Alexandria Historical Review Issue 1 Volume 3

Alexandria Historical Review Volume 3, Issue 1 Spring 2019

Alexandria Historical Review A Publication of the History Students of Patrick Henry College

Volume 3 - Issue 1 - Spring 2019 Editor-in-Chief: Editors:

Shane Keenan Joshua Trepiccione Sarah Henry

Design Editor:

Marjorie Pratt

Facultly Advisor:

Dr. Douglas Favelo

Faculty Advisor:

Dr. Robert Spinney

Patrick Henry College Purcellville, VA www.phc.edu Alexandria Historical Review, Page ii

Table of Contents Letter From the Editor ...........................................................4 Shane Keenan

Provincials, Politics, and Pragmatism: The History of Roman Citizenship after the Edict of Caracalla ..................................5 Joshua Trepiccione

From Slave to Sultana ............................................................18 Clare Downing

Ireland’s Christianization: Its Effects on Irish Literature, Irish Linguistic Development, and the Preservation of Ancient Manuscripts ..........................................................................31 Hannah Blalack

The Influence of Arabic Rhythm in the Usage of Virelai in Alfonso X’s Cantigas de Santa María .......................................51 Sarah Henry

Alexandria Historical Review, Page iii

Letter From the Editor Welcome to the fourth issue of the Alexandria Historical Review! This issue is comprised of essays covering a wide array of historical topics, from political rights in the late Roman Empire to the music of late medieval Spain. These four papers exemplify the diverse array of topics and the various ways of doing history. It is our hope that this issue gives you a greater appreciation for history and the variety of topics it can cover.

In the first paper, Joshua Trepiccione explores the 212 AD Edict of Caracalla, which granted citizenship to all free persons in the Roman Empire. While historians have long assumed this devalued citizenship, Trepiccione joins a rising faction in the academic community who point out that this argument is based on a heavily biased source.

Next, Claire Downing delivers a fascinating account of the life of Sultana Roxalana. It follows Roxalana’s unparalleled rise from being captured as a slave, to becoming a member of the Sultan’s harem and then the Sultan’s wife. The paper argues that Roxalana had significant power and influence over the Sultan but also genuinely loved him.

The third paper, by Hannah Blalack, argues that Christianity had a positive effect on Ireland’s literature and culture. In doing so, it enabled Ireland to preserve, and arguably prevent the downfall of Western Civilization.

The fourth paper exemplifies the diverse subject mater of history even more. In this essay, Sarah Henry covers the music of late Medieval Spain in relation to the conflict between Christianity and Islam on the Iberian Peninsula in the 13th century.

Shane Keenan, Editor-in-Chief of the Alexiandria Historical Review

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 4

P

rovincials, Politics, and Pragmatism: The History of Roman Citizenship after the Edict of Caracalla Joshua Trepiccione

This article focuses on a topic of renewed interest from Roman scholars. Josh’s work centers on the question of the value of Roman citizenship following the Edict of Caracalla in AD 212. Although historians have long assumed that the value of citizenship diminished after the supposed grant of citizenship to all free-born subjects of the empire, this paper builds a strong case challenging the current scholarship on this question.

The Antonine Constitution, also known as the Edict of Caracalla, was a decree from the recently crowned emperor in AD 212 granting citizenship to all free people within the Roman Empire. Roman scholars have historically dismissed this edict as a practical measure from an otherwise insignificant emperor to raise taxes. Although this is a plausible explanation, scholars have only recently challenged the traditional explanations for this grant of citizenship. However, this was nothing short of a monumental event in the history of the Roman Empire and, according to some scholars, a landmark achievement in the Western civilization in the incorporation of various regional and ethnic identities in a wide-ranging, cohesive empire. Traditionally, under Roman law, certain taxes, such as the inheritance tax, could only be collected from Roman citizens. Caracalla’s decree, however, changed the Roman system of enfranchisement.

There is ample evidence suggesting that there was a comprehensive system of granting citizenship in the late Roman Empire, however there has been very little interest in performing anything close to a systematic study of citizenship in the later empire. Furthermore, many scholars also believe that this was almost exclusively a practical measure strictly for taxation purposes and if anything, took more rights and privileges away from Romans than it afforded them. Until recently, there has been little challenge to this prevailing historical paradigm. The value of Roman citizenship cannot be determined by the numbers of people who possess it but in how the Romans themselves saw and utilized their status as citizens.1 Even After the issuance of the Antonine Constitution, Roman citizenship was still a distinguishing factor of social and legal standing in the Roman Empire.

The current state of scholarship of the Antonine Constitution asserts that the value of Roman citizenship significantly declined after the reign of Caracalla. Scholars such as Peter Brown go further, saying, “The brittle privileges and self-respect once associated with the notion of citizenship slipped away.”2 Peter Garnsey seconds this view and the prevailing scholarly consensus on the issue saying,

1 Ralph W. Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Romani: Concepts of Citizenship and the Legal Identity of Barbarians in the Later Roman Empire,” The American Historical Review 111, no. 4 (2006): 1015.

2 Peter Brown, Power, and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire, The Curti lectures 1988 (Madison, Wis.: Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1992), 154.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 5

“For some modern observers, it was all over for Roman citizenship after Caracalla’s edict … citizenship had lost whatever residual value it formerly possessed.”3 These scholars are indicative of the prevailing paradigm concerning Caracalla and largely resemble the claims of the ancient historian, and contemporary of Caracalla, Cassius Dio. However, in many instances of these accounts, Dio’s authority as a senator and a historian are taken at face value. It is confounding that such a momentous occasion received little attention from contemporary scholars and historians even within its own time.4 More recently, however, some historians have developed a few additional plausible theories that depart from this traditional narrative. In this aspect of the scholarship, it becomes impossible to recreate or discern every motive and intention behind the edict itself. Rather, it is my goal to use the available evidence to reconstruct a scenario that also takes into account the biases of the traditional narrative, but that also acknowledges the impossibility of answering the question of the value of Roman citizenship after the time of Caracalla.

Through the use of the minority’s methodology among scholars, I intend to attempt to contribute to the growing field of historians who believe that Roman citizenship still carried value after the reign of Caracalla. Mathisen’s work on the importance of regional and provincial status in citizenship has been an invaluable asset in providing a basic framework for this approach. Moreover, even he admits that there is still much work to do in this field.5 With this in mind, it is essential to examine the limited, yet useful primary source data.

Unfortunately, the Caracalla’s edict itself only survives in fragments, obscuring its original purpose as well as the otherwise relatively short-lived emperor’s grander ambitions. With the available information, it may be possible to present an entirely plausible scenario while also reading against the grain of Dio’s account and the lofty desire of appeasing the gods in the Antonine Constitution. Instead, like Mathisen, I will take a more mundane approach of examining the practical and legal implications of the measure as well. Moreover, I seek to understand how Caracalla’s citizenship worked within the boundaries of various Roman regions and evaluate its impact as well as unintended consequences.

Despite the limited information from the few remaining remnants of the Antonine Constitution, what still exists helps to explain how historians have approached the document. The edict itself was not discovered until 1902 in fragments of a Greek manuscript that was likely translated from the Latin.6 From that time onward, the debate surrounding what the edict itself means and the most critical ramifications from its implementation is still debated. In fact, a few scholars even compiled a comprehensive list of ninety-two questions that the document raises. Scholars have only been able to agree upon a handful of these in an overwhelming consensus that reveals just how divisive the debate over the subject has been over time.7 Traditionally the scholarship falls into clear delineations over the 3 Simon Swain, ed., Approaching Late Antiquity: The Transformation from Early to Late Empire, Reprinted.

(Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2008), 140.

4 Scott Fitzgerald Johnson, ed., The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, First issued as an Oxford University Press paperback. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 745.

5 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Roman,” 1013..

6 Olivier Hekster and Nicholas Zair, Rome and Its Empire: AD 193-284, Debates and documents in ancient history (Edinburgh: Edinburgh Univ. Press, 2008), 45.

7 Hekster and Zaire, 46.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 6

issues of Caracalla’s intentions and the practical effects of the measure which until recently closely followed contemporary accounts from ancient Roman historians and a few related jurists.8 Although there is no consensus, it is clear that more recent scholarship has begun to question Dio’s account. Mitchell acknowledges the claim that the value of citizenship was certainly diminished by the time of Caracalla but cautions readers not to accept the “cynical” explanation of Caracalla’s grant of citizenship as an entirely practical measure for taxation.9 Granting citizenship to all citizens would have mandated a five percent inheritance tax on all citizens.10 Although there is some evidence to suggest that Caracalla may have raised this inheritance tax by as much as ten percent.11 Southern suggests that Caracalla likely possessed several motives for the measure beyond just the benefit of taxation.

At any rate, the current scholarship indicates that the view on the measure has been dynamic, particularly in the past few decades. Even more recently, scholars, such as Mathisen, have gone even further and have asserted that there has been little to no real systematic study of Roman citizenship following the Antonine Consitution, due to the readily made assumption that the grant of citizenship was universally accepted among the historical community.12 The account of the Roman historian and Senator Cassius Dio serves as one of the most comprehensive accounts of Caracalla’s reign and edict. Cassius Dio’s account of Roman history, moreover, is the primary written source material from the period, although there are many secondary archaeological pieces that are telling from the period as well. By all accounts, Caracalla had a terse relationship with the Senate and with Dio. So much so, in fact, that Dio depicts Caracalla as a menacing autocrat who he does not flatter in any way.13 Is it possible, however, that although Dio speaks with such authority as a contemporary that no alternative has been sought out? After all, as a senator, Dio likely was heavily biased against Caracalla since he was never able to attain more than a marginal, if not insignificant, relationship with the imperial court.14 Moreover, it is also important to keep Dio’s motivations in mind as well. As a politically ambitious senator, Dio was likely to present his role in the account in as favorable a light as possible. Dio even goes as far as carefully tracking his political appointments and concludes his work with his election to the consulship.15 Rather than viewing Dio’s standing with the emperor as indicative of all imperial positions in Caracalla’s court, it is more likely that Dio’s experiences are more reflective of one senator’s experience in the periphery of power. The following account from Dio shows how the wording of the document itself was biased against the emperor: 8 Hekster and Zaire., 47.

9 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Roman,” 1014.

10 Johnson, 745.

11 Elizabeth A. Meyer, “Explaining the Epigraphic Habit in the Roman Empire: The Evidence of Epitaphs,” The Journal of Roman Studies 80 (1990): 78.

12 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Roman,” 1014.

13 Southern, 51.

14 Caillan Davenport, “Cassius Dio and Caracalla,” The Classical Quarterly 62, no. 2 (2012): 796.

15 Ibid., 797-798.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 7

Then there were the provisions that we were required to furnish in great quantities on all occasions, and this without receiving any remuneration and sometimes actually at additional cost to ourselves all of which supplies he either bestowed upon the soldiers or else peddled out; and there were the gifts which he demanded from the wealthy citizens and the various communities; and the taxes, but the new ones which he promulgated and the ten per cent tax that he instituted in place of the five per cent tax applying to the emancipation of slaves, to bequests, and to all legacies; for he abolished the right of succession and exemption from taxes which had been granted in such cases to those who were closely related to the deceased. This was the reason why he made all the people in his empire Roman citizens; nominally he was honouring them, but his real purpose was to increase his revenues by this means, inasmuch as aliens did not have to pay most of these taxes.16 Dio’s most scathing criticism had to qualify his argument that the measure was based upon taxation as if his audience did not know about the measure. Dio goes on to say that this was to finance his armies, which were his principal means of military support. Could this be because Caracalla presented it in entirely different terms? Or was the insult a more directed slander against the emperor’s style of governance? Dio likely was a marginal player in Caracalla’s administration who resented the fact that he had to struggle with slaves, freedmen, soldiers, and fellow senators to win favor with the emperor.

Even evidence from Dio’s account shows that Caracalla relied upon some senators as principal advisors, proving that Caracalla was not a complete tyrant.17 Despite the tendency of Roman sources to stress the relationship between the emperor and the military, it also important to place the Antonine Constitution within a golden age of Roman jurists and jurisprudence. As historian David Potter was prone to point out, taxation very well was a part of his agenda, but was it the only aspect of his rule? As a new emperor, Caracalla could very well have just carried this out to solidify his rule. Moreover, as a general rule of Roman patronage, all newly enfranchised subjects would have adopted some component of the emperor’s name as their own.18 As a measure of taxation, such a legal principle may have been the most ingenious measure behind the proposal. It was during this time between 205 with the ascension of Aemilius Papinianus to the office of the praetorian prefect to the death of Herrenius Modestinus in 239 that jurists made up a significant portion of the emperor’s entourage—military men and other officials would gradually replace them later. It is essential to keep in mind that the Severans, and even earlier emperors, who supported this system of expanding enfranchisement. In turn, led to a reciprocal increase in jurists holding higher offices and having greater status throughout the empire.19 The epigraphic evidence from this period demonstrates the importance of legal jurisprudence in the Roman Empire. Acquiring citizenship was vital to valid legal transfers of property, especially after later Roman reforms that replaced regional and tribal customs. These requirements, moreover, occurred in tandem with increasing numbers of Roman citizens. By the reign of Marcus Aurelius, 16 Dio Cassius, Historia Romae. 78.9.5. [Hekster and Zaire].

17 Davenport, 341.

18 D. S. Potter, The Roman Empire at Bay: AD 180-395, Routledge history of the ancient world (London ; New York: Routledge, 2004), 138-139.

19 Hekster and Zaire, 47-50.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 8

ending over thirty years before Caracalla, contemporaries already stated, perhaps hyperbolically, that most subjects of the Roman world were becoming citizens.20 With this in mind, Caracalla’s measure may have been the pragmatic measure but would have also had many unforeseen benefits that Dio’s account left out. One such measure was the possibility that citizenship in the West still afforded the right of testation in courts. Epigraphic evidence from the city of Rome shows a very high proportion of freedmen who make up around 41% of the epigraphs mentioning testation, despite making up 22-26% of all epigraphs within the city.21 Such evidence suggests that those who recently received these privileges were the ones most likely to display their new status. Such numbers are similarly reflected in areas that were integrated into the Roman Empire in the decades and centuries preceding this event.22 The role of Roman citizenship in the historical development and cohesion of the empire was invaluable in maintaining such a diverse geographical and ethnic populations. Without this system in place, it is unlikely that the Roman Empire would have had such a firm grasp on control without the need for such a large bureaucracy. Although Roman citizenship had once been granted almost exclusively to elites, by the time of Caracalla, it was more or less a common denominator for all subjects of the empire.

