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    <front>
        <journal-meta>
            <journal-id>TMR</journal-id>
            <journal-title-group>
                <journal-title>The Medieval Review</journal-title>
            </journal-title-group>
            <issn pub-type="epub">1096-746X</issn>
            <publisher>
                <publisher-name>Indiana University</publisher-name>
            </publisher>
        </journal-meta>
        <article-meta>
            <article-id pub-id-type="publisher-id">25.01.16</article-id>
            <title-group>
                <article-title>25.01.16, Raffensperger (ed), How Medieval Europe Was Ruled</article-title>
            </title-group>
            <contrib-group>
                <contrib contrib-type="author">
                    <name>
                        <surname>Nicholas Vincent</surname>
                        <given-names/>
                    </name>
                    <aff>University of East Anglia </aff>
                    <address>
                        <email>N.Vincent@uea.ac.uk</email>
                    </address>
                </contrib>
            </contrib-group>
            <pub-date publication-format="epub" date-type="pub" iso-8601-date="2022">
                <year>2025</year>
            </pub-date>
            <product product-type="book">
                <person-group>
                    <name>
                        <surname>Raffensperger, Christian (ed)</surname>
                        <given-names/>
                    </name>
                </person-group>
                <source>How Medieval Europe Was Ruled</source>
                <series/>
                <year iso-8601-date="2024">2024</year>
                <publisher-loc>Abingdon</publisher-loc>
                <publisher-name>Routledge</publisher-name>
                <page-range>Pp. 258</page-range>
                <price>$152.00 (hardback)</price>
                <isbn>978-1-032-10017-3</isbn>
            </product>
            <permissions>
                <copyright-statement>Copyright 2025 Trustees of Indiana University. Indiana University provides the information contained in this file for non-commercial, personal, or research use only. All other use, including but not limited to commercial or scholarly reproductions, redistribution, publication or transmission, whether by electronic means or otherwise, without prior written permission of the copyright holder is strictly prohibited.</copyright-statement>
            </permissions>
        </article-meta>
    </front>
    <body>
        <p>In 1928, and again in 1934, in both his (equally unsuccessful) candidatures for the
            Collège de France, Marc Bloch rehearsed the need for a properly comparative history of
            the societies of medieval Europe. This would necessarily have included the
            “institutions” of medieval government. Nearly a century later, we still await such an
            enterprise. Meanwhile, and thanks to nationally distinctive historiographies, for the
            most part tailored to nineteenth-century rather than medieval realities, our
            understanding of such phenomena as the collection of taxes, the administration of
            justice, or the summoning of armies tends still to be siloed according to much later
            “state” frontiers. As the editor of the present collection also points out, there has
            long been a tendency to privilege particular regional models--those of England and
            France especially--as precociously signalling a future only dimly perceptible across
            large parts of Europe east of the Alps. Here, in regions that came late to the banquet
            of bureaucratically documented governmental record, western European historians often
            struggle to distinguish reality from stereotypical or patriotic myth. </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p>Even in the seven volumes of the New Cambridge Medieval History, amidst a super-abundance
            of materials for comparison, the description of western European state formation (and
            dissolution) tends to be presented as an enharmonic but not always comfortable shift
            from each volume’s opening fanfare of “Common” or “General Themes.” Hence the
            inspiration for the present collection of fifteen essays, a sort of Cambridge History in
            miniature, intended to bring such outlying regions as Bosnia, Poland, Bulgaria, and the
            Khazarian khanate into discussion alongside the relatively familiar “systems” of
            Christian Iberia, the papacy, and the Anglo-Norman realm. Had each of the authors
            followed a uniform template, then we might indeed have arrived at greater clarity both
            over similarities and distinctions. Such a template might (indeed, for all this reader
            knows, may well) have asked for details in turn of the role of kings and their relative
            degree of control or dependence upon local aristocracies; the existence and
            effectiveness of tax gathering systems; the summoning of armies (whether for pay, or by
            service in return for land-holding); the degree to which dynasties succeeded or failed
            to accommodate the power of queens or such devices as minority councils; the emergence
            of representative assemblies, and the precise degree to which the centre maintained, or
            failed to maintain, authority over the administration of law. Were aristocrats self-made
            or recognized only after royal approval or investiture (as in England)? Were they tax
            exempt (as in the German empire) or obliged to pay tribute, and if so in cash or in
            kind? By what means were judges appointed, and to what extent were courts of appeal
            available or capable of counteracting local mechanisms of control? One can easily
            imagine a simple questionnaire in which such things might be set out in ordered
            sequence.</p>
        <p> </p>
        <p>As things stand, however, what we are offered here are variations on a theme, some so
            remote both in tonality and rhythm as to abandon their audience amidst a cacophony of
            regional particularism. Too often, indeed, the old folk (indeed occasionally even
                <italic>völkisch</italic>) songs drown out any attempt to impose standard western
