´olgent for *u´olgˆent (Ni 146, 5); (4) conjunctions, such as, aˆ ber for *´aber (NkB 7, 9), unde for *´unde (twice in Ns; NkA 275, 5); (5) compounds, such as, b´urgliute for *b´urgl´ıute (Nc 2, 12), hˆıgot for *hˆıg´ot (Nc 3, 1), uuˆıngot for *uuˆıng´ot (Nc 4, 19); (6) common verbs, such as, ist for *´ıst (9 times in Ns; NkB 3, 4 and 4, 5), s´ın for *sˆın (NkA 275, 11), sint for *s´ınt (NkA 276, 34); (7) definite articles, such as, der for *d´er (Ns 31v, 15, 32v, 16 and 17), tes for *t´es (Nk 76, 13); (8) pronouns, such as, d´u for dˆu (Nc 6, 13), t´u for *tˆu (Nc 5, 21 and 6, 2) and tu for *tˆu (Ns 28v, 8), tir for t´ır (Nc 4, 11, 19 and 6, 17), er for *´er (NkB 9, 15), in for *´ın (Nc 2, 14 and 3, 4; Ns 28v, 14 x2), mir for *m´ır (Nc 6, 17), sie for *sˆıe (NkB 3, 7; 3, 14; 4, 5; 4, 16 and 4, 18), s´ıu for *siu (Ni 146, 11; 150, 11 and 152, 24), but siu for *s´ıu (Ni 146, 16); (9) prepositions, such as, an for *´an (Ni 143, 13 and 148, 7; NkB 3, 7), fone 257
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Table 6.1
si (pron.) sˆı si (verb) sˆı
Ni
NkB
NkA
7 10 4 104
8 50 1 60
6 50 0 50
for *f´one (NkB 8, 18), mit for *m´ıt (Ni 149, 24; NkB 7, 19); (10) adverbs, such as, s´o for *sˆo (NkA 276, 13), tanne for *t´anne (Ni 146, 21), tar for *tˆar (Ni 145, 18). In order to demonstrate just how extensive the variation in personal pronouns, definite articles and prepositions can be, I have traced the use of accents for certain cases throughout Ni and NkB and NkA. In Notker’s manuscripts, common, short, pronouns like /er/ (m. sg. nom. “he”), /si/ (f. sg. nom. “she”), /iz/ (n. sg. nom. “it”), /is/ (m./n. sg. gen. “its”), and /sia/ (f. sg. acc. “her”), /siu/ (n. pl. nom “they”), /sie/ (m./f. pl. nom. “they” and m./f./n. pl. acc. “them”) are only sporadically accented. The remaining oblique forms of the third person pronouns /imo/ (m./n. sg. dat. “him”), /iro/ (f. sg. gen./dat. “her”/ “hers” and m./f./n. pl. gen. “theirs”), however, are usually accented.29 Two interesting cases are /si/ “she” (f. sg. nom.) and /in/ “him” (m. sg. acc.) and “them” (m./f./n. dat. pl.), since they could be confused with the verb /si/ “I, s/he would be” and preposition /in/ “in.” In the case of /si/, both the pronoun and the verb have an etymologically long vowel, and we expect them to be marked with a circumflex. In Nk at least, it appears that the circumflex was not used to distinguish between the two possible homographs of /si/, but marked vowel length. In the case of Ni, it is difficult to tell whether the accent was used to distinguish the verbal form from the pronoun, or whether the scribes and/or corrector(s) simply neglected to accent the pronouns. Both the preposition /in/ and the two pronouns /in/ have an etymologically short vowel and should be marked with an acute. The unaccented form in appears to have been used for the preposition in Ni, but there are not enough occurrences of the pronoun to make any meaningful comparison. In one instance, the two words occur next to one another, but neither is marked ´ with an accent: “Aber boetius . s´aget iz f´ure in . in secunda editione” (Ni 158, 26). In this example, the problem is further complicated because of Notker’s Latin/German 29 Fleischer admits that it is difficult to devise specific rules for the use of accents on pronouns, because their stress depends largely on rhetorical and logical accents, “und diese liegen doch immer mehr oder weniger in dem subjectiven ermessen des schriftstellers. Daher werden sich nur regeln von allgemeiner geltung ergeben” (“Das Accentuationssystem,” pp. 149–150).
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Accentus
Table 6.2
in (pron.) ´ın in (prep.) ´ın
Ni
NkB
NkA
2 4 56 6
1 5 99 76
1 4 58 72
Ni
NkB
NkA
124 4 0 0
71 55 1 22
53 51 0 19
Table 6.3
er (pron.) ´er er (adv.) ˆer
mixed language. The preposition in in the above sentence introduces the Latin words secunda editione and probably represents the Latin form in. In Nk the pronoun is usually accented, but the preposition is also accented about half of the time (43% in NkB and 55% in NkA). Once they occur next to one another and both are accented: “´alde l´ıgit a´n in . u´ nde ´ın ´ın.” (NkB 21, 27 and NkA 284, 9). The m. sg. nom. pronoun /er/ “he” could be confused with the adverb/ conjunction/preposition /er/ “before”. In this case, however, the former has an etymologically short vowel and the latter a long one. Only the pronoun /er/ occurs in Ni, usually without an accent. In Nk, the circumflex serves to distinguish the adverb/conjunction/preposition from the pronoun by marking its root vowel as long; the pronoun receives an acute in about 44% of occurrences in NkB and 49% in NkA. Another interesting case concerns the oblique forms of some personal pronouns. The pronoun /dir/ (2nd person sg. dat.) is variously accentuated in Notker’s texts.30 In Nb, /dir/ occurs 198 times, 63% of the time with an acute accent. In the first two books of Nb, which supposedly preserve Notker’s accentuation best, /dir/ is accented 73% of the time. In Ni, however, /dir/ is never accented. In NkB /dir/ is accented only 13% of the time and in NkA in only 21% of occurrences. In Nc, /dir/ is accented in only 47% of occurrences. 30 In my calculations here and elsewhere, I include all variants which are due to the “Anlautgesetz,” such as tir/t´ır.
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Table 6.4
dir/tir d´ır/t´ır
Nb*
Nc
Ni
NkB
NkA
74 (27) 124 (66)
31 27
34 0
13 2
11 3
*Statistics for the first two books of Nb appear in parentheses.
Whereas the dative form can be unaccented, the accusative form is usually not accented. The accusative form /dih/ does not occur in Nk; it occurs once in Ni and with an accent. In Nb /dih/ occurs 137 times, but only eleven times without an accent. In Nc, /dih/ occurs thirty-two times, but only twice without an accent. The first person form /mir/ does not occur in Nk or Ni. In Nb it is used eightythree times, but only six times without an accent; in Nc, on the other hand, /mir/ occurs seventeen times and in 59% of those occurrences without an accent. The accusative form /mih/ does not occur in Ni, but occurs in Nk once and with an acute accent. In Nb it is found sixteen times, thirteen times with an accent; in Nc /mih/ occurs eleven times, always with an accent. The plural pronouns are usually accented. The form /uuir/ (1st person pl. nom.) occurs 131 times in Nb, but only six times without an accent; in Nc /uuir/ occurs only once without an accent in nineteen occurrences. In Ni /uuir/ occurs twenty-four times, but only three times without an accent. In NkB /uuir/ is found without an accent only once in forty-eight occurrences, and in NkA it is always accented. The dative form /uns/ is always accented in Nb, and in Nc is found only once without an accent in nine occurrences. In Ni /uns/ occurs twice, both times with an accent; in NkA three times and all with an accent as in NkB. The accusative form u´ nsih is usually written with an accent. In Ni it occurs only once and with an acute and a circumflex, u´ nsˆıh; one of the six occurrences in NkA is written the same, the other five read u´ nsih or unsih. In NkB, three out of nine times it is written with two acutes /´uns´ıh/, the remaining six occurrences are written u´ nsih. In Nc there are eight occurrences of the word, once without an accent and twice with two acutes. The genitive form /´unser/ is always accented. The conjunction /daz/ “that” is supposed to be accented, whereas the demonstrative and relative pronoun /daz/ (n. sg. nom./acc.) receives varying accentuation. This rule holds true for Nk, where in the A text /daz/ as a conjunction is accented 97% of the time, and in the B text 94% of the time. In Ni, however, the conjunction is accented only 29% of the time. As a definite article, pronoun or relative, /daz/ is accented in NkA in 73% of occurrences and in NkB 70% of the time; in Ni it is accented in this function only 53% of the time. At least in the Nk text, there appears to have been a distinction made in the meaning of the accented and
unaccented forms. That the distinction may have been hard to follow is borne out in the evidence of the Ni text. Accentuation of the definite articles varies according to the context in which they are used. In table 6.5, I have included statistics for the nom. and acc. forms of the masculine singular definite article in Ni. In 45% of occurrences /der/ and in 50% of the occurrences /den/ is accented incorrectly according to Fleischer’s rules. The accentuation of certain other high-frequency words also fluctuates. The noun /man/ “one,” for example, is unaccented 86% of the time in Ni, 82% of the time in NkA and 75% in NkB. The verb /ist/ “s/he it is” is accented in Ni only 53% of the time. In NkA, on the other hand, it is accented 99% of the time and in NkB 95%. Accentuation of the various present tense forms of the verb haben “to have” also fluctuates, although not to such a great degree. Again, Ni is less consistent than either NkB or NkA.
s lo p p y s c ri b e s or s h i ft in g syst em? Why would scribes in some cases make so many seemingly careless, haphazard errors, sometimes confuse the accents only on specific words, yet in other cases follow what appear to be quite intricate rules? If the scribes were copying mechanically,
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we could account for the occasional lack of an accent, but not for so many incorrectly used or misplaced marks. Furthermore, mistakes from sloppy copying should appear on all words and not mostly on certain “problematic” ones. The principles underlying the application of accents can be confusing and require a solid understanding of the text and language on the part of the copyist in order to be applied correctly. That accents are used accurately in some cases shows that the scribe/corrector adding them was at least partly aware of what he was doing. I say “partly” because many of the incorrect accents noted above appear to have been added mechanically, that is, it is as if a scribe automatically added accents to the first syllable of words, without considering their function in the text. Accents incorrectly placed on unstressed prefixes, confusion as to the type of accent that one should put on diphthongs, and accents on Latin words (many of which are incorrect according to Latin accentuation) support this hypothesis. In order to explain both types of errors – those made consciously and unconsciously – we need to posit at least two stages of production, namely, the original exemplar and any copies that may have been made thereof, including the extant text(s). In one possible scenario, “errors” involving specific problematic words could be traced to the original copy of the text, or to one not far removed from it, and may reflect contemporary changes in the use of accents at St. Gall. Carr argued that Notker, like any good teacher, developed his use of accents with time and experience. He began by using the accents to mark vowel quantity and later added vowel quality (i.e., stress). In effect, Carr blames inconsistencies not on intricate rules or sloppy scribes, but on Notker himself.31 Errors of another type, the “automatic” kind, probably crept in during later copying of the text. No doubt Notker’s “system” for OHG seemed foreign and perhaps even unduly complicated to scribes who were not used to copying vernacular texts. In general, accents were not used in Latin texts, and scribes were not familiar with them as a component of orthography proper. When accents are found in Latin texts, they may be the work of the lector or a corrector and not the scribe; they guide the reader in pronunciation, often of particularly difficult words. In order to determine how many and which types of errors might be due to scribal variation, I have distinguished some of the individual scribes in Ni and Nk and again analyzed accent patterns.32 The Nk text in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 818 was written by three scribes: B1 3, 1–75, 1, 75, 8–75, 12 (stˆat), and 76, 1–76, 13 (taz); B2 75, 2–75, 8 (iz), 75, 12–75, 27, and 76, 13–111, 17 (singula); and B3 111, 17–143, 7. Seven different scribes copied the Ni text that follows it: B3 143, 8–147, ´ 27, 148, 4–153, 27 (t´eilo), and 155, 10–162, 14 (Also); B4 148, 1–148, 4 (ges´aztˆen), 153, 31 Carr, “Notker’s Accentuation,” pp. 200–201. 32 On identifying the various hands that copied the extant Notker manuscripts, see Grotans “The Scribes and Notker Labeo.”
262
Accentus
27–155, 10 (kes´ehennis), and 162, 15–165, 7 (homo); B1 165, 7–167, 7, 167, 23–178, 27, and 181, 1–190, 27; B5 167, 8–22 and 224b; B6 179, 1–180, 27, 191, 1–201, 27, 223, 1–224a, 27, and 225, 1–238, 27; B7 202, 1–222, 12 and 239, 1–246, 2; and B8 246, 2–11. Scribes B1 and B3 were active in copying both texts. NkA in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825 appears to have been copied by eight different scribes, although it is difficult to be certain: A4 275a, 1–279a, 13; A5 279a, 14–291a, 30; A6 291b, 1–292a, 10 (daz), 292a, 15–306b, 30, 307a, 6–310b, 30, 327a, 1–329, 27, and 330, 12–338, 30; A7 292a, 10–15 (recipiant) and 307a, 1–6 (diu); A8 311a, 1–311b, 9, 311b, 21–313a, 21, 313b, 1–4, 313b, 19–314a, 32, 315a, 1–316a, 14, and 316b, 1–326b, 32; A9 311b, 10–21 (s´ızzentes), 313a, 22–32, 313b, 5–19 (uu´erde), 314b, 1–32, and 316a, 15–32; A10 329, 27–329, 30; A11 330, 1–11.33 A look at the overall accentuation in Ni shows that fewer words are accented than in NkB or NkA. Variation in accentuation between Nk and Ni, as well as between the two Nk manuscripts, is particularly common on the same problematic words discussed above, such as definite articles, pronouns (personal, demonstrative and relative), various “enclitic” words, such as prepositions, conjunctions, adverbs, suffixes and morphological endings, and several high frequency words such as /ist/ and /sind/. The lack of accents in Ni could either mean that the exemplar had fewer accents than the Nk exemplar, or that the scribes/correctors of Ni omitted the accents more often.34 The demonstrative /daz/ is accented in 73% of occurrences in NkA and 70% of occurrences in NkB, but in only 53% of occurrences in Ni. Ni scribe B7 omits an accent on the demonstrative /daz/ 97% of the time and is accountable for 177 of the total 349 occurrences of the word in the text. If one recalculates the percentages for Ni and excludes hand B7, the figures are much closer to those for the two Nk texts, /daz/ = 27% and /d´az/ = 72%. Hand B7 writes the conjunction /daz/ eighty-two times, and never with an accent. If one excludes these occurrences from the overall statistics listed above, the conjunction /daz/ is accentuated 77% of the time instead of only 39% of the time. Given these new calculations, one might be more willing to say that the demonstrative was accented irregularly, whereas the conjunction was usually accented. The pronoun /der/ is found without an accent 84% of the time in Ni, but only 38% of the time in NkA and 47% of the time in NkB. Ni hand B7 never writes 33 Hands A1, A2 and A3 copied the Nb text which precedes Nk in St. Gall 825. King follows Paul Piper to a large degree in positing ten changes of hand, but does not commit himself to the number of scribes (Nk VIII). Piper is also hazy about the exact number of different scribes and writes, “Ich will nicht behaupten, dass die kategorien im cod. 825 nicht von noch mehr schreibern herr¨uhren (von weniger sicher nicht); allein ich getraue mir auch nicht mit sicherheit noch einen zu statuieren” (“Aus S. Galler Hss. III,” ZfdPh [1882], pp. 315–316). See also Grotans “The Scribes and Notker Labeo.” 34 Because of errors in copying, it is unlikely that either St. Gall 818 or St. Gall 825 is Notker’s copy.
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/der/ with an accent; the remaining scribes of Ni write /der/with an accent 43% of the time (as compared to only 16% of the time, if one includes B7). The pronoun /ih/ is accented in Ni only 44% of the time, whereas NkA accents it 100% of the time and NkB 96% of the time. Scribe B7 never accents /ih/. By excluding B7, one raises the figure of accented occurrences in Ni from 44% to 63%. The preposition /fone/ is accented by the scribes of NkA and NkB 96% and 99% respectively. In Ni it is accented only 65% of the time. When one excludes hand B7, however, this figure rises to 84%. The verb /ist/ is accented in NkA 99% of the time and in NkB 95.5% of the time, whereas in Ni it is accented only 53% of the time. Hand B7 does not accent /ist/ 96% of the time. The remaining hands accent /ist/ 79% of the time. In sum, if one breaks down the use of accents in Ni by hands, it becomes clear that many of the missing accents are due to scribal variation and not a faulty exemplar or corrector. Scribe B8 is very careless in his use of accents, although he only copied nine lines of the Ni text. For example, he writes sagen, So, ist, taz, skehen, Fone, ouh, an, uuanda, iz, iro, mag. In fact, of the forty-one OHG words he copied, eighteen are incorrectly accented. The same scribe, who in general appears to be quite experienced, continues to copy Cicero’s Topica which follows Ni in St. Gall 818.35 In the case of B8, we may be dealing with a scribe used to copying Latin, but not OHG. It may be that scribes B7 and B8 made so many errors because of their exemplar. Glossing and other forms of apparatus in medieval classroom manuscripts – be it lexical, grammatical or exegetical – often peter out the further along in the codex one reads.36 That the accents in Nb also becomes less frequent and consistent after book two may be no coincidence, especially if we consider the apparatus in manuscripts such as accents, as well as Notker’s Anlautgesetz for that matter, as aspects of classroom teaching instead of established orthographic norms. Scribe B3 appears to be a very experienced hand and, in addition to copying portions of Nk and Ni in St. Gall 818, also made corrections and additions elsewhere in the manuscript.37 B3 makes few errors and those that he does make generally fall into a few categories: (1) accent on a pronoun or demonstrative when according ´ ıh for *Unsih, dˆıen for *dien, t´ıu to the rules no accent is required (such as Uns´ for *tiu, dˆıe for *die, d´ero for *dero, s´ıu for *siu); (2) acute for circumflex accent (such as ch´ade for *chˆade, T´ıe for *Tˆıe, oˆuh for *´ouh); (3) missing accent on an ending (such as, o´ffen´unga for *´offen´ungˆa, ´einiu for *´ein´ıu, sprˆacha for *sprˆachˆa, u´olgent for *u´olgˆent, sl´ehtiu for *sl´eht´ıu, st´ımma for *st´ımmˆa). In some cases, B3 35 Hand B8 copies Cicero’s text until p. 287, after which a ninth hand finishes off the manuscript. 36 See Michael Lapidge, “The Study of Latin Texts in Anglo-Saxon England,” pp. 99–140. A further example of this phenomenon is found in the Wrocaw copy of Williram’s paraphrase of the Song of Songs, in which the accentuation is very consistent in the first half and then begins to disappear (Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, p. 84). 37 So on pp. 12, 22, 28, 31, 33, 48 and 49.