It is important, however, not to overlook the trajectory of Roman citizenship as a factor of incorporation, inclusivity, and imperial control. The empire was united under the control of the emperor which was grounded in his authority and identity.23 Moreover, it is significant to note that the Roman extension of citizenship was particularly adept at creating a distinct Roman identity by the time of the later problem without many of the difficulties of nationalist uprisings that seem to have plagued many modern imperial and colonial experiments.24 As emperor, Caracalla certainly would have had the authority to tax non-citizens, even if it was an unpopular measure. With that being said, it is not only unlikely but also improbable that the need for greater financial revenue was the sole purpose behind the Edict of Caracalla. A more likely scenario was that Caracalla attempted to utilize Roman citizenship as it had been traditionally used: as a unifying factor within the empire.

Likewise, one area that modern historians tend to overlook is the idea of the consensus of the Roman people as a means of appeasement towards the gods.25 Although it is impossible to know Caracalla’s disposition towards this issue, its appearance and relevance in the reigns of numerous emperors show that it was certainly a component of imperial ideology. Moreover, this measure quite possibly could have been in Caracalla’s mind as he thought about how he could ensure continued 20 Meyer, “Explaining the Epigraphic Habit in the Roman Empire: The Evidence of Epitaphs,” 80.

21 Ibid., 81.

22 Ibid.

23 Gary B. Miles, “Roman and Modern Imperialism: A Reassessment,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 32, no. 4 (1990): 638.

24 Miles, 631-635.

25 Clifford Ando, Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire, Classics and contemporary thought (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 6.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 9

popular support after the murder of his brother. Certainly, a popular and pious act could be interpreted as a sign of just and more stable ruler.

With the death of his brother Geta, Caracalla was now the sole Roman Emperor; however, even Caracalla’s actions at the time suggest that he was not initially confident that he had eradicated support for his brother. Besides, all Roman rulers valued the supposed consensus of the Roman people.

Certainly enfranchising a large part of the population would be an excellent way to endear yourself to the Roman people. Caracalla had many reasons for doing so.

Foremost on his mind was likely to guarantee the loyalty of his people. According to Dio, Caracalla slaughtered over 20,000 people after killing his brother and tried to blame the act of killing his brother as an act of self-defense. His immediate actions after the assassination are also telling. Allegedly he rode into the praetorian camp after giving orders to kill his former mentor, who was also the Prefect of the city of Rome. Caracalla likely knew that to maintain power he needed a firm base of support.

Moreover, in an incredible display of the pervasive power of the Roman Imperial Administration, Caracalla ordered his brother’s memory to be effectively erased from history.26 As emperor, it would make sense for him to try to cultivate a more favorable view in the eyes of his subjects.

While Geta’s death certainly may warrant the necessity of finding loyalty, Caracalla may also have simply used citizenship as a means of consensus that Roman rulers had always sought to achieve. If Caracalla’s account is taken into consideration, his brief conflict with Geta was an act he attributed to the gods. As a result, Caracalla first attributed his grant of citizenship to an act of piety. In a public display of his gratitude, he attempted to incorporate the entire populace into the citizen body.

Although it is clear that Caracalla certainly was not generous man by any stretch of the imagination, an event like this would have been essential to gain popular support and win favor as a leader.

Moreover, while the elites, such as Dio, live on in posterity as having a claim to discerning the emperor’s true intentions, his account has not been rigorously challenged until recently.

More realistically, however, Roman citizenship during this period still had a lot to offer ordinary disenfranchised citizens. Perhaps most importantly, the Edict of Caracalla standardized lawsuits, inheritances, property transfers, and contracts. Thus likely eliminating a highly complex, stratified legal system that had existed and was built upon for hundreds of years.27 The reaction and changes among the lower classes of the Romans during this time indicate that the non-elites viewed this measure favorably. Unlike Dio, who saw the edict only as a cynical measure, the rest of the empire seems to contradict the account of Dio and challenges the narrative that Roman citizenship was more or less meaningless from this time forward. This begs the question, if Roman citizenship was meaningless, then why were the people so inclined to celebrate it for years after Caracalla’s reign ended? The Roman practice habit of taking the name “Aurelius” after AD 212 to around AD 260 demonstrates that for the recently enfranchised citizens the newly found honor of citizenship was something to display proudly and publicly.28 Clearly for this class of citizens the title of citizen had a special meaning. The celebration of this measure is just one reason. However, these citizens likely also were now able to take part in some of the most practical benefits of the measure as 26 Southern, 51.

27 Johnson, 745-747.

28 Stephen Mitchell, A History of the Later Roman Empire, AD 284-641: The Transformation of the Ancient World, Blackwell history of the ancient world (Malden, MA: Blackwell Pub, 2007) 58.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 10

well.

It is important to note that while self-identity is an elusive, and by no means uniform topic, it is nonetheless essential to understanding what it meant to truly become Roman. In the later empire, it was expected that an individual could personally identify with a city, province, or even a barbarian group and still be considered a Roman citizen.29 After the issuance of the Edict of Caracalla, a growing number of citizens began identifying themselves by their province. Although the full implications of this are unclear, it seems that the obligations of being a Roman citizen continued within the context of these provincial loyalties.30 The new system in place included a blend of different citizen statuses—civic, provincial, religious, and ethnic—that could culminate in a mixture of various forms of personal and communal identity.

The dynamic aspects of citizenship cultivated the integration of foreign and barbarian populations into the western Roman world during the fifth and sixth centuries. Still, the system that resulted must be understood concerning the pre-modern empire that it had joined. The regional components and interlinked series of coexisting forms of citizenship must be understood in proper context.31 Although scholars downplay the benefits of Roman citizenship, it is essential to note that the most important benefits to the common Roman would come through the use of the ius civile. Even if it is necessary to concede that Roman citizenship had lost much of its value, the access to ius civile was still necessary and likely helpful for all Roman citizens and jurists alike. Moreover, it likely had the practical benefit of simply making everyday matters, such as inheritance law, more straightforward for provincial citizens.32 In this situation, it is helpful to view citizenship as a common denominator in a world where that was still very much concerned with the distinction between different kinds of citizenship and degrees of citizenship. In fact, Roman citizenship was unique in that it operated on the level of the city as well as an empire-wide system. Moreover, people after the second century even referred to themselves by their province—although it is difficult to ascertain just what some of these provincial loyalties would entail. Caracalla’s grant of citizenship was even more significant in the expansion of Roman identity and possibility beyond just local elites. Such was the case even with Caracalla’s father Septimus Severus, who was of Punic descent from Africa. After this point, it can also be said that many more men outside of Roman politics could even aspire to become emperor.33 While the Edict of Caracalla seems to have taken effect within the decades of the emperor’s rule, there is no guarantee that all subjects of the empire immediately became citizens after the edict took effect. After this time, there were certainly immigrants from other people groups and barbarian invasions, along with many Roman subjects who did not have access to the ius civile.34 This means either one of three things: either citizenship was 29 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Romani,”1036.

30 Ibid., 1016-1017.

31 Ibid., 1015-1016.

32 Ibid.

33 Michael Kulikowski, Rome’s Gothic Wars: From the Third Century to Alaric, Key conflicts of classical antiquity (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 25-27.

34 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Romani,” 1018.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 11

reduced even further in value, Romans could lose their citizenship, or Caracalla’s grant was a one-time grant of amnesty that did not apply to later newcomers into the empire.

Many post-Caracallan laws exist that also lend credence to the idea of a single grant of amnesty because they provide instructions for the integration of new citizens.35 It is also essential to question just how many free Romans that the Antonine Constitution was able to enfranchise. While many scholars assume that this included a large portion of the free population, Mathisen is confident in asserting that the majority of individuals who pronounced their new social status around the time of Caracalla were moving from servile to free status. It is also unclear how these distinctions work within the context of the existing social and political structure of the provinces.36 The relation between the Antonine Constitution provides key insights into the interaction between provincial structure and integration of the later empire as a whole. In many respects, the edict seems to streamline many legal and administrative processes throughout the empire into a far more efficient system on the local level. One aspect of this change involves the concept of dual citizenship. Although Rome’s power was supreme, the age-old Roman practice of permitting a limited local autonomy was instrumental in marinating imperial control. There were even more pronounced regional identities that at times involved separate regional citizenship.37 Inscriptions from just a few decades after the Antonine Consitution reveal that frontier villages on the periphery called themselves Roman citizens and citizens Taunus by paternal descent, accepting both the citizenship of Rome and their locality.38 It was then possible to have statements from citizens that read like—a poet and consul in Roman Gaul. “I love Bordeaux; I esteem Rome: I am a citizen of the one, a consul in both.” It appears even some barbarians were able to identify themselves in similar ways in the later empire. Another legal ruling from 385 specified that no individual was able to hold office “within that province in which he was considered to be a provincial or a citizen.”39 While it is not advisable to take a few statements at face value, many scholars agree that there was a shift in the power of the provinces at the time. With that being said, it seems possible that similar situations may be applied to the treatment of barbarians as well.

The integration of barbarians into the later empire shows the continued distinction between Roman and non-Roman that persisted throughout the rest of the empire. Nevertheless, these pose difficult questions for scholars. Naturally, it is essential to make a firm division between Roman and barbarian.

It is in this context that the lines of distinction become very difficult. The vast majority of the study of barbarians becoming Roman citizens exists in the realm of military research. Before the Antonine Constitution, non-citizen units, known as auxiliaries, proudly served in the Roman army. This offer was attractive for many men because at the end of their term they were likely to receive citizenship, their children would receive citizenship, and their domestic partner would be fully acknowledged as a wife.40 35 Ibid., 1015-1016.

36 Ibid., 1019.

37 Johnson, 747.

38 Johnson, 748.

39 Ibid., 758-749.

40 Thomas S. Burns, Rome and the Barbarians: 100 B.C. - A.D. 400, Ancient society and history (BaltiAlexandria Historical Review, Page 12

However, many scholars are reluctant to do so, emphasizing instead the universal appeal of the later Roman Empire. To some extent, it seems that many scholars have allowed their modern paradigms to shape these arguments by creating scenarios in which they would say that the world possessed Roman citizenship. While this concept is certainly far-fetched, it should not prohibit the student of Roman history to at least ask why Roman authors tended to stress the vast and diverse make-up of the later empire.

Caracalla, like other emperors before and after him, also sought to build support for his reign through consensus. The emperor valued the idea of citizens being tied to the prosperity of the state by the gods so much that he feared for the empire’s safety without consensus amongst the population.

Constantine’s language, over a century later, for those who disagree with the ideas of state citizenship is also telling. This fact is compelling because he no longer refers to them as Romans, but they are now considered people of another “nation” altogether. Even if Caracalla’s moral stance was at best questionable, and at worst deplorable, there is a precedent among various emperors seeking out the same consensus in a sign of trouble. At a minimum, the edict itself and Caracalla’s actions make the grant of citizenship an exaggerated show of piety to win support and unify the various people, including factions who formerly supported his brother, into a unified empire.41 The Edict of Caracalla not only helped in defining Roman identity but also helped to reformulate the Roman idea of “foreigners” both within and outside of the borders of the empire. By all accounts, Caracalla’s grant of citizenship was extended to almost all inhabitants of the empire except for recently admitted barbarians.42 By this time in history, the geographical borders of the Roman provinces were well-established enough that the edict helped to formally distinguish between the non-enfranchised and more culturally non-Roman populations beyond Rome’s control and Roman subjects.

These provincial boundaries for the empire would likely include the Roman connection with the wider empire. It would be through this medium that the obligations of taxation and military service would take place.43 After this point, there was also a clear delineation between barbarians and peregrini simply meaning “foreigners” in Latin and Roman citizens that cannot be fully explained. Certainly, no outsider from Rome would refer to himself as a barbarian if it would entail losing legal rights and privileges.44 The exact legal status of the barbarians who either were forcibly brought into the empire or immigrated into the empire has never been explored comprehensively. By all accounts, it appears that there were several different classes of peregrini with some specific tribes receiving greater privileges than others. Mathisen further asserts that the status of tenant farmer for either a privileged few or the descendants of barbarians likely meant that some had even earned the privilege of the ius civile, or had legal rights similar to those of full Roman citizens.45 more, Md.: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2003).

41 Ando, Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire.

42 Burns, 35.

43 Ibid.

44 Ibid., 36.

45 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Romani,”1025.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 13

Moreover, it is possible to argue that the Antonine Constitution was not only a one-time grant of amnesty to all foreigners but also a self-perpetuating grant of citizenship to all newcomers. Under these conditions, all free foreigners who settled within Rome’s borders had the potentiality of becoming citizens.46 Due to the extensive grant of citizenship, it is imperative to note that the status of peregrini in the later empire was defined as citizenship. Not only was it possible to gain citizenship as a foreigner, but it was also possible for a full Roman citizen to become a “foreigner” under Roman law. In a few special instances, it was even possible to become deprived of Roman citizenship altogether.47 The deprivation of citizenship further reinforces the idea of a more streamlined process of citizenship similar to the way that it had always existed before in the Roman Empire; Caracalla simply provided the catalyst for it to work on a much grander scale.

Consequently, the loss of citizenship would have been disastrous to the social standing and ability of a Roman subject after the edict of Caracalla. This loss of liberty could occur for many reasons.

These issues ranged from being captured in battle and enslaved or moved into enemy territory for which there were also legal recourses to regain the citizenship that the individual had lost. Moreover, there was also the rank of dedictii; a term carried over from Republican times that took on new meaning in the later empire. These stigmatized freedmen essentially lost their rights and social standing and essentially became outcasts.48 This group is significant for several reasons. First, it proves that there were still distinguishing marks between citizens and non-citizens within the empire after the reign of Caracalla. Furthermore, it also shows that citizenship, although not what it once was, still retained a good deal of residual value.

Although it is difficult to estimate the extent or the time-frame in which barbarians became citizens, the laws surrounding marriage provide useful insights into Roman and barbarian identities in the later empire.49 There are even specific instances in Roman law where marriage between barbarians and Romans was strictly prohibited, although these laws may by no means be normative. One law that sticks out reportedly took place in the fourth century under the Emperor Theodosius but has only come down through a heavily edited version that survives in the code of Justinian. Although this letter, addressed to the Master of Soldiers, clearly spells out a direct threat from a particular group of barbarians, the extent to which this law can be considered a part of the normative aspect of Roman and barbarian relations is still a very contentious issue. It appears that except for specified periods that the practice took place more often than commonly assumed. Other records indicate that there may even have been a certain status of peregrinus that did not possess the right to marry with the Romans.50 The Roman Empire’s incorporation of diverse populations and barbarians through grants of

46 Johnson, 747.

47 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Romani,” 1019-1021.

48 Johnson, 747.

49 Ralph Mathisen, “Provinciales, Gentiles, and Marriages between Romans and Barbarians in the Late Roman Empire,” The Journal of Roman Studies 99 (2009): 140–155.

