Bookshelf NBK608588
Bookshelf NBK608588
Editors
volume 14
By
Claire Burridge
LEIDEN | BOSTON
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This book was brought to publication and made available Open Access with the generous assistance of the
Wellcome Trust via a Medical Humanities Doctoral Studentship [203431/Z /1 6/Z ].
Cover illustration: St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Cod. Sang. 751, p. 499. A ninth-century compendium of
medical texts (http://www.e-codices.ch/de/csg/0751/499/0). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, licensed under
cc by-n c 4.0.
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Acknowledgements xi
List of Illustrations xiv
Abbreviations xvii
Note on Transcription and Translation xix
Note on Weights, Measures, and Their Symbols xx
Map xxii
Introduction
1
Practicality and Applicability
A Dual Approach to Carolingian Medical Knowledge and Practice 3
1 Introduction: The Case of Terenti(an)us 3
2 Definitions 7
3 Foundations 8
3.1 A Philological Underpinning 8
3.2 Histories of Early Medieval Medicine: From Negative Stereotypes
to Revisionist Approaches 13
3.3 New Directions in Early Medieval Medical Research 24
3.4 Summary 29
4 The Carolingian Context 30
5 Structuring the Dual Approach 33
Part 1
Practicality
2
Setting the Scene
The Texts, Their Contexts, and the Need for a Re-examination of
Practicality 37
1 Introduction: a Mixed Picture of (Im)practicality 37
2 Contextualising Medicine’s Place in Early Medieval Europe and the
Question of Practicality 39
2.1 Summary 54
3 Outlining the Recipe Literature 55
3.1 Recipes and Recipe Collections 57
3.2 The Manuscript Sample 64
3
Impossible Imports or Available Exotics?
A Study of Non-local Materia Medica 69
1 Introduction: the Exotic Ingredients of an Antidote 69
2 Evidence for the Movement of Non-local Materia Medica 72
3 Exotic Materia Medica 77
3.1 What’s in a Name? The Challenge of Identifying Ingredients and
Their Origins 78
3.2 From Ambergris to Zedoary 80
3.3 The Confectio Timiame: Camphor, Ambergris, and Other
Non-local Materia Medica 82
3.4 The Recurrent Cluster: Parallels Among Incense Recipes 86
3.5 Moving Beyond Incense: the Spread of Knowledge 94
4 The Practicality of Non-local Materia Medica: Putting the Case Study
in Perspective 100
5 Conclusion 102
4
Medicine and the Mead Hall?
Using Alcoholic Beverages to Explore Potentially Local Materia
Medica 105
1 Introduction: a Snapshot From Cod. Sang. 752 105
2 Wine, Beer, and Mead in the Classical Mediterranean 108
3 Changing Tastes in Late Antiquity? 114
4 The Rise of Beer and Medus in the Early Middle Ages 116
4.1 Beer 117
4.2 Mead and Medus 120
4.3 Summary 124
5 Contextualising Beer and Mead in Early Medieval Europe 124
6 Beer, Mead, and the Question of Practicality 126
7 Conclusion 127
Part 2
Applicability
6
Reading Recipes in the Light of Skeletal Remains
An Introduction to the Integration of Osteological Evidence 153
1 Introduction: Moving From Practicality to Practice, an Investigation
Into Applicability 153
2 Establishing the Framework of Part 2 154
2.1 Why Question the Relevance of Recipes? 154
2.2 Working With the Available Evidence 156
3 The Challenges of Using Osteological Evidence to Inform Textual
Analysis 159
3.1 Intrinsic Issues With Archaeological Evidence 159
3.2 Theoretical Challenges Related to the Integration of Skeletal
Evidence 162
4 Outlining the Analytical Approach to Chapters 7–9 169
4.1 Overview of Sites 169
4.2 The Spectrum of Specificity 171
7
Dental Disease
From Caries to Cosmetics 173
1 Introduction: a Monk From Lorsch 173
2 Oral Health in the Skeletal Evidence 175
2.1 Dental Disease in the Archaeological Record: an Overview 175
2.2 Skeletal Evidence for Oral Pathologies in Early Medieval
Europe 179
3 Recipes to Treat Dental Disease 187
3.1 Category 1: Toothache 190
3.2 Categories 2–6: the Other Half of the Recipes Concerning Oral
Health 193
3.3 Summary 198
4 The Applicability of the Recipe Sample to Early Medieval
People 199
8
Joint Disease
Problematising Podagra 205
1 Introduction: the Pains of Gout—and the Problems of
Translation 205
2 The Appearance of Podagra in Medical Recipes 207
