There are two discrete groups of campaign letters from the First Crusade. One is the cluster of four letters, explored in the following chapter, that purport to have been written by leaders of the crusade before the capture of Jerusalem, addressed as open letters to the West or the pope. These ‘collective projects’, Nicholas Paul writes, are distinct from ‘the letters composed by named individual authors to named individual recipients’, that is, the missives of figures such as Stephen of Blois and Anselm of Ribemont. The present chapter examines these narrative letters sent from within the crusader host. We are fortunate to possess five such epistles, including two letters by Stephen of Blois, another two by Anselm of Ribemont, and a single letter from Lucca. These letters are not only rare because the first four appear to have been sent directly from the campaign specifically, but also as epistolary products of their time generally. They belong to the concept of ‘fast historiography’ which Lars Boje Mortensen identifies emerging in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, in which the transmission of news from crusade campaigns played a significant role.

As Martha Carlin and David Crouch caution, we must not imagine that relatively ordinary people did not send letters in the Middle Ages; it is merely that they have not survived. As their edition of ‘lost letters’ from thirteenthcentury England reveals, we must imagine a world in which a fascinating gamut of casual and informal letters was circulating, ranging from magnates worrying about wine orders, through students writing to their parents to ask for money and masters instructing pupils to stop wasting time, to gossip about alleged adultery. By their very nature, most of these letters did not concern what contemporaries considered ‘important’ topics worthy of recording for posterity, and this, combined with the fact that parchment was expensive and could be scraped clean to create palimpsests, means that they were not actively preserved.

Though, as count of Blois and Chartres, one of the foremost nobles of Christendom, Stephen of Blois could hardly be counted as ordinary, it is no coincidence that the apparently touchingly personal letters which he purportedly sent from the First Crusade to his ‘dearest wife’ are some of the most well-known of all medieval letters.

Alexios I to Robert I of Flanders (Epistulae, no. I)

Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, Pal. Lat. 962, fols 62r–64r (s. xv).

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 4611, fols 50v–52r (s. xiii3/4).

Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. ser. n. 3607, fols 42r–44r (s. xiii1/4).

Anselm of Ribemont's first letter to Manasses of Reims (Epistulae, no. VIII)

Reims, Bibliothèque municipale de Reims, MS 96, fol. 1r–v (s. xiiin).

Anselm of Ribemont's second letter to Manasses of Reims (Epistulae, no. XV)

Barcelona, Biblioteca de Catalunya, MS 944, fols 292r–295r (s. xii).

Patriarch Symeon of Jerusalem and the other bishops to the people of the West (Epistulae, no. IX)

Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, Pal. Lat. 962, fol. 62r (s. xv).

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 4611, fol. 50v (s. xiii3/4).

Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, nouv. acq. lat. 310, fol. 226r–v (s. xii).

Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Pal. lat. 962, fol. 62r (s. xv).

Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. ser. n. 3607, fols 41v–42r (s. xiii1/4).

Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 354 Helmst., fol. 264v (s. xv2/4).

The crusade leaders to Pope Urban II (Epistulae, no. XVI)

Rouen, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 1390, fols 119v–120v (s. xii).

Daibert of Pisa, Godfrey of Bouillon, Raymond of St Gilles, and the crusader army to the pope and the Christian faithful (Epistulae, no. XVIII)

Erlangen, Universitätsbibliothek Erlangen-Nürnberg, MS 224, fols 150vb–153ra (s. xiiiin).

Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 211, fol. 174r–v (s. xii3/4).

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 23390, fols 60r–62v, 57r (s. xiii1).

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 28195, fols 114ra–115ra (s. xiii2/4).

Salzburg, Stiftsbibliothek St Peter, Codex S. Petri Salisburgensis b.IX.22 (XXXIV.7), fols 2r–3r (s. xv3/4).

Würzburg, Universitätsbibliothek Würzburg, M. p. th. q. 17, fols 90r–91v (s. xii).

Patriarch Daibert of Jerusalem to all the German people (Epistulae, no. XXI)

Erlangen, Universitätsbibliothek Erlangen-Nürnberg, MS 224, fols 153ra–153vb (s. xiiiin).