50 Ibid.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 14

citizenship is a remaining testament to Roman practicality and pragmatism. In effect, however, there is still much to learn even if the Romans did not act out of generosity. In fact, it is more likely that the Romans simply continued doing what they had always done. Rather than always dealing with the enemy as a threat, they were able to negotiate a favorable peace and were even able to incorporate them into the empire either a supportive role or as tax-paying citizens.51 In this way, Rome was able to maintain such a large and prosperous empire with nearly a quarter of the size of the bureaucracy that the Athenians required in proportion to the greatest extent of their empire. This practice was Roman pragmatism at its best. And it worked. With this view in mind, it is easy to see why Dio’s account worked for so long. However, it only tells a part of the story.

It is also necessary to see the immediate practical benefits of legal streamlining that were put in place in addition to the measures that were necessary for the maintenance of empire. By making their law available to all, the Romans manifested their claim to rule all that mattered to the whole world and established the closest thing ever known to a “citizenship of the world.” Modern authors will take passages such as Aristides’ claim that “Neither sea nor intervening continent are bars to citizenship. No one worthy of rule or trust remains an alien, but a civil community of the World has been established as a Free Republic” to mean that the Romans were accepting of all regarding citizenship.52 It is likely that the Romans were not seeking to create a global community or firm league of friendship among diverse nations. More likely, this was a claim of supremacy over conquered, although still incorporated, people groups and wide-ranging geographic locations. The Romans were, however, able to create an effective and efficient system of citizenship with which they managed their empire.

Moreover, the conception of world citizenship has a strikingly modern liberal-democratic notion surrounding it. While it is hard to deny there are similarities, Mathisen, as well as many others, seem to go too far in pushing the negotiated process of citizenship and inclusion.

While some scholars might focus on inclusivity, the Romans perhaps deserve more credit in their pragmatic practices and ability to maintain power in a pre-industrial age. In this, the Romans were able to find a solution to strikingly similar questions of immigration facing the Western world today.

However, unlike the assertions of some historians and politicians, the Roman response seems to be less of negotiation of cultures as much as it is a practical offer to accept the Roman law, on Roman terms.

Although it is difficult to tell to what extent this was enforced, it is noteworthy to show that the desire to become a Roman citizen certainly carried a great deal of value. A value that existed even after the immediate impact of the Edict of Caracalla.

Despite the peak in epigraphs after the edict was issued, it is noteworthy to see that the epigraphic evidence of displaying this status does diminish after AD 260.53 But this does not mean that the status itself ceased to be important. Instead, the epigraphic evidence likely reflects the status as it had been granted. This was probably comparable to the process that occurred under earlier emperors, such as Marcus Aurelius.54 There are similar spikes in the number of epigraphs and imperial names under his reign as well, as he also was known for extending citizenship. Therefore, perhaps it is a mistake to 51 Mathisen, “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Romani,” 1040.

52 Aelius. Aristides. Orationes. 23, 275.

53 Meyer, 83.

54 Meyer, 82.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 15

question the value of citizenship based on the contemporary evidence from writers. Instead, Caracalla may have just completed the process of enfranchisement to a greater degree than ever before.

However, not to an extent to where it was valueless to be a citizen. Instead, it may not even have been recorded by a wider audience of scholars other than Dio because it only impacted and streamlined legal processes for the lowest classes of Romans by that time. However, it may provide a different perspective on an emperor whose image has traditionally been seen through an unfavorable bias.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 16

Bibliography Ando, Clifford. Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire. Classics and contemporary thought 6. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000.

Brown, Peter Robert Lamont. Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire. The Curti lectures 1988. Madison, Wis.: Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1992.

Burns, Thomas S. Rome and the Barbarians: 100 B.C. - A.D. 400. Ancient society and history.

Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2003.

Davenport, Caillan. “Cassius Dio and Caracalla.” The Classical Quarterly 62, no. 2 (2012): 796–815.

Hekster, Olivier, and Nicholas Zair. Rome and Its Empire: AD 193-284. Debates and documents in ancient history. Edinburgh: Edinburgh Univ. Press, 2008.

Johnson, Scott Fitzgerald, ed. The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity. First issued as an Oxford University Press paperback. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Kulikowski, Michael. Rome’s Gothic Wars: From the Third Century to Alaric. Key conflicts of classical antiquity. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007.

Mathisen, Ralph. “Provinciales, Gentiles, and Marriages between Romans and Barbarians in the Late Roman Empire.” The Journal of Roman Studies 99 (2009): 140–155. _____________. “Peregrini, Barbari, and Cives Romani: Concepts of Citizenship and the Legal Identity of Barbarians in the Later Roman Empire.” The American Historical Review 111, no. 4 (2006): 1011–1040.

Meyer, Elizabeth A. “Explaining the Epigraphic Habit in the Roman Empire: The Evidence of Epitaphs.” The Journal of Roman Studies 80 (1990): 74–96.

Miles, Gary B. “Roman and Modern Imperialism: A Reassessment.” Comparative Studies in Society and History 32, no. 4 (1990): 629–659.

Mitchell, Stephen. A History of the Later Roman Empire, AD 284-641: The Transformation of the Ancient World. Blackwell history of the ancient world. Malden, MA: Blackwell Pub, 2007.

Potter, D. S. The Roman Empire at Bay: AD 180-395. Routledge history of the ancient world. London; New York: Routledge, 2004.

Southern, Pat. The Roman Empire from Severus to Constantine. Repr. London: Routledge, 2003.

Swain, Simon, ed. Approaching Late Antiquity: The Transformation from Early to Late Empire. Reprinted.

Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2008.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 17

R

oxalana: From Slave to Sultana Clare Downing

This essay discusses the exciting life of Sultana Roxalana starting with her capture as a slave in Eastern Europe. It then follows her ascension through the Sultan’s harem to her unprecedented rise to power as wife of Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent. It argues that Roxalana had more power and influence over the Sultan than her contemporaries were willing to admit. In addition to having a genuine, loving relationship with the Sultan, she influenced policy decisions and orchestrated the advancement of her son over the original heir to the throne.

The Ottoman Sultana Hurrem (or Roxalana) displays a mastery of her life and political influence that is rivaled by few in the scope of history. This woman engineered her rise from trafficked slave girl to favored concubine of one of the most powerful men of the sixteenth century, and eventually became sufficiently influential to sway the direction of policy in the Ottoman Empire. Despite her political influence and acumen, historians and scholars have typically focused on the more sensational – or even salacious – elements of Roxalana’s life story. Even within her own lifetime, Roxalana’s political insight and social contributions were ignored due to the nearly universal view within Ottoman society that regarded the political influence of harem members as entirely illegitimate.1 This viewpoint is likely one of the core reasons why Roxalana was not a popular figure during her own lifetime.2 Examining Roxalana’s life and her relationship with Süleyman the Magnificent makes it clear that Roxalana exerted significant influence over the policy of the Ottoman Empire.

I. The Origin Story There is limited information about the early part of Roxalana’s life, and what information there is tends to be uncertain or seems to contradict other sources. In fact, determining the events of Roxalana’s life is largely an exercise in sorting through historical heresay, given that none of the actual contemporary authors to write about Roxalana actually met her and talked to her in person.3 Most sources conclude that Roxalana was born in the area between Ukraine and Poland, the daughter of an priest in a small town.4 At some point (likely 1509), Roxalana was captured by Tartar Raiders and sold into the slave trade of the Ottoman Empire; the traders that captured her must have recognized the value created by her remarkable beauty – she was apparently not harmed or harassed during her journey into the Ottoman Empire.5 Additionally, all harem slaves were required within the

1 Leslie Pierce, The Imperial Harem (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 89.

2 Pierce, Harem, 89.

3 Pierce, Empress of the East (New York: Basic Books, 2017), 4.

4 Pierce, Empress, 11.

5 Ibid.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 18

Ottoman Empire to be non-muslim women. Roxalana’s alternate religious background paired with her beauty would made her a notable candidate for harem membership.6 One of the most compelling clues we have as to Roxalana’s true home comes from the contemporary Venetian Ambassador in Istanbul, Pietro Bragadin, who referred to Roxalana as di nazion russa (of Russian origin).7 Roxalana’s eastern European homeland was also mentioned by the Austrian Ambassador, Ogier Ghiselin de Busecq, who first referred to the sultana as Roxalana, which translates literally to “the maiden from Ruthenia,” a general term that refers to Eastern Slavic peoples in the modern states of Belarus and Ukraine.8 Aside from this geography-oriented moniker, Roxalana is referenced by a few names in the writings of contemporary historians and political figures. In recent years, scholars have concluded that the given name of Roxalana was most likely Anastasia Lisovski.9 After being trafficked into the Ottoman Empire, Roxalana either took or was given the Turkish name Hürrem, which translates to “joyful” or “laughing.”10 After becoming attached to Süleyman, Roxalana took on the title Haseki before her Turkish name Hürrem. The literal translation of this moniker is “the favorite joyful one.”11 After bearing children with Süleyman the Magnificent, Roxalana was formally referenced as “the mother of [a prince].” This reflects the accepted cultural idea that the role of a harem member was primarily one of motherhood.12 It’s likely that Roxalana also accepted this title, as her actions make it apparent that her identity as a mother was important to her. She traveled to each of the locations in which her sons served as governors, despite the burden of traveling to the extended areas of the Ottoman Empire.13 II. The Ascension In 1521, Roxalana gave birth to Mehmed, the first son she bore to Süleyman.14 This event marks the beginning of her rise to power. At this point in her life, Roxalana had served her purpose within the harem. The role of concubines at this time was largely focused on producing viable heirs to the sultanate, and after a woman produced a child she would likely not ever see the Sultan again.15 Because of these factors, motherhood was in many ways the greatest opportunity for advancement open to these women – especially if their child had a chance of succeeding their father.16

6 Pierce, Empress, 11.

7 Ibid., 15.

8 Ibid.

9 Andrew Gregorovich, Roxelana (Toronto: The Basilian Press, 2014), 77.

10 Ibid.

11 Ibid., 82.

12 Pierce, Empress, 55.

13 Ibid., 226.

14 Ibid., 116.

15 Pierce, Harem, 58.

16 Ibid.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 19

At this point in her life, Roxalana was living with the rest of the concubines in Süleyman’s harem – in the Old Palace. In fact, Roxalana likely lived in the Old Palace for a period of around 15 years, a living situation that extended into the beginning of her established relationship with Süleyman.17 However, at some point soon after giving birth to Mehmed, Roxalana began to extend her habitation to the New Palace as well. This stretching of the role of concubine was confirmed by Roxalana’s unprecedented second pregnancy, which indicates that Süleyman already counted her as a favorite.18 Roxalana’s second son, Abdullah, was born in 1522. Altogether, Roxalana bore six children to Süleyman; Mehmed (1521), Abdullah (1522), Mirimah (1523), Selim (1524), Bayezid (1525), and Cihangir (1531).19 All but one of Roxalana’s children survived to adulthood – Abdullah died from an illness at the age of four.20 Süleyman’s favoritism of Roxalana did not go unnoticed, and it is during this period that Roxalana’s ingenuity of character was first displayed through her rivalry with the mother of Süleyman’s oldest son, Mustapha.21 The rival concubine, Mahidevran, was the prior favorite of Süleyman and presented an obstacle to Roxalana’s rise to unprecedented levels of influence.22Whether by creativity or luck, Roxalana benefitted from a situation that seriously disadvantaged Mahidevran in Süleyman’s eyes.

Bernado Navagero, Venice’s ambassador to the Ottoman Empire writes the following account: The sultan has two highly cherished women, one a Circassian, the mother of Mustafa the firstborn, the other… a Russian, so loved by his majesty that there has never been in the Ottoman house a woman who has enjoyed greater authority. The way in which she entered into the favor of the sultan I understand to have been the following. The Circassian, naturally proud and beautiful, and who already had a son, Mustafa, understood that [the other] pleased the sultan, wherefore she insulted her with injurious words, and words escalating to deeds, scratched her all over her face and mussed her clothing, saying, … “Traiter, sold meat! You want to compete with me?”23 Some authors have argued that the skirmish between these two women could have been engineered

by Roxalana in order to guarantee her position as favorite.24 Regardless of her intentions in triggering a fight, Roxalana certainly leveraged the conflict in her favor. Navagero continues,

17 Pierce, Empress, 27.

18 Gregorovich, 116.

19 Ibid.

20 Ibid.

21 Pierce, Harem, 81-83.

22 Ibid., 97.

23 Nasser Al-Taee, Representations of the Orient in Western Music: Violence and Sensuality (New York: Routledge, 2010), 81.

24 Elizabeth Abbott, A History of Mistresses (London: Duckworth, 2010), 11.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 20

It happened that a few days later the sultan had this Russian called for his pleasure. She did not let this opportunity pass, and angrily told the eunuch agha who had some to fetch her that she was not worthy to come into the presence of the sultan because, being sold meat and having her face completely spoiled and being almost bald, she recognized that she would offend the majesty of such a sultan by coming before him. [ … ] The angry sultan sent for the Circassian and asked her if what the other woman had said was true. She responded that it was, and that she had done no less to her than she deserved. [ … ] These words inflamed the sultan even more, for the reason that he no longer wanted her, and he gave his love to the other.25 Navagero’s account provides a colorful retelling of life in Süleyman’s harem. While much of Roxalana’s life is shrouded in mystery and solitude, this encounter is continuously referenced as fact, and seems to be at least relatively historically valid. Whether as a result of this setup or through traditional processes, Mahidevran soon left the capital and departed for Manisa, where her son Mustafa was appointed as governor of the province when he came of age in 1533.26 Once Süleyman’s mother, Hafsa, passed, Roxalana was formally married to Süleyman.27 However, their marriage was not publically celebrated for almost two years after the fact. This is likely due in part to the fact that the marriage was entirely unprecedented in the Ottoman social context.28 This was, in fact, the first legal marriage between any Ottoman Sultan and any woman, much less a European slave girl from his harem. The practice of taking concubines allowed the Sultans to perpetuate their hereditary line without the requirement of granting legal parental rights to a wife. There were no legal barriers to the legal union with Roxalana, but the cultural expectations were significant.29 There are three notable ways that this marriage broke with tradition. First, it raised a concubine to a status equivalent to a queen mother. Prior to Süleyman’s mother’s (Hafsa) death, she had served as the primary confidant of her son, and this form was traditionally accepted in the Ottoman Empire.30 The political unit of a mother and her royally-eligible son was well-established, and represented the most significant upward mobility available for former members of a harem. Second, Roxalana’s five children disrupted the one-mother-one-son unit expected of members within a harem. The royal marriage only served to reemphasize her unique status within Ottoman history. Third, this marriage changed the expectation that a royal mother follow her son to his provincial post. When Mahidevran left for Manisa with her son, it was in line with the accepted actions of a royal mother. When Roxalana’s sons left for their eventual governorships, she remained in the capital with her husband. This indicates that Roxalana’s relationship with Süleyman was more substantial than just a political unit – their relationship was the foundation of Roxalana’s political career.