264
Accentus
erases an incorrectly placed accent, such as d´emo > *demo, d´ır > *dir. Most of the “errors” that B3 makes, however, involve spelling, such as (1) using older full vowels in final syllables (d´enchit for *d´enchet, uu´erchis for *uu´erches, h´abint for *h´abent, ˆerist for *ˆerest, i´ungist for *i´ungest, zˆu for *zˆuo, a´ ndir for *´ander with the -dir on a correction, zes´amine for *zes´amene with the second <e> changed to an ); (2) simplifying a diphthong to a monopththong (gnˆuge for *gnˆuoge, tˆızen for *tˆıezen, ul´ıgendez for *ulˆıegentez, uerskˆızent for *uerskˆıezent, gnˆug´ıu for *gnˆuog´ıu); (3) using the wrong grapheme for the Anlautgesetz, most often involving for (f´ernomen for *u´ernomen, f´ure for *u´ure but u´estenˆot for *f´estenˆot, kem´eina for *gem´eina, nepez´eichenet for *nebez´eichenet). The very last example listed may be evidence not so much for the fact that the scribe was inexperienced at writing German, but that he was so experienced that he allowed his pronunciation to influence his spelling. A few other errors show that B3 sometimes had a difficult time distinguishing the Latin from the OHG: on p. 143, 26 he writes regula for the Latin acc. sg. f. regulam; the OHG equivalent here would be r´egela. On p. 144, 5 he writes T´ıu partes for *Tˆıe partes, where the t´ıu is neut. pl. and corresponds to the OHG equivalent t´eil, not the Latin partes which is feminine. Here again, the interference may not necessarily be due to a lack of Latin skills but to such a good knowledge of both languages that when writing quickly, the one influenced the other. The latter error shows that the scribe was also actually comprehending the text and not just copying blindly. The Nk text offers an interesting perspective on scribal variation, since in this case we have two different copies of the text, perhaps even made from the same exemplar. I have analyzed two to three pages of each hand, in order to see whether any patterns arise in the accentuation and/or lack thereof. Although the NkB hands B1 and B2 are in general more “careless” with accentuation than the hands of NkA, there are times when NkA has an error and NkB does not. Interestingly, the errors are often found on the words which I designated as “problematic” above. NkA scribe A4 forgets to accent unde, der, daz, and the ending in lˆıbelos, and writes s´ın for sˆın. NkA scribe A5 also forgets the accent on unde, fone, iz, aber and sint. Perhaps for this section of the text the errors were already in the exemplar. NkA scribe A6 wrote five different portions of the text. He begins at the top of p. 291b; toward the top of the next page, scribe A7 breaks in and writes five lines, then A6 continues until the top of p. 307a, when A7 again interrupts for six lines. Whereas scribe A7 is very careful and makes almost no errors, scribe A6 makes numerous errors.38 As was the case with B3 above, most of these fall into general categories, although the number of errors is far greater than with B3: (1) accent is placed on the second vowel of a diphthong (such as netuˆont for *netˆuont, niˆeht for *nˆıeht, o´uh for *´ouh, diˆen for *dˆıen); (2) unnecessary accent, usually on one of the “problematic words” outlined 38 I have found only one error for A7 on p. 292, 12/13: neuu´ehseloen for *neuu´ehselˆoen.
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above (such as d´er for *der, inf´ahˆen for *inf´ahen, u´ bˆer for *´uber, d´ıu for *diu, zeˆıgˆon for *zeigˆon); (3) incorrect accent mark (such as rˆeiz for *r´eiz, brˆeiti for *br´eiti, tˆeil for *t´eil, zuˆei for *zu´ei, ˆeinen for *´einen, nehˆein for *neh´ein, uuˆır for *uu´ır, nˆah for *n´ah, st´at for *stˆat, u´ zer for *ˆuzer, r´ıga for *rˆıga, d´ıe for *dˆıe, str´aza for *strˆaza). Especially the last two types of errors are puzzling if we assume that the scribe was copying from an exemplar. Were the accents perhaps added after the text had been copied, without the help of the exemplar? Some of the accents are changed, and in many of the cases the new form is incorrect (such as die incorrectly erased from dˆıe for *dˆıe, r´eiz incorrectly changed to rˆeiz for *r´eiz, siniu incorrectly erased from sˆıniu for *sˆıne, Sumelˆıche incorrectly changed from S´umelˆıche for *S´umelˆıche; ´eisc´ont corrected to *´eiscˆont n´ıeht corrected to *nˆıeht), but the majority are not. In these cases the correct form appears to have been copied from the exemplar, but then changed. The two short interruptions by A7 are also interesting. Is this perhaps the hand of a teacher, getting a student back on track? The first three sections written by A6 also contain numerous erasures and corrections. But not all errors are corrected. In a few cases, A6 accents Latin words as well, but the accent is incorrect, such as a´ liorum, s´ursum, qu´antitates. A few words are consistently mispelled, such as, zes´amene for *zes´amine and zu´ıualt for *zu´ıu´alt (although A6 also once writes zuˆıualt). It thus appears that those corrections that were made are the work of A6 himself and not of a corrector or teacher. A6 also wrote two sections toward the end of the text and the same types of errors in accentuation occur here, although fewer corrections were made. Errors of the second and third types noted above demonstrate that it was probably scribe A6 himself who added the accentuation. On pp. 311–315, scribes A8 and A9 alternate. The errors they make, are again usually on the problematic words. In the case of the pronoun siu, which both hands seem to occasionally leave unaccented, this form may already have been found in the exemplar, as a mistake or a variation. Scribe A10 copied only a few lines, but makes numerous errors. Whether added by the original or later scribe(s), the accents in Notker’s manuscripts were modified in practice. As King points out, Notker’s accentuation system is an only partially realized ideal and was probably not entirely thought through by Notker when he first began using it.39 Notker’s use of accents is complicated and not easy to put rules to. Scribes – even Notker – probably made errors in its application, and Notker may have changed certain aspects of the use with time. Theoretically, Notker may originally have conceived of an accentuation “system” with rules and even exceptions. It is unlikely, however, that his system was as detailed, phonetically descriptive, and consistent as linguists would like it to be. Many modern scholars have become fixed on the written nature of Notker’s texts and assume that he too was primarily concerned with regularizing the orthography of his mother tongue for the sake of consistency in writing. Some structuralist 39 Nb I, xlii–xliii.
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linguists in the twentieth century have gone so far as to suggest that Notker devised a sub-phonemic spelling system for his Alemannic dialect, as will be further discussed in the next chapter.40 That historical linguists are so interested in the written nature of older texts is understandable. Unlike their synchronic colleagues, they depend largely upon written texts for evidence of previous stages of a given language, and it is from the written evidence that more general statements regarding the language can be extrapolated. So, for example, it is true that the accentuation in Notker’s manuscripts provides interesting and important information about changing stress patterns, which played a major role in language change. We cannot and should not, however, expect the evidence carefully to record data as a linguist would collect it in a phonetics lab. Notker was not a linguist but a teacher. He also probably never thought through the prescriptive implications of his “rules,” nor, for that matter, did he expect the rules to be followed to the same extent that we follow modern orthographic conventions. Grapholects are a written, usually printed phenomenon that encourage normative power for keeping language in order. Instead of spending our time correcting the errors and reconstructing what we think should be there, a more fruitful approach may be to investigate what is actually there. We need to regard Notker’s use of accents more as a form of paratextual commentary than as an orthographic doctrine. The accents served to guide students in reading out loud, and are a form of grammatical commentary that functions within the sphere of oral performance and not an orthographic decorum intended for a written product. In analyzing the accents in Notker’s texts, we need to stress more the students – the lectores – who were using them than the scribes who were copying them for posterity.
t ra d i t i on s of acc e n t uat ion The Latin context Within the framework of grammatica, accentus was both a subdivision of lectio in its exegetical branch and a separate point of latinitas in the methodological branch. The latter prescribed rules for correct accentuation of words in the written text for the purposes of emendatio; the former outlined how these rules were to be put to use when performing texts out loud. In prescriptive grammars, accentus is usually covered at the beginning in connection with other prosodic points such as syllables, foot, and metre, and is closely related to the production and reading of poetry.41 40 Stefan Sonderegger writes: “Nach rhythmischen Gesichtspunkten durchgef¨uhrte Interpunktion und ein klares, auf den Gegensatz von L¨ange und K¨urze ausgerichtetes Akzentuierungssystem verraten ein ungew¨ohnliches, geradezu wissenschaftliches Sprachverst¨andnis” (Althochdeutsche Sprache und Literatur [Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1974], p. 110). 41 See the summary provided by Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, pp. 45–49.
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Notker most certainly based the concept of accentuating OHG on Latin and perhaps Greek grammatical tradition, with which he was acquainted from classical, patristic and more contemporary works.42 However, the direct correspondences between Notker’s practice and the methodological aspects of Latin and Greek accentuation are only very superficial. In Latin, the minimal unit of a uox articulata (“articulated word”) was the littera, which corresponded to our “letter,” “speech sound,” and in some cases even “phoneme.” The next largest unit was the syllaba (“syllable”), which could be brevis or correpta (“short”), longa or producta (“long”), or communis (“common”).43 In his Ars maior, cited here from St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek 882, Donatus writes: Ergo monosyllaba . quae correptam vocalem habebunt . acuto accentu pronuntiabimus Quae productam . uocalem habebunt circumflexo . ut p´ax . f´ax . p´ıx . n´ıx . n´ux accentu pronuntiabimus. Ut rˆes . spˆes . dˆos ] [And so monosyllabic words, which have a short vowel, we pronounce with an acute accent, such as . . . those that have a long vowel, we pronounce with a circumflex accent, such as . . .]44
Monosyllabic words in Latin are treated the same as in Notker’s OHG: a long vowel receives a circumflex and a short vowel an acute. The parallels end here, however, since OHG is a Germanic language with stress on the root syllable and Latin follows the penultimate law. Furthermore, Latin grammarians clearly point out that foreign (peregrinus) and non-Latinate (barbarus) words do not follow the usual rules and are accented in speech according to the individual language and meter.45 Words of more than one syllable in Latin receive only one accent in addition to the grave accent, which is understood on unstressed syllables. The acute or the circumflex can stand on the penultimate or the antepenultimate, but never on the 42 For a comparison of Notker’s accentuation with Greek, see Fleischer, “Das Accentuationssystem,” pp. 152–153. Fleischer compares actual Classical Greek accentuation rather than the theoretical discussions of the topic offered by grammarians. This approach is, of course, interesting and valuable for historical linguists, but cannot account for the possible influence of Greek grammar on Notker’s practice, since Notker did not know the language and only had access to the rules as explained in books. 43 Vivien Law, “The Terminology of Medieval Latin Grammar,” p. 262. 44 St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 882, p. 58. The passage, which in the manuscript includes accent marks and additional examples, corresponds to ed. Holtz, I, 5, 11–13. St. Gall 882 dates from the tenth century; the Donatus text on pp. 4–42 and pp. 51–66 contains sporadic marginal and interlinear glossing dating from the tenth or eleventh centuries. See description of the manuscript above, chapter 4, fn. 17. 45 “. . . in peregrinis verbis et in barbaris nominibus nulli certi sunt accentus, ideoque in potestate uniuscuiusque consistit ut, quomodo necessarium viderit, sic in metro ponat . . .” (Priscian, De accentibus, 8, GL 3, p. 520).
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ultimate except for unique cases like the prepositions ap´ud and ant´e.46 Compounds, including composite adverbs (de´ınde, ex´ınde) and conjunctions (´etenim, int´erea), as well can have either an acute or circumflex, but never both nor more than one of each. Martianus Capella, in the grammar chapter of De nuptiis, ends off the section on accents by pointing out that some words do allow all three accents, such ´ ılˆetum, with a long penult and secondary stress on the initial short .47 as Arg` In Notker’s practice, flexional and derivational suffixes with secondary stress can be found with an accent and usually with a circumflex.48 This practice goes doubly against the Latin rules, in that an ultima should not be marked, and certainly not with a circumflex. In his directions for using accents in OHG, Notker specifically singles out the “articuli” and says that they are pronounced neither with an acute nor a circumflex. What did Notker mean by this term: a definite article such as der, die, daz? Are certain other pronouns to be understood in this group as well, such as demonstrative, interrogative, indefinite, and relative pronouns as well as numerals? In Latin grammatical tradition, the term articulus had various meanings, of which “article” was only one.49 Since, in Latin, nominal and verbal endings make clear the syntactic function of nouns and the subject of the sentence, articles carry no grammatical function. Priscian, for example, rejected the concept of the “article” in Latin.50 Donatus did not discuss the form in his Ars minor or maior and notes, “there are eight parts of speech: noun, pronoun, verb, adverb, participle, conjunction, preposition, interjection . . . the latini do not count the article, the Greeks not the interjection.”51 Some grammarians, such as Quintilian, used articulus to translate the Greek a´ rthron, “article,” which in the Greek grammatical tradition was defined as a part of speech inflected for case and preposed or postposed to 46 According to Donatus, a disyllabic word with a first long vowel will be marked with a circumflex (mˆeta, Crˆeta); a disyllabic word with a first short vowel is marked with an acute (n´epos, b´onus, a´ rma). In disyllabic words with a long second syllable, however, the first syllable is marked with an acute (l´eges, s´alus), since the ultimate cannot be stressed. In polysyllabic words, the acute is found on the penultimate if it is heavy (Cat´ullus), but on the antepenultimate if it is not (T´ullius). In Greek, the acute accent is restricted to the last, penultimate or antepenultimate syllable of a word, the circumflex to the last and penultimate syllable; as in Latin, a word usually cannot have more than one of these accents (Ars maior, ed. Holtz, I, 5; see also Herbert Weir Smyth, Greek Grammar [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984], pp. 37–43). 47 Martianus Capella, De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 2.273. See also Atkinson, “De accentibus,” p. 28. 48 Exceptions are the diphthong ´ıu, compounds and a few derivational suffixes, which receive an acute. 49 In rhetoric, articulus referred to a “short clause.” Cf. discussion above, chapter four, p. 174 and fns. 79 and 146. 50 “. . . deficit autem praepositivis articulis linga Latina” (Priscian, Institutiones, XVII.27, GL 3, p. 124, 16). Earlier he notes that some writers considered idem and qui as articles (XIII.17, GL 3, p. 11, 23–29). 51 “Partes orationis sunt octo, nomen, pronomen, verbum, adverbium, participium, coniunctio, praepositio, interiectio . . . Latini articulum non adnumerant, Graeci interiectionem” (Donatus, Ars major, ed. Holtz, II, 1, 1–3).
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nouns, and sometimes included pronouns.52 Conversely, what we today consider an “article” was often treated as a pronoun.53 Varro defined articulus as “a word with case-inflections which is not a noun” and made a distinction between finite articles (hic) and infinite articles (quis), thus making pronouns a kind of article, as in the Stoic tradition.54 Isidore lists hic, haec, and hoc as articles and says that they are closely related to nouns and are bound to them as in the examples “hic orator” and “hic sapiens.” The difference between articles and demonstrative pronouns is that the latter are not attached to a noun.55 In a more general meaning, the term “articulus” could also be used to describe words that have no major semantic or syntactic function but rather a connective or intensifying one. Martianus Capella used the term with this latter connotation and even referred to the personal pronoun tu as an articulus along with other demonstratives such as hic, haec, hoc, istud, illud, and the correlatives quot and tot.56 In view of the fact that Notker relied on Martianus heavily in his writings and translated him for his pupils, he may also have been influenced by Martianus’ more general definition in De nuptiis in his use of the term articulus in his letter to Bishop Hugo. Unfortunately, Martianus does not say how the articuli should or should not be accented. Did Notker intend definite and indefinite articles and pronouns to go unaccented? Both groups are accented in the Notker manuscripts, but only sporadically. 52 “Paulatim a philosophis ac maxime Stoicis auctus est numerus, ac primum convinctionibus articuli adiecti, post praepositiones: nominibus appellatio, deinde pronomen, deinde mixtum verbo participium, ipsis verbis adverbia. Noster sermo articulos non desiderat ideoque in alias partes orationis sparguntur, sed accedit superioribus interiectio” (Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. Russell, I.4, 19). On the influence of Dionysius of Thrax, T´echne¯ see R. H. Robins, A Short History of Linguistics, 2nd edn. (London and New York: Longman, 1979), p. 34. On the development of the class a´ rthron, see idem, “The Development of the Word Class System of the European Grammatical Tradition,” Foundations of Language 2 (1966), 3–19. See also Ian Michael, English Grammatical Categories and the Tradition to 1800 (Cambridge: University Press, 1970), pp. 67–68. 53 Vivien Law, “The Terminology of Medieval Latin Grammar,” p. 264. 54 “Prima pars casualis dividitur in partis duas, in nominatus <et in articulos: articuli> sunt quod neque finitum est ut hic et quis . . .” (Varro, De lingua latina X, 20, ed. and trans. Daniel J. Taylor [Amsterdam and Philadelphia: Benjamins, 1996], p. 64). Later Varro explains, “It remains to discuss articles . . . [which] exhibit a characteristic feature of their own, because some are definite, like masc. hic and fem. haec ‘this’, while others are indefinite, such as masc. quis and fem. quae ‘who’, but since their system of analogy is sketchy and insubstantial, there is no need to discuss them any more in this book” (30, ed. Taylor, p. 71). 55 “Aliquem enim praesentem his demonstramus, ut ‘hic’, ‘haec’, ‘hoc’: quae tria et articuli nominantur. Articuli autem dicti, quod nominibus artantur, id est conligantur, cum dicimus ‘hic orator’. Inter articulum autem et pronomen hoc interest, quod articulus tunc est, quum nomini coniungitur, ut ‘hic sapiens’. Cum vero non coniungitur, demonstrativum pronomen est, ut ‘hic et haec et hoc’” (Etymologiae, ed. Lindsay, I.viii, 3–4). 56 De nuptiis, ed. Willis, 64, 23; 67, 4.11; 68, 6. See W. H. Stahl, Richard Johnson and E. L. Burge (trans.), Martianus Capella and the Seven Liberal Arts, vol. 2 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1977), p. 70, fn. 21.
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According to the grammarian Audax, those parts of Latin speech that are considered “appendages” of the noun and verb, for example, enclitics and proclitics such as articles, pronouns, adverbs, conjunctions and prepositions need not carry a stress.57 So, too, if a preposition is joined to the noun it governs, it loses its force and is not accented (prodˆuco, dedˆuco); this is true even of words usually written separately, such as, intabula for in tabula.58 In many of the extant Notker manuscripts, in the OHG, prepositions are not separated by a space from the word they govern, but in most cases they are accented. Exceptions are the monosyllabic in “in” and an “on,” which are usually not accented when joined to the noun (and the prepositions be “by” and ze “to,” which are unstressed and hence unaccented).59 There are further exceptions to the rules in the use of accents in Latin, but none of them brings us any closer to understanding Notker’s practice.60 It is important to remember that, although grammarians discuss the application of accents in detail, in actual practice, accent marks are used in medieval Latin manuscripts only sparingly.61 Accentus was a quality inherent in the word and not a component of the letters used to signify it. In other words, the use of accents was not an element of orthography per se, but of prosody. Quintilian remarks: [u]t longis syllabis omnibus adponere apicem ineptissimum est, quia plurimae natura ipsa verbi quod scribitur patent, sed interim necessarium, cum eadem littera alium atque alium intellectum, prout correpta vel producta est, facit. [it would be silly to put an apex over all long syllables, because the length of most of them is obvious from the nature of the word which is written, but it is sometimes 57 “[H]ae ergo partes, quae adpendices sunt, sic maioribus copulantur, ut tamquam in unam partem orationis coalescant, proprium vero fastigium perdant, non omnes dumtaxat, sed pleraeque” (Audax, “De scauri et palladii libris excerpta per interrogationem et responsionem,” ed. Heinrich Keil, Scriptores de Orthographia, GL 7, p. 360). Likewise in Greek certain proclitics and enclitics are not accented, such as monosyllables when they precede the word to which they belong, some prepositive articles, negatives, relative adverbs, conjunctions, prepositions, pronouns and particles (Smyth, Greek Grammar, pp. 41–43). 58 Allen, Vox latina, p. 88. See also “Quaestiones grammaticae” in Bern, Burgerbibliothek, MS 83: “adtendendum est, quod praepositiones, quando nominibus apponuntur, grauantur” (GL 8, p. 184). 59 See Fleischer, “Das Accentuationssystem,” pp. 140–143. 60 In Latin, spatial adverbials like qui, quo and unde are not accented in indicative sentences, but are in interrogatives. No connective or separative conjunctions are accented, whereas some “expletive” ones such as autem and quidem receive an acute. Interjections follow no specific accentuation rules. Other factors influence accentuation, such as when two homonyms must be distinguished, such as, p´one “lay aside!” and pon´e “after, behind.” 61 In his letter to Bishop Ursus of Beneventum, Hildemar comments on the difficulties of accentuation and points out that accent marks are rarely found in manuscripts: “Haec uero adnotatio rarissime in libris invenitur veteribus” (ed. D¨ummler, p. 322). Even in the few Greek texts preserved in St. Gall, accentuation is usually left off or included only very sporadically at best (Bernice M. Kaczynski, Greek in the Carolingian Age: The St. Gall Manuscripts [Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy, 1988], p. 29). See also Treitler, “Reading and Singing,” p. 182.
