If you do not teach Carolingian history, you may not think a bouquet of non-narrative sources from a doomed mid-ninth-century Frankish kingdom is for you. But medievalists of all stripes, Byzantinists too, should consider teaching from Charles West’s admirable new sourcebook.

Fall of a Carolingian Kingdom translates--and extensively discusses--22 documents from the world of Charlemagne’s great-grandson Lothar II (r. 855-869). In a Europe full of Carolingian kings, Lothar ruled a large, awkward ribbon of a kingdom (~110,000 km2) drooping from the North Sea to the Alps, known today as Lotharingia (map at p. 4, Figure 1). He hoped to bequeath it to his son Hugh. He failed. Fall makes the case for teaching this dynastic flop.

Lothar II’s hopes were scuttled by a divorce scandal, whose impact on kingship, church-state relations, and marriage have earned it a large historiography (p. ix).[1] Most of the sources in Fall touch on Lothar, his kingdom, and his scandal. Some (nos. 3, 10, 15, 22) give contrast or color. West has excluded various annals and a contemporary treatise directly pertaining to the divorce, a reasoned policy to which I will return. But the divorce is the Ariadne’s thread.

West ably recounts the background in his introduction (pp. 1-9) and conclusion (pp. 201-204). Extended introductions to each document (pp. 11-14, 16-18, 19-21, 46-52, 52-55, 85-88, 99-101, 102-103, 105-108, 112-115, 121-124, 129-131, 134-137, 140-142, 146-149, 153-157, 163-167, 167-169, 170-173, 174-176, 179-182, 182-186) serve as a running history of the affair, almost a book within the book.

The story goes as follows: In 855, Lothar II married Theutberga, the daughter of a powerful family. Their marriage was unhappy and childless, so Lothar rekindled relations with the ninth-century equivalent of his high-school sweetheart, Waldrada. Discrediting Theutberga with accusations and humiliations worthy of Henry VIII, Lothar tried to make the world recognize Waldrada as his legitimate wife. This would in turn legitimize their son Hugh as heir.

Three impediments, as West explains (p. 203), doomed this strategy. First, legitimate parentage was increasingly seen as central to royal authority, ironic in a dynasty that took a family name from the bastard Charles Martel (incidentally, a forebear said in Lothar II’s time to be “certainly doomed forever” [no. 3, p. 31]). But now that it gave them a claim on Lother's realm, Lothar’s uncles, Charles the Bald and Louis the German, defended marriage’s sanctity (p. 7). Second, as Lothar placated his uncles (no. 6), Pope Nicholas I (r. 858-867) put his crimson-clad foot down (nos. 14, 16), excommunicating two Lotharingian archbishops and later Waldrada. Third, Theutberga refused to surrender (as, for that matter, did Waldrada), and Lothar had to take her back several times (no. 13). In 869, Lothar died of fever at Piacenza while trying to win over a new pope. While his brother, Emperor Louis II (r. 855-875), battled the Muslims of southern Italy (no. 22), his uncles gobbled up Lotharingia. Hugh, el Desdichado, fought on, but the luckless heir was blinded in 885 (a fate relegated, almost fittingly, to a footnote: p. 174, n. 2).

To speak of the woe that was in Carolingian marriage, West presents a raft of non-narrative sources.[2] West does not toot his own horn about this, but he is often the first to translate these texts into any modern tongue. They include:

Barring a wave of Lotharmania, I suspect most teachers will use this collection magpie-style, plucking out texts for courses unrelated to the Ballad of Lothar the Luckless. Candidates include the charters (nos. 1, 8, 9, 13), the coin (no. 2), the liber memorialis extract (no. 4), the coronation ordo (no. 15), and the anti-Viking liturgy (no. 17). For me, the three most temptingly extractable teaching texts--all great to have in English--are the Quierzy letter of 858, a masterpiece of episcopal passive-aggression directed at Louis the German upon his invasion of West Francia (no. 3), the will of Eberhard and Gisela (no. 10), and the letter of Louis II of Italy to Basil I (no. 22).