3 The Absence of Gout in Archaeological Contexts 211
4 Moving Beyond Gout: Evidence for Other Arthropathies in the
Osteological Record 213
4.1 The Spine 215
4.2 Large Joints and Limbs: Shoulders, Elbows, Hips, and Knees 217
4.3 Small Joints: Hands and Feet 218
4.4 Summary 220
5 Textual Evidence for Joint Pain Beyond Podagra 220
5.1 General Afflictions of the Joints 222
5.2 Named Joints and Joint Areas: the Back, Neck, Shoulders, Hips,
Knees, and Hands 229
6 Integrating the Evidence: a Return to the Gout-Podagra Paradox and
the Question of Applicability 233
6.1 Gout Versus Podagra: Conflicting Evidence or a Modern
Misnomer? 234
6.2 The Question of Applicability 237
7 Conclusion 239
9
Trauma and Surgery
Evidence of Undocumented Medical Practices? 241
1 Introduction: Interventions ‘Without Iron’ 241
2 Textual Evidence for Invasive Surgery and Trauma 244
2.1 Surgery 244
2.2 Trauma 245
3 Osteological Evidence for Trauma and Surgery 254
3.1 Identifying and Understanding Trauma in the Osteological
Record 254
3.2 Evidence for Trauma in Early Medieval Skeletal Remains 258
Conclusion
10
Putting Knowledge Into Practice 275
1 Introduction: Revisiting the Case of Terenti(an)us 275
2 Bringing Together the Case Studies 277
3 Moving Forward: Final Remarks and Future Directions 283
Appendices
Bibliography 356
Index 401
With so many people to thank, the only way I can conceive of beginning these
acknowledgements is with the biggest and broadest of thank-yous: I wish to
express a sincere thank you to everyone involved in the process of producing
this book as well as to anyone who gives it a read and builds on this research in
the future. And now on to a series of more specific thank-yous:
This book has emerged out of my PhD research at Cambridge. First and
foremost, my heartfelt thanks go to Professor Rosamond McKitterick, who
supervised my MPhil and PhD and has remained a wonderfully supportive
mentor and source of guidance. The wider Cambridge academic community
also helped to shape my research, not least by providing me with training in
essential skills, from palaeography to palaeopathology. Within the Faculty
of History as well as the Departments of Archaeology and asnc, I should
especially like to thank Professor Lesley Abrams, Professor John Arnold, Dr
Debby Banham, Dr Jenna Dittmar, Professor Caroline Goodson, Dr Susanne
Hakenbeck, Dr Tom Lambert, Dr Piers Mitchell, Professor Tessa Webber, and Dr
Neil Wright as well as the early medievalist students with whom I overlapped,
including Dr Emma Brownlee, Dr Caitlin Ellis, Revd Dr Robert Evans, Dr Sam
Leggett, Dr Eleni Leontidou, Dr Fraser McNair, Dr Sam Ottewill-Soulsby, and Dr
Arthur Westwell. I owe an immense debt of gratitude to the Wellcome Trust for
making this research possible via a Medical Humanities Doctoral Studentship
[203431/Z/16/Z].
I feel incredibly fortunate to have received support and guidance from a
host of colleagues and friends in the years since my PhD as I have contin-
ued to develop and refine my research. I am extraordinarily grateful to the
British School at Rome for two years of postdoctoral fellowships during the
first years of the Covid pandemic (as well as to Sidney Sussex College for pro-
viding an emergency refuge when I was temporarily repatriated to the UK in
March 2020). The bsr community, including Dr Tom Brown, Professors Leslie
Brubaker, Stephen Milner, John Osborne, and Chris Wickham, has strongly
influenced my work. The Leverhulme Trust has since provided incredible sup-
port via an Early Career Fellowship at the University of Sheffield, and I have
benefitted from sharing work with my medievalist colleagues, and especially
my mentor Professor Charles West, as well as thinking across broader chro-
nologies and geographies with the wide-ranging members of the Department
of History, including Dr Caroline Dodds Pennock, Professor Siobhan Lambert-
Hurley, Dr Chris Millard, and Professor Phil Withington. The final stages of this
book were completed after joining Professor Ildar Garipzanov’s MINiTEXTS
project at the University of Oslo, and I am very thankful for the warm welcome
and support I have received from my new colleagues.