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necessary, namely when the same letter produces different senses if it is long and if it is short.]62
Quintilian points out that “some learned men and teachers of literature” use the acute accent to distinguish between homographs that otherwise might be confused, both when teaching and speaking. He gives as example the word quale, which is often marked with an acute on the final syllable when it is used as a comparative, but with a grave accent when it is used as an interrogative. He adds, however, that this traditional usage is usually restricted to adverbs and pronouns.63 Isidore also points out that the apex was used by the ancients to distinguish minimal pairs such as populus “a crowd” vs. p´opulus “a poplar.”64 In addition to the apex, the Romans used other symbols to represent long vowels. In the case of long , a special symbol called I-longa was sometimes used, and Accius suggests using digraphs.65 Accentuation was a topic of keen interest in scholarly correspondence carried on in the Carolingian and later periods, and is frequently brought up, debated and discussed.66 This is largely because accentuation was closely linked with metrics and the composition and declamation of poetry, which were esteemed skills among litterati. Some of the discussions, however, may have arisen from very practical needs. We must remember that Latin was a foreign language for Germanic speakers, and that correct stress and syllable quantity did not come naturally and had to be memorized. In his treatise Quaestiones grammaticales, Abbo of Fleury wrote a grammatical treatise to monks in England, where he had spent time on assignment. In particular he answers their questions about the length of vowels and accent; he cites some of the elementary rules offered by Donatus, and quotes Priscian and Martianus Capella on the matter. Abbo also provides numerous examples and shows the application of the rules in the Latin poets.67 Correct accentuation was even difficult for Carolingian scholars such as Lupus of Ferri`eres, who discusses problems of accentuation in a letter to Einhard, where he admits that even he has problems determining whether the penultimate syllable of some words should be ¨ 62 Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. Russell, 1.7, 2. See also Keller, “Uber die Akzente,” pp. 103– 104. 63 The Orator’s Education, ed. Russell, 1.5, 25–26. 64 “In dubiis quoque verbis consuetudo veterum erat ut, cum eadem littera alium intellectum correpta, alium producta haberet, longae syllabae apicem apponebant; utputa ‘populus’ arborem significaret, an hominum multitudinem, apice distinguebatur” (Etymologiae, ed. Lindsay, I, xxvii, 29). ¨ 65 Keller, “Uber die Akzente,” pp. 102–103. On the use of the “I longa” see J. Christiansen, “De apicibus et I longis inscriptionum latinarum,” PhD thesis, University of Kiel, 1889. 66 John J. Contreni,“The Carolingian Schools: Letters from the Classroom,” XI, pp. 95 ff. Contreni remarks that one of the rare contemporary references to Johannes Scottus is in connection with his teaching of accents. 67 Abbo of Fleury, Questiones grammaticales, ed. and trans. A. Guerreau-Jalabert (Paris: Les Belles ¨ Lettres, 1982). Cf. Lutz, Schoolmasters of the Tenth, p. 47. See also O. Funke, Uber die “Quaestiones grammaticales” des Abbo Floriaensis (Halle: Niemeyer, 1914) and H. Bradley, On the Text of Abbo of Fleury’s “Quaestiones grammaticales” (Oxford: University Press, 1922), p. 176.
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pronounced long on “account of nature and position” or short according to rules Donatus gives.68 Correct accentuation also played a very important role in monastic lectio, in which texts were read aloud to brethren. In his De ecclesiasticis officiis, Isidore stresses that lectors must accentuate words correctly, lest confusion arise: Praeterea et accentuum uim oportet lectorem scire ut nouerit in qua sillaba uox protendatur pronuntiantis. Plerumque enim inperiti lectores in uerborum accentibus errant, et solent inuidere nos inperitiae hii qui uidentur habere notitiam, detrahentes et iurantes penitus nescire quod dicimus. [A reader should moreover understand accentuation so that he knows which syllable to draw out when he pronounces it. For unskilled readers very often make mistakes in placing the accents on words. Persons who suppose themselves to possess the knowledge routinely fault us for lack of expertise in this area, criticizing us and swearing that we don’t have the slightest idea [how to pronounce] what we’re saying.]69
Here focus is placed on the accentuation of the texts during the liturgy, and inexperienced readers are singled out. Hrabanus Maurus also notes the importance of correct accentuation in monastic reading. His comments are found in the section “De lectionibus” of his De institutione clericorum and are based upon Isidore: Et alia multa sunt, quae propriam vim pronunciationis quaerunt. Praeterea et accentuum vim oportet lectorem scire, ut noverit, in qua syllaba vox protendatur pronunciantis quia multae sunt dictiones, quae solummodo accentu discerni debent a pronunciante, ne in sensu earum erretur. [And there are many others things which inquire about the proper force of pronunciation. For this reason the lector should know the strength of accents, so that he might know accordingly in which syllable the voice of the pronouncer is to be extended, because there are many words, which ought to be discerned only by means of accent by the pronouncer, in order that he might not be led astray in their meaning.]70
Hildemar, in his commentary to the Rule, devotes several pages of his section on lectio to accentuation, which consists of citations from Alcuin, Censorius, Donatus, together with Sergius’ commentary, Pompeius and Priscian.71 Medieval students had to memorize the vowel quantity and stress of Latin words, presumably at the same time that they learned their meaning and declension. Some words no doubt continued to cause problems. In St. Gall manuscripts, the adverb 68 Lupus of Ferri`eres, Epistulae, ed. Marshall, ep. 5, p. 14–15; trans. Regenos, pp. 16–17. Cf. McKitterick, Frankish Kingdoms, p. 148. 69 Isidore, De ecclesiasticis officiis, II, xi, 27–31, ed. Lawson, pp. 70–71. 70 Hrabanus Maurus, Institutione clericorum libri tres, II, 52, 44–48, ed. Zimpel, p. 413; the corresponding passage in Idisore is Eccl. officiis, II, xi, ed. Lawson, p. 71. 71 This section of the text is not printed in Mitterm¨uller’s edition. In Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm. 18103 it runs from ff. 109v–114r.
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hˆıc “here” is often distinguished from the pronoun h´ıc “this” by means of accentuation. Here the circumflex marks a long, and the acute a short vowel. Ekkehard IV often marks the adverb hˆıc with a circumflex in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 174 and 274. In St. Gall 174 he also added accents to hˆıs and impetˆıtis, and in St. Gall 176 to rˆes and h´ıc for the demonstrative. On p. 164 of St. Gall 174, he adds an interlinear gloss to the lemmata Imperito sillicere: imperitos ill´ıcere uel imperitis illucˆere. In St. Gall 159 a later hand has added accents to some words of the main text: hˆıc (“here”), h´ıc (“this”), moderˆeris, exercu´eris, te docu´ere, tenu´erit, uidˆebis, inu´enimus, excˆıtus, emˆıgrant, inuˆıdit, and c´ogeris. In some cases a circumflex appears on a diphthong or an acute on the vowel immediately following a semi-vowel, perhaps as a type of dieresis, for example, the names falthˆıas and banaˆıe, and i´acere, eu´adere. In other cases the accentuation may help to distinguish words written together: aliuddeu´olueris and ab´eomissus. St. Gall 159 contains various letters by Jerome, Augustine, homilies, and Cassiodorus’ De anima.72 The manuscript has been carefully emended, perhaps by Ekkehard, with spelling corrected, glosses provided, and accents and positurae-type punctuation marked. These types of lectio commentary, when considered together with the contents of the manuscript, make it likely that the codex was read aloud from in the chapter house at collation or during mealtimes in the refectory. Likewise, the early ninth-century glossed Psalter from Fulda, now Frankfurt, Stadt- und Universit¨atsbibliothek, MS Barth. 32, also shows acute and circumflex accents written in red ink above the text, which could have served to guide readers in liturgical performance.73 Accents are also found on Latin words in copies of Notker’s texts.74 Sometimes the acute marks correct stress: op´ortet (and not o´portet; Ni 204, 9), h´abeant (and not hab´eant; NkA 303, 11), f´ortasse (and not fort´asse; NkA 322, 26), a´ ngelos (and not ang´elos; Nb III, 150, 26), l´ınea (and not lin´ea; NkB 133, 19). In some disyllabic words, however, the stress seems obvious and the accent superfluous: a´ nte (Nc 59, 20), m´undi (Nc 46, 7; 76, 20), a´ lbo (NkB 27, 8), ´ergo (NkA 297, 32), o´rdo (Nb IV, 217, 20; 218, 2; 222, 15), a´ lbum (NkB 20, 26 and NkA 334, 11), m´odus (NkA 336, 27), m´ultus (NkA 304, 19), s´ursum (NkA 307, 07), g´emmas (Nb III, 141,1), h´abet (NkA 335, 03). In other cases the accent is primarily used to mark a long vowel and perhaps stress: periemeniˆas (a Greek word; Ni 144, 7), diˆane (Nc 75, 15), quarˆe (NkB 86, 23 and NkA 322, 7 and 327, 11), primˆas (NkB 90, 19), alˆani (Nb I, 4, 7), aliˆas (Nc 135, 19; for the adverb). Sometimes the circumflex just marks a long vowel: lˆıs (NkB 90, 14 and NkA 324, 3), hˆıc (“here” Nc 21, 12; 77, 20; 141, 22), stˆo 72 St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 159 dates from the late ninth or early tenth century, but much of the glossing is from the eleventh century (Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 59). 73 Gabriel provides several examples, such as on p. 4, 1–6: “BEATUS u´ır quˆı nˆon a´biit in cons´ılio impiˆorum et in uˆıa peccatˆorum nˆon st´etit et in cathˆedra pestil´entiae nˆon sˆedit” (Die Entwicklung, p. 49). 74 Notker der Deutsche, Categoriae, ed. Firchow, p. xvi and Nb xliv.
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(NkB 92, 11 and NkA 325, 3), Unˆa (Nc 36, 17), falsˆo (Ni 197, 10) and the acute a short one: ´et (NkB 94, 10), h´ıs (NkB 101, 10), ´est (NkA 310, 50). In another group the accent appears to mark vowel length and/or stress, but incorrectly according to Latin grammar: a´ lbedo (for alb´edo; NkB 130, 15 and 131, 11), a´ liorum (for ali´orum; NkA 309, 41), a´ lterius (for alt´erius; NkA 305, 57), qu´antitates (for quantit´ates; NkA 308, 3), f´ortunam (for fort´unam; Nb II, 86, 10), br´ateatas (for bracte´atus; Nc 70, 12–13), u´ ndosæ (for und´osæ; Nc 28, 18). In the case of quˆıs (=quibus; Nc 14, 7 and 13; 102, 17), an abbreviation was mistaken for an accent mark. In another case the accentuation is given on a misspelled word, l´ıchynis (Nc 64, 9) for lychnis. Finally, one finds Latin words that are similar to OHG words accented similarly. In such cases it appears that the scribe accented the words automatically without much thought: sˆı (Ni 157, 16), u´ nde (NkA 298, 11 and Nb I, 26, 16; III, 123, 25), u´ ndæ (Nc 23, 22), s´ol (Nb III, 173, 7), sˆıne (Nc 89, 6–7), T´er (Nc 93, 15). In fact, that the latter two types of errors occurred leads one to wonder whether someone other than the scribe, perhaps a corrector, was adding the accentuation, quickly jotting down marks, without registering the meaning of the text or its language. Another, more interesting, hypothesis is that the scribes were so drilled in writing OHG that they subconsciously wrote Latin homonyms the same as the OHG words. Of course, the converse argument could be used to account for missing accent marks on words like unde, si, in, etc.
ve rn ac ul a r acc e n t uat ion The practice of accenting the vernacular was not Notker’s invention, although he clearly expanded and applied it far more consistently than his predecessors. Even before Notker, teachers who glossed texts included occasional accent marks to help readers recognize and correctly read the OHG words. In the St. Gall “Vorakten” dating from the ninth century, we twice find a circumflex used to mark a long vowel in proper names: Hˆugo and Hˆato.75 Paul Sievers, in his study of accents in OHG glosses, lists nearly thirty St. Gall manuscripts which contain OHG glosses that are accented. Many of these glosses, however, could have been copied from manuscripts produced elsewhere and hence may not represent a specifically St. Gall tradition.76 Nonetheless, Notker could very well have been influenced by the practice he saw in these manuscripts. Of these St. Gall manuscripts with accented glosses, eleven contain glosses by the hand of Ekkehard IV, with a total 75 For examples of the circumflex being used in other scriptoria in the 10th and 11th centuries see Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, pp. 60–61. 76 See Paul Sievers, Die Akzente, pp. 40–41 and Stefan Sonderegger, Althochdeutsch in St. Gallen (St. Gallen and Sigmaringen: Ostschweiz and Thorbecke, 1970), p. 54.
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of forty-four glossed words.77 In the case of Ekkehard’s glossing, we can be fairly certain that his additions are original contributions and that his spelling represents St. Gall practice. Ekkehard’s accents fall into five general categories with clearly practical functions:78 (1) ambiguous stress, such as, u´ nheil (MS 159), kel´uftˆen (MS 176) ces´otin (MS 393), first´unchin (MS 621), a´ naspracha (MS 621); (2) compounds, such as, pr´enisine (i.e., brennisarn; MS 159), t´obesuuam (MS 279), tr´uhtsazzo (MS 393), pr´uccebouma (MS 454); (3) long vowels, especially in flexional and derivational suffixes, such as, hˆosinˆınch (MS 621), f´arrˆıch (MS 454), gr´umm´ont (MS 102), sˆurˆet (MS 162), erˆonte (MS 393), keph´esˆon (MS 578), and in final open syllables heilˆo, uuillechomˆo, mˆalˆı, uu´erˆı (all in MS 621);79 (4) diphthongs, such as, zuuˆeivnga (MS 110), hˆeile (MS 159), o´vga (MS 159), t´eich (MS 245). Finally, (5) in several disyllabic words with a final open syllable with a short vowel, the short vowel in the first syllable is marked with an acute, such as ch´erno, sc´encho, and scr´ato (MS 393). Other tenth- and eleventh-century glosses in St. Gall manuscripts also have sporadically accented words, which fall into the same general categories as Ekkehard’s glossing:80 (1) gen´erit (MS 134), ces´amine (MS 183), ferh´engeda (MS 183), fersˆumedo (MS 183), gibr´eitiu (MS 183), ked´ıginero (MS 183), ketˆozen (MS 183), kezuu´ırnetemo (MS 219), zerzˆusotiu (MS 579), f´oregu´erida (MS 183); (2) frˆıgnoz (MS 215), c´otedehtigi (MS 820), m´agminna (MS 820), ´eigenbu´och (MS 871); (3) fˆırra (MS 136), kˆır (MS 136), saterˆot (MS 219), pˆınon (MS 579), ˆerhafti h´eizˆen (MS 820); (4) gibr´eitiu, mˆuot (MS 183), uuˆıo, uu´eite (MS 219); and (5) m´otto (MS 183), h´alto (MS 183). In the word uu´ılligiu (MS 183) the accent could have distinguished the consonantal value of the graphs .81 Two lines of glossing in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 557 closely follow the Notkerian guidelines and could possibly even stem from Notker’s own hand: “turch tia ermˆarida sˆınero cˆıto” and “t´az chˆıt sk´adoh´aft uu´ortene.”82 We also find a circumflex accent on an open syllable (as in the words heilˆo and uuillechomˆo above) in Notker’s texts. In Nc the following genitive plural forms occur: b´urgˆo, 77 St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 102, 110, 159, 162, 166, 245, 279, 393, 454, 578 and 621. There are, however, many additional manuscripts, glossed by Ekkehard, which do not contain accents; also not all of the words in the manuscripts listed here are marked with accents. 78 The references are all to manuscripts in St. Gall Stiftsbibliothek; all glosses are cited from Elias Steinmeyer and Eduard Sievers (eds.), Die althochdeutschen Glossen (Berlin: Weidmann, 1879) and verified in situ. 79 Treitler notes that the apex is found in many continental and insular manuscripts above monosyllabic words and final syllables with a long /i/, indicating that they are not to be pronounced with the first syllable of the following word (“Reading and Singing,” p. 141). 80 For examples, St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 134, 136, 183, 215, 219, 557, 579, 820, 871. 81 Gabriel calls this type of accent that distinguishes graphs “phonetic.” The Latin practice discussed above of marking the vowel immediately following a semi-vowel could also fall into this group. In the Reichenauer Beichte and the W¨urzburger Markbeschreibungen, an accent on the OHG word i´oh is common (Die Entwicklung, pp. 60–61). 82 See also Ulrike Thies, Die volkssprachige Glossierung der “Vita Martini” des Sulpicius Severus (G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1994), pp. 476–477.
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dˆıetˆo, liutˆo, a´ hˆo, gask´eftˆo, nahtˆo, and st´etˆo. In Nk we find teˆılˆo (hand A 303, 53) and the adverbs o´ftˆo (B 100, 3 and 100, 6 and A 329, 19 and 329, 21) and st´ıllˆo (B 50, 22). Forms with a circumflex on a final are particularly numerous (such as l´ugˆı [six occurrences in Ni next to one occurrence of l´ug´ı, 37 occurrences of l´ugi and 3 occurrences of lugi], l´ukkˆı [Ni 240, 15], grˆauuˆı [Ni 182, 19 and 182, 24], crauuˆı [Ni 185, 17] sl´ımbˆı [NkB 103, 10 and A 311, 18], chr´umbˆı [NkB 103, 10 and A 331, 17], bl´ındˆı [NkA 336, 22 and 336, 25], etc.). Clearly many of the accents on both Latin and OHG words served a very practical function and aided students in the correct pronunciation of the words. Several Old English (OE) manuscripts, particularly those dating from the tenth century, also contain accents, which have an apparently practical purpose.83 In his study based largely on Bald’s Leechbook in London, British Library, MS Royal 12 D. XVII, Lorenz Schmitt demonstrated that accents not only mark vowel length, but also pave the reader’s way through other textual difficulties, in other words, they are a type of “pathfinder” added by teachers.84 In concluding, Schmitt lists six general functions for the accents: (1) they mark stress (sentence, verse and word stress); (2) they mark vowel quantity in the case of long vowels; (3) they mark vowel quality in the case of short vowels; (4) they distinguish the two vowels of a diphthong; (5) they distinguish monosyllabic words which are often connected to a following or preceding word and could hence be misinterpreted. In a sixth category, accentuation has a graphic function with four sub-groups: (a) accents distinguish minims, especially in the case of and ; (b) they are used to mark dieresis especially in foreign words; (c) they mark word division at the end of a line; (d) they note abbreviations and other omitted letters. Many of the functions overlap with St. Gall practices demonstrated above, and represent a paratextual commentary that is used sporadically and on problematic words, much like accentuation in medieval Latin manuscripts.
a c c e n t u s a p p l i e d to re a d i n g in n ot ker’s t exts Notker’s use of accents was no doubt influenced by accent marks found in Latin and perhaps some vernacular manuscripts at St. Gall. The major difference, however, is that Notker transformed what was an occasional practice into a system, in 83 William H. Hulme, “Quantity Marks in Old-English Manuscripts,” MLN 11.1 (1896), pp. 9–12. See also N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Clarendon, 1957), p. xxxiii, and D. G. Scragg, “Accent Marks in the Vercelli Book,” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 72 (1971), pp. 699–710. 84 Lorenz Schmitt, “Die Akzente in altenglischen Handschriften mit Ber¨ucksichtigung der Akzente im Lateinischen und Althochdeutschen,” PhD thesis, University of Bonn, 1907, pp. 3 and 13. See ¨ also Keller, “Uber die Akzente,” pp. 111–118.
