Professor Beneš has done scholars and students an enormous service by creating a well-supported and clear version of an important chronicle. Her smooth translation of complex medieval Latin and substantial notes make Jacopo da Varagine’s account accessible and enjoyable.

The introduction opens by clarifying the dual identity of the author. As Jacobus de Voragine, a much later version of his name, he authored the Golden Legend, a compilation of saints’ lives that was a medieval bestseller and still provides the basis of many saints’ stories. Jacopo, however, styled himself Jacobus de Varagine, after his birthplace (1). The first identity and work have largely overshadowed the other major work of this extremely well educated and productive scholar and archbishop, his chronicle. In addition, as Jacopo himself tells us, he “wrote two volumes of sermons on all the saints.... He also wrote sermons for all the Sunday Gospel readings that are read in church throughout the course of the year.... He also wrote sermons on all the Gospels which are read on each weekday during Lent.... He also wrote a book called the Mariale, which is entirely about the Blessed Mary and arranged according to the letters of the alphabet” (247-248).

I will return to the other valuable materials in the introduction, but wish to focus first on the extraordinarily clear, disciplined mind that Jacopo displays throughout his chronicle, as demonstrated above. As one who has spent years slogging through the extraordinarily un disciplined mind of another chronicler, [1] I envied Beneš the privilege of working with such a well-ordered text. Jacopo begins each of the twelve books that comprise his chronicle with a brief summary of the book’s contents and the way in which he will present relevant materials. So, for example, Part Two: On the Early History of Genoa: “Here follows part two, which deals with the era of the construction of the city of Genoa. This part has three chapters. The first discusses the era in which the city was founded; the second details the era in which it was expanded, and the third discusses how Genoa was destroyed by the Carthaginians or Africans but rebuilt by the Romans, and in what era that occurred” (56). He proceeds as such, moving methodically through each era, following his outline to the letter. Jacopo’s clear summaries and Beneš’s smooth presentation combine to make his lengthy work clear and engaging.

Each of the twelve books examines some aspect of Genoa from a unique perspective, though some specific events appear more than once. As Beneš points out in the introduction, Jacopo’s self-titled chronicle, like others of its ilk, features “a clear and consistent civic focus: their intended audience is the citizenry; their priorities are those of the city, commune, or urban population; and they discuss broader historical events mainly insofar as they influenced or reflected events in the city” (22). Some books, 1-5 and 10, follow a generally chronological framework, tracing the city from its origin to Jacopo’s own day, “at the time of its perfection” (82). The early books draw on earlier sources from Genoa as well as universal histories and “set pieces of prose of poetry extolling the virtues of a particular city” (23). By contrast, 2-9 provide “rules or advice for good citizenship” as well as for good governance (23-24). Jacopo’s views on good governance differ from those of many others; he “says very clearly that he does not care what type of government or rulers a city has a long as they work for the common good” (26)--a highly unusual position indeed in fractious and partisan Italian politics.

The closing two books make up the longest, about 40 per cent of the total (27)--not surprisingly, given their focus on the history of Genoa under first the bishops (book 11) and then the archbishops (book 12). As in the first books that speculate on the origins and early history of Genoa, imagination and legend characterize much of the early stories. Unlike many chroniclers, however, Jacopo admits to the sparseness of the historical record: “[F]or all the bishops between Valentine and Theodulf, we have their names, but we have been unable to find their dates” (166). Jacopo does not simply abandon the issue of dates though, reasoning that because Gregory the Great mentions the church of Saint Syrus in his Dialogues, we can at least place Syrus before the time of Gregory. Furthermore, supposing Syrus preceded Gregory by twenty years, Jacopo estimates that each bishop held office for about that same span of time, and thus places Romulus as Gregory’s contemporary. Similarly, he reasons that though only five bishops are recorded over 330 years, “it is not remotely credible that each of these bishops should have been bishop for so many years, so we must conclude either that many bishops between Romulus and Theodulf are missing..., or that the Genoese church was vacant for many years at various times...” (167). His logical analysis and Beneš’s translation both deserve praise for presenting his complex rationales with such lucidity.

Also not surprisingly, some overlap appears between these two chapters and the earlier chapters that focused on the city’s history. The emphases differ, however; these last two chapters make far more references to the workings of both God and to the devil, in alignment with his subjects. Jacopo begins with the miracles ascribed to Genoa’s first bishop, Saint Valentine, and then recounts how twin saints in Gaul were born on the same day, consecrated the same day, and taken up to Christ the same day, commenting, “These things must not be attributed to fate or the stars; rather, they must be ascribed to divine ordinance. For the stars or constellations cannot impose necessity on human beings because many inconsistencies would follow if they could, as Saint Gregory of Nyssa says” (168). The inexorable logic of both Jacopo and his sources reveal that God would have to be not good, impotent, or unjust to grant the stars such power.

