Division and unity
Shaping communities in eleventh century Germany
p. 205-216
Texte intégral
1During the last decades of the eleventh century, between about 1070 and 1100, the Empire was riddled with civil wars; first, the war between Henry IV and the Saxon opposition between 1073 and 1075, then by the wars of so-called investiture controversy. In these, Henry and his supporters fought against the followers of the popes and anti-kings and eventually his own sons until his death in 1106.1
2These conflicts had consequences for communities within the empire on all levels. Most existing communities—from monasteries to entire ethnic groups—faced internal divisions. Some communities were weakened by this and fractured under the pressure; others were strengthened. Furthermore, new communities emerged in the wake of disintegrating political and social structures during this period.
3The focus of this chapter lies on the way in which authors of the period framed these processes of division and unification on different levels, and how they are linked to the political dividing lines of the period that in the empire was a period of almost continuous civil war between allies and enemies of Henry IV. The texts studied here not only reflect these developments but must be read as part of them. They were written by authors who were trying to make sense of the confusing and disordered contemporary world and who—consciously or unconsciously—attempted to find (or create) some form of order in it. One of the ways to do this was to ascribe actions, characteristics or allegiances to certain communities, and in doing so, stating explicitly or implying that certain groups were united. During the last decades of the eleventh century, many texts attest to attempts to create and strengthen communities in this way. The unity of these communities is, of course, a fiction. Very often—perhaps in most cases—these communities were not united, as we can often see from context (which is of course to be expected in a period of civil war). In what follows, I will examine some examples on different levels, starting with Saint-Gall, an old imperial monastery founded in the eighth century, then moving on to the ethnic groups of the Alamanni or Suebi/Swabians, and finally to the urban populations who emerged as political actors in exactly this period.
4First however, a few general thoughts. It is of course not surprising that periods of civil war led to divisions of communities, in fact, divisions on different levels are almost a necessary criterion of civil wars.2 This passage in the report on the year 1079 in the annals of Augsburg, which is well known because of its succinct summary of the state of the empire, harking back to a comedy by Plautus, shows this very precisely:
“Oh, deplorable condition of the empire. As we read in a certain comedian, we are all twinned—popes are twinned, bishops are twinned, kings are twinned, dukes are twinned!”3
5This note from Augsburg must have been written after 1079, since there were only two popes after 1080/4, but everything else was true already in 1079: there were two bishops of Augsburg, Wigold and Siegfried,4 two kings, Henry IV and Rudolf of Rheinfelden, the latter elected by the opposition after Henry IV and Gregory VII had (temporarily) reconciled in Canossa in 1077, and two dukes of Swabia, Rudolf of Rheinfelden’s son Berthold and Frederick of Staufen.5 From the perspective of Augsburg, the highest authorities in the world, both secular and religious, were split. These contested offices were the results of divisions, and further reinforced them. Schisms like these did not only occur on the levels of dioceses, duchies and kingdoms, but on all levels of society.6 All schisms were accompanied by discussions of legitimacy—who was the real, legitimate bishop/duke/king/pope? This is where the topic of this paper becomes apparent, because schisms invariably lead to discussions about communities and their identities. Attempts were made to exclude members of the opposing party—such as the followers of the “wrong” king or pope from the opposing communities. Similarly, members of one’s own party were framed as the “real” members of the community, that is the ’real’ monks of the Saint-Gall, the citizens of Augsburg, or the Alamanns. Let us consider a few examples, starting with the monastery of Saint-Gall.
The monks of Saint-Gall
6On Easter day of 1077, the newly elected king (or anti-king) Rudolf of Rheinfelden chose a new abbot named Luitold for the monastery of Saint-Gall whose abbot had died in the previous year. A few months later, after Rudolf’s opponent Henry had returned north from Italy, the Salian king chose a different man named Ulrich (III) as abbot of Saint-Gall. Luitold was quickly forced to leave Saint-Gall and found refuge in the nearby monastery of Reichenau. One year later, in 1078, Henry attempted to introduce Ulrich as the abbot of Reichenau as well, but Ulrich failed to establish himself there and remained in Saint-Gall.