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which nearly all OHG words were to be accented. The extent to which the system was actually applied, though, varies. In effect, the theory behind Notker’s accentuation was only as good as it proved practical and applicable to both lectores and scribes, and those aspects which were overly complicated or seemed superfluous were eventually struck out or fell into disuse. Certain aspects of Notker’s system of accents are very consistent in all of the extant manuscripts, and seem to have found general acceptance in the St. Gall school and scriptorium. This is certainly the case regarding the accentuation of monophthongs with primary stress in nouns, adjectives and most verbs and adverbs. Accents were especially important in Notker’s texts, in which OHG and Latin are interspersed – often in the same sentence – and were not distinguished by means of script, rubrication or other visual means, such as a different grade of script or dipl´e (see plate 6). The presence of accents signalled to the lector that the language was reverting to OHG and allowed him to react accordingly. In Notker’s texts, many of the OHG words were new to the students, since Notker had recently coined them to signify new concepts. A term like bez´eichenn´ıssida, “nota, significatio,” was probably not used on an everyday basis in rural Switzerland and its pronunciation would have posed problems with its unstressed prefix, diphthong and six syllables, one of which received primary and another secondary stress. The acute accents warned students not to stress the first but the second syllable; to recognize the sequence of graphs <e> + as a diphthong; and to give the fourth syllable a secondary stress so that the latter part of the word was pronounced and heard clearly. The placing of accents on diphthongs was very practical and aided students in visual recognition and pronunciation, such as the distinction between the adverb zˆuo “to” and the numeral zuˆo “two.”85 In the tenth-century Reichenauer Beichte, diphthongs are often marked with an acute (such as ur´ouun [332, 1], h´eilege [332, 9], gir´einit [332, 18], mu´ader [332, 24] and th´ıe [332, 27]), and several OHG glosses from St. Gall also exhibit the practice.86 Notker’s choice of using two different symbols on the digraphs, and of distinguishing from , was obviously problematic and difficult for scribes to keep straight. The first scribe of the Nc text confuses the two accents on diphthongs, often uses the circumflex for the acute and vice versa, or places the accent on the second element of the diphthong (such as, ˆei or eˆı for ´ei and oˆu for o´u).87 Similar mistakes are found in the other texts as well, but it is interesting that in many of the “incorrect” 85 The spelling of the numeral, however, is often confused in the preserved texts. In Ni, for example, “two” is written correctly zuˆo nine times, but eight times it is written zˆuo (157, 16; 189, 16; 193, 6 and 16; 218, 10; 220, 14; 220, 21; 220, 27); it is also written another three times without an accent (192, 25; 200, 02; 200, 11). In Nk, the numeral appears three times and in each case it is written zˆuo in the B copy of the text (43, 25; 45, 16; 49, 11); in the A copy, it is also written zˆuo in all three occurrences. Furthermore, the adverb “to” is once written zuˆo (311, 40)! 86 Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, p. 74. 87 Ibid., p. 68.
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Plate 6. Graphic performance markers in Notker’s translation/commentary of Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii (Nc 154, 2ff.). St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 872, p. 154.
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forms, the diphthong is nevertheless marked. Clearly it was not this aspect of the practice that bothered scribes, but rather what symbol to use and exactly where to put it. In the now lost Vadian copy of Notker’s Psalter printed in Goldast’s edition, the rising diphthongs /ou/, /ei/ and /iu/ are marked either with an acute or a circumflex accent (whereas the falling diphthongs have only a circumflex).88 In the St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 21 copy from the twelfth century, all diphthongs are marked with a circumflex, and <eˆı> and are marked on the second element.89 Two aspects of Notker’s accentuation were particularly problematic: (1) secondary stress in flexional and to a lesser extent morphological endings; and (2) those parts of speech which Audax and other Latin grammarians refer to as “appendages,” such as pronouns, articles, prepositions and some conjunctions and adverbs. Secondary stress is marked far less consistently than primary stress in the Notker manuscripts. The frequent variation of the graphs or <e> or and <e> in final and even penultimate syllables demonstrates that these were in fact unstressed and as a result weakened. Long vowels in secondary syllables are marked with a circumflex, and although spelling here does not fluctuate, the accentuation is often left off, perhaps due to a shortening of the vowel in actual speech. During classroom lectio, Notker may have insisted that his students pronounce the endings of all words clearly. Students would be asked to read carefully from the written text and to reproduce the correct full form instead of relying on their “Sprachgef¨uhl.” In reality, and as seen in the mistakes made in copying, actual usage fought against this practice, as practical as it was for classroom declamation. As a result, stress and vowel length in these syllables are accented far less consistently. The practice may also have appeared superfluous and eventually fallen out of use, since it deviates from Latin and Greek practice. In the Wroc aw, Ebersberg and Vatican copies of Williram’s paraphrase of the Song of Songs, written some hundred years after Notker, accents are only sporadically found on secondary stress in compounds and flexional endings.90 In Schmitt’s fifth category, accentuation serves to aid the reader in determining word separation in manuscripts with irregular spacing. A similar practice was used in Latin manuscripts from St. Gall. In the example cited above from St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 159, ab´eomissus “sent by him,” the three elements ab + eo + missus flow together in the manuscript. Placing an accent on eo clearly distinguishes the pronoun, which could otherwise be confused with an ending, and in this case particularly with the verbal form a´ beo “to go away, depart.” Accentuation is not used in this function in Notker’s manuscripts, because the extant texts are copies and the accents in them were to a large extent already an integral part 88 Ibid., p. 81
89 Ibid., p. 72.
90 Ibid., p. 84.
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of the exemplar, not something added by a later corrector or scribe. Whether the original texts used accentuation in this function remains unknown. On the other hand, word separation in manuscripts may have influenced accentuation and reading patterns. Medieval readers often perceived word and phrase unity differently from the way we do today. Compounds serve as a good example. The compound ferst´antn´ıssedo occurs four times in Notker’s works and three of the occurrences are written by scribe B1: ferst´ant+nisseda (NkB 65, 25; f´erstant+n´ısseda NkA 310, 19), fer+st´antn´ıssedo (NkB 65, 20; ferst´ant+n´ıssedo NkA 310, 13), and ferst´ant+n´ıssedo (NkB 66, 3; ferst´ant+n´ıssedo NkA 310, 24) and uer+st´ant+nisseda (NkB 79, 17 written by B2; u´erst´antn´ısseda NkA 318, 14). Although the word actually appears written together only once in eight occurrences, editors choose this as the base form.91 Conversely, what we perceive to be individual words, such as a preposition and the noun it governs or a pronoun and the verb it governs, may have been conceived of as one unit in the Middle Ages. The negative particle ne is almost always written together with the word that follows it in Notker’s texts, as are often the prepositions an, in and ze. The other problematic words such as pronouns, articles and short adverbs are usually written separately from the word they follow, but they were not stressed as much because of their low semantic content. Even though they are grammatically necessary in OHG, they are nonetheless very much like the “appendages” referred to by Audax above. Only when they stand at the head of a sentence are they fairly consistently accented.92 Another reason for the desultory accentuation on these words may simply be their high frequency, in other words the more they were written the greater the possibility of writing them incorrectly. On the other hand, because they occur so frequently, they may have been familiar enough and not required accentuation. In other words, the commentary was no longer necessary, because pupils were familiar with the words. When seen from this perspective, the accent marks in Notker’s texts are much like vowel points used in Hebrew texts read by young pupils. After the students learn to read fluently, the crib is removed and they must provide the vowels.93 Within the medieval framework of grammatica, the correct vocal realization of a text – including syntactical analysis and accentuation – fell under the rubric of lectio and was facilitated by means of graphic and diacritical marks such as punctuation and accents. The practice is clear in Latin texts. In St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 159 cited above, a later hand has carefully emended and corrected spelling errors and incorrect readings in the texts; he adds accents, however, only sporadically and then on especially difficult words and would never have dreamed of accenting all the 91 Edward Sehrt and Wolfram Legner, Notker-Wortschatz (Halle: Niemeyer, 1955), p. 52. 92 The same practice is followed in the tenth-century Reichenauer Beichte, where one finds ´ıh with an acute sentence- and/or clause-initially (Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, p. 60). 93 Cf. Ong, Orality and Literacy, p. 89.
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Latin words. When seen as a diacritical apparatus intended to guide students in the oral declamation of OHG, Notker’s system of accents is much like the other forms of explanatory material he provides, such as lexical, grammatical and syntactical commentary. In the previous chapter, I demonstrated that Notker often rearranged the Latin syntax of his texts according to a variant of a medieval parsing technique called the ordo naturalis. However, he did not follow the ordo naturalis slavishly, nor did he so rearrange all passages. In a similar vein, accents in Notker’s works are not always applied systematically and at times even appear sporadic. But perhaps this is precisely what we should expect. Although Notker’s use of accents is clearly a type of commentary, one cannot deny that it is used far more extensively and consistently than in Latin manuscripts and other OHG texts from St. Gall and elsewhere. Although they served an important function in lectio, the accent marks also appear to have a graphemic function in distinguishing long and short vowels. Since there were no graphs available in the Latin alphabet to distinguish vowel quantity, scribes had to be creative in adapting the foreign system to their native tongue. That long and short vowels could be marked, was known from Greek practice, in which different graphemes are used. The most common practice in OHG, in addition to doubling the graph, was to use diacritics.94 In sum, Notker’s system is a combination of lectio and orthography. It is precisely the graphemic function which seems to have held up best and even been extended to forms like t´eilˆo, l´ugˆı, and others with a natural lengthening of the vowel in an open syllable, although this was unstressed. Other anomalous spellings in Notker’s texts such as z´u, s´o, dr´ı, n´ah, and t´ar, with an acute where we would expect a circumflex, could be explained by a leveling of the system. In these monosyllabic words the question of stress was moot, and the acute served to mark the vowel length. We must remember that, if Notker had an orthographic standard in mind, it would have been difficult to put into effect, since there was no precedence for it nor a measure which could be applied to ensure its stability.95 Unlike Latin, which had rules and a standard for emendatio in numerous texts, at St. Gall only Notker’s texts served this function. Notker’s use of accents is relatively consistent, but nevertheless gaps remain in the system, which are often filled in by industrious editors. It is inconceivable that an editor of a Latin text glossed with OHG or OE words would fill in vernacular equivalents for words left unglossed. Why then have editors insisted on regulating Notker’s accents? Many of the emendations made or suggested are 94 Elisabeth Feldbusch, Geschriebene Sprache. Untersuchungen zu ihrer Herausbildung und Grundlegung ihrer Theorie (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1985), p. 305. In the spelling of names in the St. Gall “Vorakten,” digraphs are often used to mark long vowels, e.g., Huunpert, Padgeer, Geerfried, Uuolfcoozreuti, Otmaar and Ootpold (Gabriel, Die Entwicklung, p. 60). 95 The same arguments could be made for the use and graphic representation of Notker’s “Anlautgesetz.”
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Accentus
radically different from the manuscript readings and represent far more than just fine tuning. Instead of “correcting” the accents according to what are often convoluted rules and trying to systematize them, we need to accept them for what they are. Notker was not a field linguist, transcribing phonetically the speech of OHG speakers, and only once we finally discard this structuralist image will we progress in our understanding of Notker’s language and his intent. Studies based on diplomatic editions need to be made of texts other than Nb and of entire texts, not just those parts which are accented consistently. Carr, in one of the few studies of Notker’s accents outside Nb, set out to analyze the marks in Ni and Nk, but glossed over much of the evidence when it did not fit neatly into the “system.” He included statistics from Ni, which he felt to be a more faulty text than Nk, only when there was doubt about an accentuation “principle” or when a “principle” determined for Nk differed in any way from the rules devised by Fleischer for the first two books of Nb.96 In addition, his analysis of Ni was based only on the first three books (through p. 186, 5), since the accents become very scanty in book IV. Although he excluded the last two books, Carr did not distinguish between the various scribal hands, stating at the beginning of his study that variation in the use of accents does not coincide with changes in scribes.97 Finally, NkA, which is preserved only partially, was included only when NkB did not correspond with the rules. Sonderegger has suggested that Notker conceived of a supra-regional variant, at least with respect to orthography, and that he strove to implement it at St. Gall.98 Sonderegger may be right in assuming that Notker conceived of an orthographic system for his OHG, and maybe even that he hoped to make his native tongue accessible to brethren in other monastic institutions, including Bishop Hugo of Sion, whom he hoped to introduce to his work. Another goal of Notker the litteratus may have been to make OHG correspond better to the model of latinitas. Just as Otfrid dreamed that his Franconian would one day better conform to the rules of proper speech and writing, so too Notker hoped that his native Alemannic would soon be “tamed” and that his use of it in the classroom accepted. In order for this to happen, students had to learn and pronounce the correct forms, which in turn was achieved with the help of a fairly consistent orthography and diacritical marks such as accents. In stressing the functional aspects of Notker’s accentuation, I in no way mean to detract from the linguistic significance of the marks, or from Notker’s ingenuity and phonetic acumen in using them. Sonderegger has argued that Notker based his written OHG on the spoken language as he actually heard it, and stresses the 96 Carr, “Notker’s Accentuation,” p. 187. 97 Ibid., p. 85, fn. 1. 98 Sonderegger, “Gesprochene Sprache,” p. 87.
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fact that Notker’s language is a graphic representation of the spoken word during his time.99 Since there were no grammars of German per se available, and the written tradition was recent and erratic at best, it is logical that the language as actually spoken in St. Gall influenced Notker to a large degree when he sat down to record it. But, this is not the only reason that Notker’s texts smack of “orality.” The written word, based on the spoken language, was meant to be re-vocalized. Although the St. Gall monastery was a center of learning and literacy in the tenth century, the spoken word still ruled within its walls, not only in conversation, but also in communal and private reading – in church, in the chapter house and in the classroom. 99 Ibid., p. 73.
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Fundum sapientiæ secularis quid est? Fundamentum sapientiae littera est.1
w ri t i n g g e rma n The German orthography used in Notker’s translation/commentaries and some of his shorter treatises is remarkably systematic when compared with that of other Old High German texts and glosses dating from the same or earlier periods. Unlike Latin, which was bound by the codes of latinitas and for which several orthographic treatises were in circulation, written German had no established spelling tradition. Matters were complicated by the fact that there was no one standard form of the language. OHG consisted of numerous spoken dialects, each with its own phonological, morphological and lexical characteristics, and scribes in the various scriptoria transcribed the language as best they could using the Latin alphabet as a basis – an act that Ernst Hellgardt points out could be “downright violent.”2 The word for “brother,” for example, appears in early German manuscripts as: bruoder, pruoder, bruodher, brothar, bruader, bruather, proder, pruader and pruadar.3 Tendencies to regularize German orthography can be seen in the OHG Isidore group 1 From an anonymous treatise Interrogatio de litteris preserved in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 877, p. 67, 15–16. On p. 74 of the same text, a late tenth-century hand has written in brownish-orange ink: “deus adiuua mihi famulo tuo Notkero.” 2 Hellgardt points out that the difficulty of translating from Latin into the vernacular is underscored by the use of the verb betwingen “to overcome, to tame, to conquer” to refer to the process ( “Zur Mehrsprachigkeit,” p. 5); cf. Dieter Kartschoke, “In die latine bedwungin. Kommunikationsprobleme ¨ im Mittelalter und die Ubersetzung der ‘Chanson de Roland’ durch den Pfaffen Kontrad,” PBB 111 (1989), pp. 196–209. On the development of writing in the medieval German-speaking areas, see Elizabeth Feldbusch, Geschriebene Sprache. 3 Althochdeutsches W¨orterbuch, ed. Elisabeth Karg Gasterst¨adt and Theodor Frings, pt. 19 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1967), pp. 1444–1449, and Althochdeutsches W¨orterbuch, ed. R. Sch¨utzeichel, 3rd edn. (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1981), p. 22.
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of texts, in the Tatian and in Otfrid’s Evangelienbuch.4 It is doubtful, however, that Notker was aware of many of these works if any, since they had been written over a hundred years earlier and in scriptoria far removed from St. Gall.5 The orthography of some OHG glosses and proper names from St. Gall exhibit the crude beginnings of characteristics found in Notker’s own spelling, but these are applied in the vernacular only sporadically.6 Providing a vernacular equivalent for a Latin lexeme, or even joining strings of such equivalents in the form of interlinear glossing was a far cry from writing German in complete sentences and paragraphs. Examples of just how erratic German spelling could be are found in several late ninth- and/or early tenth-century St. Gall manuscripts. A curious love verse written in a late ninth-century hand on the first page of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 105 reads: “. . . ueru. taz. ist. spiz. taz santa tir tin fredel ce minnon.”7 On p. 352 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 111, another contemporary hand has written a short verse following the common scribal probatio pennae: a adnexique globum zephiri freta kanna secabat sodiz repochchilifliet so plecchet imo tir ars.8
A few lines earlier on the same page a scribe has written: soizregenot sonazscent te bo˜u<ma>exmore docti mistico serui soizuuath souuagonttebomma et innenarrabilitudinitatibus ar 4 On the Isidore group, see most recently Elke Krotz, Auf den Spuren des althochdeutschen Isidor (Heidelberg: Winter, 2002), Klaus Matzel, “Althochdeutscher Isidor und Monsee-Wiener Fragmente,” in Kurt Ruh et al. (eds.), Die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters. Verfasserlexikon, 1, 2nd edn. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1979), pp. 296–303, idem, “Das Problem der karlingischen Hofsprache,” in Ursula Hennig and Herbert Kolb (eds.), Mediaevalia litteraria. Festschrift f¨ur Helmut de Boor zum 80. Geburtstag (Munich: Beck, 1971), pp. 15–31, Feldbusch, Geschriebene Sprache, pp. 177–178, and further references provided there. The spelling in the Tatian text is discussed by Achim Masser in idem (ed.), Die lateinisch–althochdeutsche Tatianbilingue des Cod. Sang. 56 (G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1996). On Ofrid’s text see Hartmut G¨unther, “Probleme beim Verschriften der Muttersprache. Otfrid von Weissenburg und die lingua theotisca,” Lili 59 (1985), pp. 36–54. 5 Ekkehard Feist argues that Notker was familiar with the Tatian translation (“Der religi¨ose Wortschatz ¨ der althochdeutschen Tatian-Ubersetzung in seiner Abh¨angigkeit vom Latein der Vorlage,” PhD thesis, University of Freiburg, 1953, pp. 178–179). The Tatian, however, is transmitted in an East Franconian dialect and the spelling is markedly different from Notker’s. 6 Friedrich Wilkens, Zum hochalemannischen Konsonantismus der althochdeutschen Zeit (Leipzig: Fock, 1891), pp. 20–39. 7 “That is a spear; your lover sent it to you for loving.” Cf. Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 40, and Heinrich Hattemer (ed.), Denkmahle des Mittelalters, St. Gallen’s altteutsche Sprachsch¨atze, I (St. Gallen: Scheitlin and Zolikofer, 1844), pp. 319–320. For an interesting discussion of the meaning of the lines, see Cyril Edwards, “The Beginnings of German Lyric,” The Beginnings of German Literature: Comparative and Interdisciplinary Approaches to Old High German (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2002), pp. 127–128. 8 “When the roe-buck flees, his white bum flashes.” On dating, see Bruckner, Scriptoria Medii Aevi Helvetica, 3, p. 69: “Mitte bis Ende des 9. Jh”; cf. Scherrer Verzeichniss, p. 42, and L. M. de Rijk, “On the Curriculum,” p. 55. Hattemer cleans up the text to read “so diz rehpochchili fliet so plecchet imo ter ars” (Denkmahle des Mittelalters, I, p. 410).