Beyond my own research homes, I am extremely grateful for my network
of colleagues and academic friends around the world. In particular, Dr Jeffrey
Doolittle, Dr Anna Dorofeeva, Professor Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez, Professor
Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, Professor Peregrine Horden, Dr Meg Leja, Dr Zubin
Mistry, Professor James Palmer, Dr Raphaël Panhuysen, and Dr Carine van
Rhijn each deserve a heartfelt thank you for their support, suggestions, and
critiques. The ensuing book has benefitted immeasurably from their feedback,
whether via discussions at conferences, over Zoom, or by email, and, of course,
from their own extensive, path-breaking bodies of work. Likewise, I owe my
thanks to the wider ‘medmed’ community for sharing their resources and
expertise spanning all areas of medieval medicine. In terms of conferences
and workshops, I am grateful to have been able to share and discuss elements
of the research underpinning the following chapters at Books and Bones
(Cambridge), Categorising the Church ii (Poitiers), Collecting Knowledge,
Creating Knowledge (Cambridge), the Graduate Early Medieval Seminar
(Cambridge), the International Congress on Medieval Studies (Kalamazoo),
the International Medieval Congress (Leeds), the Medieval Archaeology
Group (Cambridge), the Medieval History Research Seminar (Cambridge), and
Wissen im Frühen Mittelalter (Göttingen). My thanks to all those involved,
organisers and attendees, alike. I must also express an enormous debt of grat-
itude to the anonymous reviewers selected by Brill for their insightful com-
ments and constructive feedback. All remaining errors are my own.
Numerous other institutions have been instrumental in making this research
possible, and foremost among them are the libraries which today hold the man-
uscripts analysed throughout the following chapters. My thanks to the staff
at the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Bibliothèque nationale de France, and
Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen for enabling me to work with their collections, and
especially to the entire team at the Stiftsbibliothek for facilitating my several
research stays and allowing me to reproduce images from multiple St. Galler
manuscripts. Likewise, I should like to thank Claus Kropp and Dr Hermann
Schefers for meeting with me in Lorsch (and later at the Books and Bones
workshop in Cambridge) to discuss the excavations at Lorsch and their oste-
ological collections as well as to permit me to use images of skeletal remains
from their collections. My sincere thanks, too, to Dr Erik Goosmann of Mappa
Mundi Cartography for creating the map seen in the opening pages. Finally,
I must also extend an enormous thank you to the team at Brill, including the
Nuncius Series’ editors, Professors Marco Beretta and Sven Dupré, as well as
Figures
1
Potio ad podagra in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 759 (p. 60), a ninth-
century manuscript with a collection of medical texts (https://www.e-codi
ces.unifr.ch/de/csg/0759/60). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc
by-n c 4.0. 4
2
Antidotum podagricum in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 751 (p. 489), a
large compendium of medical texts produced in the ninth century (https:
//www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0751/489). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0. 4
3
Confectio timiame in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 44 (p. 247), an early
medieval composite manuscript, the second half of which contains medical
texts and was written in northern Italy in the ninth century (https://www.e
-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0044/247). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, licensed
under cc by-n c 4.0. 82
4
Three incense recipes in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 899 (p. 137), a
poetry manuscript that also includes several sections of recipes (https://www
.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0899/137). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, licensed
under cc by-n c 4.0. 90
5
Two recipes in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 752 (p. 158), a manuscript
compilation with the Medicina Plinii, Gargilius Martialis’ Medicinae ex oleribus
et pomis, the Oxea et chronia passiones Yppocratis, Gallieni et Urani, etc. and
additional medical recipes, such as those pictured (https://www.e-codices.unifr
.ch/de/csg/0752/158). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c
4.0. 106
6
Infussio ad capud et ad colera in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 759
(p. 51), a ninth-century manuscript with a collection of medical texts (https:
//www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0759/51). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0. 135
7
Ad glandolas siccandas in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 44 (p. 353),
an early medieval composite manuscript, the second half of which contains
medical texts and was written in northern Italy in the ninth century (https:
//www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0044/353). © St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0. 137
8
A skull from an individual buried in the monastic burial area at Lorsch.