It was during this period that Roxalana began to split her habitation between the Old and New 25 Nasser, 81.

26 Pierce, Empress, 108.

27 Ibid., 114.

28 Gregorovich, 84.

29 Pierce, Harem, 61.

30 Ibid., 63.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 21

Palaces. The Ottoman queen had her own series of apartments in both locations, and she divided her time between her two homes.31 During her circuit, Roxalana mirrored one of the most significant social powers of the Sultan – his ability to transverse every area of the empire without barrier. However, when Roxalana traveled into the socially-masculine area of the New Palace, she did so in complete invisibility, traveling in a covered caravan, concealed from the eyes of the crowds.32 This new locus of living indicates that Roxalana’s social influence was expanding into political spheres as well.33 III. The Relationship To date, there has been surprisingly limited scholarship about the affections between Roxalana and Süleyman, despite the fact that their relationship is well documented through their letters. Traditionally, Roxalana is portrayed as a scheming political manipulator who made the best of her misfortune – when Süleyman is mentioned, it is as a love-struck young ruler, taken advantage of by the woman he loved. The lack of nuanced scholarship is surprising because Roxalana and Süleyman produced beautiful and descriptive love poetry that provides insight into their relationship. In one letter to her husband during a particularly long absence, Roxalana writes, “My sultan, there is no limit to the burning anguish of separation […] Now spare this miserable one and do not withhold your noble letters. Let my soul gain at least some comfort.”34 This pleading for more communication between the two dignitaries is not out of line with the rest of Roxalana’s letters to her husband. In another, she writes, “A single hair of your beard is worth more to me than one hundred thousand florins.”35 These sections demonstrate Roxalana’s tendency to use colorful language and analogies to express her love for her king. The picture of Roxalana’s mind that these passages provide is creative, passionate, and emotive.

This affection was not one-sided. Süleyman wrote significant amounts of love poetry for his wife during the course of their relationship. In one letter, he says “Throne of my lonely niche, my wealth, my love, my moonlight. My most sincere friend, my confidant, my very existence.”36 It is notable that Süleyman praises Roxalana so highly in this poetry. The moniker of confidant, especially, speaks to the deep trust that built up between these two individuals. Roxalana was more than a concubine – she was a loyal friend and advisor of the most powerful man in the Ottoman Empire. Süleyman goes on to say, “My woman of the beautiful hair, my love of the slanted brow, my love of eyes full of mischief.”37 This phrase provides insight into Roxalana’s beauty as well as her personality. Her beauty is documented by most individuals who interacted with her – it seems to be striking, especially given her bright red hair. The mention of “eyes full of mischief ” suggests that Roxalana was likely a bright individual, the playful tone suggests that Roxalana had an endearing personality. The word “mischief ” 31 Pierce, Empress, 137.

32 Ibid., 137.

33 Ibid.

34 Ibid., 73.

35 Ibid., 210.

36 “Throne of my lonely niche,” Poetry Soup, https://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/throne_ of_my_lonely_niche_25496 (accessed April 17, 2018).

37 Iibd.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 22

suggests cleverness and a playful nature. The Sultan obviously appreciated – and even loved – both of these attributes. Süleyman returns to the topic of Roxalana’s beauty in another poem, when he writes, “Thy mouth, a casket fair of pearls and rubies / Thy teeth, pearls, thy lip coral bright resembles.”38 These references to beauty provide a picture of Roxalana during her relationship with Süleyman.

Roxalana’s relationship with Süleyman was well established by 1525, when she wrote, “My Sultan, there is no limit to the burning anguish of separation.”39 In one letter, Roxalana goes so far as to call herself a “love-mad slave.”40 This language is somewhat consistent throughout her letters, and reflects both the respect due to an Ottoman Sultan and her own personal relationship with him. In one particularly notable letter, Roxalana greets her husband as “My Sultan, my soul” and signs it as “your poor and humble concubine Hurrem.”41 Roxalana’s writing does not betray any hidden motivation other than love and support for her king and husband. These letters paint a glowing picture of the relationship between Süleyman and his Haseki.

In one fascinating letter, Roxalana proclaims her adoration in verse. She writes, “My solitude, my everything, my beloved, my gleaming moon, my companion, my intimate, my all, lord of beauties, my sultan / […] / My Istanbul, my Karaman, my lands of the Byzantines, My Bedakhshan, my Kipchak Steppes, my Baghdad, my Khorasan / […] / I am your lover, you bring me joy.”42 This letter is unusual in its formality. Roxalana’s typical voice in her letters to Süleyman is familiar and affectionate. This distinction begs an interesting question – what was the role of scribes in writing these letters? Roxalana was likely not fluent in Turkish during the beginning of her relationship with Süleyman, and she certainly would not have been capable of writing lengthy and expressive letters at the beginning of their relationship, given her likely limited Turkish vocabulary.

Roxalana even acknowledges this limitation in one of her letters. She says, “My Sultan, you wrote that if I were able to read what you write, you would write at greater length of your love for me.”43 The earliest of Roxalana’s letters were written in a formal hand with elegant script, which is most reasonably understood as the writing of a scribe. However, even the early letters have addendums written in a less formal hand that appears to have belonged to Roxalana herself.44 These addendums speak most typically about the children and her own longing for the Sultan’s return.45 The relationship between Roxalana and Süleyman was not the only topic of these letters. In fact, 38 “Gazel,” Poetry Soup, https://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/gazel_25495 (accessed April 17, 2018).

39 Gregorovich, 113.

40 Ibid., 114.

41 Ibid.

42 Pierce, Empress, 143. Certain lines of this poem have been omitted for length. The sections omitted are simply repetitive themes and an extensive listing of Ottoman lands. Roxalana lists 32 different affectionate names for Süleyman in this poem.

43 Ibid., 143.

44 Pierce, Harem, 63.

45 Ibid.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 23

it is clear that Süleyman trusted Roxalana as a source of information and as an advisor during even their initial encounters. The two royals commonly talked about important events and news from the capital.46 In fact, when the city of Istanbul was afflicted with a sickness during one of Süleyman’s absences, Roxalana was the one to inform the ruler of the trouble.47 Another consistent theme in Roxalana’s letters is the plea for information from the front when Süleyman was away from the capital on military endeavors. During times of political instability and rumor, Roxalana made a habit of reminding Süleyman how much power a word from the front could hold. She writes, “I ask you, I beg of you, to send news quickly, very quickly, because – and I swear I am not lying – no messenger has come for the last week or two. The whole world is clamoring; all kinds of rumors are circulating.”48 It is through these letters that Roxalana demonstrates two features: her political and social intuition, and her uneasiness in times of uncertainty. Roxalana forged a unique path for her life, yet she clearly internalized the stress of uncertainty enough to plead for her husband’s return. Roxalana’s life is marked by a need to have control in uncertain situations and by an ability to seize that control when provided any opportunity.

IV. The Execution of the Grand Vizier The first political coup in which Roxalana was implicated was the execution of the Grand Vizier Ibraham Pasha.49 The Grand Vizier was one of Süleyman’s most trusted political advisors and military strategists in important conquests.50 Yet despite this bond, Ibraham was executed sometime during the night of March 14-15, 1536.51 On this very evening, Ibraham had gone to the palace to break the Ramadan fast with Süleyman – a mark of the intimacy that the two friends shared. Yet late that night he was strangled in his private chambers with a silk bowstring.52 There was some tension between the two friends, caused by Ibraham’s involvement in the Iranian campaign. However, there was nothing to suggest that Ibraham had so frustrated the Sultan as to warrant his own death. Part of the cause of this execution may have been due to the growing arrogance and willingness to insult the Sultan that Ibraham demonstrated.53 In one example, Ibraham is quoted as saying, “I can make a sultan of a stable boy. I can give territories to whoever I want without my master making any comment. And when he orders me to do something I don’t like, nothing is carried out. It is my will which is accomplished, not his.”54 The history that includes this particular quotation was written well after Ibraham was already executed, so the veracity of this quotation is

46 Pierce, Harem, 64.

47 Ibid.

48 Ibid.

49 Pierce, Empress, 150.

50 Ibid., 150.

51 Ibid.

52 Gregorovich, 138.

53 Pierce, Empress, 152.

54 Andre Clot, Suleiman the Magnificent (London: Saqi Books, 2005), 36.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 24

unknown. However, it is possible that these quotations demonstrate the true sentiments of the Grand Vizier in his final years.

It is undisputed by contemporary sources that Ibraham began to show considerable corruption during his final years serving the Sultan. In fact, Ibraham began to use the title of Sultan himself in some circumstances – an insult of which Süleyman was certainly aware.55 In the year 1534, Süleyman received a letter from Roxalana that discussed the actions of Ibrahim. She writes, “My Lord, your absence has kindled in me a fire that does not abate. […] You ask me why I am angry with Ibrahim Pasha. When – God willing – we are together again, I shall explain, and you will learn the cause.”56 Perhaps Roxalana’s dislike of the Grand Vizier was the final push necessary to cause Süleyman to change his opinion of his trusted friend and confidant.

On March 15, Ibrahim was executed by strangulation with a silk bowstring. This mode of execution is notable, as in the Ottoman Empire execution by a bowstring was a practice reserved for only highranking officials and royals.57 Despite this respectful execution, Ibrahim’s body was dumped in an unmarked grave, likely in the garden of a hostel located behind the imperial dockyard.58 There is no evidence to indicate that Roxalana plotted to kill Ibrahim, and nothing to indicate that she carried out that plan. However, her distrust of Ibrahim and the jealousy she displayed of his influence over her husband may have been the impetus for the decision. The secret burial – a clear sign of disgrace – is a clear indicator of the fact that the vizier was executed because he had violated the trust of the Sultan in some way. The most powerful grand vizier in the history of the Ottoman Empire was functionally obliterated from history due to the influence that a former slave girl from Europe had over her lover.

V. The Execution of Prince Mustafa The greatest obstacle to Roxalana’s political security was the fact that her children by Süleyman were not the first offspring. Süleyman’s oldest son, and the first heir of the throne, was the son of the very same Mahidevran whom Roxalana had skillfully disgraced in prior years.59 Prince Mustafa was appointed to an honorable governorship by Süleyman, and it quickly became obvious that he was a political contender for the throne, and would present an obstacle to both the success and safety of Roxalana’s sons with Süleyman.

It’s clear from Roxalana’s writings with Süleyman that this obstacle weighed heavily on both of the royals. In one letter, Süleyman writes, “My son, Mustafa, will become the Sultan and will deprive you all of your lives.”60 Süleyman was not overstating the threat in this case. Judicial royal fratricide was an accepted practice of new Sultans; when a new Sultan took the throne he would strangle all of his

55 Pierce, Empress, 152.

56 John Freely, Inside the Seraglio: Private Lives of the Sultans in Istanbul (New York: I.B. Taurus & Co., 2016), 157.

57 Gregorovich, 138.

58 Pierce, Empress, 152.

59 Gregorovich, 10.

60 Pierce, Harem, 81.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 25

surviving brothers with a silk bowstring as soon as he had produced his first male heir.61 This practice was developed after one Sultan was forced to fight a long and bloody civil war with different factions within the empire, led by his own brothers.

In light of this practice, it seems that Roxalana was concerned about the potential that Mustafa would make a preemptive strike against his brothers – especially as it became clear that Roxalana enjoyed the favor of Süleyman.62 Roxalana was likely also uneasy due to the popularity that Mustafa enjoyed with the Ottoman army. Mustafa was a favorite for the throne, and Roxalana viewed that popularity as a threat to both the success and survival of her own children.63 Whether these concerns were accurate or not, Roxalana eventually convinced Süleyman of Mustafa’s guilt in a plot against her own son, Selim.64 Prince Mustafa was executed by a silk bowstring on orders from Süleyman in 1553.65 There is no question as to Roxalana’s involvement in this decision. Her influence over Süleyman was vividly displayed in his decision to execute his oldest, and beloved son.66 Mustafa was executed as his father departed for yet another military campaign, which left Roxalana to deal with the political unrest caused by this decision. One notable Ottoman historian, Mustafa Ali, writes that the execution was the result of “the plotting of women and the deceit of the dishonest son in law.”67 The deceit in this passage is likely referring to Roxalana’s suspicions of a preemptive strike against her own sons. It is likely that this event was the beginning of the nearly universal distrust that the Ottoman populous displayed for Roxalana. This murder went beyond just a denial of custom – it was an outrage to murder such a popular and capable prince.

VI. Influence over Policy It is clear, simply from the events of her lifetime, that Roxalana possessed significant influence over Süleyman’s decisions. The letters the two shared demonstrate that after Hafsa’s passing, Roxalana took on the role of political confidant for the ruler. While the majority of Roxalana’s letters were always focused on her own longing for Süleyman, in the mid-1530s she began relaying valuable information about events in the capital – especially events that were of interest to the Sultan. During Süleyman’s absence in 1537, Roxalana informed the Sultan of an illness spreading through the capital.68 In matters of this nature, Roxalana undoubtedly performed a crucial task through her vigilance over the affairs in the capital. She served as a secure and trustworthy source of information for the Sultan, especially

61 Zahit Atcil, “Why Did Süleyman the Magnificent Execute His Son Şehzade Mustafa in 1553?,” The Journal of Ottoman Studies (2016): 67-103.

62 Pierce, Harem, 83.

63 Ibid.

64 Ibid.

65 Gregorovich, 138.

66 Pierce, Harem, 84.

67 Ibid., 83.

68 Pierce, Harem, 64.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 26

as his trust for Ibrahim weakened.69 Interestingly, upon Roxalana’s death, their daughter Mirimah took over the role that her mother and grandmother had filled.70 Aside from the role of confidant, Roxalana also forged a political identity for herself through her social and philanthropic contributions within the empire. One of her most notable architectural contributions was a mosque she commissioned in Istanbul.71 This project first began in 1538, well after Roxalana has established herself in her position of power over the Ottoman Empire. Roxalana’s mosque would eventually include two schools – a primary (elementary) school, and a more advanced academy for older children.72 The next structure that rose in the area surrounding the mosque was a soup kitchen, a much-needed resource in the areas of the capital that were not wealthy.73 Construction on the foundation was completed in late 1540, and the complex eventually included a hospital in addition to the other four buildings.74 Roxalana’s foundation in Istanbul was the first such location donated by and named after a woman.75 Roxalana’s influence over this project is obvious. The neighborhood selected for the first building project was associated explicitly with females due to a weekly market commonly known as Avrat Pazar (women’s market).76 A contemporary writer, John Sandtury, who lived at the English Embassy describes the location as “the market place of women, for hither they come to sell their wourkes and wares.”77 Reflecting this location, Roxalana’s mosque became colloquially known as “Haseki Avrat.”78 This reference to Roxalana’s contributions to the area, are still remembered today. The Haseki complex that she built still bears her name, and is still strongly associated with her as a historical figure.