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The two OHG phrases embedded in Latin here will later show up in Notker’s De partibus logicae in Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.121 as: “Sˆoz r´egenˆot s´on´az zˆent tˆı bˆouma. Sˆo iz uuˆat s´o uu´agˆot ´ız.”9 A tenth- or eleventh-century hand on p. 303 (actually 203) of St. Gall 877 writes: “dei sanch dei iuuuenni mit pluontemo flizzi teta” as a gloss for the first lines of Boethius’ De consolatione Philosophiae, “Carmina qui quandam studio florente peregi.”10 The OHG translation in Notker’s text in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825 reads: “´Ih-tir eˆr t´eta frˆolich´ıv s´ang.”11 What a difference between the two, not only with respect to spelling but to style. Other pre-Notkerian examples of OHG in the St. Gall scriptorium have an equally irregular orthography.12 In some cases the spelling reflects non-Alemannic provenance and suggests that the texts were copied from a foreign exemplar. In other cases, though, the linguistic forms point to the Alemannic area and a local genesis. In the example from St. Gall 111 we are probably dealing with a pupil’s hand, as errors and inconsistent word division in the Latin would suggest. Nonetheless, something clearly happened in St. Gall with respect to writing OHG between the late ninth/early tenth century and the turn of the millennium. The vernacular, like Latin, had to some extent become a visual language as the fairly regular orthography and word division of Notker’s texts testify. Not only are supra-segmental stress and vowel quantity marked by acute and circumflex accents, as discussed in the previous chapter, but words are spelled consistently. In fact, nowhere is OHG spelling applied as uniformly as in Notker’s works. It is thus not surprising that scholars have been amazed at his accomplishment. We read praise of Notker’s careful attempt to do justice to the spoken language in writing and of his thorough phonetic observation of German; Notker’s works are seen to demonstrate fine subtleties of the German language that no other author had even considered.13 Amidst all the praise, one important question has been overlooked: why did Notker go to such efforts? Many scholars have simply assumed that Notker had 9 “When it rains, the trees get wet; when it sways, then it moves” (NkS 194, 4–5). 10 Boethius, De consolatione, ed. Bieler, I, 1. The gloss is difficult to date, also because the scribe appears fairly inexperienced. Steinmeyer/Sievers suggest the eleventh century, presumably also because they equate the line with Notker’s Nb (Ahd Glossen, 4, no. 215, pp. 454–455). Steinmeyer/Sievers date the majority of St. Gall 877 in the tenth century, Scherrer in the ninth (Verzeichniss, p. 305). 11 Nb I, 6, 14–15. 12 See the glosses listed in Hattemer, Denkmahle, vol. I; Paul Piper, “Aus Sanct Galler Handschriften III,” ZfdPh 13 (1882), pp. 305–337, and idem, “Schluß,” pp. 445–479; and Die althochdeutschen Glossen, ed. Elias Steinmeyer and Eduard Sievers, 5 vols. (Berlin: Weidmann, 1879). 13 See, for example, A. Heusler, Der alemannische Consonantismus in der Mundart von Baselstadt (Strassburg: Tr¨ubner, 1888), §32, Ernst Martin, Geschichte der deutschen Litteratur, 2nd edn. (Basel: Schweighaus, 1879), p. 104; A. Bach, Geschichte der deutschen Sprache (Heidelberg: Quelle and Meyer, 1949), §79, Israel Weinberg, Zu Notkers Anlautgesetz (T¨ubingen: Mohr, 1911), p. 16, Willhelm Braune, Althochdeutsche Grammatik, ed. Hans Eggers, 14th edn. (T¨ubingen: Niemeyer, 1987), §103, n. 1. Friedrich Vogt and Max Koch go so far as to say that Notker’s spelling is the best in medieval German literature in general (Geschichte der deutschen Literatur, 1 [Leipzig/Vienna: Bibliographisches Institut, 1897], p. 58).
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an extremely good, almost linguistically trained ear and that he recorded what he heard as precisely as possible. Notker, however, was not a field linguist carrying out a phonological analysis of the speech of his fellow Alemanni, he was a teacher and compiler of school texts. His spelling was not intended to be a descriptive transcript of medieval German, but a prescriptive “score” for classroom reading. Furthermore, Notker did not record his texts naively without considering the ramifications. The comments he makes about accentuation in his letter to Bishop Hugo clearly demonstrate that he was concerned with the manner in which his mother tongue was recorded and pronounced. In this chapter I shall demonstrate that Notker’s primary goal in devising a consistent German spelling was to guide students and others in reading and pronouncing German correctly. In order to create an orthography that met the lectio needs of his audience, Notker appropriated not only the letters of the Latin alphabet but also some of the general theories of grammatica and models of orthographia current in his day. I will restrict my analysis to the one phenomenon that has particularly fascinated linguists, namely, Notker’s “Anlautgesetz.” n ot k e r’s “a n l a u t g e s e t z ” Notker’s “Anlautgesetz” or “Law of initial consonants” is generally defined as follows:14 the graphs , (< Gmc. /θ/), and alternate with the graphs , and at the beginnings of words and of morphemes within words. , and are found: 1. at the beginning of a sentence or after a pause 2. within a sentence when the immediately preceding word ends in a voiceless sound (represented by the graphs
, , , , , , , , , , , , <s>). The graphs and , on the other hand, are found when the immediately preceding word ends in a lenes/voiced sound, which in Notker’s language includes only the sonorants (e.g., vowels, nasals and liquids). Although the alternation affects only German words, it can be caused by the preceding sound of both Latin and German words. The graphs , / are also found to alternate within the guidelines prescribed above, but the alternation is far less consistent. appears after sonorants and non-sonorants; the allographs and usually appear only after sonorants. An additional alternation related to Notker’s 14 Braune, Althochdeutsche Grammatik, §103 and Anm. 3, Josef Schatz, Althochdeutsche Grammatik (G¨ottingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1927), §148, Adolf Holtzmann, Altdeutsche Grammatik, 1 (Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1870), p. 341, and Herbert Penzl, “Zur Erkl¨arung von Notkers Anlautgesetz,” ZfdA 86 (1955/56), pp. 197–200.
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“Anlautgesetz” is the occasional shift of (< Gmc. /d/) > /nasal.15 Some classic examples of the “Anlautgesetz” are: Ter brˆuoder u´ nde des prˆuoder; tes k´olde u´ nde demo g´olde; ´ein bilde, misseliches p´ıldes; u´ mbegˆat, uˆ fkˆat; ih f´ahe, tu v´ahest, ku´ıssero u´ nde u´ ngu´ıssero.16 It is usually assumed that, because the alternation cannot be described in terms of orthographic environments, but only in terms of phonological environments – whether or not a voiced or voiceless sound precedes it – it must reflect a phonological alternation of positional variants.17 Hence, one can speak of a complementary distribution of (/) = () word initially. The next question, naturally, is what phonetic and phonemic realities do these graphs represent: are they phonemes or allophones; do they represent a fortis = lenis opposition or a voiced stop = voiceless stop opposition; are the “underlying” graphs , , , (/) or , , ()? Scholars in the nineteenth century, before the birth of structural linguistics, concerned themselves only with the latter two questions. Jacob Grimm first described the “Anlautgesetz” in his Deutsche Grammatik and later in his Geschichte der deutschen Sprache.18 Grimm concluded that the original sounds must be /b, d, g/, since /t/ < Gmc. /d/ does not alternate. But the occurrence of /p, t, k/ after a pause (sentence initially and within a sentence) was problematic. This usage seemed to imply that /p, t, k/ were the normal values, which appeared so when left in an isolated position, but which were “softened” when placed in a voiced environment. Either explanation seemed possible, and each was supported by scholars for various reasons until the end of the nineteenth century.19 Whether the sounds in question were voiced and voiceless stops, or fortis and lenis sounds did not pose any problems for the early philologists. This point was provoked by the numerous dialect studies that appeared at the end of the nineteenth century. Andreas Heusler, in a study of the Basel city dialect, showed that the modern dialect did not have voiced stops, only voiceless fortis and lenis.20 He further pointed out that when two voiceless sounds appear together, they are articulated with an intensity stronger than that of the 15 This alternation is generally referred to as “Jellinek’s Rule,” after M. H. Jellinek, “Zu Notkers Anlautgesetz,” ZfdA 41 (1896), pp. 84–87. Sehrt and Starck rejected Jellinek’s rule and adopted Braune’s theory that the occurrences of for ( voiceless fortis was impossible.21 Baesecke pointed out that /b, d, g/ must be voiceless lenis in Notker’s dialect because all /b, d, g/ occurring after them appear as /p, t, k/. Hence, they must be distinguished from the voiced sounds – vowels and sonorants – after which /b, d, g/ occur.22 Twentieth-century structuralist linguists were more concerned with the phonemic rather than the phonetic reality of the alternation, in other words, whether the alternating graphs represent phonemes or allophones. The first linguist to tackle this problem was Herbert Penzl, who pointed out a fundamental paradox involved in the “Anlautgesetz”: Notker seems to have distinguished relatively unimportant allophonic contrasts, while at the same time ignoring important phonemic contrasts. So, for example, Notker uses the graph for both /f/ and /pf/ word initially, and the graph can stand for both /s/ and /ts/ (< Gmc. /t/).23 Penzl solved the problem by maintaining that Notker’s Latin–German bilingualism influenced his understanding of phonetics to such an extent that he ceased to be a na¨ıve speaker. Because of his familiarity with two phonemic systems, Notker was sensitive to the fact that the graphs / he wrote in German were not voiced as the / he wrote in Latin, but also not identical to the
he wrote in both Latin and German. Their phonetic reality lay somewhere in between. Having realized the difference, Notker understood that the variant forms he heard were environmentally determined and he indicated the fact through his “Anlautgesetz.”24 Penzl compared Notker’s “Anlautgesetz” to modern Swiss dialects, in which an alternation of fortis and lenis allophones word-initially occurs only in stressed morphemes and close juncture (between syllables, contraction of prefixes, and assimilation of “form words,” e.g. “wie pist” < “wie du bist”). It does not usually occur between words. He concluded that in Notker’s system the alternation was not based on factors such as stress and type of juncture, and that Notker must have generalized.25 W. Moulton disagreed with Penzl’s hypothesis based on the theory of Notker’s bilingualism. He suggested that Notker probably spoke Latin with a “dreadful” 21 Cf. ibid., p. 366. 22 Georg Baesecke, Einf¨uhrung in das Althochdeutsche (Munich: Beck, 1918), §59. 23 Penzl, “Zu Notkers Anlautgesetz,” p. 205. That Notker did not distinguish the phonemes /pf/ and /ts/ with different graphs could be explained by the fact that corresponding graphs were not available in the Latin alphabet. 24 Ibid., pp. 207–209. 25 “Die Regelm¨aßigkeit seines Anlautswechsels an sich zeigt, daß Notker verallgemeinert und schematisiert haben muß. Es lag in seiner Art zu regeln und zu normalisieren” (ibid., p. 209).
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Swiss accent and that it was unlikely that he was acquainted with two distinct phonemic systems.26 Instead, Moulton argued that the graphic opposition , , / =
, was used elsewhere in Notker’s language to symbolize a phonological opposition lenis = fortis, i.e., /b/, /d/, /g/ /v/ and /p/, /t/, /k/ /f/ represent phonemes in word medial and final position. Notker simply adopted the same graphic opposition in word-initial position, even though here it was not phonemically relevant.27 Moulton claims that Notker behaved like a taxonomic phonemist, and when he applied the “Anlautgesetz,” he was writing in “surface forms.”28 In those syntagmatic positions where the opposition lenis = fortis was operative (following voiced sounds) Notker wrote for lenis phonemes and for fortis phonemes. In syntagmatic positions where the opposition lenis = fortis was suspended (after voiceless sounds and after a pause) he wrote .29 Had Notker behaved like a generative phonologist, he would have written in these positions.30 Moulton further notes that a writing system which symbolizes surface forms is not so rare, and he refers to examples from MHG, in which Auslautverh¨artung is commonly represented orthographically, e.g., greber “graves” but grap “grave,” reder “wheels” but rat “wheel,” tage “days” but tac “day.”31 A more recent study of the “Anlautgesetz” by Stephan Clausing takes a new approach to the problem. Clausing attempts to prove that Notker’s law was not an isolated dialect occurrence, but that it represents a widespread manifestation of allophonic variants present in the /b d g/ series during the OHG period.32 The presence of these variants is clearly recorded in Bavarian and Alemannic documents from the ninth up until the twelfth centuries. Clausing argues that the shift of /b/, /d/, /g/ > /p/, /t/, /k/ occurring in the Second Sound Shift was not yet complete in the OHG period. Because the sounds remained in an unstable state, environmentally conditioned allophones were present, and it was these allophones that showed up in Notker’s “Anlautgesetz.”33 What the exact phonetic values of the sounds involved in the “Anlautgesetz” were, and whether Notker was acting as a taxonomic phonemicist, a generative phonologist or simply had a good, bilingually trained ear, is still open to debate. In the remainder of this chapter I hope to shed some light on the “Anlautgesetz” and Notker’s spelling in general by approaching the problem from a different 26 William G. Moulton, “Notker’s ‘Anlautgesetz’,” in Irmengard Rauch and Gerald F. Carr (eds.), Linguistic Method: Essays in Honor of Herbert Penzel (The Hague: Mouton, 1979), p. 243. 27 Ibid., p. 243. 28 Ibid., p. 247. 29 Ibid., p. 250. 30 Ibid., p. 247. 31 Ibid., p. 248. 32 Clausing, “Notker’s Anlautgesetz,” p. 377. 33 Ibid., p. 372. One criticism of Clausing’s theory, of course, is that /t/ < Gmc. /d/ alternates only following nasals (cf. Jellinek’s law), and that it is /d/ < Gmc. /θ/ which is included in the “Anlautgesetz.” Clausing solves the dilemma by suggesting that the coexistence of the two dentals confused native speakers, and that they, like Notker, simply substituted the wrong dental.
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angle, namely, that of text reception as defined by the framework of medieval linguistics, the ars grammatica and its subdivision lectio. In other words, how does the “Anlautgesetz” reflect the methodological and prescriptive practices of medieval orthographia and what was its pragmatic function for classroom reading? In previous chapters I have demonstrated that Notker did not work in a vacuum, but that he was a member of and trained within the context of Latin written and spoken culture. Other graphic aspects of his texts such as punctuation and accentuation are rooted in medieval grammatical practices and represent commentary aimed at facilitating lexical access, comprehension and correct oral performance. If OHG was to be read in class and studied, it, like the Latin text it accompanied, needed to meet the basic prerequisites of grammatica. Variations in spelling, like those for the word “brother” listed above, would have appeared haphazard, unsystematic and ungrammatical to a litteratus like Notker, and been confusing to readers and obstructed the reading process. Notker attempted to solve the problem by regulating the spelling in his texts in order to ensure orthographical consistency and oral fluency. In the case of the word “brother,” Notker fixed the vowel of the stem and that of the ending <er>. For the initial stop, however, he opted for a phonologically shallow orthography and retained both
and depending upon the preceding sound. Thus in Notker’s texts we find temo brˆuoder but t´es prˆuoders. In some ways, Notker’s orthography is contradictory: on the one hand, normalized forms facilitate lexical recognition of words for the reader and make writing easier for the scribe; on the other hand, phonologically shallow forms such as those reflected by the “Anlautgesetz” facilitate pronunciation and aural comprehension. At the same time, however, the lack of morphophonemic variation could obscure lexical access, slow down reading, and make writing more difficult. As Moulton pointed out, sometimes Notker wrote “surface forms” as in the case of the “Anlautgesetz,” but other times he wrote underlying forms. Why did Notker not opt for one principle or the other? Why did he restrict his “phonic” spelling to stops, and then only in word-initial position? Why is there in Notker’s spelling no consistent “Auslautgesetz,” like that found in Middle High German texts? Word-final stops were almost certainly devoiced, since within the context of the “Anlautgesetz” they cause the initial stop of the following word to be pronounced as a fortis. Wordfinal devoicing is only sporadically found in Notker’s texts, and is probably due to scribal interference.34 The only alternation between word-final and word-internal 34 For example the forms ch´at (Ni 171, 9) k´olt (Nb II, 77, 3), f´elt (Nb I, 35, 27), uu´alt (Nb II, 76, 2). Many of the forms listed in the Notker-Wortschatz, however, are interlinear additions in the Psalter, written perhaps by Ekkehard IV, e.g., tagh (Np 271, 26), nort (Np 165, 5) and ert-pˆıboth (Np 111, 23), sit (for sˆıd; II, 393, 11) (ed. Edward Sehrt and Wolfram Legner [Halle/S.: Niemeyer, 1955]). Cf. Moulton, “Notker’s ‘Anlautgesetz’,” pp. 244–247. In a few cases we find a voiced form where we would expect a voiceless one, perhaps due to overcompensation, e.g., chˆıd (NkA 288, 20; NkB 30, 14).
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spelling that is found with any consistency is , which appears word internally as , for example, sg. hant “hand” but pl. hende “hands” and sg. bant “band” but pl. bande “bands.”35 We will probably never be able to answer all of these questions with any certainty. For one thing, they take up the problem from a modern perspective and expect a level of regularity and linguistic sophistication that was likely foreign to the Middle Ages. We might, however, come closer to understanding Notker’s approach to spelling by looking at the Latin model and the medieval attitudes toward orthography, phonology and pronunciation, with which he was familiar.
cl a ssi ca l a n d m e d i eva l o r t h o g r a p h i a a n d pron un ciat ion Classical grammarians were aware of the discrepancies between written usage (consuetudo) or spelling and the actual spoken language. They comment on the fact that Latin words are pronounced differently from the way they are spelled and that spelling can vary because of pronunciation, and they suggest various solutions to the problem. In book one of his Institutio oratoria, Quintilian stresses the importance of correct pronunciation and the teacher’s role in correcting pupils: Quod est igitur huius doctoris officium? In primis vitia si qua sunt oris emendet, ut expressa sint verba, ut suis quaeque litterae sonis enuntientur. Quarundam enim vel exilitate vel pinguitudine nimia laboramus, quasdam velut acriores parum efficimus et aliis non dissimilibus sed quasi hebetioribus permutamus. [So what is the instructor’s duty? In the first place he must correct any faults of enunciation, so that words are clearly pronounced and the proper sound is given to each letter. There are some letters which we have a bad tendency to make too thin or too full; others we stifle as too harsh, and replace by similar but duller-sounding ones.]36
Letters should not be pronounced too “thinly,” “fully,” or “harshly.” In some cases assimilation takes place, and speakers change the phonetic realization of a letter (its potestas) by making it “smoother” when it is combined with another sound. In the seventh chapter, Quintilian discusses only a few problematic points of orthography, which confuse orators when reading from texts.37 Most of them involve assimilation; for example, he explains that immunis is spelled with two <m> graphs, although it is well known that the first syllable is derived from the preposition in; in- is changed to im- because of the initial sound of the second syllable. In other cases, he argues that although assimilation takes place in speech, in writing 35 Braune, Ahd. Grammatik, §163, fn. 5 36 Quintilian, The Orator’s Education, ed. Russell, 1.11, 4. 37 Ibid., 1.7. Quintilian states that a comprehensive study of orthography is beneath the profession of even the grammarian. He is writing for native speakers and assumes that they will know most of the rules.
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the spelling of the original morphemes must be retained.38 In his example, Quintilian notes that in speech [b] is changed to [p] in the word obtinuit because of its environment; when writing, however, one retains the letter .39 Elsewhere he notes a similar affinity between the letters and and and , and points out that their spelling within words or at the beginning of words can vary.40 Because orthography often submits to custom and has been altered to reflect spoken language, Quintilian concludes that it is best to spell as one speaks, as much as this is possible: Iudicium autem suum grammaticus interponat his omnibus; nam hoc valere plurimum debet. Ego, nisi quod consuetudo optinuerit, sic scribendum quidque iudico quomodo sonat. Hic enim est usus litterarum ut custodiant voces et velut depositum reddant legentibus. Itaque id exprimere debent quod dicturi sumus. [In all this, the grammaticus must apply his own judgement; this is what should have most weight. For my own part, I hold that (except where usage prevails) we should write everything just as it sounds. The use of letters is to keep safe sounds entrusted to them, as it were, and to restore them faithfully to readers. They ought therefore to represent what we are going to say.]41
Letters represent sounds and not words; thus one should record sounds as closely as possible. The one exception Quintilian notes, however, is consuetudo – custom. It is unclear how much leeway the grammarian actually had, and which, if any forms were not regulated by written usage. In his treatise on orthography, Velius Longus points out that spelling is often different from pronunciation.42 He believes that one should write the forms authorized by the ancients, but that one should perform texts as one speaks. His example concerns the pronunciation of superlatives and the variation in spelling of certain words with or : [E]t concedamus talia nomina per u scribere iis qui antiquorum voluntates sequuntur, ne tamen sic enuntient, quo modo scribunt. [And we might permit such nouns to be written with u by those who follow the ancients’ fashion; nevertheless, they are not pronounced according to the way they are written.]43 38 “Quaeri solet, in scribendo praepositiones sonum quem iunctae efficiunt an quem separatae observare conveniat, ut cum dico ‘optinuit’ (secundam enim B litteram ratio poscit, aures magis audiunt P)” (ibid., 1.7, 7). 39 Ibid., 1.7, 7. 40 Ibid., 1.4, 15–16. 41 Ibid., 1.7, 30–31. 42 On the evidence of grammars from the second century, in particular Velius Longus, see Roger Wright, Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain and Carolingian France (Liverpool: Francis Cairns, 1982), pp. 54–56. 43 Velius Longus, De orthographia, ed. Keil, GL 7, p. 50; translated by Mark Amsler, “History of Linguistics, ‘Standard Latin’, and Pedagogy,” in Vivien Law (ed.), History of Linguistic Thought in the Early Middle Ages (Amsterdam/Philadelphia: Benjamins, 1993), p. 54.