7The ancient rivalry between these two monasteries that had long dominated ecclesiastical life in central Alamannia was, during this period, intensified by the beginning civil war between Henry IV and Rudolf of Rheinfelden. In this conflict, the monasteries of Reichenau and Saint-Gall ended up in opposing camps, with Saint-Gall firmly in Henry’s party and Reichenau supporting Rudolf. At least this is what historians have long claimed, and it is certainly true for the abbots who eventually prevailed in either monastery. The reality, however, was more complex: both communities were deeply divided in 1077/78.7
8Two sources are central for studying this conflict between the abbots Ulrich and Luitold. As is to be expected in this context of schism and civil war, sources treated the legitimacy of the two claimants and the position of the monks of the monastery quite differently. A text from Saint-Gall reports that Luitold’s pastoral staff was broken in the choir by monks defending the honour of king Henry—a very drastic demonstration that the monks were not willing to accept him as their abbot.8 The wording is ambiguous—“a monachis” could refer either to certain monks or to the monks as a united group. The author, clearly a man of Luitold’s opponent Ulrich, was nevertheless at least insinuating that Luitold met with united resistance by the monks.
9The same events are reported differently by the contemporary chronicler Berthold from the neighbouring monastery of Reichenau. He was an avid supporter of king Rudolf and of Rudolfs’ nominee Luitold. Berthold, too, implied unity—he repeatedly stated that Luitold was regulariter electus, and an election by rule was an unanimous election. The Reichenau chronicler first states that Lutold was introduced as abbot of Saint-Gall after being elected by the brothers. This happened in the presence of king Rudolf in Augsburg and certainly with his assent, but the king’s involvement in the process is downplayed by Berthold who uses the passive voice in order to avoid having to make explicit who put Luitold in his office.9 In contrast to that, Berthold presents Ulrich’s introduction into the monastery as a one-sided act of King Henry against the will of the community.10 However, both reports, while implying unity among the monks (although in completely contrary ways), also show that the community of Saint-Gall was in fact divided. Luitold was a monk of Saint-Gall himself and must have had a few supporters at least in the monastery since he was able to retain his position for a while. Vice versa, Berthold papers over the fact that Ulrich, the abbot imposed by Henry, was clearly accepted by many, if not most, monks of Saint-Gall as their abbot very quickly.
10These rhetorical strategies employed by Berthold of Reichenau and the anonymous monk who wrote the Saint-Gall text are not at all unusual. Monastic conflicts often worked like this—rhetorical strategies of unity are used to support claims to legitimacy for one party by framing their supporters as the real representatives of the community, thus implicitly or explicitly excluding their rivals from the community. Of course, this type of rhetoric is not limited to monastic communities or the Middle Ages—it is quite easy to think of similar examples from the contemporary world.
Inclusion and exclusion—ethnic communities
11These parallels become even more evident when we look at ethnic groups, or, more specifically, the way in which chroniclers used ethnicity as a rhetorical device to imply unity and to exclude deviants from an ethnic group. In contrast to monasteries and—to a lesser degree—to the urban societies analysed in the last section of this paper, ethnic groups do not have a fixed membership, and are largely communities not formed by personal acquaintance, not to speak of a formal act of entrance. They are, to a large degree, imagined communities. This makes them more susceptible to rhetoric and strategies of inclusion and exclusion.