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 28195, fol. 115r (s. xiii2/4).

An influential recent strand in the historiography on the First Crusade argues for a geo-political reorientation of its origins from ‘the foothills of Clermont’ to Asia Minor and Constantinople. The Eastern context played an important role in the launch of the crusading movement; it was, after all, probably the call for military assistance that Byzantine envoys presented to Urban II at the Council of Piacenza in March 1095 that sparked the chain reaction which led some 60,000–100,000 men, women and children to take up arms and march to the East. The main plank in this argument is that the emperor of Byzantium, Alexios I Komnenos, wooed the Westerners with personal letters designed to stir up enthusiasm for a military expedition to defend Byzantium in a call from the East. This argument relies on the existence of diplomatic exchanges between East and West, and specifically on three epistles purportedly written by Alexios to high-ranking figures in Europe. While scholars agree that Alexios sent a call for military aid to the pope at Piacenza, the argument that the emperor wrote a personal appeal to Robert I of Flanders and two missives to Abbot Oderisius I of Montecassino rests on shaky foundations. It has been suggested ‘that Alexios knew how to appeal to westerners’ in these documents, and that they struck a chord with Europeans. It is not surprising, however, that the letters transmit a solid grasp of the interests and concerns of the Western clergy, because, I contend, the texts were written by them. Peter Schreiner and Christian Gastgeber have proven this definitively in the case of the letter to Robert I of Flanders, and the present chapter argues that the two letters to the abbot of Montecassino are also Western inventions. Some maintain, however, that the letter to Robert of Flanders is based upon an authentic letter, and Alexios’ two letters to Montecassino are still considered genuine by leading scholars of Byzantine diplomacy as well as historians of the crusades. Given the unresolved tension in the historiography between those who champion the authenticity of these documents and those who proffer more sceptical interpretations, it is necessary to re-engage critically with the Byzantine letters.

Among the collections of the Bibliothèques d’Amiens metropole is a single parchment leaf which measures approximately 288 x 249 mm. Across the leaf, in two columns, is inscribed the Latin text of a letter from the First Crusade. The document is addressed to the pope and the people of the West and relates the events of the expedition up to the capture of Jerusalem and the Battle of Ascalon in 1099. An original crusade letter from the end of the eleventh century, that is, the parchment sheet written by the named authors (or, rather, a scribe on their behalf) that changed hands between them and the addressees would be an artefact of the utmost rarity. But the Amiens manuscript is not one of those. It bears the textual accretions of two postscripts added by audiences in Europe who began to rewrite the epistolary corpus very soon after the crusade. These additions denote that it belongs to the third recension of the text, having evolved rapidly through two previous versions in the period immediately after 1099. At some point in its history, this twelfth-century copy became detached from the initial context of its creation: the binding of a medieval book. For the epistle preserved in Amiens represents one of many copies of letters from the First Crusade that were produced in Europe during and – on a much larger scale – after the expedition with the aim of sending its news, contextualising its events, and remembering it.

The Amiens leaf is a relic of the epistolary culture of the crusade. It stands witness to the impulse to record, engage with, and rewrite the event, in a similar vein to the longer Latin narratives which have attracted sustained scholarly attention for centuries. The attempt to ascertain exactly how those texts were composed, compiled and transmitted, together with their extremely complex interrelationships, has revolutionized our understanding of the First Crusade itself and the recording of history in the twelfth century. Yet while scholars have lavished attention on the full-scale narratives, the key texts that have yet to be factored properly into this discussion are the epistles.