For the duration of her lifetime, Roxalana served as the executive endowment supervisor for the Haseki. This was abnormal for the time. Typically, hands-on positions were typically delegated to other individuals after the construction related to a donation project was completed.79 Roxalana seems to have been particularly attached to this project, given her extended involvement in its management and maintenance. Maintaining the role as executive supervisor of this project also displays Roxalana’s disregard of social norms by this point in her life. She was forging a new role for powerful women within the Ottoman Empire.

69 Ibid.

70 Ibid.

71 Pierce, Empress, 171.

72 Ibid.

73 Ibid.

74 Ibid., 174.

75 Ibid., 172.

76 Ibid., 173.

77 Ibid.

78 Ibid.

79 Ibid., 174.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 27

Prominent women, especially those who concealed their public identity like Roxalana, tended to make their charitable contributions through buildings that would benefit the public. Despite Roxalana’s status as queen, she enjoyed no public celebration or recognition of that status. She was queen because Süleyman desired it, not because she had any legal right, or any status in and of herself. There was no distinct legal or social category for her role.80 Traditionally, political patronage was a status reserved for those who had achieved the status of mature political motherhood. Only women whose sons had gained some marked level of political influence were expected to make charitable donations of this nature.81 Roxalana had not yet received this status when she began extending her philanthropic projects.

Roxalana’s charitable contributions were both a recognition and a proclamation of her queenhood and her desire to care for her subjects.

By the time of her death, Roxalana had made charitable contributions through mosques and other buildings in the cities of Mecca, Medina, Jerusalem, and Constantinople, as well as in other small locations throughout the empire.82 Roxalana’s social projects tended to center around the regions where her sons were stationed as governors. This is likely due to the fact that she consistently travelled to visit her sons, and was likely more aware of the needs and desires of the communities where they were serving.83 Aside from the political roles that she herself retained, Roxalana appears to have had the promotion of women as a specific goal of her influence. For example, Roxalana specified that one administrative position of the Haseki was reserved for a female scribe.84 This was certainly unusual, given that women were virtually unknown in public institutions during this era.85 In fact, the only political institution known to employ female scribes at this time was the harem at the imperial palaces.86 It is possible that Roxalana was preserving a position for a particular scribe that she had known in the palace through this mandate – it is also possible that Roxalana was simply more comfortable with female scribes because of her previous close interactions with them in the harem.

Additionally, Roxalana’s charitable contributions tended to revolve around spaces that women would use. The Schools and the Mosques were both gathering places for women. The first location that Roxalana selected to rebuild was a market that was known to be a place of congregation for women.

These choices seem to display a clear intention on the part of the Sultana. It seems reasonable to conclude that Roxalana was intentionally attempting to improve the lives of the women of the lower classes within the Ottoman Empire – an unsurprising attitude, given her initial humble status as a concubine.

VII. Conclusion

80 Pierce, Empress, 174.

81 Ibid.

82 Ibid.

83 Ibid.

84 Ibid, 193.

85 Ibid.

86 Ibid.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 28

Roxalana’s life defied social expectations on a multitude of levels. Her ingenuity allowed her to elevate herself from a slave girl, to a favored concubine, and then to the first queen of the Ottoman Empire. Her joyful spirit and striking beauty seemingly captured the heart of Süleyman the Magnificent, one of the most powerful leaders of modern history. Her political intuition made her a trusted confidant of her husband.

Roxalana’s influence over her husband, allowed her to pioneer a new political role for members of the harem. Roxalana used her influence to first eliminate any competition she had for Süleyman’s ear, and then to secure a position of power and success for her children after her death. Roxalana was much more than a murderous mistress; she was a leader and an innovator, who contributed much to the policies and philanthropic projects of one of the most powerful nations on earth.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 29

Bibliography Abbott, Elizabeth. 2010. A history of mistresses. London: Duckworth.

Al-Taee, Nasser. Representations of the Orient in Western Music: Violence and Sensuality. New York: Routledge, 2010.

Atcil, Zahit. “Why Did Süleyman the Magnificent Execute His Son Şehzade Mustafa in 1553?” The Journal of Ottoman Studies(2016): 67-103.

Clot, Andre. Suleiman the Magnificent. London: Saqi Books, 2005.

Freely, John. Inside the Seraglio: Private Lives of the Sultans in Istanbul. New York: I.B. Taurus & Co., 2016.

Gregorovich, Andrew. 2014. Roxelana, Ukrainian consort of Emperor Süleyman the Magnificent.

Labib, Subhi. “The Era of Süleyman the Magnificent: Crisis of Orientation.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 10, no. 4 (1979): 435-51. http://www.jstor.org/stable/162212.

Peirce, Leslie P. 2017. Empress of the east: how a European slave girl became queen of the Ottoman Empire. http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&scope=site& db=nlebk&db=nlabk&AN=1489301. ___________. 1994. Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire. New York: Oxford University Press.

Poetry Soup. “Gazel.” https://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/gazel_25495 (accessed April 17, 2018).

Poetry Soup. “Throne of my lonely niche.” https://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/throne_ of _my_lonely_niche_25496 (accessed April 17, 2018).

Yemolenko, Galina I. 2010. Roxolana in European Literature, History and Culture. Farnham: Ashgate.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 30

I

reland’s Christianization: Its Effects on Irish Literature, Irish Linguistic Development, and the Preservation of Ancient Manuscripts Hannah Blalack In this paper, the author argues that Christianity beneficially affected Ireland by altering Irish literature, providing a written form for Irish, and that Ireland possibly prevented the demise of western civilization through monks’ preservation of valuable manuscripts. Christianity changed Irish literature by adapting stories about pagan deities into hagiographic stories about saints. Irish monks adopted Latin into a dynamic language that allowed them to eventually send missionaries to mainland Europe. The author also argues that the Irish peoples’ desire for knowledge caused them to preserve valuable manuscripts from classical Greece and Rome that otherwise would have been lost.

A pile of ancient stones (a cairn) rests in a little green valley, the site of druidic offerings to distant gods. Miles away, perched on a grassy hilltop, stands a weathered stone cross carved with scenes from the Bible. The cairn and the cross represent two starkly different periods in Irish history: pre-Christian Ireland and Christianized Ireland. Just as neither the tracings of the cairns or the ornate Celtic crosses have totally disappeared from Ireland, so the history behind these objects has not completely vanished.

The cross, however, has proven more enduring in both a physical and spiritual sense. The effects of Christianity can be seen in how the Christianization of Ireland influenced the development of Irish culture and, indirectly, the world. While the Christianization of Ireland affected many aspects of Irish life, it had profound effects upon Irish literature, Ireland’s linguistic development, and the preservation of ancient manuscripts.

When examining Irish history, almost no other event is more significant and influential than the Christianization of Ireland. Contrary to popular belief, however, Palladius—not Patrick—was the first recorded Christian missionary to Ireland. Patrick arrived in Ireland several years later. While the accounts of neither man’s history is entirely comprehensive, their mission to bring Christianity to Ireland grew until, centuries later, most of Ireland was deemed Christian at least nominally.1 Before the arrival of Christianity, Ireland was a pagan nation where druids abounded, human sacrifice was practiced in times of distress, and war was glorified. Cattle raids were everyday occurrences, slavery thrived, and belief in multiple terrifying gods and goddesses was common, including the goddess of intoxication and the goddess of fear.2 The Irish believed that druids, gods, poets, and those with contact to the magical world could shift shape,3 as demonstrated by the tale of “The Courtship of Etain`,” where a girl named Etain` meets Midir the love god, changes into a 1 Neil Hegarty, The Story of Ireland: A History of the Irish People (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2011), 11-17.

2 Thomas Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe (New York: Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 1995), 101-135.

3 Cahill, 128-129.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 31

butterfly, becomes human again, and marries a king before finally being “spirited” away by Midir.4 Legends of fairies, kings, and epic battles comprise a substantial portion of Irish culture.5 While not all Irish beliefs and superstitions instantly vanished, the Christianization of Ireland began a gradual process where pagan gods were eliminated, pagan festivals became Christian celebrations, and Irish men and women began to follow Catholic Christian scriptures, exhibiting more Christian values.

The evolution of Brigit from a pagan goddess to a Christian saint illustrates this transition.6 Prior to Ireland’s Christianization, the Celts worshipped—among other gods and goddesses—the “patroness of livestock,” daughter of the Dagdha.7 Known as Brigit, this goddess was paid homage at an annual festival on February 1, where the Irish “honored Brigit’s role in the birth of lambs and the lactation of ewes.”8 However, as Ireland was Christianized, the character and qualities of the mythological Brigit morphed into the hagiographic legend of a saint. Brigit became embedded in Irish legend as the daughter of a pagan noble and a Christian slave. As the story is told, Brigit blinded herself in one of her eyes so she would not have to marry, choosing instead to devote herself to Christian ministry.

Stories of how Brigit produced and distributed milk and butter to the needy portrayed her as a caring, loving woman. Even the pagan festival for Brigit the goddess was replaced with a feast day honoring Brigit the saint. While it is unknown whether Saint Brigit actually existed or was simply an altered remnant of Ireland’s pagan past, she nevertheless demonstrates Ireland’s gradual transition from paganism to Christianity.9 Accordingly, the Irish exchanged the worship of nature and distant pagan deities for the worship of the Creator and the honoring of Christian saints. However, the Christianization of Ireland did not only affect the hearts of the Irish, though it was by far the most important result. Developments in Irish literature and linguistics trace back to the monks’ education of the Irish and their imparting of Christian values, while ancient texts such as the Bible and Roman classics were copied and preserved as a result of the work of Irish monasteries. Through these developments, pre-Christian Ireland emerged from the eleventh and twelfth centuries far more learned and developed than when Christianity was first received by the Irish in the fifth century.

The Christianization of Ireland drastically impacted the development of Irish literature—most notably in creating an atmosphere in which it could thrive. Before Ireland began to become a Christian nation, the Irish relied heavily upon oral tradition to communicate folk tales, legends, and history. They did not have any written alphabet other than ogham, which was written in a series of parallel notches

4 Michael Slavin, The Ancient Books of Ireland (Montreal [Que.]: MQUP, 2005), 16, accessed February 4, 2017, eBook Academic Collection (EBSCOhost).

5 Ibid., 18.

6 Denise Dersin, ed. What Life Was Like Among Druids and High Kings (Alexandria, VA: Time-Life Books, 1998), 53.

7 Ibid.

8 Ibid.

9 Ibid.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 32

and proved cumbersome in writing long passages.10 However, the arrival of Christian missionaries from Europe in the fifth century introduced Latin to the Irish people and spurred the development of an Irish alphabet about a century later.11 For the first time in its history, Ireland could effectively utilize the written word to develop its own literary tradition, most notably in preserving oral tradition from its past.12 The Book of the Dun Cow, for example, contains legends of Irish kings and queens, the “cattle raid saga” known as The Cattle Raid of Cooley, and the Lebor Gabala Erenn, a series of legends about the invasion of ancient Ireland. Although compiled in the eleventh and early twelfth centuries, The Book of the Dun Cow is the “oldest surviving record of old Irish literature.”13 Within its pages, W.B. Yeats once said, “the ancient heart of Ireland still lives.”14 Another collection called The Book of Leinster also contains once orally-transmitted legends and epics, as well as stories of the gods the Irish worshiped in pre-Christian Ireland and descriptions of festivals held at Ireland’s royal seat.15 Without the Christianization of Ireland and the subsequent development of Irish literature, such historicallyvaluable collections as The Book of Dun Cow and The Book of Leinster might not have become a part of known Irish history.

Naturally, Irish literature also took on a distinctively Christian character as a result of the Christianization of Ireland, even going so far as to alter history in the process. Lebor Gabala Erenn, from The Book of the Dun Cow, does just this. Written in the eighth century, Lebor Gabala Erenn fuses biblical history with the history of Ireland, “weaving a new genealogy that stretch[es] all the way back to Noah and in the process establish[es] the legitimacy and lineage of the Irish people.”16 In this story, the Celtic sons of Mil—descendants from Noah and his sons—journey from Spain to invade and conquer the Tuatha De Danaan in Ireland.

While there is historical evidence that a people such as the Tuatha De Danaan may have occupied Ireland before the Celts landed, the tracing of the Celts all the way back to Noah is nothing more than “the result of later monkish tinkering.”17 This is evident when examining later works that attempted to reconcile claims and inconsistencies about Ireland’s ancestral tree, even going so far as to bestow Mil with a total of eight posthumous sons.18 Genealogies were particularly important to the Irish, 10 Dersin, 32.

11 Slavin, 6.

12 Patrick J Burke, “Ireland: Savior of Civilization?,” Constructing the Past 14, no. 1 (2013): 9-10, accessed February 4, 2017, http://digitalcommons.iwu.edu/constructing /vol14/iss1/5.

13 David Greene, Great Books of Ireland (Dublin: Thomas Davis Lectures, Clonmore and Reynolds, 1967), 69.

14 Lady Augusta Gregory, Cuchulain of Muirthemne (Buckinghamshire: Colin Smyth, 1993), 11.

15 Slavin, 26.

16 Hegarty, 23.

17 Cahill, 80.

18 Dáibhí Ó Cróinín, ed., A New History of Ireland, Vol. 1: Prehistoric and Early Ireland (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005), 185-186, accessed February 18, 2017, EBSCOhost.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 33

but their desire to devise a biblically connected history of Ireland comparable to those of other Christian nations led to obvious discrepancies in their writings. These contradictions also found their way into “The Courtship of Etain`,” the distinctively pagan Irish love story mentioned previously. In this excerpt from “The Courtship of Etain`,” the god Midir is trying to convince Etain` to leave her husband—King Eochaid Airem of Tara—for him.19 While Midir is obviously not emanating Christian moral values in this scene, several distinctly biblical references made their way into his speech.

O Bé Find [Etain`] wilt thou come with me to the wondrous land wherein harmony is, hair is like the crown of the primrose there, and the body smooth and white as snow.

There, is neither mine or thine, white are teeth there, dark the brows.

A delight of the eye the number of our hosts, every cheek there is of the hue of the foxglove.