12For the Alamanns, Berthold of Reichenau, once again, offers the best case. Writing in a monastery in the geographical heart of Alamannia, Berthold tells the story of the wars between the supporters of king Rudolf and king Henry as of wars between ethnic groups. Berthold’s own people, the Alamanns are specifically singled out as steadfast supporters of Rudolf, who had been duke of Alamannia before being elected king. It helped, too, that two of Rudolf’s most important supporters, duke Berthold and duke Welf, had their main power bases within Alamannia, Berthold on the central Neckar River and Welf in the Augsburg region and were thus Alamannians, too, in spite of holding the duchies of Carinthia and Bavaria respectively.11
13A good example is Berthold’s narrative strategy is his report about the warfare in 1077—the three bishops Werner of Strasbourg, Burkhard of Lausanne and Burkhard of Basel who supported Henry, repeatedly fought Rudolf’s troops.12 Berthold frames this as a Burgundian invasion: the Burgundian troops, who had invaded Alamannian lands, were twice beaten by Rudolf’s troops.13
14It is easy to make the case that Basel and Lausanne were seen as located in Burgundy, although Basel especially was linked strongly to Alamannia by this time.14 Strasbourg, however, was most certainly not in Burgundy, and its bishop Werner was from a prominent noble family from the centre of Alamannia, as Berthold knew very well.15 Rudolf of Rheinfelden, on the other hand was himself of Burgundian origin. Even more to the point: Otto, bishop of Constance, and a staunch supporter of king Henry is not even mentioned here, although he was certainly involved in the conflict, as was Ulrich of Saint-Gall with his troops—Berthold mentions both of them in his chronicle; but not here, when mentioning these men, who clearly had led Alamannian troops would have interfered with his aim of presenting the Alamanns as united against foreign invaders.
15In reality, of course, the Alamanns were not united against invaders, but divided, and there are some passages in the chronicle where Berthold has to—albeit grudgingly—admit that there were at least some Alamanns among Henry’s supporters.16 In his description of Henry’s warfare in Alamannia in 1078, Berthold writes that that “Henry raged with the worst and most inhuman plunderers from Bohemia, Bavaria, Burgundy and Franconia and also with some whom he was able to attract in Alamannia itself.”17 Again, this is an invasion, this time from almost all the neighbours of the Alamanns and accompanied by some seduced Alamanns. These are clearly traitors; not real Alamanns who were loyal to Rudolf and who were “Catholics”, not “schismatics”.
16In another passage set in the year 1079, Berthold employs a different strategy to avoid pointing to divisions among the Alamanns: he invents new ethnicities. In 1079, Henry had named a new duke of Alamannia, count Frederick of Staufen, to replace Rudolf and Rudolf’s son Berthold, whom Rudolf named as his successor in his duchy. Duke Frederick then conquered Ulm with an army made up of Austrifranci, Reti, Vindelici and and Pagoarii according to Berthold.18 Of these ethnic denominators, the first and the last are not problematic and refer to the eastern and northern neighbours of the Alamanns, the Eastern Francs and the Bavarians respectively, but Reti and Vindelici are interesting. Reti is clearly derived from the region of Raetia; in early medieval terminology, this mostly refers to the Alpine region around Chur, not to the entire area that once belonged to the Roman provinces of Raetia I and II (respectively centred on Chur and Augsburg). In any case, Raetia was in the eleventh century securely part of the duchy of Alamannia, and thus its inhabitants would have been called Alamanns, too. While Reti is at least a term that was in use in the eleventh century, this was not the case for Vindelici. It is obvious, however, that Berthold borrowed it from the ancient name of Augsburg, Augusta Vindelicorum, deriving from a Celtic group. It must consequently refer to people from around Augsburg, which, again, was in Alamannia. Therefore, we must conclude that Berthold consciously employed these terms as a way of avoiding to point out the divisions among the Alamanni: he created new ethnic groups to which he relegated those Alamanni who supported king Henry. In this way, he could continue to depict the Alamanni as united, and specifically, united against the “schismatics” and king Henry. This fits Berthold’s general narrative structures: for him, the civil wars between 1077 and 1080 were ethnic wars between the Alamanns—allied with the Saxons—against the Bavarians, Burgundians, Bohemians and Eastern Francs.