© Staatliche Schlösser und Gärten Hessen, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0. 174
Tables
18
Number and percentage of recipes for joint pain with references to neither
podagra nor general joint afflictions presented by specificity 231
19
Recipes that mention fractures and traumatic injuries 245
20
Categories and subcategories of highly specific recipes that name traumatic
injuries as the target of their treatment 247
21
Breakdown of highly specific recipes that name a general type of traumatic
injury 248
22
Breakdown of highly specific recipes that name a source/cause of traumatic
injury 251
Maps
1
This map highlights important intellectual centres in the Carolingian period
and shows the primary archaeological sites that feature in Part 2 xxii
Notes:
a There is a potentially some ambiguity and/or overlap for the abbreviations and symbols used
to signify denarius and drachma.
b This is my approximation for one of the symbols that can represent a scruple; an image of
this symbol is also reproduced in Henry E. Sigerist, ‘Maße und Gewichte in den medizinis-
chen Texten des frühen Mittelalters’, Kyklos 3 (1930): 439–44; see the table on pp. 442–3.
c This is my approximation for a symbol that resembles an ‘s’ with an additional curved loop;
an image of this symbol is also reproduced in Sigerist, ‘Maße und Gewichte in den medizinis-
chen Texten des frühen Mittelalters’, 442–3.
d This is my approximation for a symbol that looks like a minuscule ‘r’ or ‘s’ and ‘o’ joined
together; the symbol does not appear frequently, but is seen Appendix 2, entry 6.4.5; an image
of this symbol is also reproduced in Sigerist, ‘Maße und Gewichte in den medizinischen
Texten des frühen Mittelalters’, 442–3.
Map
map 1
This map highlights important intellectual centres in the Carolingian period and
shows the primary archaeological sites that feature in Part 2
© mappa mundi cartography
1 Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen, cod. sang. 759, p. 60: Potio ad podagra que dicitur calapodia quem
ego Terentianus accipi… Note: manuscripts held in St Gall are paginated not foliated. For a
transcription of the entire recipe, see Appendix 2, entry 11.8; on the textual evidence exam-
ined in this book, see Chapter 2. Although calopodium, καλοπόδιον, can mean ‘clog’, the word
recorded in the treatment, calapodium, is likely from κατάποτον, ‘pill’, and has undergone
some orthographic changes through the process of transmission.
2 On the identification of ‘medical manuscripts’ as a distinct genre, see Chapter 2; see also Meg
Leja, Embodying the Soul: Medicine and Religion in Carolingian Europe (Philadelphia: University
of Pennsylvania Press, 2022), 12–13.
3 Cod. sang. 751, pp. 489–90. For a transcription of the entire recipe, see Appendix 2, entry 9.38.
f igure 1
Potio ad podagra in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 759 (p. 60), a ninth-
century manuscript with a collection of medical texts (https://www.e-codi
ces.unifr.ch/de/csg/0759/60)
© st. gallen, stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
f igure 2
Antidotum podagricum in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 751 (p. 489), a
large compendium of medical texts produced in the ninth century (https://www
.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0751/489)
© st. gallen, stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
was copied in Brittany (see the map for possible sites of manuscript production
in these regions).4 While the well-documented movement of manuscripts and
individuals during this period does not rule out that a scribe such as the hypo-
thetical Terenti(an)us could have moved between multiple intellectual cen-
tres, the scripts employed in the two codices are entirely unlike one another,
indicating that different scribes were responsible for these compositions.5 As
seen in Figures 1 and 2, the Potio ad podagra of cod. sang. 759 is written in a pre-
Caroline script with Insular influences, whereas the antidote in cod. sang. 751
is written in a regular, early Caroline hand. These features suggest that codd.
sang. 751 and 759 were composed in two different writing centres and by two
distinct scribes who copied similar, related recipes.