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In the collocations illu(m) ego and omniu(m) optimum, he points out that one rarely pronounces the final <m>.44 Roger Wright suggests that Velius’ orthographia is specifically not intended to prescribe pronunciation, because he and his public spoke their own language naturally (and not according to Classical Latin spelling). It was writing that had to be taught and learned.45 The same can be said for Isidore, writing in the late sixth and seventh centuries.46 In his Etymologiae, he states that orthography teaches one how to write. The spelling of a word provides it with meaning that can be ambiguous in spoken language. In his De ecclesiasicis oficiis, Isidore devotes an entire section to the proper manner of reading aloud the word of God. In it he discusses the care for proper audibility, accurate intonation and appropriate pauses. How the written words themselves are to be pronounced is not addressed.47 Problems arise when it comes to writing. Certain words may be pronounced the same, but in writing they must be distinguished. In his Etymologiae, he provides as an example the heterographic homophones ad and at. He infers that although the two forms may be pronounced identically, ad is a preposition and at is a conjunction.48 In some cases, when spelling a word, related sounds can be interchanged. Significantly for Notker’s “Anlautgesetz,” he points out that the letters and
and and are often thus interchangeable.49 Grammarians discussed rules for correct spelling and exceptions at length under the rubric of orthographia.50 Rarely if ever did they, however, deal with the phonetic reality of the letters or describe what spoken pronunciation should be.51 Traditionally, orthographia was a methodological division of grammatica with a focus on correct spelling, under the rubric of emendatio. Reading aloud was covered under 44 ed. Keil, GL 7, p. 54, 4–6. The discrepancy between spelling and pronunciation regarding such cases of course continued into the Middle Ages. Malcom Parkes has argued that in early medieval manuscripts the final <m> in words is often abbreviated with the common mark of abbreviation, thus leaving the interpretation open to the reader. The practice is also found in other words that could be assimilated. Thus a form like clocaret (with the mark of abbreviation over the first ) leaves open the question as to whether or not one should expand the abbreviation conlocaret, or assimilate to collocaret (Parkes, “Reading, Copying and Interpreting,” p. 98). 45 Wright, Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain, p. 56. 46 Ibid., pp. 82–89. 47 “De lectoribus,” II, 11, ed. Lawson, pp. 70–71. 48 Etymologiarum, ed. Lindsay, I, 27.12. 49 “Interdum autem aliae litterae in locum aliarum litterarum rite ponuntur. B et P litteris quaedam cognatio est . nam pro byrrum dicimus pyrrhum; C et G quandam cognationem . namdum dicimus centum et trecentes.- postea dicimus quadrigentos . G ponentes pro C” (ibid., I, xxvii, 4). I cite the text as it is preserved on p. 120 of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 124 as an anonymous excerpt under the title “Incipit de orthographia.” The hand looks to be from the end of the eighth or beginning of the ninth century. The last page has the “adnexique globum” probatio pennae written by a practised late ninth-century hand, with the same phrase in a student’s hand written above it. 50 See the various texts devoted to orthographia in volume 7 of Keil’s Grammatici latini, e.g., Terentius Scaurus, Velius Longus, Caper, Agroecius, Cassiodorus, Bede and Alcuin. 51 Priscian’s Institutiones is an exception and will be further discussed below.
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lectio, but there was no separate subdivision for the pronunciation of letters.52 The division of lectio that was designated pronuntiatio covered not the vocal realization of graphemes, but the tone and pitch of the voice depending upon the character speaking in the text which was being read. In this respect it overlapped in many ways with the fifth canon of rhetoric called pronuntiatio or “delivery.” The lector was expected to create an oral likeness of the written text by giving each speaker represented in it an appropriate voice. Shifts in discourse between the poet’s voice and the voices of secondary narrators and speakers invented for the narrative were indicated with changes in pitch, intonation and rate of speech.53 For example, when reading aloud a direct quotation by a child, the lector would raise his voice and when reading the words of an old man, he would lower it and perhaps speak more slowly. As Wright argues, there was no such thing as “received pronunciation” for Latin before the Carolingian period, and written texts were pronounced in practice according to the local vernaculars, which in Romance areas by the early Middle Ages had become quite distinct from the written form of the language.54 In his own treatise, De arte rhetorica, Notker covers pronuntiatio in a section that in the preserved manuscripts also includes numerous contextual OHG glosses.55 The section begins with the definition of pronuntiatio taken from Cicero’s De inventione. The information that follows is based on Cicero’s Orator, Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria, and Martianus Capella: Pronuntiatio est. Ex rerum et uerborum dignitate vocis et corporis moderatio. Possumus hæc uerba sic interpretari. Pronuntiatio. Das est t´ıu ger´ertida dero stimmo i´och tis lˆıchamin nˆach tero g´eriste dero uu´orto u´ nde dero dingo. Item quidem pronuntiatio? Kerertada. Kebˆarda. Kehaba. Keuuirftigi Kez´ami. sint-s´ami. zuchtigi. Item pronuntiare dicimus . ferrenan sagan .i. præuenire uerba gestu corporis . et qualitate vocis. Quid est gestus? Aut parauˆıuchunga . anterunga . uuerbida. Et quid est moderatio? scafunga m´ezunga metelscaft. [Pronuntiatio is the control of the voice and body in a manner suitable to the dignity of the things (being spoken about) and the words (used to express them). We can interpret these words in the following manner. Pronuntiatio. That is the proper control/combination of the voice and of the body according to the dignity of the words and of the things. And how do we translate pronuntiatio? “Control/combination,” “gesture,” “facial expression,” “proper gesticulation,” “fitting behaviour,” “proper behavior,” “serious composure.” And 52 Irvine, Textual Culture, p. 328. 53 Ibid., p. 73. 54 Wright, Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain, p. 54. F. Brittain points out that in the first century Augustus’ pronunciation is said to have distressed grammarians, and Hadrian in the second century is said to have spoken Latin with a thick Spanish accent. St. Jerome writes that “Latinitas ipsa et regionibus quotidie variatur et tempore” (Latin in Church [Cambridge: University Press, 1934], p. 8). 55 NkS 177, 21–181, 18. See also the plate of Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C.121, f. 70r, in NkS 186.
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we call pronuntiare “to speak from a distance,” that is to anticipate the words by means of gesture of the body and quality of the voice. What is gestus? “Gesture,” “movement,” “imitation/presentation,” “movement.” And what is moderatio? “Moderation,” “appropriate measure,” “being in the middle.”]56
In this section several OHG synonyms for terms such as pronunciatio, gestus and modulatio are provided, some of which are difficult to define precisely, since they occur only in this context. Tax has argued that the treatise was composed by Notker in Latin, and that the OHG translations of terms and example sentences were added at a later date, perhaps based on a student’s notes taken during Notker’s lectures, in which the schoolmaster explained the text in more detail.57 That the section on pronunciation was given extensive commentary may very well be due to the fact that Notker placed a great deal of importance on correct delivery, both in public speaking as well as for reading in general. a lc ui n ’s s pe l l i n g ref orm Pronouncing written Latin according to the usage of spoken language was problematic in connection with the Carolingian reforms. Just as the written texts needed to be fixed to establish orthodoxy, so too these texts needed to be vocalized correctly and consistently in order to avoid ambiguity. Roger Wright has argued that this was one of Alcuin’s primary goals in writing his De orthographia. A nativeGermanic speaker, Alcuin had learned to pronounce Latin as it was written. While working on his reforms, he was living at Tours and became aware of the discrepancies between his own spelling pronunciation and the pronunciation of the native Romance-speakers around him. In an attempt to introduce consistency, he worked out a system of rules that brought reading pronunciation into line with traditional spelling.58 An important criterion was ease of pronunciation. The principle was simple and based on how Alcuin himself had learned the languge. Basically, it 56 NkS 177, 21–179, 5. See Cicero, De inventione, I, vii.9, ed. Hubbell, p. 20; ibid., Orator, xvii, ed. Hubbell, pp. 344–350; C. Marius Victorinus, Explanationum in rhetorica M. Tullii Ciceronis libri duo, ed. Halm, p. 178, 9–14; Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, XI, 3, 14, ed. Russell, p. 90 and XI, 3, 61, p. 116; Martianus Capella, De nuptiis, §540–543, ed. Willis, pp. 190–191. See also NkSL, pp. 111–112. 57 Tax, “Kritisches zu einigen Artes-Schriften Notkers,” pp. 161–163. Tax suggests that the student in question may even have been Ekkehard IV (ibid., p. 176). See also Ernst Hellgardt, “Notkers des Deutschen Brief,” p. 191. 58 “Carolingian Medieval Latin was thus not the mere refurbishing of a system of conservative pronunciation that had miraculously survived the previous millennium unscathed, but a conscious, progressive, revolutionary and demanding innovation. This new pronunciation applied at the time only to reading aloud, for all the liturgy was to consist of fixed written texts; and it was based on the simple principle of pronouncing one specific sound for each written letter. This is what happens universally now in the reading aloud of Latin, as if the traditional orthography were some kind of phonetic script” (Wright, “Late Latin,” p. 345).
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involved pronouncing one specific sound for each written letter.59 In most cases this new “phonic pronunciation” was based on the written form of Latin fixed in classical and late classical texts. Here spelling often reflected assimilation processes that had taken place earlier. For example the verb disfero was usually written differo. Alcuin opted for the assimilated (mutata) form because it reflected ease of pronunciation (euphoniae causa) instead of reverting back to the etymological spelling that would have retained morphemic invariance.60 Developments in the spoken language that had taken place after the fixing of these texts, which were especially numerous in Romance areas, were excluded. In effect, by instituting a spelling pronunciation based on archaic written forms, Alcuin would have made understanding Latin texts that were read out loud more difficult for Romance-speakers who were not trained in Classical Latin. Just how widely Alcuin’s pronunciation reforms were adopted is unclear. Wright argues that by 850 the reading-pronunciation set forth by him and his colleagues had become standard practice in at least some of the more serious and progressive cultural centres, including Fulda. It is possible that the new pronunciation was coming to be used in other contexts as well.61 In the eastern parts of the Frankish kingdom, Latin had always been distinct from German and, just as in Anglo-Saxon England, been pronounced phonically, probably with a slight native accent.62 The new pronunciation guidelines would simply have reinforced an already existing practice. In his treatise De orthographia, Alcuin united orthographia with lectio. He sought to not only standardize the traditional grammatical methodology, but to extend it to cover both parts of grammatica as it was traditionally defined, namely, scientia recte loquendi et scribendi.63 Notker’s spelling system is in some ways similar to Alcuin’s, but the principles are inverted. Alcuin fixed the written language and prescribed that its vocalization be done phonically; in effect, he distinguished the written from spoken the language. To a large extent, Notker based his spelling on spoken language, since no fixed
59 Alcuin writes in his Dialogus de rhetorica: “[verba sint] pressim et aequabiliter et leniter et clare pronuntiata, ut suis quaeque litterae sonis enuntientur” (ed. Halm, p. 546). 60 Alcuin, De orthographia, 101, ed. Bruni, p. 11. 61 Wright, “Late Latin,” p. 146. See also idem, “Speaking, Reading and Writing Late Latin and Early Romance,” Neophilologus 60 (1976), pp. 176–189; idem, “How Latin Came to Be a Foreign Language for All,” A Sociophilological Study of Late Latin (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), pp. 3–17, esp. pp. 14– 15, and idem, “Review article of ‘Viva voce ’,” and the arguments provided there, pp. 60–64. See, however, McKitterick’s criticism regarding the extent of Alcuin’s role and the eventual repercussions of his treatise in Carolingians and the Written Word, pp. 11–12, and eadem, “Latin and Romance,” p. 132. 62 Wright suggests that some Germans, in fact, may have been taught the Anglo-Saxon pronunciation of Latin by Insular missionaries (Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain, p. 107). 63 Ibid., p. 112.
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consuetudo was available to him. Yet, once he fixed the written form of German, he too prescribed that it be read phonically. Had Notker spelled only morphologically and not included aspects like the “Anlautgesetz,” the vocalized German text would not have sounded German, but would have been corruptus. Whereas Alcuin based his practice on written tradition, Notker created a tradition for German orthographia that served the bilingual needs of lectio at St. Gall. An important component of the Carolingian reforms was to have correctly spelled texts (since these in turn formed the basis for the pronunciation). Because of the discrepancies between the way in which Latin was pronounced and the way in which it was written, spelling errors in manuscripts from the western Frankish kingdoms were not uncommon and needed to be emended. St. Gall manuscripts dating from the ninth and tenth centuries, especially those destined for liturgical use or for readings in the chapter house, were often corrected and brought into line with spelling guidelines. Many of the corrections may be eleventh-century, and perhaps even stem from the hand of Ekkehard IV.64 In addition to adding rhetorical punctuation and occasional accentuation on especially difficult words, the corrector changed spelling where it did not follow established orthographic norms. Often the changes in spelling facilitate pronunciation: adferre > afferre, adscissci > asscissci, adtestante > attestante, inmergendum > immergendum, inrisiones > irrisiones, adprobandi > approbandi, sumsisse > sumpsisse, temtationibus > temptationibus, etc. In other cases, assimilation is reversed in order to minimize morphemic variance: ammodum > admodum, ammouent > admouent, et orrendum > et horrendum, susscribere > subscribere. In some cases the incorrect spelling that is emended involves the series of stops , for example, erupescimus > erubescimus and repellium > rebellium, rustigano > rusticano, audiam > aut iam, plasphemant > blasphemant, et crescat > egrescat, uagare > uacare, a murgam > a murcam, tuae > duae, uagare > uacare, contempandum > condemnandum, cui lipet > cui libet, scribtorum > scriptorum and the name palach > balach. Sometimes the corrected form is wrong according to the rules of usage, and may reflect vernacular interference: for example, ita pietate > ita bietate (where the
is transformed into a ) and conversely, once the initial of baptista > paptista. Errors such as these could be traced to the exemplars, but might also reflect the scribes’ native German – that “dreadful Swiss accent.”65 64 The corrections appear in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 103, 105, 140, 159, 164, 168, 174, 177, 183, 206, 556 and 578 (among others). The corrector, in addition to changing spelling, also adds accent marks and word separation to facilitate reading. Some of the manuscripts also contain Latin and OHG glosses. In the case of lexical glosses and some of the accents, Ekkehard’s hand is in some cases clearly recognizable. Accentuation and punctuation in some of these manuscripts is discussed above, chapter five, pp. 236–238. 65 In the case of some corrections such as parauit > parabit and satiaueris > satiaberis, the error may indeed have been in the exemplar.
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n ot k e r’s g e r ma n spellin g Notker, in addition to being a teacher at St. Gall, may also have been active in the scriptorium, where he busied himself with matters such as supervising the copying of manuscripts and the correction of faulty texts.66 In this capacity he may have become familiar with orthographic treatises by classical and medieval authors.67 Knowledge of the guidelines in these texts, in addition to his own experience with Latin, would have made him aware of the fact that in Latin assimilation was possible and could be reflected in writing. In other words, he realized that spelling was neither completely phonetic nor completely morphophonemic (in pre-structuralist terms, that it did not always reflect word formation and etymology). Notker probably taught his pupils to read Latin phonically and encouraged them to pronounce each written letter with its appropriate sound, which at times may have been influenced by their native tongue. He could also have followed this same principle when teaching his pupils to read German. Each letter represented one sound that in combination served to reactivate the memory of words deferred in writing. When devising an orthographic system for German, Notker followed Quintilian’s advice by making the letters best represent what he heard the sounds to be and how he wanted them to be vocalized once again. Notker was probably aware of the affinities between the graphemes and , since they are discussed by the grammarians. Quintilian, Isidore, Cassiodorus, Bede and Alcuin all point out that the pairs , and can be confused in spelling, presumably because they are often pronounced the same in spoken language. In his Institutiones, Priscian even provides a description of their manner and point of articulation. In his section on litterae, he divides Latin letters into three groups: vowels (a, e, i, o, u), and consonants, which are further divided into two groups: “semivowels” (f, l, m, n, r, s and x) and “mutes” (b, c, d, g, h, k, p, q, and t).68 Three mutes c, p and t, can also be aspirated in Greek. Priscian explains that , and are “medial” sounds that stand between aspirated ,
and and the unaspirated “light” (leves) letters , and
. I cite 66 See above, chapter two, pp. 66–67. 67 Alcuin’s De orthographia is preserved on pp. 62–91 in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 249, dating from the first quarter of the ninth century. The author is not given, nor is the copy introduced with a title of any kind. The same manuscript preserves Bede’s De orthographia (pp. 1–41), the Ars Capri De orthographia (pp. 42–49), Agroetius, De orthographia, (pp. 49–59), and excerpts from Terence Scaurus’ De orthographia (pp. 91–92). See Scherrer, Verzeichniss, p. 92, and Alcuin, De orthographia, ed. Bruni, p. xxxiv. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 877, cited above, pp. 74 and 285, was certainly known to Notker and may even contain interlinear glossing by him. The manuscript contains several grammatical and orthographic works, including Victorinus’ grammar, parts of Donatus’ grammar, the anonymous compilation “Interrogatio de litteris,” which draws from Donatus, Augustine, Jerome, and Isidore, Sergius’ “De littera,” and Honorius’ “Incipit de finalibus literis bonorum grammaticorum” (Scherrer, Verzeichniss, pp. 305–306). 68 Priscian, Institutiones grammaticae, I.8–10, GL 2, p. 9.
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the text as it appears in a copy from Tegernsee, now Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 18375, f. 10r, with interlinear glossing (ca. 1020) enclosed within round parentheses: Inter sine aspiratione et (c) cum aspiratione (.i. ch.) est (media) . inter (et cognata in sono) quoque et
est (est media) et inter
(quia ponitur in loco est media) et siue est . sunt igitur hae tres . hoc est . . . mediae . quæ nec pænitus carent aspiratione (quantum adpronuntiatur quia aspere sonant) nec eam plenam possident (.s. nec penitus carere aspiratione nec penitus habere) . hoc autem ostendit etiam ipsius palati pulsus (tactus) et linguae uel labrorum (.s. pulsus) consimilis (.s. fit) quidem (.s. pulsus uel sonus) in ternis (.i. tribus) . (in)
et uel et et rursus et et (inter .s. tribus consimilis sonus fit) . similiter in (ternis . in tribus) et
et . sed in leuibus (.i. in et uel
simplicibus) exterior fit pulsus (sonus) . in asperis interior . in mediis inter utrumque (.i. . . ) supra dictorum locum (interiorem et exteriorem clementorum uel locorum) . quod facile dinoscitur si adtendamus (.s. speciamus . consideramus) in supra dictis (.s. tribus) motibus ora mirabili naturae lege modulantibus uoces . tanta autem est cognatio earum (affinitas .s. litterarum) . quod inuicem inueniuntur pro se positae in quibusdam dictionibus. [Between without aspiration and (c) with aspiration (ch) there is (a media), and likewise between (and related sounds) and
there is (a media) and between
(because is taken in the place of , a media) and or there is . These three, i.e., are mediae, those which do not completely lack aspiration (when pronounced because they sound aspirated) but do not fully have it either (that is, they do not completely lack aspiration nor do they completely have it). And so the force (the touching) of the palate and of the tongue and the lips (the force) is made the same for all three. But for the light sounds [i.e. the leves], the sound is generated on the outside ; for the rough sounds [i.e. aspirates], the sound is generated in the back ; for medial sounds, the sound is generated between these two places. The difference is easily recognized if we pay attention to these types when we speak loudly, clearly and naturally. Still, they are so similar that they are often used interchangeably in some words.]69
The sounds represented by the letters are described by Priscian as being “light” (leves) since they lack aspiration (i.e., they are voiceless); when articulated, their force (pulsus) or sound (sonus), occurs outside of the mouth (exterior). The letters have some aspiration (i.e., are voiced) and their force is realized 69 The critical text is found in ibid., I.26, GL 2, p. 20. In my translation, I place the interlinear commentary in parentheses and reserve pointed brackets to mark graphemes. The Priscian text was copied in the ninth century in southwestern Germany (Bernhard Bischoff, Die s¨udostdeutschen Schreibschulen und Bibliotheken in der Karolingerzeit, 1 [Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1974], p. 160). Eder doubts that the manuscript was at Tegernsee before the ninth century, and suggests that the earliest date that the monastery acquired it may have been 995; the glosses were added later ¨ ca. 1020 and are affiliated with glosses found in Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 114 (Christine Eder, Die Schule des Klosters Tegernsee im fr¨uhen Mittelalter im Spiegel der Tegernseer Handschriften [Munich: Arbeo, 1972], pp. 82–83).