17The use of ethnicity to describe parties and armies in the civil wars of the investiture controversy is not restricted to Berthold, although he presents the most striking case. Brun’s “liber de bello Saxonico” similarly depicts the events of this war as a direct continuation of the wars between the Saxons and Henry IV that had begun in 1073;19 he, too, goes to great lengths to present the Saxons as united against Henry, although this was obviously not the case. To name just one glaring example: archbishop Adalbert of Bremen, Henry’s most important counsellor in the years preceding the war, whom Brun depicts as an avid supporter of all the king’s crimes and even as instigator of some of them, was a Saxon himself, a fact that Brun conveniently omits from his narrative.
18The question remains if the way in which Berthold and Brun depicted conflicts as “ethnic” was unique, that is, something that only these authors constructed. We must therefore consider other contemporary authors’ perspectives. The resulting picture is varied. Not all historians of the age used ethnicity to construct the parties of the civil war, preferring other markers of identity, for example contrasting the fideles sancti Petri to the supporters of Henry or describing the other side as heretics or schismatics.20 But we do know that even historians who did not fully subscribe to the ethnic narrative of the civil wars of the investiture controversy, such as Frutolf of Michelsberg, Bernold of Constance, or the Augsburg annalist sometimes depicted certain troops as made up of a specific ethnicity. This is not surprising, since it will often have been the case that troops involved in a certain act of war were mainly composed of men from a specific area. But there is more to it than bare reference to the origins of soldiers.
19Conflicts in Augsburg provide a useful illustration of this point. This city situated in Alamannia, but close to the border of Bavaria, was repeatedly subject to attacks especially during the 1080s and 1090s. Mostly, they seem to have been attempts to introduce a bishop into the city—there was schism in the diocese of Augsburg between 1077 and 1094. Within the city, a majority of the citizens and the canons seems to have favoured Henry IV and the bishop introduced by him, Siegfried. Siegfried was opposed first by Wigold until his death in 1088, then by Werinhar, Ekkehard of Nellenburg and finally Eberhard of Kempten who all died fairly quickly.21
20The main supporter of these anti-bishops was Welf IV, duke of Bavaria, but, as I mentioned earlier, his main territorial holdings were in the Augsburg region, especially between Augsburg and Lake Constance in Alamannia. The proximity of Bavaria and Welf’s double role as duke of Bavaria and as a major lord in Alamannia meant that it was perfectly plausible that attacks on the city might have been carried out by either Bavarians or Alamanns. Now, if we look at the sources reporting about successful and unsuccessful attempts to seize Augsburg, we find very different attributions. For example, the chronicle of Bernold of Constance—a staunch enemy of Henry IV, reports that in 1084, duke Welf drove the false bishop Siegfried, who had invaded the see and the city with “Bavarians”, from Augsburg. According to Bernold, Welf’s army consisted of Swabians (a term that began to replace Alamanns during this period).22 On the other hand, the Augsburg annals, which supported Henry IV and bishop Siegfried—although the latter without great enthusiasm—always characterize attackers of the city as Bavarians, if they are given an ethnicity.23
21I believe that we may interpret this in the following way: both Alamann sources for the attacks on Augsburg, the Augsburg annals from within the city and Bernold’s chronicle from Constance, identify illegitimate attacks on Augsburg with Bavarians and its defence and liberation with the Alamanns/Swabians, albeit from diametrically opposed positions and with inverse claims about the same events. Things become even more muddled when we look at Frutolf of Michelsberg, a Bavarian chronicler, who supported Henry IV, and thus attributed the attack on the city in 1088 which had the aim of replacing Henry’s bishop Siegfried, to Swabians—apparently because they were, in Frutolf’s eyes, misguided.24
22Here, in the case of Augsburg ethnicity becomes an argument about the legitimacy of military actions; it is also an attempt to inject some kind of order into the chaotic events of a civil war. In this way ethnic identity was one of the narrative means available for authors not only for describing actions and events, but also one for creating unity. By aligning political, religious and ethnic affiliations in the retelling current events, and by excluding deviant political or religious affiliations from their own ethnicity, authors like Berthold attempted to create the impression of unity in what was, in reality, a time of severe divisions at probably every level of society.