A gillyflower(?) is each one’s neck a delight of the eye are blackbirds’ eggs, Though fair the prospect of Mag Fáil, ‘tis desolate after frequenting Mag Már.

Though choice you deem the ale of Inis Fáil, more intoxicating is the ale of Tír Már.

A wondrous land is the land I tell of; youth departs not there before eld.

Warm sweet streams flow through the land, the choice of mead and wine.

Stately (?) folk without blemish, conception without sin, without lust.

We see everyone on every side, and no one seeth us.

It is the darkness of Adam’s transgression that hath prevented us from being counted.

O woman, if thou come to my proud folk a crown of gold shall be upon thy head honey, wine, ale, fresh milk, and drink 19 The Wooing of Etaín, trans. Osborn Bergin and R.I. Best (Cork, Ireland: University College, 2011), 181-183, accessed May 13, 2017, http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published/T300012/index.html.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 34

thou shalt have with me there, O Bé Find.

‘I will go with thee’ said Étaín, ‘if thou obtain me from my husband, if thou obtain me not, I will not go.’20 As evidenced by this passage, Ireland’s Christianization was a gradual process in which the Irish attempted—unsuccessfully—to make pagan oral tradition in literature appear “more Christian” than it originally was. However, without the arrival of Christianity, many—if not all—of the pieces of history and truth contained in these legends and genealogies would not have been written down, much less with distinctively Christian memes.

Additionally, as a result of Ireland’s Christianization, Irish literature become focused less on man and nature, and more on the divine. This makes sense as the druids, who devoted themselves “to the pursuit of truth about the nature of the world,” were supplanted by Christian missionaries whose primary focus was the Creator God.21 The result was Irish literature that did not totally eliminate a focus on man and nature, but made God the primary focus. Inspired or possibly even written by St. Patrick, “St. Patrick’s Breastplate” is “[t]he earliest expression of European vernacular poetry,” displaying an Irishman’s appreciation of the natural world while giving glory to the God Who made the world: I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise today Through the strength of Christ’s birth with his baptism, Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial, Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension, Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom….

I arise today Through the strength of heaven: Light of sun, Radiance of moon, Splendor of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock.

I arise today 20 The Wooing of Etaín, 181-183.

21 T.M. Charles-Edwards, Early Christian Ireland (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 189-190, accessed February 18, 2017. EBSCOhost.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 35

Through God’s strength to pilot me: God’s might to uphold me….

I summon today all these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul[,] Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul….22 By melding the truth of God the Creator with the beauty of His creation, as well as rejecting their pagan customs, Irish Christians stepped further away from their druidic past and the worship of nature to the worship of God. Through the Christianization of Ireland, the Irish were also able to codify their laws in writing for the first time in their own vernacular, which was no small event. T.M. Charles-Edwards, author of Early Christian Ireland, said that “[e]arly Irish vernacular law is the richest source of information about Irish society in the seventh and eighth centuries.”23 Once the Gaelic alphabet had been developed, Christian monks used their connections with Irish clans to mesh secular and church law together. Gorman describes this process in his article “The Ancient Brehon Laws of Ireland”: The introduction of Christianity necessitated many modifications [to previously orallytransmitted Brehon law], and these changes were effected by nine men appointed for that purpose by a special assembly convened by St. Patrick. Three of these were bishops, including St. Patrick himself, three more were kings, including Laeghaire the “Ard Righ” or high king, and the remaining three were Brehons, one of whom was especially skilled in the then ancient dialect of the country, in which these laws had been preserved. Their labors extended over the years 438 to 441, and all the previous Brehon laws were examined and revised. Many were rejected as obsolete, or as pertaining to Pagan rights, or as unsuited to the altered conditions of the people.24 While not all of Ireland had become fully Christianized, many clansmen became literate and educated by Christian monks in local churches. This naturally led to their worldview being shaped by Christian influences, which influenced the laws that both converted and nonconverted Irish leaders codified and established in writing. The Collectio canonum hiberniensis, written in the eighth century, was a collection of laws once transmitted orally but now influenced by Christian values and morals.25 22 Cahill, 116-118.

23 Ó Cróinín, ed., 331.

24 M.J. Gorman, “The Ancient Brehon Laws of Ireland,” University of Pennsylvania Law Review and American Law Register 61, no. 4 (February 1913): 219, accessed April 22, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/ stable /3313365.

25 Hegarty, 21.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 36

Senchas Mar is another collection of revised Brehon laws written around the eighth century, including legislation on such topics as court procedure, social entities such as the church, animals, land, and “judgments on categories of cat…[and] dog.”26 This collection of laws became engrained into Irish society, as neither bishops nor kings ever tried to change Senchas Mar. 27 However, not all rulers and bishops acknowledged the revised Brehon law; the only period that all of Ireland acknowledged Senchas Mar as law was between its compilation and the Danes’ invasion of Ireland in 792.28 Mentions of open-air courts and various legal remedies aptly fit the description of Senchas Mar as the “law of self-help,” where individuals could potentially have their issues remedied through the law, judges, and the courts.29 Regarding the relationship between the Irish church and her tenants, Senchas Mar law describes the church’s duties as “preaching and offering and requiem for souls, and the receiving of every son for instruction.”30 The tenants were required to tithe and give alms and the first fruits of their labor to the church.31 In Cáin lánamna, another collection of Irish laws, the characteristic hospitality of the Irish was extended to include the church: “Hospitality and refection is a duty of each of them according to rank….Each of them gives hospitality to his/her own lord, to his/ her own church and friends and relations.”32 Although it is unclear whether Ireland had such a system of laws and courts before the Christianization of Ireland, Christian influences undoubtedly affected the legal documents produced after Ireland’s Christianization.

Irish literature was not the only aspect of Irish society impacted by Christianity coming to Ireland: Ireland’s linguistic development was also greatly affected by this event. First, when Christian missionaries came from Europe in the fifth century and began to establish churches, they brought the Latin language with them. The Irish had always been separated from the Roman Empire and thus were not exposed to the language. However, as the monks gained converts, they were able to interact with and educate Irishmen and possibly even a few Irish women.33 Studies have shown that the Latin dialect brought to Ireland by these monks was primarily a British dialect of Latin, from which the Irish incorporated “loanwords” into their vernacular.34 26 Ó Cróinín, ed., 340.

27 Gorman, 219.

28 Ibid., 220.

29 Ó Cróinín, ed., 340-342.

30 Gorman, 224.

31 Ibid.

32 Donnchadh Ó Corráin, trans., Cáin Lánamna, rev. ed. (Cork, Ireland: University College, 2010), section 20.

33 An anecdote written in about the ninth century recounts the love story of Liadan, a female poet, and Cuirithir, a male poet. These characters seem to belong in the seventh century. In addition, the death of a “poetess of Ireland” called Uallach is mentioned in Irish annals as having died c.934. Both of these instances seem to indicate that women poets existed during the seventh century, perhaps even being taught by Christian monks. Ó Cróinín, ed., 453.

34 Charles-Edwards, 184.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 37

For example, the Irish took their word cell—a term referring to the cluster of buildings comprising the church, the clergymen’s living quarters, and other church-owned structures—from the Latin word cella, no doubt brought over by Christian missionaries.35 The Irish quickly learned Latin, even developing their own unique style of Latin—Hiberno-Latin. It is generally acknowledged that the term “Hiberno-Latin” came from the Romans’ use of the word Hibernia, which the Romans used to refer to Ireland.36 The use of Hibernia as “the best known Latin name of Ireland” effectively describes Ireland’s transition from a pagan culture to a Christian culture.37 At one time, Ireland was commonly referred to as Ériu, also the name of one of Ireland’s mythological Earth-mother goddesses.38 Contrarily, Hibernia likely comes from the Latin for “wintry,” which eliminates any mention of a pagan deity.39 While Hiberno-Latin did not differ from the Latin written and spoken in Europe, the ways in which it was utilized, learned, and spread were different than continental Latin. For example, unlike most of the peoples across Europe, the Irish were educated in Latin in Christian monasteries. As a result, most Irish research, exegesis, and other such writings were written in Latin and produced in monastic atmospheres.40 As more of the Irish became educated and entered the monastic order, it became apparent that different methods of teaching and learning Latin needed to be developed and utilized to further Irish education. The result was “a highly sophisticated list of nouns, verbs, syntactical notation, and an overall emphasis on the basics of grammar and vocabulary memorization as opposed to the highly elaborate and elegant antiquarian grammarians.”41 Syntactical notation in Hiberno-Latin, for instance, characteristically included “various critical signs, consisting of points, commas, semicolons, dashes and similar [sic] placed over and under words, generally in pairs….”42 Evidently, the monks’ purpose in using these forms of notation was to aid their students in discerning “the intricacies of a Latin text, indicating which words went together, and such like.”43 These new methods provided structure and order where the European way of learning Latin had failed. Consequently, the Irish’s mastery and development of Latin allowed them to eventually send their own missionaries to Europe, “greatly facilitat[ing] the Irish monks’ spread of Christianity on the

35 Charles-Edwards, 184.

36 Mal Rogers, “Ireland’s Many Names and Their Meanings,” Irish Post, June 13, 2016, accessed April 22, 2017, http://irishpost.co.uk/irelands-many-names-and-their-meanings/.

37 T.F. O’Rahilly, “On the Origin of the Names Érainn and Ériu,” Ériu 14 (1946): 7, accessed May 2, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/stable/30007646.

38 O’Rahilly, 11.

39 Mal Rogers, “Ireland’s Many Names and Their Meanings.”

40 Burke, 9-11.

41 Ibid., 12.

42 Martin McNamara, The Psalms in the Early Irish Church (Sheffield, England: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 176, accessed February 18, 2017, http://search.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.phc.edu/login.aspx?direct =true &db=nlebk&AN=243982&site=ehost-live.

43 Burke, 12.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 38

continent.”44 Without Christian missionaries coming to Ireland and sharing their knowledge of Latin, there is no telling when the Irish would have learned Latin. Regardless, Hiberno-Latin would not have developed outside of Ireland’s monastic setting.

The introduction of Latin was not the only linguistic development that resulted from the Christianization of Ireland—the Irish began writing in their native tongue only a couple centuries after the arrival of Christianity. Having created no other form of the written word other than ogham before Christian missionaries arrived, the Irish began to develop an alphabet in their own vernacular, most likely after contact with Christian monks from Europe. Whether Christian influences had permeated Ireland before the Irish created their own alphabet or not, the church was no doubt instrumental in encouraging their linguistic endeavors through Latin education.45 In comparison to other European societies, Ireland’s literacy was definitely more extensive.46 Additionally, about thirty-six works written in the Irish vernacular—containing poetry, legal documents, and specifically Christian pieces—have been dated around the seventh century. One of these works, the “Cambrai homily,” presents an assertive picture of Irish clerics who “had mastered the art of prose composition in the vernacular.”47 The Christianization of Ireland resulted in Ireland’s switch from an almost entirely oral method of communication to writing the vernacular as well as Latin, and, in doing so, encouraged the Irish to think analytically and more deeply about various subjects.48 Ireland’s Christianization also greatly influenced the art of copying and preserving ancient manuscripts. Nearly all Irish efforts to preserve these treasured works were centered in Ireland’s monasteries. Christian-based works were perhaps the most common manuscripts transcribed and preserved. An Cathach, translated as “The Battler,” is one such book copied by the Irish monks, containing the second-oldest copy of the Psalms. Being the oldest Irish book in existence, “The Battler” has been around since about A.D. 600. An Cathach was even carried as a talisman in battle to protect its owners from harm.49 Additionally, The Book of Durrow and The Book of Kells, compiled in the seventh and eighth centuries respectively, both contain copies of the four Gospels, where the life of Jesus on earth is recounted.50 Beautiful and elegant script cover their pages, exhibiting the Irish monks’ care and reverence for the Word of God. Known for being the “first masterpiece of insular illumination.”51 44 Burke., 11-12.

45 Jane Stevenson, “The Beginnings of Literacy in Ireland.” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy. Section C: Archaeology, Celtic Studies, History, Linguistics, Literature 89C (1989): 129-130, accessed March 18, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25516056.

46 Ó Cróinín, ed., 454.

47 Stevenson, 158.

48 Ibid., 159.

49 Slavin, 104-110.

50 Slavin, 122.

51 Stephen M. Miller and Robet V. Huber, The Bible: A History: The Making and Impact of the Bible (InterAlexandria Historical Review, Page 39

The Book of Durrow also contains a letter from St. Jerome to Pope Damascus, a glossary of Hebrew terms, several pages of a concordance, and some commentary on the Gospels,52 while The Book of Kells includes stories of evangelists, legends, and summaries of the Gospels.53 Another book, compiled

by Irish monks in the ninth century, contains the earliest exclusively Irish-produced New Testament copy.54 Known as the Book of Armagh, this preserved work is noticeably less ornately transcribed, although in the tenth century the High King of Tara ordered a metal case studded with precious stones for the book.55 The Book of Armagh also contains a collection of seventh century works pertaining to St. Patrick, including part of his Confessio.56 Through compilations of church history and portions of God’s Word, both illuminated and unornamented, the Irish monks preserved not just words, but hope. for the Irish people and those to whom they ministered outside of Ireland. Irish commentaries on the Bible also played a significant role—over half of all the biblical commentaries in existence today that were written between 650 and 850 were written by Irishmen.57 One of the most fascinating exegetical works from Ireland was written by Augustine—an Irishman—to his friends living in Carthage in the mid-seventh century.58 Known as De mirabilibus sacrae scripturae, this work attempts to logically explain miracles in the Bible.59 For example, rather than God actually parting the Red Sea for the Israelites, Augustine speculated that a sudden blast of extremely cold air froze the sea, allowing the Israelites to cross onto dry land.60 While some of these exegetical works could be non-Irish in origin, Sharpe argues that “[t]here is so much evidence for the study of the bible [sic] by Irish scholars of the seventh and eighth centuries that the rejection of some, even many, of these texts does not detract from the fact.”61 Needless to say, Ireland’s Christianization provided the Irish with the tools to become educated in God’s Word, without which they would not have been able to copy sacred texts and illuminate upon biblical teachings.

The Christianization of Ireland also led to the Irish monks’ preservation of classical works other than the Bible, such as Greek and Roman texts. When Rome fell in 476 A.D., barbarian peoples

course, PA: Good Books, 2004), 135.

52 Slavin, 127.

53 Ibid., 133.

54 Ibid., 88.

55 Ibid.

56 Richard Sharpe, “Books from Ireland, Fifth to Ninth Centuries,” abstract, Peritia 21 (2010): 16-17, 27, accessed May 12, 2017, http://foundationsirishculture.ie/essays/BooksIreland.Richard.Sharpe.pdf.