Indeed, the differences between the contexts in which these treatments are
situated—two unique collections of recipes—indicate that they are not based
on a single shared exemplar. The collection in cod. sang. 759 is immediately
preceded by a contents list on pp. 53–8. While the list contains 446 entries,
many pages have been lost from the manuscript, such that only 199 of these
entries are extant. The Potio ad podagra, located on p. 60, is the seventeenth
entry. In contrast, the collection in cod. sang. 751 covers pp. 430–96 and, accord-
ing to a list of recipe titles on pp. 424–8, contains 319 entries. The Antidotum
podagricum, found on pp. 489–90, corresponds to entry 277. Although certain
individual entries in these collections share overlapping information, it is clear
that they represent distinct compilations of medical material.6
This example highlights some of the many challenges arising from an inves-
tigation into the practice of medicine and its relationship to recorded medical
4 Bernhard Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts (mit
Ausnahme der wisigotischen), 3 vols. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1998–2014), vol. 3, nos. 5844
and 5846.
5 Rosamond McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1989). On the movement of early medieval manuscripts with medical texts
specifically, see Florence Eliza Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall: The Ownership and Circulation
of Medical Books in Medieval Europe, ca. 800–1200’ (PhD diss., Duke University, 1999), 73–
5, 92–8.
6 At least one additional example of a Terenti(an)us recipe survives: Ernest Wickersheimer
recorded another version of the recipe, in this case listed as Potio ad podagram quae dicitur
calapodia quem ego Terrentianus accepi, in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France (hereafter
BnF) lat. 11219. While a selection of recipes in this manuscript are also analysed in the present
book, its version of the Terenti(an)us recipe is located within a section of the manuscript
that does not form part of the textual sample under consideration; see Chapter 2 for further
details. Ernest Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits latins de médecine du haut Moyen Âge dans
les bibliothèques de France (Paris: Éditions du Centre national de la Recherche scientifique,
1966), no. 77.
7 Note: three recipe collections included in this study, all located in cod. sang. 44, were tran-
scribed and published in the early twentieth century (see Studien und Texte zur frühmit-
telalterlichen Rezeptliteratur, ed. Henry E. Sigerist (Leipzig: Johann Ambrosius Barth, 1923),
78–99; Frühmittelalterliche Rezeptarien, ed. Julius Jörimann (Zurich: Orell Füssli, 1925), 37–
61), while Peter Köpp has published a transcription and translation of a recipe collection
I have included from cod. sang. 217 (Vademecum eines frühmittelalterlichen Arztes: Die gefal-
tete lateinische Handschrift medizinischen Inhalts im Codex 217 und der Fragmentensammlung
1396 der Stiftsbibliothek in St. Gallen, ed. and trans. Peter Köpp (Aarau: Sauerländer, 1980)).
I have produced new, revised transcriptions in all cases. More recently, material on one folio
(p. 392) within a recipe collection in cod. sang. 751 included in this study was published
by Rocío Martínez Prieto (Rocío Martínez Prieto, ‘A Short Approach to the Analysis of the
Textual Tradition of an Extract about Phytotherapy from the Codex Sangallensis 751’, in ii
Jornadas Predoctorales en Estudios de la Antigüedad y de la Edad Media. Κτῆμα ἐς αἰεὶ: el texto
como herramienta común para estudiar el pasado: Proceedings of the Second Postgraduate
Conference in Studies of Antiquity and Middle Ages, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, 19–
21st November 2014, ed. Núria Olaya Montero, Manuel Montoza Coca, Alba Aguilera Felipe,
and Roser Gómez Guiu (Oxford: bar, 2015), 115–19) and an entire collection in bav pal. lat.
1088 was published by Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez after I completed my transcription and
analysis of this material (see Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez, ‘Un recetario médico altomedieval
(Città del Vaticano, bav, Pal. lat. 1088, ff. 50r-66r): ensayo de edición crítica’, in ‘Cui tali cura
vel remedio subvenitur’: De animales y enfermedades en la Edad Media europea, ed. Gerardo
Pérez Barcala (Avellino: Edizioni Sinestesie, 2019), 41–80), so these recipes are still included
in the present study. In sum, all analyses of the textual selection delineated in Chapter 2 are
based on my own transcriptions; see Appendix 2 for specific examples of recipes cited in
the text.