Cities
23The case of Augsburg provides a link to the final section of this paper on the urban populations. Here, too, the years between 1070 and 1100 were a period in which communities were created and strengthened in the face of divisions. It has long been recognized that the eleventh century was the period in which the urban populations in western and central Europe not only grew, but also first appear as political actors in their own right.25 In Germany, this was clearly linked to the civil wars of this period, as is especially evident in the case of Worms.
24In the winter of 1073-1074, during the war against the Saxons, king Henry IV found himself under severe military pressure, largely abandoned by the princes and several bishops of his realm, and fell seriously ill.26 In this situation, the citizens of Worms acted decisively: they expelled their bishop, who opposed Henry, and welcomed the king into their city. As a reward for their support, the citizens of Worms received an imperial privilege exempting them from certain tolls.27 This is first royal grant to the urbani—and not the bishop—of a city in the empire. The unusually long narratio of this charter stresses not only the virtuous behaviour of the citizens of Worms, but also their unity: the decision to receive the king was reached communi civium favore, by the citizens’ collective approval. In this case, the link between war and political disorder and the emergence of a new community is evident. And it is certainly not by coincidence that several other citizens of cities in the empire are named for the first time in exactly this period: Trier in 1066, Cologne in 1074, Mainz and Cambrai in 1077, Augsburg in 1087, Metz in 1088, Constance in 1092.28 In all these instances, the inhabitants of the cities are described as the cives or urbani, again creating the impression of unity and unanimity. Their appearance was always linked to violence, showing the direct connection to unrest and war.29 These allowed—or sometimes forced—the inhabitants to act, thus creating or reinforcing their identity as a group. It is not surprising that the sources reporting about these events imply, or sometimes stress the unity of these new communities. These new urban communities were, in fact, the results of divisions not only in the political landscape at large, but also within the cities, between the bishops and the citizens, as is again especially visible in the case of Worms.
Conclusion
25To conclude very briefly: within the empire, and much as in France, the eleventh century, especially the decades between 1070 and 1100 were a period of accelerated and intensified community formation, on several levels. At the same time, this was a period during which schisms—not only in the religious sense, but divisions on all levels—were especially common. This may seem paradoxical, but it is in fact to be expected, since the formation of a community—or the intensification of its identity—logically involves the exclusion of those who did not belong to this group. Processes of inclusion are necessarily accompanied by exclusion. Furthermore, the damage done to previous political formations during the wars of this period known as the investiture controversy allowed new formations to come into existence—such as the city populations now acting as groups of citizens.
26At the same time, several authors felt the need to stress that (their) communities were united against the threats of division—in the city, in the monastery, among the ethnic groups. This unity not only legitimized a community’s actions, but also aligned these groups with certain parties within the context of civil war, creating the impression that the Alamanns were all steadfast in their support for the pope and king Rudolf. Those who backed king Henry could not be Alamanns.
27One final question: how is all this linked to the Gregorian Reforms? On one level, the answer is obvious: all the events referred to in this paper were clearly linked to the so-called investiture controversy. The Gregorian Reforms were at the root of the civil wars in late eleventh-century Germany that acted as a catalyst to the formations and divisions of communities so visible in the sources. However, I believe that there is more to it than just seeing the reforms as the cause of divisions among the relevant political actors, who either opposed or supported king Henry in his conflicts with Gregory VII and other popes. The reforms were relevant in other ways, too. To name but a few: growing papal ambitions brought with it new ways of challenging a bishop or an abbot, or even a king. And this had direct consequences for the events and processes studied in this paper in that it led to schisms that could not be easily resolved. At the same time, we find that tolerance for deviations diminished—there were more and more practices that were denounced as heresy, excommunications became more common and there were more attempts to limit contacts to those who are excommunicated.30 All these factors contributed both to divisions, deepening them while at the same time undermining established forms of conflict resolution through mediation and the influence of an undisputed king. This also allowed—or even forced—the formation and strengthening of new communities such as the urban communities.
