The seventh century is notoriously a troublesome period to tackle for early medievalists. The key reason for that—though in no way the only one—is the limited amount of available written sources. Despite obvious regional diversity, the so-called successor kingdoms that inherited lands, laws, and culture in what had been the Western territories of the Roman world all experienced deep changes in their social and political landscapes in the seventh century, with serious repercussions for the production of written texts. Long-established administrative practices grounded on the written word, most probably no longer responding effectively to the political needs and structures of the kingdoms, were cast aside, and even though they were usually replaced by texts of other kinds (charters, royal diplomas, formularies), only a handful of them have survived from the seventh century, when these new means of written political communication still were in their early stages of elaboration. What is more, the seventh century was also the time in which papyrus was almost universally replaced by parchment in the former Roman West. The consequences of this momentous change were twofold. On the one hand, seventh-century texts written on papyrus were the last ones to be exposed to the perishability of this material support. In other words, lots of them have most probably gone missing because they were still written on papyrus. On the other hand, writing on parchment was both more expensive and practically complicated. In other words, the act of writing started to be performed only in very carefully and highly meaningful cases, potentially resulting in a reduction of the overall production of textuality.
This preamble probably casts light on the reason why scholars working on the Merovingian world in the seventh century frequently look at the relatively rich dossier of hagiographical texts from that period with a sense of soulagement and even gratitude. Luckily, the shared feeling seems to be, we have them, so that we can actually say something. This is especially the case for the second half of the century, when the so-called Fredegar Chronicle comes to a close. The immediately following historical narratives, the Book of Frankish History and the Continuations of Fredegar, were written in the third and fourth decades of the eighth century and reflect the political purposes of their authors, as well as the hindsight with which they commented on the events of the Frankish world’s past. Scholars have thus turned to hagiography in order to fill the gaps in these narratives and better highlight the logics and mechanics of seventh-century Frankish society. Lives, Passions, Miracles, and (a few) Visions have been and still are the object of deep investigation, ranging from the very reasons for the blossoming of hagiographical writing in that period to their connection to (not only Columbanian) monasticism, to their roles in social and kinship groups’ strategies, to the social life of texts themselves. But more can always be done. This was arguably the purpose, and will hopefully be the aftermath, of the collection of texts brought together by Michèle Gaillard and Charles Mériaux.
Ten hagiographical dossiers are included here, providing the French translation (sometimes the very first one ever) for at least fifteen texts, though their sheer number can vary, depending on whether the parts composing them are considered—and interpreted by scholars—as one-piece sets or the products of different stages of composition and later assemblage. Fifteen is most probably the lowest number resulting. Most of them are Lives; one (the Life of Gertrude of Nivelles) is enriched with a clearly and structurally distinguished collection of Miracles, while the last text translated here is the Vision or Revelation of Barontus, quite certainly one of the earliest narratives of afterlife dreams produced in the Frankish world. Yet, as it is frequently the case, strict distinctions among hagiographical genres hardly work with regard to these texts. Some of them, such as the Lives and Passions of Desiderius of Vienne, include narratives of the violent deaths of their protagonists, thus presenting them as martyrs. In other cases, the saints are credited with the active search for martyrdom, but for practical reasons or unexpected turns of events they were unable—by God’s will—to obtain it. They were no less to be seen as lifelong martyrs, according to their hagiographers. An especially prominent and praiseworthy highlight of the collection is the inclusion of dossiers concerning saintly women, Gertrude of Nivelles, Sadalberga of Laon, and Queen Balthild. The result is a rich and multi-faceted overview of the representations and functions of female sanctity in the Merovingian world of the seventh century. The monumental Life of Wilfrid of York by Stephen of Ripon is by far the most conspicuous text translated, covering 69 pages by itself. Its supposed date of composition, in the early 710s, also reveals that the collection, while only including texts about seventh-century saints, is not limited to narratives produced in the seventh century. The same can be evinced from the Life of Philibert of Jumièges, a text with a highly complicated editorial history. An initial narrative core can be possibly dated back to the early eighth century, but the text was shaped in the way we know it only in Carolingian times. This is but one of the hints provided by this collection on the fortunes of Merovingian hagiography—its afterlife, in a way—in the following centuries, usually alluded to in the short introductions to each dossier, authored by the same scholar (or scholars) working on the translation.
A general introduction by Gaillard and Mériaux opens the book, providing an explanation for the selection of the title by referencing to a 1942 publication by Léon Van der Essen. Focus is cast on the origins and early development of Christian hagiography and the modèles de sainteté (a label cheered by Claudio Leonardi) especially celebrated by Merovingian texts, mostly devoted to monastic and episcopal figures. Methodological snippets on the transformations in the critical approaches to hagiographies over time are also provided, with a special focus on the triple stylisation outlined by Jacques Fontaine in his study of the Life of Martin by Sulpicius Severus, the practices of transmissions of hagiographical texts in the shape of collections, and the audience of these texts.
The overall pedagogical purpose of the book looks clear. A selection of texts is provided in translation for French-speaking scholars wishing to access and include them in their research activity. The absence of the original (Latin) texts translated here, usually those published in the MGH, is probably a bit of a flaw, should one need to compare them with their translations. Readers are thus precluded from appreciating the translators’ choices. While the collection no doubt provides a highly representative sample of Merovingian hagiographical production, the criteria driving the selection of texts are not entirely clear. Finally, the price of the book probably places it a little out of the economic range especially for students and younger scholars, thus possibly reducing its circulation and pedagogical impact. Despite that, the idea of producing translations of texts that are frequently little accessible—due to both linguistic reasons and their editorial histories—is absolutely welcome and deserves to be developed in the future. My hope is precisely that more collections and translations, in books but possibly also in digital form, will appear in the coming years. Full coverage of and access to the seventh-century hagiographical production as a whole will cast increasing light on the otherwise obscure siècle des saints.