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someplace inside the mouth between the leves and the aspirates, hence they are “medial.” are aspirated in Greek and their force of energy comes from within the mouth. are made with the lips, with the tongue and with the palate. In many ways, Priscian’s description is like a modern linguistic obstruent chart. Although he is describing the sounds of Greek, all the letters he covers were also used in Notker’s texts, except for
, which is, however, found in the Tatian and other OHG works and represents a dental fricative. Notker uses the digraph to represent a guttural affricate /x/ and the digraph , the graph or sometimes to represent the bilabial affricate /pf/. Notker was certainly acquainted Priscian’s work and may have been influenced by his description of obstruents. Although Notker did not speak Greek, he probably sensed from his own Alemannic the affinities between the groups of sounds represented by the letters , and . Priscian’s comments could have provided him with a framework for conceptualizing the actual phonetic properties of the sounds involved in the “Anlautgesetz.” At the same time that Notker was devising a method for recording his native tongue, he was also establishing something like a “consuetudo” for German in St. Gall, which could be used as a model to ensure that the vernacular was recorded and performed correctly. The preserved copies of his texts show that errors were often emended to guarantee accuracy of the written script. In Nb on p. 212, l. 25, of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825 we find the following correction: a´ber b a Uu´anda o´ uh d/t´az tr´ıffet Here the corrector added the missing lexeme a´ ber interlinearly; he then transposed the words t´az and o´uh using the graphemes and , and marked the necessary change in the “Anlautgesetz” to ensure that the new phrase would be read correctly. “Uu´anda a´ber d´az o´ uh tr´ıffet.” On p. 206, 10 the following text is corrected (plate 8): ch´ad ´ıh zefern´emenne . ch´ad ´ıh tˆıa r´eda
The second ch´ad ´ıh, a dittographic error, is circled and the following tˆıa is corrected to dˆıa, since the word now follows a vowel and not a consonant. In the copy of the ninth metre of book three of Nb in Z¨urich, Zentralbibliothek, MS C 121, on f. 50r, l. 11 the “incorrect” form “p´ındist” in “Fiˆer elementa p´ındist tˆu” is corrected to “b´ındist” (see plate 7). Corrections like these underscore the fact that Notker’s texts were meant to be read aloud. Reading from written texts For many monks at St. Gall, the “Anlautgesetz” was natural, and they automatically followed it in speech. When read aloud from a text, however, the resulting discourse 302
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Plate 7. Correction of the “Anlautgesetz” in the copy of Notker’s translation/commentary of Boethius, De consolatione Philosophiae, III, m9 in Zurich, Zentralbibliothek MS C121, f. 50r (Nb iii , 149).
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Plate 8. Correction of the “Anlautgesetz” in the copy of Notker’s translation/commentary of Boethius, De consolatione Philosophiae in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825, p. 206 (Nb iv , 206).
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is never as fluent as in natural speech. In the case of medieval St. Gall, the situation was complicated by the fact that reading rarely took place in German. Writing was largely restricted to the non-authentic domain which was reserved for Latin, and as a result few vernacular texts were produced and available to readers. Latin was the first language that all pupils learned to read and it imprinted upon their minds a lectio matrix with which they would henceforth approach and map all other written texts. German was for the students an oral language which they had heard and spoken from childhood, but certainly not a language that they were accustomed to seeing on and deciphering from parchment. When he “normalized” German spelling, Notker made a very important step toward facilitating reading of the vernacular. By reducing information input through increased redundancy, consistent spelling facilitates lexical recognition and the rate of reading. In order to process spelling patterns economically, however, it is crucial that the eye be able to perceive a group of letters as making up a word. This point may seem moot to modern readers, who are used to reading printed texts, in which word separation is consistent and standardized. In the early Middle Ages, however, word separation by means of space and other graphic techniques was an innovative concept, which began on the British Isles in the seventh century and slowly spread to the Continent where it finally took hold in the twelfth century.70 Texts in classical Greece and Rome had been copied in a scriptura continua with no spaces between words. Occasionally, graphic signs such as the interpunctus or hederae were used to separate words, but these were probably added by the lector after he had prepared a text and not by the scribe who copied it.71 In order to make sense of a text, the lector had to read it orally, out loud or in a muffled voice. The reading habits of Greeks and Romans were phonosynthetic, and ambiguous fragments had to be retained aurally until the full sentence had been decoded.72 In some early medieval manuscripts, inter-word space was used, but not consistently. It was, however, supported by the use of signs that aided the reader in identifying lexical units. These signs consist of terminal-letter forms, which helped the reader to recognize the end of a word (such as the use of terminal capitals and final abbreviations) and abbreviations by suspension (sequences of initial letters or initials of syllables used to abbreviate a word or sentence, as when citing nomina sacra).73 70 My discussion of word separation and the background information on the physiology of reading in this section is indebted to the study by Paul Saenger, Space Between Words. 71 Ibid., p. 26. 72 As Saenger points out, “Oral activity helped the reader to hold in short-term memory the fraction of a word or phrase that already had been decoded phonetically while the cognitive task of morpheme and word recognition, necessary for understanding the sense of the initial fragment, proceeded though the decoding of a subsequent section of text” (ibid., p. 8). 73 Ibid., pp. 58–65.
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Many of these devices continued to be used even when full word separation was introduced and their function was redundant. Saenger refers to this early practice as “aerated script” and distinguishes it from “canonical separation,” in which interword space is used consistently and is at least 1.5 units of space in length. Within the “aerated” category Saenger further distinguishes several varieties, including scripts which used space, or other devices to indicated syllable blocks, hierarchical word blocks, and morphemic hierarchical word blocks. According to Saenger, St. Gall scribes emulated the Insular practices very early, and “separated” manuscripts were being copied already in the ninth century. The inter-word space, however, was less than 1.5 times the unit of space, and it is only in the mid-eleventh century that consistent word separation of twice the unit of space is used.74 The use of inter-word space in the surviving copies of Notker’s works made in the first half of the eleventh century support Saenger’s findings. In these manuscripts, the inter-word unit of space is 1.5 at the maximum, and 1 at the minimum.75 Although word spacing is applied in Notker’s texts, it is not optimal. Prosodiae, such as the accents used in the German portions of the texts, would have helped readers to recognize words, but since there is often more than one accent on a word, their function in this regard was limited. They helped rather to distinguish German words from their Latin context. Notker’s “Anlautgesetz” also aided in marking word boundaries, since the alternation only took place word initially. On the other hand, the variation in spelling worked against the quick lexical access necessary in silent reading because it was not economical. These contradictory characteristics of Notker’s written texts are symptomatic of changes in reading habits that were taking place in this transitional period. Word separation, prosodiae and orthographic practices like the “Anlautgesetz” helped less experienced readers to distinguish words and thus facilitated the reading process and perhaps made it more speedy. On the other hand, these graphic techniques were largely devised to help lectors map the written text in order to read it out loud. Notker’s texts were used by different readers with varying degrees of skill. Most teachers and experienced scholastici were probably fairly skilled readers, and teachers’ assistants and older pupils were probably intermediate readers. Many young pupils, however, were novice readers and probably processed words by means of their syllabic components. Thus, for example, a sentence like “uu´anda canis pez´eichenet pediu i´oh t´en b´ellenten hunt,” would have been recognized synthetically, “uu´an da ca nis pe z´ei che net pe diu i´oh t´en b´el len ten hunt.”76 In other 74 Ibid., p. 105. 75 The copy of Nb in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 825 has the greatest units of inter-word space with 1.5. The copies of Nc in St. Gall 872, Nk in St. Gall 818 and 825 and Ni in St. Gall 818 all have on the average only 1–1.25 units of inter-word space. 76 “Because ‘canis’ represents also the ‘barking dog’” (Ni 201,19).
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words, inexperienced readers would have paused at each syllable boundary as well as at each space in the manuscript separating words. With practice and several rereadings, they could have processed word units, although they still may have paused between words. According to Notker’s “Anlautgesetz,” only the graphemes appear word-initially after a pause. In other words, if students were reading German slowly and pausing after each word within a sentence, they would never have naturally produced /b, d, g/ at the beginning of word, but always /p, t, k/. Only with further rereadings would they have been able to read the passage fluently without numerous pauses between syllables and words. Moulton recounts an experience he had while taking dialect lessons from a native Swiss-speaker in Zurich.77 Moulton asked his tutor to pronounce minimal pairs like /baxe/ “to bake” – /paxe/ “baked,” /d¨orffer/ “villages” – /t¨orffer/ “the villages,” /geßt/ “guests” – /keßt/ “the guests.” The informant produced the pairs, but neither he nor Moulton could hear any difference between the “lenis” and “fortis” sounds. They solved the problem by having the informant say /au/ “also” before each word, thus providing the necessary phonetic environment for the alternation. Would Notker have had a similar problem with his classroom lectores, who were reading slowly and pronouncing each word individually? Perhaps. His solution to the problem, however, was different. Unlike Moulton’s informant, who was cued orally to produce the pairs, Notker’s lectores were reading from a written text. By introducing a shallow orthography for words with an initial stop, he provided his readers with a visual guide, which they were encouraged to reproduce phonically. A final consideration is that Notker’s texts were also read by non-native Alemannic speakers, for whom the “Anlautgesetz” would not have been natural and who would have had a difficult time reproducing it without a written script. Although the majority of the monks at St. Gall were native Alemanni, others certainly came from areas further away. In his Casus, Ekkehard reports that some monks were native Rhaetian speakers, such as Victor, a nephew of the infamous Enzelin discussed above in chapter three.78 Enzelin’s German pronunciation was the cause of laughter, because he dropped the initial in the series “cotilf erro!” (for “gott hilf herro”). He also seems to have pronounced the intial of “gott” with a voiceless or fortis [k]. Would he have automatically voiced the sound had it followed a voiced sound? The “Anlautgesetz” applied Spelling errors in Latin manuscripts from St. Gall demonstrate that scribes confused the letters and when copying texts. Errors like these could be traced to German influence and support the fact that scribes read aloud to 77 Moulton, “Notker’s Anlautgesetz” 249–250.
78 See above, chapter three, pp. 122–123.
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themselves when copying.79 Although in school the scribes were taught to pronounce Latin as it was written, we see that in certain phonetic environments the theory proved difficult to realize. Significantly, many of the errors involve stops in word-initial position. Mistakes such as these are particularly frequent in the preserved copies of Notker’s works, where the Latin and German texts are closely integrated. In this case, the cross-linguistic interference involves over-differentiation, where the phonological distinctions made in German are imposed upon Latin.80 Would it have been easier for his students and scribes had Notker introduced the “Anlautgesetz” in the Latin portions of his texts as well? Probably, but the point is hypothetical, since he would never have dared tamper with the established rules of latinitas.81 Even when Latin terms are couched in German syntax, Notker does not tamper with their spelling, e.g., d´az bonum, h´eizet definitio and t´es genus. Latin words, however, can influence the spelling of the following OHG word, e.g., uerbum bez´eichenent, canis pez´eichenet, negatio dero, affirmationis tiu, domum gˆat, musicus kˆander. We must also recall Ekkehard’s warning about semi-magistri who mix Latin and German when teaching syntax. Each language has its own rules which must be followed. In his letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion, Notker does not comment on the use of Latin letters for writing German nor does he mention his “Anlautgesetz.” He probably wrote the letter at the end of his career, a few years before his death. Had he perhaps given up on the “Anlautgesetz”? Was the spelling system he had devised too complicated to enforce in the classroom and the scriptorium? This thesis has been proposed by Petrus Tax, the co-editor of the new ATB Notker edition. Tax suggests that Notker did not record any guidelines for his scribes and that, in fact, he would have considered them unnecessary and useless.82 It is unclear what Tax means by “useless.” Is it that the scribes would not have been able to follow them? Perhaps. However, it is also possible that Notker simply assumed that once the principles of grammatica had been applied to it, German, like Latin, would be spelled consistently. Both languages made use of the same grapheme inventory, and it was clear – at least to Notker – what general sounds the letters represented. 79 We may recall the medieval Irish scribal verse: “Three fingers write, two eyes look [at the page]; one tongue speaks, the whole body toils” (cf. above, chapter two). 80 On cross-linguistic interference in the pronunciation of bilinguals, see Suzanne Romaine, Bilingualism, pp. 52–54. 81 Cf. Moulton, “Notker’s Anlautgesetz,” p. 244. 82 “Von schriftlichen Anweisungen Notkers f¨ur seine Schreiber ist nichts bekannt, und Notker h¨atte sie wohl f¨ur unn¨otig und unn¨uzt gehalten. Mir scheint also, daß Notkers Haltung den Schreibern gegen¨uber pragmatisch und duldsam war. Perfektionismus im Hinblick auf seinen eigenen Dialekt k¨onnte, monastisch gesehen, leicht als Eigensinnigkeit erscheinen, und es ist anzunehmen, daß der benignissimus magister der weniger idealen Wiedergabe seiner deutschen Texte ein großes Verst¨andnis entgegengebracht hat – abgesehen davon, daß viele Verbesserungen und vor allem Rasuren eine Handschrift normalerweise nicht versch¨onern” (Nb, pp. liv–lv).
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Describing his “Anlautgesetz” would have been superfluous, since it was a well known fact that speech could influence spelling. In principle, after all, letters only stood for spoken sounds. The bulk of Latin orthographic treatises do not list rules, but list exceptions to them and discuss only a few problematic forms which in writing differ from speech. Prosodic devices like accentuation were never dealt with under the rubric of orthographia, and, when they appear in manuscripts, they reflected lectio commentary and not orthographic practice. In Notker’s German, words required accents because they provided important information about vowel length and stress. Given the divisions of grammatica, however, I doubt that Notker regarded accentuation as an element of orthography. The diacritics served, like punctuation, as an additional layer of commentary that was added to letters to guide readers. Notker mentions accentuation in his letter, because in this respect German differed from Latin. In his Institutiones, Cassiodorus remarked that orthography pertains both to spelling a text correctly with the hand and performing it correctly with the tongue.83 In his De orthographia, he further emphasizes the connections between the correct spelling of emendatio and both lectio and enarratio. The written text must be spelled and understood correctly in order to ensure correct oral articulation, “nec in voce nostra possumus reddere quod in scriptura comprehendere non valemus” [nor can we produce by means of our voice that which we are not able to understand in writing].84 For Cassiodorus, however, pronuntiatio refers to the manner of delivery, so that reading aloud could be made intelligible through appropriate intonation, speed and pauses. How the letters of the individual words should be pronounced was natural; texts would be intelligible through competent presentation.85 For Alcuin the situation was different, as it was for most litterati whose native tongue was not Romance. When Alcuin writes that “grammatica est litteralis scientia, et est custos recte loquendi et scribendi,” he means both correct talk and correct writing. Both aspects together form the single science of litterae, the “knowledge of how to read and write properly.” This science is the fundamental requirement of all educated men. It is based on litterae with the meaning “written letters and the sounds with which to read them aloud.”86 Notker heeded this general advice when writing German. He devised a spelling for the vernacular that applied the letters of Latin textual culture to record his native tongue as he heard it. The letters were meant to capture the sounds of language and signify thoughts fixed in writing. The 83 “Orthographia est rectitudo scribendi nullo errore vitiata, quae manum componit et linguam” [Orthography is the correctness of writing by means of no corrupt error; it pertains to the hand and to the tongue] (Cassiodorus, Institutiones, ed. Mynors, III.I.2 [96, 13–15]). 84 Cassiodorus, De orthographia, ed. Heinrich Keil, GL 7, p. 143, 5–6. 85 Wright, Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain, p. 80. 86 Alcuin, Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis de octo partibus orationis, PL 101.857. See Wright, Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain, p. 112.
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process, however, did not end with the written text. The transcript became a living script. The letters fixed on the parchment were meant to be given life once again and vocalized by the tongue, thus producing sounds which could reach the ear and through it activate meaning. Spelling, accentuation, performance cues and markers, syntactical punctuation, simplified Latin word order – all of these represent forms of lectio commentary that Notker integrated into his own bilingual teaching venture. The models he used were those established by Latin textual culture, and current in his day. They served to make written texts more accessible to those reading from them as well as to those listening to them being read. As Cassiodorus points out, however, one cannot vocalize what one does not understand. It is for this reason that Notker also translated and commented in German. In doing so, he hoped to unlock the meaning of the texts and create a path for his readers to the next level of lectio, namely, enarratio.