Notes de bas de page
1The German bibliography on these events is too extensive to list here. A helpful recent overview on the scholarship is provided by Zey Claudia, “Der Investiturstreit – neuere Perspektiven der Forschung”, in Thomas Kohl (ed.), Konflikt und Wandel um 1100, Berlin, De Gruyter, coll. “Europa im Mittelalter, 36”, 2020. See for recent summaries: Johrendt Jochen, Der Investiturstreit, Darmstadt, wbg Academic, coll. “Geschichte kompakt”, 2018; Zey Claudia, Der Investiturstreit, München, C. H. Beck, 2017.
2See e.g. Kalyvas Stathis N., The logic of violence in civil war, Cambridge/New York, Cambridge University Press, 2006.
3“O miseranda regni facies! Sicut in quodam comico, omnes sumus geminati legitur, papae geminati, pontifices geminati, reges geminati, duces sunt geminati!” Annales Augustani, éd. Georg Heinrich Pertz, Hannover, Hahn, coll. “Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores, 3”, 1839, ad a. 1079, p. 130. See for this source Paulus Christof, “Von weißen Raben und einer ungeheuerlichen Zeit: Zu einem Epigramm der ’Augsburger Jahrbücher’”, Jahrbuch des Vereins für Augsburger Bistumsgeschichte, vol. 44, 2010, p. 337-354; Paulus Christof, “Omnes sumus geminati… Investiturstreit im Bistum Augsburg”, in Thomas Kohl (ed.), Konflikt und Wandel um 1100, op. cit., p. 55-74.
4See below.
5See below.
6In fact, schisms on all levels, both in the religious and the secular sphere are so common that I have suggested elsewhere to characterize this period in the empire between 1070 and 1100 the “age of schisms”, instead of using the label “investiture controversy” so important in German in historiography (Kohl Thomas, “Die Erfindung des Investiturstreits”, Historische Zeitschrift, vol. 312, 2021, p. 34-61).
7See on this case Wiech Martina, Das Amt des Abtes im Konflikt. Studien zu den Auseinandersetzungen um Äbte früh- und hochmittelalterlicher Klöster unter besonderer Berücksichtigung des Bodenseegebiets, Siegburg, Verlag F. Schmitt, coll. “Bonner historische Forschungen, 59”, 1999, p. 240-249; Seibert Hubertus, Abtserhebungen zwischen Rechtsnorm und Rechtswirklichkeit. Formen der Nachfolgeregelung in lothringischen und schwäbischen Klöstern der Salierzeit (1024-1125), Mainz, Gesellschaft für Mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte, coll. “Quellen und Abhandlungen zur mittelrheinischen Kirchengeschichte, 78”, 1995); Kohl Thomas, Streit, Erzählung und Epoche. Deutschland und Frankreich um 1100, Stuttgart, Hiersemann, coll. “Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters, 67”, 2019, p. 187-195.
8“Et pro eo Lutoldus monachus huius loci a Rodolfo rege, si fas est ipsum regem nominari, abbas costituitur. Qui a monachis honorem Heinrici imperatoris fideliter defendentibus turpiter pastorali baculo infra chorum fracto suscipitur” (Casuum sancti Galli Continuatio anonyma, éd. Heidi Leuppi, Zürich, Universität Zürich, 1987, c. 21, p. 130).
9“Ubi [in Augsburg] cellae sancti Galli a fratribus regulariter electus abbas preficitur Lutoldus, eiusdem cenobii frater reverendus” (Berthold of Reichenau, Chronicle, éd. Ian Stuart Robinson, Die Chroniken Bertholds von Reichenau und Bernolds von Konstanz, Hannover, Hahn, coll. “Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores, N.S. 14”, 2003, ad a. 1077, p. 271).
10“Eodem die et loco cellae sancti Galli quendam consanguineum suum, eiusdem loci non monachum […] constituit super abbatiam eo itidem reprobato, qui regulariter a fratribus electus, a rege R. illuc abbas ordinatus est” (ibid., p. 298).
