In his recounting of Chlothar II’s triumph over his dynastic rivals, the Fredegar chronicler, normally sympathetic to Chlothar, relates approvingly how the beatissimus bishop Austrenus of Orléans in 604 provided shelter to the Burgundian mayor Bertoald. Bertoald had been in flight from Chlothar’s forces, after having been sent purposely into harm’s way by Theuderic II (596–613), Brunhild (d. 613), and his political nemesis, the patricius Protadius. It is unknown whether Austrenus, the brother of Bishop Aunacharius of Auxerre, ever was disciplined for his interference in the interregnal warfare that culminated in Chlothar’s domination of the entirety of the regnum Francorum. Fredegar’s account certainly does not suggest that Austrenus was motivated by crass partisanship in offering shelter to the mayor. Rather, the chronicler implies that it was the bishop’s mercy that inspired his courageous actions. Nevertheless, Fredegar does not indicate that Bertoald claimed right of asylum within a specific ecclesiastical institution. Instead, Austrenus closed the gates of Burgundian Orléans behind the mayor, knowing full well that Bertoald was being pursued by an invading Neustrian army. Nor did the bishop give up the fugitive to the enemy when the besiegers surrounded the city. So, even while the bishop’s motives in protecting Bertoald may well have been pious, he staked both his own life and those of the residents of Orléans on the principle that the civitas belonged to the Burgundian court, and that the Neustrians besieging its defenses had no claim either to it or to the mayor within its walls. While Bertoald certainly had his personal enemies in Burgundy, Theuderic almost certainly would have been relieved upon learning of Austrenus’s actions.
Austrenus seems to have been relatively unique among Merovingian-era bishops for his audacious display of political loyalty. Most prelates simply were never in the position of needing to prove their allegiances at great personal risk to themselves. This is not to say that the fidelity of bishops was irrelevant to the Merovingian rulers whom they served, but rather that this fidelity rarely was tested in so dramatic a fashion. But while the political integrity of the Frankish realm did not rest solely on the shoulders of local bishops, the Merovingians not only solicited episcopal prayers for themselves and the realm, they acted on the assumption that the cooperation of bishops was a necessary component of effective royal governance. Why the Frankish monarchy should consistently maintain this conviction over the entirety of the Merovingian period is the primary issue addressed in this chapter. Rather than comprehensively survey the myriad forms that episcopal service to the court could take during these centuries, the focus instead will be on those responsibilities that became ingrained into the administrative practices and political culture of the Merovingian realm. These included offering counsel to rulers, legislating in council for the purpose of securing administrative order and peace in the realm, and legitimizing territorial claims and partitions. In encouraging these services, the Merovingians sought to take full advantage of the administrative and spiritual auctoritas of the episcopate without purposefully compromising either by forcing bishops into the role of quasi-secular officials.
Counsel and Personal Communications
After King Chilperic I (561–84) departed from the audience hall (secretarium) of the Basilica of Saint Peter in Paris in 577, the assembled council of bishops and clerics remained behind to discuss the testimony that they had just heard. Although the trial of Bishop Praetextatus of Rouen had only just begun, the disconcerting presence of Chilperic himself at the proceedings, along with the appearance of a threatening crowd of Franci assembled outside the church, ensured a tense atmosphere within. Then, in the middle of the discussion, a Parisian archdeacon named Aetius entered the hall and addressed the bishops. His words startled the assembled prelates. In a pseudoprophetic speech, Aetius warned his clerical superiors that if they allowed the unjust prosecution of Praetextatus to continue, they would effectively forfeit their claim to be bishops of God.
Sitting among the bishops in the basilica listening to this speech was Bishop Gregory of Tours, who insisted decades later that among his colleagues he alone had the courage to echo the archdeacon’s admonishment. The speech that Gregory later recalled delivering at the Council of Paris (577) assumed the same prophetic tone that Aetius had employed. Gregory liberally paraphrased to his colleagues from the Old Testament prophet Ezekiel, who had cautioned, “But if the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet, so that the people are not warned, and the sword comes, and takes any one of them; that man is taken away in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at the watchman’s hand” (Ezek. 33:6). In his Historiae, Gregory claims that he addressed his words specifically to those among his colleagues friendly to Chilperic, warning them of their own obligation to advise the king justly lest they, like the watchman who did not warn of an impending blow, allow his soul to be damned through sin. Gregory, by his own admission, met the same stony silence that greeted Aetius’s speech. Undaunted, he continued his sermonizing, providing historical examples in support of his counsel. Again, according to Gregory, no one among the assembled body responded. However, among the conciliar attendees were two sycophants (adolatores) of Chilperic, Bertram of Bordeaux and Ragnemodus of Paris, who afterward informed the king of Gregory’s opposition to the prosecution of Praetextatus. From Gregory’s perspective, Bertram and Ragnemodus were guilty not of perfidy per se but rather of providing poor counsel to a king desperately in need of pious admonitions of the sort Gregory himself was prepared to deliver. When Chilperic subsequently accused Gregory of refusing him iustitia, the bishop replied that all he could offer the king was counsel; only God could judge him.
Chilperic, of course, was not unique among Frankish monarchs in his unresponsiveness to direct criticism from his bishops. The Merovingians, while occasionally receptive to artfully formulated admonitions, rarely responded positively to threats of spiritual sanctions. One of Gregory’s own spiritual heroes, Nicetius of Trier, had gracelessly crossed this line with Chilperic’s father, Chlothar I. Possibly having gotten accustomed to the willingness of his previous royal masters, Theuderic I (511–34) and Theudebert I (534–47), to tolerate his reproaches, Nicetius went too far when he excommunicated Chlothar I. The king, taking advantage of the considerable ill will harbored against the bishop by some of his own episcopal colleagues, arranged for the metropolitan prelate’s exile. Nicetius’s banishment lasted through the remainder of the unforgiving king’s lifetime.
It seems, however, that more Merovingian bishops prudently followed the example of Nicetius’s colleagues than that of Nicetius himself, cooperating, if sometimes only begrudgingly, with the royal court rather than sanctimoniously challenging its authority. This is not to accuse these prelates of cowardice or sycophancy, as did Gregory of Tours of his episcopal colleagues in his account of the Council of Paris (577). While the episcopal office theoretically armed bishops with the auctoritas to proffer spiritual counsel, the maintenance of an effective personal relationship with the court required a delicate approach from both sides. Of course, these were not relationships between equals. Moreover, spiritual and royal authority had distinct sources and expressions that were not always fully compatible. This disparity is apparent in the often-repeated contemporary formula canones et leges. Both conciliar canons and royal legislation had binding authority in Merovingian Gaul and were thought to be complementary but not identical. When kings cited canonical regulae in their own edicts, it rarely was without revision; they preferred to craft their own legal statements, rather than simply repeating verbatim the decisions of their bishops. In the same way, bishops were considered by kings to be valued partners in the promotion of domestic peace and administrative order (pax et disciplina), in part because they did bring to bear different talents and resources toward this shared goal, not least of which was their pastoral and spiritual authority, which intimated a special competency in the promotion of justice.
However, as the examples of Nicetius and Praetextatus suggest, monarchs and bishops sometimes disagreed when it came to actually defining iustitia in specific cases, particularly when it was the monarch’s own judgment or actions that were in question. Episcopal counsel could, in theory, provide necessary guidance, but only when it was accepted as constructive rather than insolent or ill conceived. This required bishops to b...