News of the capture of Jerusalem first reached the West in the form of oral messages and stories and written documents. The only surviving letter is that given by Daibert, archbishop of Pisa, the new papal representative on the crusade, Godfrey of Bouillon (in absentia) and Raymond of St Gilles at Laodicea in September 1099, although we can probably assume that there were others, now lost. The arrival of the news in the West appears to have spread rapidly and sparked correspondence between interested contemporaries who sought not only to distribute it but also to interpret it from a theological perspective and to inspire and recruit further warrior–pilgrims to defend the newly acquired Latin conquests. This chapter examines the six surviving letters written in the aftermath of the crusade – which all appear to be authentic – and examines how contemporaries responded to the news from the East and repackaged it. In so doing, it problematises the consensus on the date at which the news arrived from the East, something which affects our understanding of the final stages of the First Crusade, the ‘crusade of 1100–01’, the transmission and reception of the news, and also makes an intervention in the longstanding debate about the original papal aim of the crusade and whether it was conceived as an expedition to recover Jerusalem.

The letter from Daibert and other crusade leaders to the pope and all Christians

The first surviving epistle to transmit the news of the success of the crusade ranks among the most significant letters for the transmission of crusade narrative. Given at Laodicea (Latakia, modern Syria) in September 1099 by elements of the crusade leadership, this missive is apparently the first known written narrative of the capture of Jerusalem and, indeed, of the entire campaign in Outremer, to have circulated in medieval Christendom. Evidence that contemporaries received it as such is furnished by MS Amiens, LESC. 91 D (5174), where the text is preceded by the heading ‘Itinerarium Hierosolimitarum’ (‘Account of the Jerusalem journey’) in a twelfth-century hand (Fig. 1a).

On first appraisal, the cover image of the present book (the attractive historiated initial from MS London, British Library, Yates Thompson 12, fol. 9r – a mid-thirteenth-century copy of the Old French Continuation of William of Tyre) is not the most obvious choice, for there is not an epistle to be seen. It depicts the departure of Godfrey of Bouillon and his contingent on the First Crusade. A band of ten male pilgrims is shown riding out from a walled city. Most of them are looking back to three women – presumably their kin – standing in the portal of a city gate. The pilgrims lock eyes with those they are leaving behind and both parties wear worried expressions. One crusader in the front rank, though, wearing a green hood, fixes his eyes on the road ahead, pointing the way for the rest of the group. What, then, does this departure scene have to do with epistolary culture? There are two minor points in favour of connecting the miniature to the subject of the present book. The first is that Godfrey is named as one of the authors in absentia of one of the most widely copied documents from the crusade: the Laodicea letter. The second is that Godfrey's departure followed the pope's muster date of 15 August 1096, which Urban circulated in his letter to Flanders. But there is a third reason that is more compelling. The miniature can be viewed as an avatar for the social networks that were essential to the production, delivery, consumption, and further transmission of the epistolary output from the First Crusade. The pained glances between the pilgrims and their kin cross a palpable void, signalling the physical distance between crusaders and their contacts that existed during the campaign, something recognised by Nicholas Paul: ‘The great distances that separated participants on the crusade from their families and friends at home and the physical, spiritual, and psychological challenges that they faced while on the march were all catalysts for the creation of written as well as non-written correspondence.’1 It was the epistolary form which allowed correspondents to bridge this gap, and the letters stemming from the First Crusade represented vectors for socio-literary networks that tied separated communities of letter-writers and recipients together.

The impulse to send epistles from the First Crusade back to the West was not exclusive to individuals. There are four extant letters issued in the name of the collective leadership of the crusade: the letter of Symeon, patriarch of Jerusalem, and Adhemar, papal legate and bishop of Le Puy, to the people of the ‘north’, purportedly from October 1097; the letter of Symeon and the other bishops with the army, addressed to the people of the West, supposedly from January 1098; the letter of Bohemond, Raymond of Toulouse, Godfrey of Bouillon and Hugh of Vermandois to all the Christian faithful, apparently written at some point between April and July 1098; and the letter of the crusade leaders to Pope Urban II, from 11 September 1098 (there is also the Laodicea letter, sent after the conclusion of the crusade, which is dealt with in Chapter 5). This group of documents has long formed part of the foundation of our knowledge about the campaign of the First Crusade, but, as this chapter argues, the first three epistles were devised in twelfth-century Europe to stir up support for the Frankish polities of Outremer. Only one, the letter from 11 September 1098, appears to be genuine, though, as I argue below, parts have been rewritten in transmission. This chapter demonstrates through detailed investigation of the missives that we need to rewrite parts of the history of the crusade accordingly.