57 Cahill, 195.

58 Sharpe, 33.

59 Ibid.

60 Ibid.

61 Sharpe., 32.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 40

plundered and pillaged, destroying many classical Greek and Roman works of literature.62 As a result, the contents of the former empire’s libraries were rapidly depleted and literacy declined.63 However, Ireland would soon play an important role in preserving the remaining Greek and Roman texts. In one of their many roles as educators and teachers, the Irish monks began offering their services to Irish peasants and noblemen alike, eventually gathering students from beyond Ireland’s shores. This traditional Irish spirit of generosity also extended into the types of literature they used to educate their students, resulting in an open-mindedness to new ideas.64 As a result, Irish monks “brought into their libraries everything they could get their hands on…resolved to shut out nothing.”65 Distinctly secular Greek and Latin texts were not excluded, to the shock and horror of many nonIrish clergy. Aldhelm of Malmesbury, a Briton educated by the Irish, warned a young student of his of the dangers that he believed were inherent of an Irish education: “What advantage does it bring to the sacrament of the orthodox faith to sweat over reading and studying the polluted lewdness of Proserpine, or Hermione, the wanton offspring of Menelaus and Helen, or the Lupercalia and the votaries of Priapus?”66 Regardless of how Aldhelm felt, through the willingness of Irish monks to read wide varieties of literature, Greek and Roman texts were preserved, many of which would have been lost today had the Irish monks not cared about them as much as they did. Ireland’s wet climate and the flimsiness of Irish buildings did not provide an ideal environment for preserving parchment manuscripts; “[n]othing could have survived by benign neglect—waterlogging excepted—without active efforts to maintain the favourable [sic] conditions.”67 While historians have found it difficult to identify the scarcity or proliferation of classical manuscripts, the numerous quotations and references that Irish authors utilized in their works are helpful in providing answers to these questions. Sharpe remarks on how impressive Irish writers’ knowledge of sacred and classical literature was, particularly in an Irish collection of portions of the Bible and other church documents, known as Hibernensis: The list of books known to the compilers of this work is impressive—quotations from most books of the bible [sic], a great deal of canonical legislation, general and local, and ample quotation from patristic sources. There is much Gregory and Isidore, not as much Augustine (and some of what is there is pseudonymous), a good deal of Jerome and Rufinus and Cassian, some Ambrose—but there is much that remains to be identified, and many surprises.68 In a more optimistic approach, Cahill argues that, if not for the efforts of Irish monks, works such

62 Cahill, 11-13.

63 Hegarty, 18.

64 Cahill, 157-158.

65 Ibid., 158.

66 Ibid., 159.

67 Sharpe, 15-16.

68 Sharpe, 44.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 41

as Virgil’s Aeneid and Homer’s Odyssey could have disappeared from the face of the earth, and classical writers such as Plato and Aristotle might have been naught but obscure figures.69 Cahill goes so far as to say that the Irish saved Western civilization, arguing that we could have “lost the whole of Latin literature” had the Irish not preserved so many of these writers’ works.70 However, Sharpe’s more cautious approach in attempting to identify classical and sacred works is perhaps the wiser of these two opinions. To say that Ireland saved Western civilization when historians are still uncertain about many aspects of ancient Irish and classical literature is a hasty generalization.

Since her early years as a pagan nation, Ireland has changed drastically. As a result of Ireland’s Christianization, a written Irish literary tradition was developed that not only preserved ancient tales from pagan Ireland but also enabled the Irish to create new literature impacted by Christian influences.

Irish history was altered to have biblical roots, the Irish’s glorification of nature was altered to instead glorify the Creator God and honor the beauty of his creation, and ancient Brehon law was revised to incorporate the Christian church and its principles. Irish linguistics were also altered considerably— the introduction of Latin by Christian missionaries allowed the Irish to learn the language and even develop it into Hiberno-Latin, and the Irish also began to write in their vernacular for the first time.

Ireland’s preservation of ancient manuscripts was likewise impacted by the Christianization of Ireland. Copies of the Bible and biblical commentaries, in addition to Greek and Roman texts that could have been lost to modern society had the Irish monks not taken the time and effort to copy them, were carefully copied. The Christianization of Ireland had a positive impact upon Ireland, opening up the island to new ideas, new languages, and the written word. Most importantly, Ireland’s Christianization allowed the Irish to experience the Creator of the breathtaking beauty surrounding them and the hope and peace that are found in Him. Ireland’s transition from a pagan past to a Christian island was not simply a major historical event—the Christianization of Ireland was a lifechanging, soul-winning movement that God used to change people’s hearts and open them up to His glory.

69 Cahill, 58.

70 Ibid.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 42

Bibliography Burke, Patrick J. “Ireland: Savior of Civilization?” Constructing the Past 14, no. 1 (2013): 9-14.

Accessed February 4, 2017. http://digitalcommons.iwu.edu/constructing /vol14/iss1/5.

Cahill, Thomas. How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe. New York: Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 1995.

Charles-Edwards, T.M. Early Christian Ireland. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Accessed February 18, 2017. EBSCOhost.

Dersin, Denise, ed. What Life Was Like Among Druids and High Kings. Alexandria, VA: Time- Life Books, 1998.

Gorman, M.J. “The Ancient Brehon Laws of Ireland.” University of Pennsylvania Law Review and American Law Register 61, no. 4 (February 1913): 217-33. Accessed April 22, 2017. http://www.jstor.org/ stable/3313365.

Greene, David. Great Books of Ireland. Dublin: Thomas Davis Lectures, Clonmore and Reynolds, 1967.

Gregory, Lady Augusta. Cuchulain of Muirthemne. Buckinghamshire: Colin Smyth, 1993.

Hegarty, Neil. The Story of Ireland: A History of the Irish People. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2011.

McNamara, Martin. The Psalms in the Early Irish Church. Sheffield, England: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000. Accessed February 18, 2017. EBSCOhost.

Miller, Stephen M., and Robert V. Huber. The Bible: A History: The Making and Impact of the Bible.

Intercourse, PA: Good Books, 2004. Ó Corráin, Donnchadh, trans. Cáin Lánamna. Rev. ed. Cork, Ireland: University College, 2010.

Accessed May 13, 2017. http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published/ T102030 /index.html.

Ó Cróinín, Dáibhí, ed. A New History of Ireland, Volume I: Prehistoric and Early Ireland. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005. Accessed February 18, 2017. EBSCOhost.

O’Rahilly, T.F. “On the Origin of the Names Érainn and Ériu.” Ériu 14 (1946): 7-28. Accessed May 2, 2017. http://www.jstor.org/stable/30007646.

Sharpe, Richard. “Books from Ireland, Fifth to Ninth Centuries.” Peritia 21 (2010): 1-55. Accessed May 12, 2017. http://foundationsirishculture.ie/essays/BooksIreland.Richard. Sharpe.pdf.

Slavin, Michael. The Ancient Books of Ireland. Montreal [Que.]: MQUP, 2005. eBook Academic Collection (EBSCOhost), EBSCOhost (accessed February 4, 2017).

Stevenson, Jane. “The Beginnings of Literacy in Ireland.” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy. Section C: Archaeology, Celtic Studies, History, Linguistics, Literature 89C (1989): 127-65. http://www.jstor.org/ stable/25516056.

The Wooing of Etain`. Translated by Osborn Bergin and R.I. Best, Cork, Ireland: University College, 2011. Accessed May 13, 2017. http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published /T300012 /index.html.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 43

T

he Influence of Arabic Rhythm in the Usage of Virelai in Alfonso X’s Cantigas de Santa María Sarah Henry

Sarah Henry’s article on the music of late Medieval Spain is a fascinating account detailing the combination, cultivation, and clashes between Christian and Islamic Spain in the 13th century. Sarah focuses on the music in the Court of Alphonso X. In turn, she shows the changing attitudes toward key Christian figures the period.

King Alfonso X of Castile and Leon, in the last two decades of his life, experienced great turmoil, both militarily, politically, and emotionally. Alfonso X’s son, don Sancho, had rebelled against him, adding to the martial and political strife brought on by a Muslim uprising, all while Alfonso X suffered from severe bouts of illness that were severely taxing on his heath and morale.1 During his periods of recovery from these illnesses, Alfonso X took time to work on his artistic pursuits, whether it was his translation of Ovid’s poetry, the overseeing of translation of Arabic literature,2 or the composition and compilation of his own poetry. Alfonso X’s poetry took the form of Marian devotional poetry as a means of thanking the Virgin Mary for his healing.

These poems comprise some of the Cantigas de Santa María.3 Scholars debate over whether the cultural influences on the musical settings for the are Arabic, influenced by al-Andalus, which bordered Castile and Leon to the south, or by French troubadour and trouvère songs, brought to the court by exiled poets. Rather than being strictly French in style or drawing directly from Arabic musical styles, the Cantigas de Santa María draw on both styles to create pieces representative of the Iberian Peninsula’s syncretistic culture.

In the 13th century, King Alfonso X of Castile and Leon, composed the Medieval world’s largest compendium of praise songs to the Virgin Mary. Titled the Cantigas de Santa María, the poems were written as personal devotional material to the Virgin Mary, and reflect innovative theological ideology about the Virgin Mary.4 Specifically reflected in the text is the Franciscan concept of Mary as “coredemtrix,” which places partial responsibility for the salvation of humanity on the motherly care of the Virgin Mary for her son, Jesus.5 The cantigas themselves detail legendary stories of common men 1 H. Salvador Martínez, Alfonso X, the Learned: A Biography, trans. Odile Cisneros (Boston: Brill, 2010), 213.

2 W. Montgomery Watt and Pierre Cachia, A History of Islamic Spain (London, UK: Aldine Transaction, 2008) 136.

3 Ibid., 215-216.

4 Martínez, 217.

5 Ibid., 230-235.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 44

and women who were saved from disaster or sickness due to their devotion to Mary. Because of this, Alfonso X’s illnesses are expected subject matter.6 In total, the Cantigas consist of 240 songs spread over four different codices, and are written in Galician-Portuguese. The manuscripts are also well known for their detailed miniatures, which number around 2400.7 The four manuscripts each contain unique categorization and musical structure of the Cantigas. The most complete version of the Cantigas, containing 400 songs and roughly 41 illuminated miniatures, is known as E. It is possible that E does not represent the complete version of the text, but is rather just a combination of the Cantigas found in T and F, two of the other manuscripts, which are enlargements of the collection of 100 cantigas found in To, the first manuscript, respectively.8 Parkinson and Jackson hypothesize in their work Collection, Composition, and Compilation in the Cantigas de Santa María that To was originally meant to be a personal devotion manuscript, effectively the first “edition” of the Cantigas de Santa María (from this point on referred to as CSM).9 Scholars disagree as to whether some of the CSM was composed directly by Alfonso X himself, or whether the entirety was composed by other artists under his guidance. H. Salvador Martínez, a biographer of Alfonso X, argues that some of the CSM were written by Alfonso due to personal writings dividing the poems into three categories, those commissioned, those he wrote himself, and those he assisted in collaboration.10 Connie Scarborough, however, argues that the only input Alfonso X placed in the creation of the CSM had to do with personal appearance, namely how he was depicted in songs and the small illuminated pictures drawn around the text.11 The occasional personal cantigas that describe Alfonso’s recovery from multiple illnesses as miracles from the Virgin Mary are full of personal details that Martínez believes directly point to Alfonso’s direct authorship of the cantigas written in first person.12

Historically, Alfonso X would have had contact with both Spanish Muslim Arabs and French troubadours and trouvères. His contact with Muslims was primarily political, as depicted by his contact with the insurgency of Banū Ashqilūla under Muhammad II of Granada.13 He supported these rebels indirectly, and so must have had contact with them. How much he would have been musically influenced by them is unknown.

His contact with troubadours and trouvères, however, is much more definitive. Alfonso X 6 Raymond Carr editor, Spain: A History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 99-100.

7 Ibid., 217.

8 Stephen Parkinson, and Deirdre Jackson, “Collection, Composition, and Compilation in the Cantigas de Santa Maria,” Portuguese Studies 22, no. 2 (December 2006): 159-160, accessed October 28, 2017.

9 Ibid., 159.

10 Martínez, 227.

11 Martha E. Schaffer, review of “A Holy Alliance: Alfonso X’s Political Use of Marian Poetry” by Connie Scarborough, Speculum 88, no. 2 (April 2013): 576-578. 577.

12 Martínez, 228.

13 Hugh Kennedy, Muslim Spain and Portugal: A Political History of al-Andalus, (New York: Routledge, 1996), 284.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 45

was a direct patron of many troubadour musicians who lived at his court, and they most likely assisted greatly in the authorship of the CSM. In the Prologue to the CSM, Alfonso X refers to himself as Mary’s troubadour, and one famous troubadour, Guiraut Riquier, lived at Alfonso X’s court while composing Marian poetry of his own.14 The musical structure of the CSM consists of several different, distinctive patterns. Julián Ribera, a Spanish scholar of Islamic History, argued in 1922 that the CSM are directly pulled from Islamic music, and have no basis in any sort of European music, especially that of the troubadours.15 However, most modern scholars are quick to point out that Ribera lacked a comprehensive collection of Arabic manuscripts, and so did not have an accurate grasp of the musical theory he made the basis of his thesis.16 In La Música de las cantigas, Ribera likewise transcribed selected CSM in very distinctive Arabic rhythmic structures, an act with no scholarly precedence, and also added suggested instrumentation he directly pulled from Arabic sources. Because of the poor scholarly research surrounding his arguments, most modern musicologists consider Ribera’s work to be “an extreme case of incompetence and blundering.”17 On the other side of scholarly work about the CSM, Higinio Anglés argues that the CSM can be directly traced from French musical theory. He argues this point on the basis of certain rhythms in the text, as indicated by the metric marks in the musical notation. Anglés’ scholarship is equally faulty to Ribera’s, especially by the means of which he asserted his rhythmic notation into the text. Rather than follow the generally accepted method of mostly ignoring longa and brevis, the quasi-rhythmic notation of Medieval music, and only utilizing them as a supplement to the metric quality of the text, Anglés almost directly takes from the longa and brevis for his notation. Anglés bases this practice on his hypothesis that the CSM were written down by professional musicians familiar with writing set symbols for rhythm. He calls these musicians “tecnicos.”18 Interestingly, Anglés believes that To, what is commonly considered the oldest copy of the CSM, is the newest copy of the text.19 Anglés was quick to admit that this method was unsuccessful in re-writing and understanding trouvère and troubadour music, which heavily detracts from his analytical methodology. If Anglés’ method cannot accurately function with the very style of music he asserts the CSM is, his assertion that the CSM is a collection of trouvère or troubadour songs is flimsy.20 Rui Araújo, in his article Trouvère Elements in the Cantigas De Santa María, explains his analysis of 14 Richard H. Hoppin, Medieval Music, (New York: Norton, 1978), 318-322.