2 Definitions
At the outset, it is essential to define the two key concepts of practicality and
applicability that underpin this book. The ‘practicality’ of recipes considers
whether the medical knowledge they present was practical with respect to both
intention and use in the context of therapy. To evaluate a recipe’s intention or
design, we can ask: does the text contain user-friendly features suggesting that
it was intended to be consulted for therapeutic purposes? It might be possible
to identify, for example, changes in terminology reflecting adaptations made
to accommodate individuals from different linguistic backgrounds. To assess
a recipe’s potential useability in the context of treatment, it is important to
consider whether recipes rely on ingredients that could have been obtained in
the Carolingian world. That is, would it have been possible to put the recorded
knowledge into practice?
The question of applicability, on the other hand, relates to the health needs
of individuals during this period. Are the conditions and symptoms described
by the texts reflected in the osteological evidence? In other words, did people
in early medieval Europe suffer from any of the ailments which the recipes
claim to treat? While limitations of both textual and skeletal evidence—as well
as the challenges posed by bringing together these two bodies of evidence—
complicate this question, it remains possible to investigate the applicability of
recipes. By taking account of these limitations and challenges from the start,
pursuing carefully selected case studies, and adopting a cautious approach
to data analysis and interpretation, we can productively reassess the written
record within the framework established by the osteological evidence.
3 Foundations
To explain the significance of this book’s aims and evidence base, it is neces-
sary to situate its focus on the questions of practicality and applicability in
relation to previous scholarship. Philological approaches to medical texts have
long formed the backbone of the study of early medieval medicine and remain
vitally important to the field. In addition to reflecting the continuing influence
of philological studies, the dual approach pursued over the following chapters
builds on and responds to a) the ways in which perceptions of and investiga-
tions into early medieval medicine dramatically shifted over the course of the
twentieth century, and b) more recent research directions and methodologies
in the histories of health and medicine.
Yet, paradoxically, as Faith Wallis has noted, the emphasis on producing edi-
tions of texts appears to have slowed the development of a broader early medi-
eval medical history due to the ways in which creating editions can generate
ed., Tradición griega y textos médicos latinos en el período presalernitano: actas del viii
Coloquio Internacional “Textos Médicos Latinos Antiguos” (A Coruña, 2–4 septiembre
2004) (La Coruña: Servizio de Publicacións, Universidade da Coruña, 2007), includ-
ing chapters from Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez, Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, María Teresa
Santamaría Hernández, and Manuel Enrique Vázquez Buján; Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, ‘A
Most Sovereign Herb: Pseudo-Antonius Musa on Betony’, Cuadernos de Filología Clásica.
Estudios griegos e indoeuropeos 30 (2020): 131–48, https://doi.org/10.5209/cfcg.68480;
Klaus- Dietrich Fischer, ‘Die vorsalernitanischen lateinischen Galenübersetzungen’,
Medicina nei secoli 25, no. 3 (2013); 673–714; Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, ‘Unbekannter und
seltener Wortschatz in den Pseudosoranischen Quaestiones medicinales’, Voces 23–24
(2012–13): 29–74; Alexander of Tralles, Alexandri Tralliani Latini Liber tertius: De febribus
singulis. Introduction, Edition, Translation, Notes, Indices, ed. and trans. David R. Langslow
(Santiago de Compostela: Andavira Editora, 2020); David Langslow and Brigitte Maire,
eds., Body, Disease and Treatment in a Changing World: Latin Texts and Contexts in
Ancient and Medieval Medicine. Proceedings of the Ninth International Conference
“Ancient Latin Medical Texts”, Hulme Hall, University of Manchester, 5–8 September 2007
(Lausanne: Éditions bhms, 2010), including chapters from Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez,
Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, Brigitte Maire, and Manuel Enrique Vázquez Buján; Caelius
Aurelianus, Caelii Aureliani operum omnium quae exstant Concordantiae, ed. Brigitte
Maire and Olivier Bianchi, 4 vols. (Hildesheim: Olms-Weidmann, 2003); Cassius Felix,
Cassii Felicis libri de medicina Concordantiae: Accedunt numeri, voces Graecae Graecis