I’ll highlight Louis’s letter (no. 22, pp. 182-200), both for its inherent interest and for what it says about the sourcebook. To defeat the emirate of Bari, Louis II had struck up an alliance with Basil I (r. 867-886), the Byzantine emperor--or “Roman” emperor (see p. 183-184, for judicious discussion of the past and present politics of naming the Byzantines). The allies captured Bari in 871, but then fell into mutual recriminations. Louis’s letter, responding to a lost letter from Basil disdaining Frankish imperial claims, wonderfully illuminates Frankish/Byzantine/Muslim/Slavic relations. Ghostwritten by Anastasius Bibliothecarius, the letter is also a snarkfest. Anastasius not only knew Greek, he knew his Byzantine history better than the Byzantines. In English, it has only ever been translated in dribs and drabs; having the whole thing is a boon for teachers.

What does it mean that some of book’s jazziest texts deal only tangentially with Lothar II? It’s hard to picture teachers in today’s Anglophone Medieval Studies--mindful of sagging enrollments, deferential to the Eurofugal imperatives of the Global Middle Ages--offering a standalone course on the Carolingian tragedy that brought us quiche Lorraine. But West, who taught such a course (p. xi), is eloquent (p. ix, 8-9) on its potential as a case study. Clearly he hopes that those who come for the emirate of Bari will stay for the acts of Aachen.

As an avocational Lotharhead, I can say that Fall’s constellation of texts and book-within-the-book commentary shifted my perspective (as West intended: p. ix). Documents like nos. 5 and 6, together with West’s intelligent analysis, pushed me away from what West calls a “Realpolitik” (pp. 6-7) interpretation of the divorce case, centered on the uncles’ cynical self-interest,to one more attentive to “religious and legal frameworks” (pp. 7-8): less contingency, more structure.

Fall also opened my eyes to Bishop Adventius of Metz (nos. 5, 7, 9, 11, 17, 18), who gets lost in the crowd of Carolingian intellectuals. Here he emerges as an Odysseus-in-the-Iliad type: sly and capable at the edge of the limelight. Part windbag (self-protectively?), part survivor, he could pull off simultaneously groveling to and guilt-tripping the pope (no. 11, p. 124).

West’s extensive introductions and notes--which mix Quellenkritik, narrative, and analysis--offer many insights to the mixed audience (p. ix) he envisions and the inclusion of an excellent analytical index only further expands the strength and utility of the work. Bases are covered for students (48: “people in this period generally had only a single name, with neither surname nor nickname”), and cognoscenti will admire West’s tactful management of the historiography. West foregrounds Anglophone scholarship (p. ix), but assiduously and generously integrates continental insights. Anyone who can summarize a Karl Schmid joint in a page and a half of undergraduate-friendly English (49-50) deserves some kind of medal. At times, West’s hiking trails are so thoroughly marked one almost worries his guidance might discourage students from interpretive bushwhacking. Fortunately, whenever multiple paths through the evidential forest exist--for instance, with Carolingian Staatlichkeit (p. 13; no. 3, p. 45, n. 6)--West is careful to point out alternatives, even if it’s pretty clear which trail he’d take.

The translations are strong. West deserves praise for felicitous navigation though Carolingian Latin. There are realia (esp. in the will, no. 10) and technical terms (esp. in the charters) to deal with, as well as the hard-to-capture passive aggression of bishops in high dudgeon (no. 3) and the style-pile of councils and treatises (no. 5), all elegantly handled. Only rarely did my take on the Latin differ from West’s, and generally in minimalia. One example, from the arachnid webs of Anastasius’s Latinity (no. 22): to mock Basil’s iotacized rix (for rex), Anastasius feigns bewilderment: to what language (linguae), to what title (dignitati), asks Anastasius-as-Louis, could this “barbarous noise” (barbarus ille sonus) correspond (congruat)? Nichil enim est hoc.[3] Here West translates: “There is none” (p. 194), as in, “there is no such language/dignity.” Est hoc could be “there is,” but I’d render this differently; since hoc cannot correspond to feminine lingua or dignitas (or masculine sonus), I think the delayed neuter pronoun stresses rix’s thingness: “because that is not a thing.” Anastasius’s pantomime of realization--“keeeeng? keeeeng?Wait, do you mean king? ”--is a solid and revealing burn, a bit lost here.[4]

Generally, though, while following along in the Latin (which West, to his great credit, makes easy by pellucid signposting of editions), I was impressed. All the more so, since West’s disproportionately non-narrative sources almost have to be translated twice over: once for Latin, once for genre conventions. This really does justify the long introductions, which some might otherwise call overlong. Document no. 5 (in fact, four interrelated texts)--for me the jewel of the Lothar-centric material--accomplishes this dual task with enviable skill.