            notation. Some of the authors, such as Lois Huneycutt on the rise of administrative
            queenship in the Anglo-Norman realm, or Katalin Szende on the emergence of royally
            chartered Hungarian towns, treat competently enough of a single motif amidst a much
            broader symphony. Some, as with Erin Jordan on the kingdom of Jerusalem from 1099 to
            1174, or Edward Schoolman on Italy before ca. 1000, focus on a single movement in time,
            at the expense of the before or the after. Others, such as Kirsi Salonen on papal
            government, or Kiril Petkov on Bulgaria, attempt a far broader chronological span,
            albeit not easily compressed within the average of fifteen pages allowed here. Some deal
            principally with political and administrative structures; others with the practicalities
            of political engagement. Most are written by academics at English-speaking universities,
            both in the UK and USA, but in many cases by scholars whose first language seems to be
            other than English, at least to judge by the lack of idiomatic fluency, and some truly
            shoddy copy-editing: “to control the controlled the episcopal see” (212), “through the
            preservation legal of legal records” (215), and so one might go on, for far too many
            pages. The two-column word list supplied at pp. 241-2 (opening with the lemmas “Bosnia,
            Bulgaria, Byzantium, centralization, coinage, Constantinople, crusade”) should in no way
            have been permitted to masquerade as an “Index.” All this is a pity, since there is much
            here that, more carefully tended, might have opened new avenues to understanding. Taken
            on their own, various of the essayists do indeed attempt a coherent naming of parts.
            Raffensperger’s introduction stresses three particular themes: the degree to which
            rulership was negotiated between the ruler and a variety of elites, the means by which
            such sharing was accomplished (i.e., as in the<italic>dispositio</italic> to a medieval
            charter, the nub of the matter), and the gulf that in many cases divided the ruler’s
            theoretical claims to legislate from the administration of law and government as
            experienced day by day. In his own chapter on Kievan Russia, he sticks closely to this
            brief, identifying the ruling family as a clan possessing several heads, with tax, war,
            and law as a triad of concerns in which the refusal of tribute from subordinate to
            superior could be serve as an incitement to armed conflict. </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p>We also read here, thanks to the Novgorod <italic>veche</italic> or town council, and the
            toppling of rulers deemed unfit to command, of the emergence of something approaching
            communal decision-making processes. Even so, with fewer than 200 administrative
            instruments surviving from before the 1270s, our knowledge of the practicalities of law
            enforcement amongst the Rus remains largely conjectural, albeit profuse compared to the
            mere six charters (one of them a post-medieval forgery) that Kiril Petkov can muster for
            his chapter on medieval Bulgaria. Petkov sets out deliberately to challenge various
            myths, not least over Bulgaria’s supposed status as an ersatz-Byzantium. This stands in
            distinct contrast to Emir Filipović’s chapter on Bosnia, where a series of essentially
            nationalistic tropes are recycled, including the surely unprovable claim that the
            Bosnian nobility, even when in open conflict with their king, “remained loyal to the
            Bosnian state, which they considered to be abstractly represented by the crown and the
            assembly” (63). “Says who?” would be the sceptic’s response. Remaining east of the Alps,
            Katalin Szende’s chapter on the Hungarian towns emphasises their role in attracting
            French and German immigrants, with nearly fifty such settlements chartered by 1300, in a
            few instances adopting the very grandest of communal seals (here impressively
            illustrated). The competition for settlers apart, one might wonder what was specifically
            “Hungarian” about these developments, and perhaps regret that the mixture of natives and
            outsiders does not lead to comparisons with other parts of Europe, not least with the
            boroughs of Wales or Ireland. </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p>With rather broader span, writing of medieval Poland, Paul Knoll fuses a brief outline
            narrative to precisely the sort of details, on chronicle and charter sources, that are
            sometimes lacking elsewhere. The picture that emerges, of evolution from Piast war band
            to an administrative class capable of outlasting the rule of any one duke, is succinctly
            drawn, albeit offering no real challenge to the prevailing consensus: in many ways a
            model of what other chapters might have achieved had their parameters been more closely
            defined. Equally succinct, and no less useful, Nathan Leidholm, on Byzantium from the
            850s to 1204, traces the parabola from centralized tax collection to privatised rent
            franchises, offset against the imperial management of an increasingly vast estate of
            expropriated land. As in Poland, where from 1384 rule was assigned to the youngest
            daughter of the previous king, acknowledged specifically in her own right as “King”
            Jadwiga, Byzantium allowed considerable agency to females within the imperial family,
            albeit with women excluded from all other administrative roles. </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p>From even further east, albeit with only tenuous connection to the other studies here,
            Alex Mesibov Feldman considers Khazaria, a region that many readers will know from
            Arthur Koestler’s <italic>Thirteenth Tribe</italic>, but here entirely scotching
            Koestler’s thesis, insisting that the conversion of the region’s rulers to Judaism, from
            the 830s onwards, was followed by no such conversion for the bulk of the Khazak peoples.