Jacopo presents ample evidence of his enormous erudition throughout his chronicle, but especially in the early sections of chapter 11, in which he not only makes clear scholastic arguments but also ranges widely in terms of geography. Stories from Sicily, Gaul, Italy appear; even Mohammed gets a mention (170). So, too, do women; several queens, Theodelinda, Clothilde, and Galla receive credit for converting entire peoples to Christianity (Longobards, Gauls, and Hungarians, respectively). Even more, he relates that “there were once wise and pious women who converted peoples to the faith of Christ and invented Latin, Greek, and Egyptian letters!” (172)--but of course women of his own time are far from paragons of devotion, concerning themselves with the vanities of the world more than with God or education (173). His early praise of certain women fades in his misogynist account of Pope Joan who supposedly died in childbirth in a small street in Rome. “This woman began presumptuously, continued deceitfully and foolishly, and ended ignominiously, for this is the nature of women: in doing some task, at the beginning, she displays presumption and impudence; in the middle she shows foolishness; and at the end she incurs shame” (183). Just in case the reader missed the point the first two times, he repeats it with slight variation twice more. Yet closer to his own time, he praises the countess Matilda, writing “In this holy woman was fulfilled the statement in Ecclesiasticus that a woman is better than a man” (192, italics in original).

Book 11 reveals more of Jacopo’s mind than any other. Many fascinating excursuses (says the OED) appear therein, often drawing attention to God’s mercy or inscrutable justice. Chapter 15, for example, examines several stories that involve mice, centering on one poor soul who was pursued by, and ultimately eaten by, mice. After referring to the plagues of Egypt and the possibility that the man was a diviner of mice, Jacopo concludes, “it is hardly surprising if such unnatural things happened because in these times the schismatic Wibert was protected while Gregory--that very holy man--was put to flight” (195-197). The bishops in this book receive credit for various miracles, but overall function as chronological markers more than actors; the bulk of each chapter concerns events that happened during their respective tenures.

Somewhat jarringly, book 12 stays firmly on the ground, recounting much of Genoese and European history from 1130, the time of the first archbishop, and ending with Jacopo himself. As he nears his own time, Jacopo does reveal a precious few items relating to his own life: his witnessing as a child the eclipse of 1239, his entrance into the Dominican order in 1244, and his sighting of the comet of 1244 (235, 237, 241). Again, in contrast to book 11, Jacopo refrains from speculation, only offering the minimal comment that “we...wondered what God wished to signify by so unusual and unprecedented a portent, or what great future event he wished to presage by it” (241). The few miracles that appear in book 12 “act as physical manifestations of the divine favour bestowed upon the Genoese,” as did the far more numerous miracles performed by the saintly early bishops of Genoa (35). Perhaps because he had more sources to draw upon, or because more living witnesses could testify to the accuracy of his account, Jacopo jettisons speculation for much more evidence-based reporting. Overall his account is accurate, though Beneš’s thorough footnotes alert us here and in other chapters when he errs.

To return to the short and excellent introduction: Beneš positions Jacopo “in historical context as a Dominican and an archbishop, born and raised in the bustling cities of late medieval Italy--most particularly Genoa, with its peculiar mix of cutthroat commerce and deep Christian piety” (3)--a spot-on characterization that is also delightfully funny. She proceeds to sketch briefly the nature of Italian civic chronicles, Genoa’s own history, Jacopo’s life, career, and literary output. Jacopo’s ambitious chronicle “combines multiple medieval genres--the annal, the universal chronicle, civic praise of encomium, and handbooks of moral and political advice--into a coherent whole...” (28). Given the chronicle’s scope, identifying the author’s sources challenges the modern editor, especially given the medieval habit of freely using materials without attribution or even accuracy (29). Add to this a number of enormous encyclopedias of citations and quotations (29) and it becomes almost impossible to state exactly where one author might have found any specific source. Despite these difficulties, Beneš offers a persuasive and helpful list of probable sources, divided into seven categories (30-32). She then highlights several salient characteristics of Jacopo’s chronicle: Genoese independence, the orthodox piety of the Genoese, the moral superiority of the Genoese character, and the role of miracles (33-35). Overall, “Jacopo’s Chronicle thus demonstrates the didactive purpose of history as it was imagined in the Middle Ages” (35). Even miracles can “serve a civic function as well here, as physical and/or historical proof of God’s great favour toward the Genoese” (35). The introduction concludes with a few words concerning the text and translation, alerting readers to particular difficulties in translating and explaining her linguistic choices (37-38).

A review can only hint at the expanse and richness of this work. Beneš’s labors in making this fascinating and important chronicle accessible to a wide audience contribute significantly to the growing body and sophistication of chronicle studies. The four maps in the beginning on xi-xiii come from her own GIS project and help both scholars and students to situate people and events precisely. Finally, Manchester University Press is to be commended for creating an attractive and (as far as I could see) error-free volume, all too rare these days. Bravi a tutti!

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Notes:

1. Bindino da Travale, Chronicle (1315-1416) (Toronto: Centre for Renaissance and Reformation Studies, 2021).