The letters of Patriarch Symeon of Jerusalem to the West

Apparently the earliest of these collective documents is that supposedly written by Symeon, patriarch of Jerusalem, and Adhemar of Le Puy, c. 18 October 1097. No addressees of the letter are named, but, based on the contents of the main text, Hagenmeyer identified the intended recipients as the faithful of northern Europe. The short letter calls upon all those signed with the cross to fulfil their vows without delay and to support the crusaders, who were then beginning to lay siege to Antioch. It is only known from a single twelfthcentury copy in MS Reims, Bibliothèque municipale, 1405.

Having pulled apart the corpus of letters from the First Crusade, exposing some as confections, and picked out later additions and emendations from the original texts, it is appropriate now that we reunite the material and utilise the epistles, both genuine and confected, in a different mode of enquiry. For if we blur the distinction of epistolary reality, the confected letters are just as valuable as the genuine ones in shedding light on how medieval audiences engaged with the crusade as part of ecclesiastical scribal communities. This chapter analyses the transmission and reception of the epistles in manuscript, further emphasising reader habits and responses to their texts and locating them in networks of social relations. It seeks to discover what this can reveal about scribe–readers’ knowledge of the crusade from the letters in circulation, where, when, and with which other texts they consumed them, and how they received them, engaged with them, and rewrote them. Such questions cast the letters in a different light and open new avenues of exploration into how European religious communities contributed to the crusades through the copying of texts as a form of ‘scribal crusading’ on par with physical crusading activity.

Transmission

In order to examine the transmission of the letters from the crusade, it is necessary to study a representative sample that can be used to gauge contemporary interest in the expedition. There are fifty-nine manuscripts copied between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries which transmit the epistulae from the armies of the First Crusade, that is, the letters from the leaders and from the crusader host (including here the Laodicea letter). This represents a substantial manuscript sample. By contrast, aside from the widespread letter of Alexios to Robert I of Flanders, the documents purportedly dated before and after the campaign are transmitted only in a small number of manuscripts. The letters of Urban II from the launch of the crusade, for example, are mostly transmitted in seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury copies. It is apparent that the epistles which captured the interest of medieval audiences were not those written by ecclesiastical administrators but those purported to have been written from the crusade itself, by participants.

Central to our conception of the First Crusade's launch as a carefully stagemanaged papal enterprise are four letters of Pope Urban II written after 1095. These are some of the most important and intensively studied sources for the early gestation of the crusade and scholars have used them to attempt to glean insights into how Urban called for the crusade, how he justified it, and what his ‘intellectual conception’ (‘geistige Konzeption’) of the expedition was. They are vital to the standard interpretation, popularised by Jonathan Riley-Smith, that the papacy launched a carefully controlled campaign of preaching and recruitment and organised a central muster. Arguably, however, traditional approaches push the letters slightly too far as evidence of Urban's crusade conception and in constructing a grand overarching papal plan for the crusade. There are also indications that, in the form in which we now have them, two of the letters have been modified, probably through the excision of material. As a result, scholarly interpretations of the pope's plans for the expedition need to be re-evaluated. This chapter explores the letters afresh in the attempt to provide a more cautious understanding of the launch of the crusade and to set the scholarship on a more secure evidential footing regarding Urban's documents.

Urban II's letter to Bologna

The first of Urban's letters concerning the crusade to have survived down to the present day is that sent to the faithful of Bologna on 19 September 1096. The text is preserved in an early twelfth-century manuscript in the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (as well as an eighteenth-century copy). The twelfth-century witness, which has been dated between 1101 and 1125, was made in northern Italy. Its codex contains primarily the sermons of Augustine, to which Urban's constitutions from the Council of Melfi (1089) and two of his letters to Bologna are appended. The other letter to Bologna in the codex, which is dated 17 April 1097 or 1098 and addressed to the bishop, shares with the crusade document the theme of reinforcing ecclesiastical authority there.