11See on Alamannian opposition against Henry IV in general Zotz Thomas, “Der südwestdeutsche Adel und seine Opposition gegen Heinrich IV.”, in Dieter R. Bauer et Matthias Becher (ed.), Welf IV. Schlüsselfigur einer Wendezeit. Regionale und europäische Perspektiven, München, C. H. Beck, 2004, p. 339-359.
12See on Berthold’s representation of Bishop Werner II Walther Tobie, Zwischen Polemik und Rekonziliation. Die Bischöfe von Straßburg im Investiturstreit bis 1100 und ihre Gegner, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, coll. “Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für geschichtliche Landeskunde in Baden-Württemberg. Reihe B, Forschungen, 210”, 2017, p. 27-48.
13“Quippe Basiliensis, Lausanensis et Argentinus antiepiscopi cum omnibus quos ad se attraxerant, mox predis, incendiis et omnimodis persuasionem et impugnationum pressuris cuncta que ad regem pertinebant studiosissime devastabant, quousque totam ferme illam patriam sibi regique suo subiciebant. Sed non absque malo et detrimento suo. Bis quippe a militibus regis Rudolfi victi, cesi et fugati sunt Burgundionum turme, que partes Alemannicas predature impetu hostile superbissime invaserant” (Berthold of Reichenau, Chronicle, op.cit., ad a. 1077, p. 289).
14King Rudolf III of Burgundy had already handed over Basel to emperor Henry II in 1006, several decades before the integration of the kingdom of Burgundy into the empire. see on the history of Burgundy in this period Demotz François, La Bourgogne, dernier des royaumes carolingiens (885-1056). Roi, pouvoirs et élites autour du Léman, Lausanne, Société d’histoire de la Suisse romande, coll. “Mémoires et documents publiés par la Société d’histoire de la Suisse romande”, 2008.
15Walther Tobie, Zwischen Polemik…, op. cit., p. 34-44.
16See the quote in n. 17 and his report on Alamannian counts who defected from Rudolf’s side for material gain: “Eadem tempestate quidam comites de Alemannis, iam pridem regis Ruodolfi electissimi adiurati milites, turpis lucri causa ab eo apostabant et, occupatis quibusdam castellorum presidiis, predis, incendiis et totis rapinarum et pervasionum direptionibus in dominum suum, in ducem Welphonem, in bona ecclesiarum, nec non in omnes a se discordantes, totis viribus et artibus inhumanissimi per totam provinciam prout poterant grassati sunt” (Berthold of Reichenau, Chronicle, op. cit., ad a. 1077, p. 290).
17“Illic pessimis predonibus et inhumanissimis de Boemia, Pagoaria, Burgundia, Francia, nec non quoscumque poterat de ipsa Alemannia conductis, predis, incendiis, castellorum et oppidorum nonnullorum destructionibus, et in divina sacra inauditis sacrilegis, passim efferatissimus Dei contemptor miserabiliter insistebat” (ibid., ad a. 1078, p. 336).
18“Fridericus, collectis undecumque ex parte regis sui Austrifrancis, Retis, Vindelicis, Pagoariis” (ibid., ad a. 1079, p. 359).
19Brun, Saxonicum Bellum, éd. Hans Eberhard Lohmann, Leipzig, Hiersemann, coll. “Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Deutsches Mittelalter, 2”, 1937 ; Eggert Wolfgang, “Heinricus rex depositus? Über Titulierung und Beurteilung des dritten Saliers in Geschichtswerken des frühen Investiturstreits”, Mitteilungen des Instituts für österreichische Geschichtsforschung, vol. 108, 2000, p. 117-134; Becher Matthias, “Die Auseinandersetzung Heinrich IV. mit den Sachsen: Freiheitskampf oder Revolte?”, in Jörg Jarnut et Nicola Karthaus (ed.), Vom Umbruch zur Erneuerung? Das 11. und beginnende 12. Jahrhundert. Positionen der Forschung, München, Fink, 2006, p. 357-378.