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Barcelona, Archivo de la Corona de Arag´on, MS 46 168n57 Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek MS lat. oct. 429 92n200, 92n201 MS Phillips 1732 193 MS Phillips 1796 92n200 Bern, Burgerbibliothek MS 83 271n58 Brussels, Biblioth`eque Royale MS 10615-729 92, 92n200, 92n201, 155
Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuele MS IV G 68 240 Orl´eans, Biblioth`eque municipale MS 303 168 Paris, Biblioth`eque nationale MS lat. 7505 168n57 MS lat. 2056 168n57 MS lat. 10444 92n200 MS lat. 15082 245 MS nouv. acq. lat. 229 92n202
Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 214 204–205, 207, 209, 210, 217, 219 Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana MS Plut. 47,28 168n57 Frankfurt, Stadt- und Universit¨atsbibliothek MS Barth. 32 274 Fulda, Hessische Landesbibliothek MS Aa 72 92n202 MS B2 92n202
Rouen, Biblioth`eque municipale MS I 69 92n200 St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek MS 18 80n159 MS 21 280 MS 96 224 MS 102 236, 276 MS 105 286 MS 110 276 MS 111 286 MS 124 295n49 MS 134 276 MS 136 276 MS 152 75n137 MS 159 274, 276, 280, 281 MS 168 124n54 MS 174 124, 236, 237, 274
Index of manuscripts St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek (cont.) MS 175 238, 238n134 MS 176 233–235, 236, 237, 276 MS 177 236 MS 178 235, 236 MS 183 276 MS 199 186n119 MS 206 236 MS 215 276 MS 219 276 MS 242 93n203, 236n127 MS 245 127, 276 MS 249 300n67 MS 274 83, 83n172, 274 MS 279 276 MS 393 43, 124n54, 127, 276 MS 454 276 MS 556 79, 140–142 MS 557 276 MS 578 276 MS 579 276 MS 621 224, 276 MS 818 223n100, 227, 232, 238, 245, 255, 262 MS 820 276 MS 825 223n100, 238, 240, 245, 255, 263, 302, 304 MS 830 225n102, 235
MS 844 205, 206, 207–209, 210, 240 MS 872 223n100, 230–231, 238, 279 MS 876 75 MS 877 74, 249n1, 285n1, 287, 300n67 MS 882 158, 179n105, 268 MS 621 66, 67n99, 67n100 MS 1092 56 Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana MS Reg. lat. 1281 83, 92n200 ¨ Vienna, Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek MS 242 206 MS 275 92n200, 96n215 MS 271 206 MS 2681 108 MS 2687 22n31 Wolfenb¨uttel, Herzog August Bibliothek MS Gudianus 72 93n203 Cod. Guelf., MS 26 22n31 Zurich, Zentralbibliothek MS C 98 92n200, 155, 242, 245 MS Car C 121 92n200, 92n201, 244, 245, 255, 287, 302, 303 MS Car C 164 73n125 MS Car C 176 92n202
356
General index
Abbo, monk at Fleury 66, 85, 168 Questiones grammaticales 272 Accentuation 26, 252–253, 267; see also Notker Labeo Carolingian period 272–273 Latin MSS 267–275 music and 252 Old English MSS 277 St. Gall MSS 275–277 vernacular 275–277 Admonitio generalis 34, 71 Ælfric Bata, Anglo-Saxon monk, Colloquies 67–69, 74, 103, 137 Ælfric, abbot of Eynsham, Colloquies 137, 143–144 Grammatica 143 Æthelwold, St., bishop of Winchester 144 Alcuin 13, 34–35, 37, 42, 119, 134 De orthographia 23n34, 297–298 Dialogus de rhetorica et de virtutibus 89 Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis de octo partibus orationis 73, 81 Spelling reform 297–298, 309 “Titulus” 34 Altalamanische Psalmen¨ubersetzung 139 Ambrosius Autpertus, Expositio in Apocalypsim 127 Anonymus ad Cuimnanum 31n55 Anselm of Bec 73 apices 237 Apollonius Dyscolus, Syntax 165 Aristotle 83, 84; see also Notker Labeo De categoriis 81, 82, 84, 188 De interpretatione 19, 81, 82, 84 Ars Ambrosiana 21
ars dictaminis 173; see also education, writing instruction arsis 188–189, 190–191, 193, 252; see also performance analysis articulus 249, 269–271; see also Notker Labeo, accentuation Audax, “De scauri et palladii libris excerpta per interrogationem ad responsionem” 271 Augustine, St. 89 Confessiones 20 De doctrina Christiana 185, 187 De magistro 20 De ordine 42 Augustine, pseudo-, Categoriae decem 87 De dialectica 19 Backes, Herbert 201–202 Bacon, Roger, Opus tertium 252 Baesecke, Georg 116, 149, 290 B¨auml, Franz 17, 18, 21–22 Balther of S¨ackingen, bishop of Speyer 49, 77 Banniard, Michel 16, 17, 120 Bede 195 Bernward, bishop of Hildesheim 66 Boethius; see also Notker Labeo De consolatione Philosophiae 204–205 De categoricis syllogismis 82 De definitione 82 De differentiis topicis 82 De divisione 82 De hypotheticis syllogismis 82 De interpretatione 19, 87 Translation/commentaries of logical works 81, 82 Bonus of Florence, Candelabrum 193, 245
357
General index Born, Walter see Horn, Ernst Brown, George Hardin 21 Bruno of Querfurt, St., Vita S. Adalberti 134 Burchard I, abbot of St. Gall 79 Byrhtferth, monk at Ramsey, Enchiridion 144–145 Carolingian renovatio 112 Carr, Charles T. 262, 283 Cassiodorus, De orthographia 309 Institutiones 309 Cato, Disticha 72 Charlemagne 118 Cicero, Topica 82 Cicero, pseudo-, Rhetorica ad Herennium 195 circumstantiae 161–164, 171, 181, 188, 196, 224–225 Clark, James 76 Clausing, Stephen 291 clausula 179 Clemens, Ars grammatica 82 code-switching 147–149; see also Notker Labeo, “Mischprosa” colon 95, 100, 159, 161, 174, 175, 176–177, 180, 181–183, 186–187, 189–192, 194–196, 229, 231, 247; see also comma comma 95, 100, 159, 174–175, 176–177, 180, 181–188, 189–192, 229, 231, 247; see also colon commentaries to Latin texts 38–39; see also Notker Labeo, Remigius of Auxerre compositio 97, 105, 155, 173 Conrad, Emperor 31 construe marks see syntactical glosses continuatio 158 Council of Mainz (813) 116 Council of Rheims (813) 116 Council of Tours (813) 116 Craloh, dean and abbot of St. Gall 54, 79, 122 cursus 166, 195 De Boor, Helmut 40, 124, 149 De Jong, Maajke 61 De litteris colendis 35 Demetrius of Phaleron, On Style 165 dialectica 80–88, 161; see also Gerbert of Rheims, Notker Labeo, education relation to grammatica 86–88 relation to rhetorica 87–88, 90–91 relation to theology 86 study of in the vernacular 85
diglossia 112–114; see also language use at St. Gall “authentic” vs. “non-authentic” domains 114 classic 112 double-overlapping 123 extended 112, 113 leaky 114, 149 learning Latin and 142–143 Ottonian period 118–119 use-oriented 113 user-oriented 113–114 Diomedes, Ars grammatica 25, 158 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Literary Composition 165 discretio 11, 26, 155, 158–159 Donatus, Ars maior 179, 268, 269 Ars minor 74, 172 Ehrismann, Gustav 45, 149 education; see also Notker Labeo, School of St. Gall classroom materials 69–71 classroom texts 77 interlinear translations 139 languages of instruction 131–145 methods of 67–79 parsing grammars 74 primary level 71–76 progymnasmata approach 76, 97 Psalter in 71–72 secondary level 76–79 semi-magistri 66, 127 study of grammar 73–75 study of metre 78–79 teaching Latin 132–137, 138–145 tenth-century changes 79, 80–91 traveling teachers 134–135 writing instruction 75, 79 Ekkehard I, dean of St. Gall 123; Waltharius 126 Ekkehard II, monk at St. Gall and later provost at Mainz 50, 54, 59, 75, 133 Ekkehard IV, monk at St. Gall 42–45, 50, 102, 121–126, 128, 129–130, 140, 148, 197, 299, 308 Casus sancti Galli 10, 30, 32, 51, 53–54, 55–56, 59, 69, 75, 77, 121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 129, 133, 307 glossing 72, 128, 224, 233–235, 236, 238, 247, 248, 274, 275–276 Liber Benedictionum 42, 65, 77, 78, 127
358
General index “Carmen in laude St. Galli” 124–125; see also Ratpert elocutio 105, 173 Emmeram, St., abbey of 82 enarratio 97 Enzelin, provost of Pf¨affers 122, 307 Ermenrich, abbot of Ellwangen 63 Fasold, Ralph 112, 153 Ferguson, C. A. 112, 113 Firchow, Evelyn S. 7 Fishman, Joshua 112 Fleischer, Oskar 251, 254 Fleury, abbey of 83 Gabriel, Eugen 251 Gerald, monk at St. Gall 54, 65 Gerbert, archbishop of Rheims, later Pope Sylvester II 65, 81–82, 85 German, as a foreign language 122–123, 135–136 Geuenich, Dieter 118 Gisela, Empress 45, 72, 72n120, 93 Glauch, Sonja 7, 78, 83, 103, 104, 151, 152, 188, 202 glosses; see also Ekkehard IV grammatical 138 Latin lexical 138 Old High German 138 grammatical terminology 140–142 morphological 139 ordo-est 38, 167, 200, 202 syntactical 139, 167, 200, 202, 204 Gozbert, abbot of St. Gall 56–57 Graham, William A. 18, 28, 33 grammatica; see also Notker Labeo, dialectica definitions of 23–26 as distinguished from rhetoric 24–25 parts of 25–28 Green, Dennis 232 Grimm, Jacob 249, 289 Gunzo of Novara 49 Haito, abbot of Reichenau and later bishop of Basel 37, 56–57, 132 Hartmut, abbot of St. Gall 54, 55, 62, 63 Hartwic, monk at St. Emmeram 82 Haubrichs, Wolfgang 37, 139 Hehle, Christine 7, 103, 202 Hellgardt, Ernst 136, 285 Herardus, archbishop of Tours 34 Heriger, abbot of Lobbes 85
Heusler, Andreas 289 Hildebrandt, M. M. 61 Hildemar, monk at Corbie, later bishop of Beauvais 25, 27, 29, 30, 32, 58, 64, 106–107 Expositio regulae 197, 273 De ratione bene legendi 189–190, 252 Hirsau, abbey of 130 Hitto, bishop of Freising 63 Hoffmann, Paul 151 Horn, Ernst 56, 58; passim, chapter two Hrabanus Maurus, abbot of Fulda, later bishop of Mainz 63, 119–120 De institutione clericorum 27, 273 Hugo, bishop of Sion 39; see also Notker Labeo, Letter to Inden, abbey of 132 Isidore of Seville 195 De ecclesiasticis officiis 31, 273, 295 Etymologiae 20, 180, 270, 272, 295 Sententiae 20 Iso, monk at St. Gall 50, 53, 55, 62 iudicium 97 Jellinek, Max Hermann 167 Kelle, Johann 40, 255 Keller, Wolfgang 252 King, James C. 7, 251, 255, 266 K¨ogel, Rudolf 148 language, medieval conceptualizations of 19–21 language use at St. Gall 123–124, 130–131, 154; see also Ekkehard IV, Notker Labeo Latin language Carolingian reforms of 35–36 influenced by German 126–128 latinitas 25 pronunciation 296 Law, Vivien 20–21, 72, 73, 80 Leclercq, Jean 30 lectio 8–9, 26–28 literacy 1n2, 17–18 relation to orality 15–23 types of 17–18 Liudger, Life of St. Gregory of Utrecht 36 Lotharingian monastic reforms 82 Louis the German, King 114 Louis the Pious, Emperor 34, 114
359
General index analysis in classroom 94–95, 97–99 function of 91–94 logistics of using 104–106 oral genesis of 101–103 pronunciation of 302–305 readers of 106–108, 306, 307 reading methodology 4–5, 45, 46–47, 196–197, 199–200, 247–248 relation to source texts 103–104, 202–204 structure of 145 written genesis of 103 curriculum dialectic 82–84, 85–86, 94 grammar 24–25, 97–101 rhetoric 24–25, 89–91, 97–101 elocutionary commentary in works of 226–235, 248 “Mischprosa” 5, 94, 96–97, 145–153 modern editors of 282–283 pronuntiatio 296–297 punctuation in MSS elocutionary punctuation 223, 238–246 heavy pointing 224 high point 224 low/mid point 224 punctus elevatus 238, 239–245 punctus interrogativus 224 punctus versus 238, 245 syntactical punctuation 223–226 reception of 108 spelling concept of spelling German 287–293, 298–299, 300, 302, 309–310 in preserved MSS 287, 302 (corrections) translation, views of 39–42, 134 use of the vernacular 128–129 word order simplified Latin word order 97, 98–99, 200–223 influence of German on Latin 216–223 word separation 306 works Cato, Distichsa 72, 72n124, 78, 93 Computus 92, 92n202 De arte rhetorica 85, 88, 89–90, 92, 92n200, 92n201, 102, 156, 296 De categoriis 94, 105, 200, 223, 238, 242, 245, 255, 256–261, 262–266, 277
Lupus, abbot of Ferri`eres 44, 63, 135–136, 272 Lutz, Cora 80 Mainz, cathedral school of 50 Marcellus, monk at St. Gall 53, 55 Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii 99, 177–178, 190, 215–216, 252, 269, 270 McKitterick, Rosamond 16–17, 35, 36n73, 59, 86, 114 Meinwerk, bishop of Paderborn 36 Meissburger, Gerhard 124 modulatio 26 monastic lectio 28–33 Mostert, Marco 16 Moulton, William 290, 307 Murbach Hymns 136, 139 Musica enchiriadis 191 N¨af, Anton 201 Norpert, abbot of St. Gall 64 Notker, abbot of St. Gall 59 Notker, bishop of Li`ege 82 Notker Balbulus, monk at St. Gall 22n31, 50, 53, 54, 55, 62, 69, 73, 76, 79, 121, 126, 135 Notker Labeo, monk at St. Gall accentuation in works of 12–13, 249–252, 253–267, 277–283 acute 253 circumflex 253 errors in copying 261–266 influenced by Latin tradition 267–268 Latin words 257, 274–275 “problematic” German words: adverbs 257, 258: common verbs 257, 261, 264: compounds 257; conjunctions 257, 260–261: demonstrative pronouns 263: diphthongs 256, 257: morphological endings 257: prepositions 257, 258–259, 264: pronouns 257, 258–261, 263–264: suffixes 257: unstressed prefixes 256 rules for 250–252, 253–255 scribal variation and 262–266 Anlautgesetz 13, 288–293, 302, 306 application of for reading German 307–309 phonological interpretation of 289–291 rules for 288–289 autograph 66–67 classroom texts
360
General index De consolatione Philosophiae 24, 70, 78–79, 88, 90–91, 97–98, 100–101, 103, 104, 146, 200, 201, 203–205, 206–210, 211–212, 214–215, 216–217, 219–220, 223, 228–229, 231, 238, 239–241, 245, 246, 250, 287 De definitione 83, 92n200, 95–97, 102 De dialectica 83, 92n200, 95, 155, 243–244 De interpretatione 83, 94–95, 105, 146, 152, 160, 200, 223, 226, 227, 231, 242, 245, 255, 256–261, 262–266, 277 De musica 93, 93n203 De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii 78–79, 97–100, 104, 152, 191, 200, 201, 202–203, 205–206, 210–211, 212–216, 217–219, 220–222, 223, 225–226, 228, 229–231, 232, 238, 242, 245, 246, 255, 276 De partibus logicae 83, 92n200, 95, 287 De syllogismis 83, 88, 92n200, 95–97, 102, 244, 255, 256–261 De Trinitate 93, 108 Distributio 83, 86, 92n200, 95, 155 Die kleineren Schriften 4 Letter to Bishop Hugo of Sion 6, 12, 39–42, 62, 66, 75, 78, 88, 92, 103, 156, 249, 308 Moralia in Job 44, 45, 93, 107 Notker Latinus 7, 202, 215 Principia arithmeticae 93 Psalter (including the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostle’s Creed and the Athanasian Creed) 45, 72, 93, 93n205, 107, 128, 147, 200, 280 St. Gall Tractate 11, 87, 155–164, 167, 169–177, 178–179, 181–183, 187–189, 194, 195, 196, 197, 201, 205, 217, 223, 224, 225, 228, 233, 242–243, 247; authorship of 156–157 Terence, Andria 78, 93, 97 Virgil, Bucolica 78, 93, 97 “Wiener Notker” 108 Notker Piperisgranum, monk at St. Gall 77
relation to literacy 15–23 types of 18 oratio 159 Ordo ad cognoscendi nomen 75 orthographia 295; see also spelling classical Latin 293–295 medieval Latin 295 Ostberg, Kurt 232 Otfrid of Weissenburg 283 Evangelienbuch 22, 45–46, 120–121, 286 Otto II, Emperor 50, 115
Old High German Benediktinerregel 37, 139 Old High German Isidore 285 Old High German Tatian 286 Omnis constructio ex substantia et actu fit 168–169 orality “oral writtenness” 22 reading and 18–19, 21–22
Parkes, Malcolm 9, 193, 246 Penzl, Herbert 290 performance analysis 179–197 periodus 159, 174, 176, 180, 247 Plan of St. Gall 53, 56–58 Poppo, abbot of Stavelot 64 Porphyry, Isagoge 82 Porter, David 137 praelectio 26 precentor 236 Priscian, Institutiones grammaticae 82, 86, 165–166, 182, 269, 300–302 proloquium 159, 174 pronuntiatio 26, 296 prosodiae 190 punctuation 12, 192–194, 196, 235–237 distinctiones 158, 179 distinctio finalis (ultima distinctio, plena distinctio) 179–180, 196 media distinctio 180, 196 St. Gall 236 subdistinctio 158, 180, 196 music 192 positurae 179, 192–194, 248 punctus elevatus 192, 196, 228, 248 punctus (circum) flexus 192, 196, 248 punctus interrogativus 192 punctus versus 192, 196, 228, 248 St. Gall 236–237, 245
Ratpert, monk at St. Gall 54, 55, 62, 65, 66, 69, 126 “Galluslied” 124–125; see also Ekkehard IV Regino of Pr¨um 115
361
General index Regula Benedicti 106 Regula Magistri 70 Reichenau, abbey of 37, 56, 136 Reichenauer Beichte 278 require 237, 238 Remigius of Auxerre 81 Commentary to De nuptiis 38, 177, 178, 202–203, 212, 213, 217, 218, 219, 220 Commentary to De consolatione 203–204 rhetorica 88; see also Notker Labeo, dialectica, grammatica Rich´e, Pierre 58, 71 Richer, biographer of Gerbert 65, 81 Richter, Michael 16, 118, 129 Robert, bishop of Metz 50, 63 Rudolf, abbot of St. Trond 135 Rupp, Heinz 121, 124 Saenger, Paul 9, 19, 28, 84, 179, 306 Salomo III, bishop of Constance 50, 53, 55, 62, 77 Scaglione, Aldo 173, 187 Schaumann, Ernst 151 Schmitt, Lorenz 277 school of St. Gall; see also Notker Labeo, Plan of St. Gall, scolastici circatores 66 external school 57–58, 59–60, 61–63 internal school 58–59, 60–61 Latin-only instruction at 133–134 pupils 63–64; see also external school, internal school semi-magistri 65–66 teachers 64, 65–67; see also circatores, semi-magistri “Schriftlichkeit” see “writtenness” Schr¨obler, Ingeborg 82 Schr¨oder, Werner 103 Schulte, Karl 202 Schulz, Ernst 125 scientia interpretandi 25 scola 53–54, 60; see also Plan of St. Gall scolastici 61–62 scriptura continua 28, 305 sentence movement 173–179 Sehrt, Edward 238, 251 sententia 159, 173–174, 176, 181–183, 196, 229, 247 sententia enuntiativa 159–160 separatio 158
Sievers, Eduard 251 Sievers, Paul 251, 275 Sindolf, dean at St. Gall 125–126 Smaragdus, Liber in partibus Donati 70 Sonderegger, Stefan 101, 283 spelling in St. Gall manuscripts 286–287, 299; see also Notker Labeo Speyer, cathedral school at 77 Staeves, Cornelia 152 St. Gall “Schularbeit” 140–142 St. Gall “Vorakten” 275 St. Maximin in Trier 156 Starck, Taylor 238, 251 Statutes of Murbach 37, 61, 132 style, types of genus distinctum (periodic) 176, 178 genus continuum (non-periodic) 159, 176, 177 syllaba 268 Synods of Aachen 56, 58 Synod of Frankfurt (794) 115 syntax; see also Notker Labeo, St. Gall Tractate ordo artificialis 164, 171, 214 ordo naturalis 11, 12, 158, 161, 164–169, 171, 172, 201–202, 214, 215, 222–223, 247, 282 continental vs. insular variety 205–210 ordo rerum 11, 12, 169–171, 210–216, 223 ordering parts of speech 172–173 Tax, Petrus W. 7, 96, 102, 157, 251, 297, 308 text production, activities of 18 Thegan, Life of Louis the Pious 115, 119 thesis 188–189, 190–191, 193, 252 Titivillus 32 translatio 26 Tuotilo, monk at St. Gall 55, 59, 62, 125, 126 Ulrich, St., bishop of Augsburg 50, 63, 69 Varro, De lingua latina 270 Velius Longus, De orthographia 294–295 verbal performance cues 11, 181–192 depositio vocis 100, 177, 181, 189, 190, 229, 231–235, 247 interrogative 189 mutanda est vox 181, 189 remissior vocis 190 suspensio vocis 100, 177, 181, 187–189, 218, 229, 231–235, 247
362
General index vernacular languages; see also Notker Labeo, education, glosses early medieval attitudes toward 119–121 uses of for missionary purposes 115–116 uses of to teach Latin 139–142 Victor, monk at St. Gall 50, 54, 307 Virgil, Aeneid 175, 181, 184 vox 178
Walahfrid Strabo, Vita S. Galli 54 Vita Otmari 54 Walter, bishop of Speyer 77 Wenzel, Sigfried 149 Wiborada, St. 63 word separation 237, 305–306 Wright, Roger 16, 295, 296, 297, 298 “writtenness” 17
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Cambridge Studies in Medie...
READING HEINRICH HEINE
This comprehensive study of the nineteenth-century German poet Heinrich Heine is the first to be...
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READING HEINRICH HEINE
This comprehensive study of the nineteenth-century German ...
This book argues for a radically new approach to the history of reading and literacy in the Middle Ages. It investigates...