            Not least as a tour of the available sources, this offers useful guidance. So too does
            Erin Jordan, surveying the Kingdom of Jerusalem after 1099, where compromise and
            consultation between ruler and nobility remained crucial to survival in an only
            partially conquered land. Here, elite politics remain the focus, at the expense of any
            detailed consideration of local government or the nitty gritty of tax collecting,
            knights’ fees, or interaction between conquerors and the conquered. Turning westwards,
            Kirsi Salonen considers the paradox of the papacy: a highly centralized bureaucracy, in
            many ways the best-preserved relic of classical Roman imperial rule, nonetheless obliged
            to temper its claims to universal authority in the face of the myriad complications and
            compromises involved in applying papal law at the level of kingdoms or individual
            dioceses. The Church looms large, too, in Hans Jacob Orning’s account of Norwegian
            kingship, emerging from bitterly contested rivalry between at least three distinct
            regional elites, themselves only welded together once Danish influence had waned in the
            south, with the northern church of Trondheim central to the consolidation of royal
            authority thereafter. </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p>From England, a region where national consolidation occurred far earlier, Lois Huneycutt
            begins by emphasising the power exercised by queens, almost as co-rulers across the
            century from 1066, before embarking on a brief historiographical conspectus of writing
            on English statehood, from Stubbs via Joseph Strayer to “H. R.” (<italic>recte</italic>
            H. G.) Richardson. Germany and its empire secure a clear and concise contribution from
            Jonathan Lyon, noting the power of princes, churches, and towns within administrative
            structures entirely dependent upon negotiation between ruler and ruled: structures
            lacking any fixed capital, any unitary system of laws or taxation, and any direct
            attachment to the figure of the emperor and his court save as an often-distant tribunal
            of appeal. This is ground magisterially surveyed in Len Scales’s <italic>Shaping of
                German Identity</italic>: a survey that might usefully have been included in Lyon’s
            bibliography. </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p>Finally, in what is in many ways the most accomplished of the essays in this volume,
            conceived not as survey but as portrait in miniature, Simon Doubleday considers the
            career of a priest named Ecta <italic>alias</italic> Lázaro, in 1037 mortally wounded at
            the battle of Tamarón near Burgos, previously servant to the rulers “in” (rather than
            “of”) eleventh-century León. This at a time when there was more symbiosis than
            ideological conflict between the worlds of Iberian Christianity and Islam, and when the
            victor of Tamarón, the king of Castile, was as much a client as a rival of his Muslim
            neighbours to the south. Even thirty years later, Doubleday suggests, the transfer of
            the relics of St Isidore from Muslim Seville to Christian Burgos was most likely
            conceived as an act of friendship rather than as a surrender to military superiority.
            The irony here is that by more or less ignoring whatever editorial template was supplied
            to him, Doubleday paints a canvas a great deal livelier yet in every sense as revealing
            as those daubed in earnest shades of grey elsewhere. However worthy their intentions,
            collections such as this can sometimes offer greater enlightenment from a few grains of
            evidential sand, than from the entire windswept reef of transnational synthesis. </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p> </p>
    </body>
</article>