20For example, Bernold of Constance, who continued Berthold’s chronicle, employed both these strategies.
21Volkert Wilhelm, Die Regesten der Bischöfe und des Domkapitels von Augsburg, Augsburg, Schwäbische Forschungsgemeinschaft, 1985, p. 218-221.
22They are used interchangeably throughout the middle ages (Patzold Steffen, “Was ist schwäbisch?: Alamannen und Schwaben am Beginn des Mittelalters”, in Sigrid Hirbodian et Tjark Wegner [ed.], Was ist schwäbisch?, Ostfildern, Thorbeke, coll. “Landeskundig, 2”, 2016, p. 11-31), but with a marked tendency toward “Swabian” since the late eleventh century.
23See on the annalist’s perspective on bishop Siegfried Paulus Christof, “Von weißen Raben…”, art. cit.
24Frutolf of Michelsberg, Chronicle, éd. Franz-Josef Schmale et Irene Schmale-Ott, Frutolfs und Ekkehards Chroniken und die Anonyme Kaiserchronik, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, coll. “Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters, 15”, 1972, p. 102.
25Moore Robert I., The first European revolution, c. 970-1215, Oxford/Malden, Blackwell, coll. “The making of Europe”, 2000.
26Lampert of Hersfeld, Annales, éd. Oswald Holder-Egger, Hannover, Hahn, coll. “Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores rerum Germanicarum, 38”, 1938, ad. a. 1073, p. 169; see on Henry IV’s Saxon wars Becher Matthias, “Auseinandersetzung…”, art. cit.
27Die Urkunden Heinrichs IV., éd. Dietrich von Gladiss et Alfred Gawlik, Hannover, Hahn, coll. “Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Diplomata”, no 267, p. 342-343. See for the history of Worms during this period Bönnen Gerold, “Zur Entwicklung von Stadtverfassung und Stadtgemeinde im hochmittelalterlichen Worms”, Zeitschrift für die Geschichte des Oberrheins, vol. 150, 2002, p. 113-160.
28Trier: Vita et passio Conradi archiepiscopi, éd. Georg Waitz, Hannover, Hahn, coll. “Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores, 8”, 1848, p. 215-216; Cologne: Lampert of Hersfeld, Annales, op. cit., ad a. 1074, p. 185-86, explicitly linking this uprising against the bishop to the events in Worms; Mainz: Berthold of Reichenau, Chronicle, op. cit., ad a. 1077, p. 269; Cambrai: Gesta episcoporum Cameracensium Continuatio, éd. Ludwig C. Bethmann, Hannover, Hahn, coll. “Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores, 6”, 1846, p. 489-511, here c. 2, p. 498; Augsburg: Annales Augustani, op. cit., ad a. 1087, p. 132; Metz: Bernold of Constance, Chronicle, éd. Ian Stuart Robinson, Die Chroniken Bertholds von Reichenau und Bernolds von Konstanz, op. cit., ad a. 1088, p. 469; Constance: Casuum sancti Galli Continuati…, op. cit., c. 33, p. 170.
29Kohl Thomas, “Violence, Power and Social Change: European cities c. 1050-1120”, in Ewald Frie, Thomas Kohl and Mischa Meier (ed.), Dynamics of social Change and Perceptions of Threat, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, coll. “Bedrohte Ordnungen, 12”, 2018, p. 65-81; see for Italy Wickham Chris, “The ’Feudal Revolution’ and the origins of the Italian city communes”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, ser. 6, vol. 24, 2014, p. 29-55.
30Famously highlighted by Moore Robert Ian, The Formation of a persecuting Society. Power and Deviance in western Europe, 950-1250, Oxford, B. Blackwell, 1987.
Auteur
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Thomas Kohl
Université de Passau.
Thomas Kohl est professeur en histoire médiévale à l’université de Passau. Il travaille sur la querelle des Investitures, la réforme de l’Église, les conflits et les sociétés locales, aussi bien en Allemagne qu’en France à l’époque médiévale.

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