As said before, West excludes from this reader major sources--some might say the richest sources--dwelling on the divorce scandal: the Annals of Saint-Bertin, Hincmar of Reims’s treatise On the Divorce, the Annals of Fulda, the Annals of Xanten, various relevant letters, and Regino of Prüm’s Chronicle. His reason is sensible: most of these have already been translated, including--ably--by West himself (with Rachel Stone) in the case of On the Divorce.[5]

But without them, and especially without Hincmar (notwithstanding nos. 3, 15), who wrote both On the Divorce and the Annals of Saint-Bertin for 861-882, the quiche needs some salt. Hincmar provides details that keep students going, e.g. the excommunicated archbishop’s complaint that Pope Nicholas wanted to be “emperor of the whole world.” West’s solution is to quote such material in the introductions and notes (e.g. 122, for Nicholas’ megalomania). But it might have been nice to include extracts of these previously-translated texts, just so that teachers could assign one sourcebook instead of three, four, or five.

West convinced me that the tale of Lothar II can and should be taught to undergraduates, and that Fall, which doubles as a sourcebook and a history, is a key tool for the job. Now that there’s a way, I hope there will be a will. I confess my first reaction to the book’s subtitle--Lotharingia, 855-869--was to wonder how many teachers would teach, or students take, courses on that recherché-sounding theme. Now, having been won over, I wonder how I ever internalized a hierarchy of interestingness that put Lothar, Theutberga, and Waldrada in the corner.

Juicy letters and charters, lurid conciliar acts, a (disingenuous?) burn-after-reading note, barefoot prayers against the Vikings, a roast of Byzantine imperial monopolism by the best ghostwriter in the business: salt this with some Hincmar (and maybe a dash of Regino), and students will eat it up. West deserves thanks and praise for making these sources accessible to our undergraduates--and for reminding us pros never to take our Carolingians for granted.

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Notes:

1. See West’s bibliography (205-222); West intentionally (p. x) omits some non-Anglophone scholarship, e.g. Jens Schneider, Auf der Suche nach dem verlorenen Reich: Lotharingien im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert (Cologne, 2010); Tristan Martine and Jessika Nowak, ed., D’un regnum à l’autre: la Lotharingie, un espace de l’entre-deux? / Vom Regnum zum Imperium: Lotharingien als Zwischenreich? (Nancy, 2021).

2. For another early medieval sourcebook centered on non-narrative sources, see Deborah Deliyannis, Hendrik Dey, and Paolo Squatriti, Fifty Early Medieval Things: Materials of Culture in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Ithaca, 2019).

3. MGH Epp 7, p. 390: “Postremo scito quia qui ‘riga’ quemquam appellat, quid dicat, nec ipse novit. Siquidem etiam si linguis omnibus more apostolorum, immo angelorum, loquaris, cuius linguae sit ‘rix’ vel cui dignitati sonus ille barbarus congruat, quod ‘rix’ dicitur, interpretari non poteris. Nichil enim est hoc, nisi forte ad idioma propriae linguae tractum ‘riga’ regem significare monstraveris.”

4. West also loses one of Anastasius’s four comic repetitions of the word rix, twice in the nominative (rix) and twice in the Greek accusative (riga). On this, see Christian Gastgeber, “Kaiserliche Schreiben des 9. Jahrhunderts in den Westen,” in Quellen zur byzantinischen Rechtspraxis, ed. Christian Gasgeber (Vienna, 2010), 89-106, at 97-99.

5. Janet Nelson, trans., The Annals of St-Bertin (Manchester, 1991); Rachel Stone and Charles West, trans., The Divorce of King Lothar and Queen Theutberga: Hincmar of Rheims’s De divortio (Manchester, 2017); Timothy Reuter, trans. The Annals of Fulda (Manchester, 1992); David d’Avray, trans., Dissolving Royal Marriages: A Documentary History, 860-1600 (Cambridge, 2014), 11-43 (letters pertaining to the affair); Simon MacLean, trans. History and Politics in Late Carolingian and Ottonian Europe: The Chronicle of Regino of Prüm and Adalbert of Magdeburg (Manchester, 2009).