15 Manuel Pedro Ferreira, “Rhythmic paradigms in the Cantigas de Santa Maria: French versus Arabic precedent,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 24, no. 1 (April 2015), 1, accessed October 28, 2017, https:// search.proquest.com/docview/1673611846?accountid=13113.

16 Ibid., 1.

17 Willi Apel, review of La Música de Las Cantigas de Santa María del Rey Alfonso by Higinio Anglés, Speculum 22, no. 3 (July 1947): 458-460. Accessed October 28, 2017. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2856878.

18 Apel, 458.

19 Ibid., 460.

20 Ibid., 460.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 46

the CSM by comparing their direct melodies with 40 different trouvère songs from the 13th century (contemporaneous to the date of the composition of the CSM). He concludes that the trouvère songs are similar to the CSM, especially if the trouvère songs were transmitted orally. He points to the pattern similarities between several musical phrases in CSM 86 and trouvère song De fine amor as indicative of their shared musical influence.21 Most modern musicologists adhere to Anglés’ methodology of analyzing the CSM via French musical theory. They do recognize Anglés’ method’s inability to understand all of the songs in the CSM, but they believe that his method is the best of any available. However, Ferreira believes that the reason the French rhythms do not fit all the CSM is because not all the cantigas are based on French genres. He argues that the songs that do not fit French patterns directly are Arabic in style. This belief exists as a half-point between Anglés’ and Ribera’s problematic opinions, both of which exist on far extremes.22 Ferreira is quick to point out that several cantigas possess rhythmic and stylistic genres that either never existed in France, or existed post creation of the CSM. The Andalusian rondeau is his example of music that never became French, while he points to the virelai as a style that grew popular in France several years after Alfonso’s court wrote the CSM. Hoppin, in his book Medieval Music, also directly ties the CSM to virelai. The notation, he points out, is likewise distinct, especially between the manuscripts.

To is written in a notation that Ferreira believes originated in Castile. T and F are given notation from Pre-Franconian French theory.23 The manuscripts themselves are written with simple modal measures, which points to French rhythmic origin.24 Troubadour music originated in Southern France, and its counterpart, trouvère music, developed in Northern France over the duration of the 13th Century. Not much troubadour music survives with both poem and musical accompaniment intact. Over all, only 253 troubadour songs exist with melodic accompaniment.25 There are many more trouvère songs, about 2,500. Most exist in libraries scattered across Europe.26 Most of the documents of troubadour and trouvère music were written multiple years after the songs’ original performance or conception, which causes trouble because the songs were written down by request of a patron, meaning that many songs were left out in order to remain favorable to wealthy ears.27 French music was written with rough musical notation, called mensural notation. This type of notation was created in the early 13th century to keep track of rough rhythmic measures. This method 21 Rui Araújo, “Trouvère Elements in the Cantigas de Santa Maria,” in Musical Exchanges, 1100-1650: Iberian Connections, ed. Manuel Pedro Ferreira, 69-89, (Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2016).

22 Manuel Pedro Ferreira, “Rhythmic paradigms in the Cantigas de Santa Maria: French versus Arabic precedent,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 24, no. 1 (April 2015), 1, accessed October 28, 2017, https://search.proquest.com/docview/1673611846?accountid=13113.

23 Ibid., 8.

24 Ibid., 8-9; Hoppin, 318-322.

25 John Haines, Eight Centuries of Troubadours and Trouvères (Cambridge University Press, 2004), 20.

26 Haines, 23.

27 Ibid., 25.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 47

was devised to help organize and simplify polyphonic melodies pioneered at the University of Paris.

This need of polyphony was a marked difference from the needs of chant melodies, which were homophonic in nature and simpler to sing. 13th century motet especially benefitted from modes.28 Unlike the content of the CSM, which is devotional, troubadour and trouvère songs focused on the concept of courtly love. Courtly love was a Medieval concept of unrequited love between a lower-class man and a noble woman. The man was utterly devoted to his lady, and completed acts of bravery in her honor. Troubadours and trouvères wrote songs dedicated to their anonymous lady to preserve her honor by keeping her name secret. The women courtly love songs were dedicated to were married, and their cold distance from the poet drove the poet to write increasingly beautiful pieces of poetry to notice their affections.29 Arabic rhythm focuses on repeating patterns, many of which are present in the CSM. Arabic musical styles were introduced to Spain in 711, when Tariq, a general of the Umayyad Caliphate, invaded the Iberian Peninsula. The Umayyad Caliphate took full control of the Iberian Peninsula in 719, even to the point of invading France in 733.30 The Umayyad Caliphate operated the Iberian Peninsula, which they called al-Andalus, as an Emirate of the Umayyad Caliphate, until the Eastern Portion of their Empire collapsed, causing Cordova to become the capital and center of Umayyad power. Al-Andalus culturally consisted of Visigothic Christians (called Mozarabs), Jews, and Muslims, who lived together in a sort of Medieval tolerance called convivencia (literally “living together”).31 Arabic musical styles were brought to the Iberian Peninsula specifically by a man named Abu i-Hasan, nicknamed Ziryab, which means “Blackbird.” Scholarly conjecture believes that Ziryab was a man of African descent who had studied music in Baghdad in the court of the Abbasid Caliphate. He left Baghdad for Córdoba, and there he formed a musical school where he taught students formal lute playing. His influence on Andalusian culture is especially notable because, in 822, Córdoba was the relatively new and non-influential capital of the Umayyad Caliphate.32 Ziryab is possibly the artist who created Andalusian classical music, an Arabic-inspired genre that drew off Sephardic music in order to create a new, syncretistic musical style indicative of the cultural makeup of al-Andalus.33 Ziryab’s exploits, many of which are most likely legend (for example, how he is said to have memorized 10,000 songs), are credited with influencing the music of troubadours and trouvères, French courtly love

28 Haines, 28.

29 John, J. Anglade Oxenford, Bertrand De Born, and M. H. Colet, “Troubadours and Their Songs,” The Lotus Magazine 9, no. 2 (1917): 51-60, accessed October 28, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20543952.

30 Ibn Abd-el-Hakem, “The Islamic Conquest of Spain.” In History of the Conqziest of Spain. trans. John Harris Jones (Gottingen, W. Fr. Kaestner, 1858) Accessed October 28, 2017. http:// sourcebooks. fordham.edu/Halsall/source/conqspain.asp.

31 Watt and Cachia, 24-28, 43-48.

32 John Gill, Andalucía: A Cultural History, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 85; Dwight F. Reynolds ,“Music In Medieval Iberia: Contact, Influence, and Hybridization” Medieval Encounters 15, no. 2/4 (2009): 239-240.

33 Ibid., 82.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 48

poets.34 Ferreira believes that the non-French metered songs in the CSM have the strophic form of the virelai, a song form that evolved out of the Arabic poetic form, zajal. Zajal song, when combined with muwashshah, another Arabic genre drawn from the songs of female entertainers35, turns into “zajalesque song.” Zajalesque song contains several rhyming lines, which scholars either believe is due to preIslamic Romantic poetic traditions, or a distillation of Arabic poetic forms. Like much Medieval music, zajalesque song does not have any written melodies, and because of this, no rhythmic notation at all.

This leads scholars to a great difficulty in determining where the form takes its style, and causes them to look at contemporary accounts in hopes of gaining a rough understanding of the music’s sound.36 Contemporary accounts do discuss the combination that musicians created by merging Ziryab’s style of musical composition and play and the pre-Islamic Christian styles The muwassah and zagal seem to have been a compound of Romance and Arabic metrical elements, brought together in a musical marriage: Ibn Bagga is said to have locked himself up to work with trained girl singers for many years in order to improve the zagal and to combine the songs of the Christians with those of the East…37

While Ferreira makes a very compelling point in arguing that the CSM are drawn from both French and Arabic musical styles, he argues from two scholars who seem to overlook one important fact in their discussion. Both Vincente Beltrán and David Wulstan make the mistake of directly relating poetic structure in the zajal to a supposed musical rhythm in the zajal. A simplistic zajal follows the pattern of AB/ CCCB, while a virelai, which Ferreira argues is what the CSM are, follows the pattern of AA/ BB AA. Ferreira is very quick to recognize the pitfalls of Beltrán and Wulstan, but he still believes that certain pieces of the CSM written in virelai form, are related to Arabic music.38 Oral tradition, Ferreira holds, is what is responsible for the connection between the two musical styles. Unfortunately, this seems like a easy “cop-out” answer because oral tradition is, conveniently, not written down, and therefore cannot be traced in a definitive way. His argumentation behind this line of reasoning says that the relative stability of the region has allowed for Medieval Andalusian songs to remain intact as songs in the common usage. This seems false simply because of the duration of time between the composition of early Andalusian music (which he asserts the CSM are drawn from) to the present day,

34 Gill, 83.

35 Watt and Cachia, 104.

36 Manuel Pedro Ferreira, “Emulation and Hybridisation in Iberia: A Medieval Background,” in Musical Exchanges, 1100-1650: Iberian Connections, ed. Manuel Pedro Ferreira, 3-21, (Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2016), 7.

37 David Wulstan, “The Muwaššaḥ and Zaǧal Revisited,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 102, no. 2 (1982): 251, accessed October 28, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/stable/602526 38 Manuel Pedro Ferreira, “Rondeau and Virelai: The Music of Andalus and the Cantigas de Santa Maria,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 13, no. 2 (October 2004): 133-134, accessed October 28, 2017. https://search.proquest.com/docview/214229093?accountid=13113.

approximately 750 years.39 The most convincing connection between Arabic modes and the CSM has to do directly with the rhythms present in several cantigas, namely in CSM 79. The rhythmic pattern in CSM 79 follows a pattern described by al- Fārābī, an Islamic music theorist from the 10th century. Most of his musical patterns were recorded in the philosophical dictionary called the Mafaith, which Ribera uses extensively to prove his rhythmic connections of Iberian classical music to Persian Arabic music.40 The pattern consists of B B B B B B L, with B signifying breve and L signifying longa, which is effectively a pattern of six short beats and one long beat. This pattern is found in cantigas 249, 266, 302, 334, and 361, all cantigas that do not fit any contemporaneous French rhythmic pattern.41 The direct correspondence of al-Fārābī’s musical patterns to certain CSM, especially ones that do not fit trouvère or troubadour patterns, lead to the conclusion that the CSM are not merely drawn from either French music. However, while Ribera asserts that all Iberian music comes directly from Byzantine and Muslim music, his scholarly investigation involves a good deal of speculation.42 While his opinion is most likely false, it is highly possible that the CSM are a combination of both musical traditions.

The troubadours present at Alfonso X’s court show that the cultural and musical tradition of France was present for the creation of the CSM, which means that Ribera cannot be completely right in saying the CSM come directly from Arabic music. Anglés likewise lacks a balanced approach to the subject, and he ignores the direct connection between the Arabic rhythmic forms in the Mafaith with several cantigas. Ferreira’s argument that the CSM are a combination of both French and Arabic musical traditions is most compelling because it takes the cantigas at face value and does not add pre-imposed modal structures to any cantigas. Because of this, the cantigas can stand as an example of Iberian cultural synergy, combining both French troubadour songs and Arabic rhythms.

39 Ferreira, “Rondeau and Virelai: The Music of Andalus and the Cantigas de Santa María,” 134-136.

40 Julián Ribera and Emilio García Gómez, La música árabe y su influencia en la española, (Valencia: Pre-Textos, 2000), 109.

41 Manuel Pedro Ferreira, “Rhythmic paradigms in the Cantigas de Santa Maria: French versus Arabic precedent,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 24, no. 1 (April 2015), 14-15, accessed October 28, 2017, https://search.proquest.com/docview/1673611846?accountid=13113.

42 Ribera, 202.

Alexandria Historical Review, Page 50

Bibliography Araújo, Rui. “Trouvère Elements in the Cantigas de Santa Maria,” in Musical Exchanges, 1100-1650: Iberian Connections, ed. Manuel Pedro Ferreira, 69-89. Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2016.

Carr, Raymond, ed. Spain: A History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Ferreira, Manuel Pedro. “Emulation and Hybridisation in Iberia: A Medieval Background,” in Musical Exchanges, 1100-1650: Iberian Connections, ed. Manuel Pedro Ferreira, 3-21. Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2016.

“Rhythmic paradigms in the Cantigas de Santa Maria: French versus Arabic precedent,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 24, no. 1 (April 2015), 1-24. Accessed October 28, 2017. https://search.proquest. com/docview/1673611846?accountid=13113 “Rondeau and Virelai: The Music of Andalus and the Cantigas de Santa Maria,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 13, no. 2 (October 2004): 127-140. Accessed October 28, 2017. https://search. proquest.com/docview/214229093?accountid=13113 Gill, John. Andalucía: A Cultural History. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

Haines, John. Eight Centuries of Troubadours and Trouvères: The Changing Identity of Medieval Music.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Hoppin, Richard H. Medieval Music. New York: Norton, 1978.

Ibn Abd-el-Hakem, trans. by John Harris Jones. “The Islamic Conquest of Spain.” In History of the Conqziest of Spain. Gottingen, W. Fr. Kaestner, 1858. Accessed October 28, 2017. http:// sourcebooks. fordham.edu/Halsall/source/conqspain Kennedy, Hugh. Muslim Spain and Portugal: A Political History of al-Andalus. New York: Routledge, 1996.

Martínez, H. Salvador. Alfonso X, the Learned: A Biography. Translated by Odile Cisneros. Boston: Brill, 2010.

Oxenford, John, J. Anglade, Bertrand De Born, and M. H. Colet. “Troubadours and Their Songs.”

The Lotus Magazine 9, no. 2 (1917): 51-60. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20543952.

Parkinson, Stephen, and Deirdre Jackson. “Collection, Composition, and Compilation in the Cantigas de Santa Maria.” Portuguese Studies 22, no. 2 (December 2006): 159-172. Academic Search Premier, EBSCOhost (accessed October 39, 2017).

Reynolds, Dwight F. “Music In Medieval Iberia: Contact, Influence, and Hybridization.” Medieval Encounters 15, no. 2/4 (2009): 236-255.

Ribera, Julián, and Emilio García Gómez. La música árabe y su influencia en la española. Valencia: PreTextos, 2000.

Watt, W. Montgomery and Pierre Cachia. A History of Islamic Spain. London, UK: Aldine Transaction, 2008.

Wulstan, David. “The Muwaššaḥ and Zaǧal Revisited.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 102, no.

2 (1982): 247-64. Accessed October 28, 2017, http://www.jstor.org/stable/602526.

Patrick Henry College Purcellville, VA www.phc.edu