Latinisque litteris scriptae, index nominum notabiliorum, index frequentiae decrescen-
tis formarum, ed. Brigitte Maire and Anne Fraisse (Hildesheim: Olms- Weidmann,
2003); María Teresa Santamaría Hernández, Estudios sobre Galeno Latino y sus fuentes
(Cuenca: Ediciones de la Universidad de Castilla-La Mancha, 2021); and Manuel Enrique
Vázquez Buján, ed., Tradición e Innovación de la Medicina Latina de la Antigüedad y de
la Alta Edad Media: Actas del iv Coloquio Internacional sobre los “textos médicos latinos
antiguos” (Santiago de Compostela: Servicio de Publicacións e Intercambio Científico da
Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, 1994), including chapters from Arsenio Ferraces
Rodríguez, Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, David R. Langslow, Brigitte Maire, and María Teresa
Santamaría Hernández. For lists of editions, translations, commentaries, and lexicograph-
ical studies Guy Sabbah, Pierre-Paul Corsetti, and Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, Bibliographie
des textes médicaux latins: Antiquité et haut Moyen Âge (Saint-Étienne: Publications de
l’Université de St. Étienne, 1987); Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, Bibliographie des textes médicaux
latins. Antiquité et haut Moyen Âge: premier supplement (Saint-Étienne: Publications de
l’Université de St. Étienne, 2000); Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, Bibliographie des textes médi-
caux latins: Antiquité et haut Moyen Âge: second supplement (Saint-Étienne: Bibliothèque
Interuniversitaire de Médecine, 2000), https://www.biusante.parisdescartes.fr/histo
ire/medicina/documents/fischer.php; and Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, Bibliographie des textes
médicaux latins. Antiquité et haut Moyen Âge: addendum 2002 (Saint-Étienne: Bibliothèque
Interuniversitaire de Médecine, 2002), https://www.biusante.parisdescartes.fr/histo
ire/medicina/documents/fischer2002.php.
and reinforce assumptions about the texts themselves.13 The idea that texts are
stable constructs that maintain ‘a specific and definitive form from manuscript
to manuscript’, for example, or that ‘there is a single author whose intentions
the editor can intuit’ are problematic suppositions given the complexity, diver-
sity, and dynamism of early medieval medical literature.14 Moreover, editions
tend to focus on tracing a single source or family of texts, isolating the selected
material from its wider context, such as the other writings with which it was
transmitted.15 While editorial projects are crucial for understanding individual
texts, their relationships, and their linguistic evolution, it is important to build
on these studies by a) pursuing complementary types of research that take into
account the issues raised by Wallis, and b) expanding the research framework
to engage with broader questions of intellectual, social, and cultural history.16
By reading a text in isolation and without a full consideration of its manuscript
context, intended audience(s) and purpose(s), and use over time, we can lose
sight of how scribes and readers engaged with a manuscript and its contents
and the ways in which the knowledge it transmits was perceived.17 Ultimately,
as Anna Grotans, Julian Hendrix, and Bernice Kaczynski highlight, while edi-
tions remain invaluable tools, they are not ‘amenable’ to all types of research
13 Faith Wallis, ‘The Experience of the Book: Manuscripts, Texts, and the Role of Epistemology
in Early Medieval Medicine’, in Knowledge and the Scholarly Medical Traditions, ed. Don
G. Bates (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 101–26, at p. 102.
14 Wallis, ‘The Experience of the Book’, 102.
15 Eric Knibbs, ‘How to Use Modern Critical Editions of Medieval Latin Texts’. History
Compass 5, no. 5 (2007): 1521–49, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1478-0542.2007.00452.x. See
also Sabbah, Corsetti, and Fischer, btml; Fischer, btml 1; Fischer, btml 2; and Fischer,
btml 3.
16 Wallis, ‘The Experience of the Book’, 102; Monica H. Green, ‘Moving from Philology to
Social History: The Circulation and Uses of Albucasis’s Latin Surgery in the Middle Ages’,
in Between Text and Patient: The Medical Enterprise in Medieval and Early Modern Europe,
ed. Florence Eliza Glaze and Brian K. Nance (Florence: sismel Edizioni del Galluzzo,
2011), 331–72.
17 Indeed, a drive to centre manuscripts—which has surely been augmented by the increas-
ing number of libraries and archives that are digitising and making their manuscript col-
lections freely available online—can be felt across many subfields within early medieval
history. See, for example, Carine van Rhijn, Leading the Way to Heaven: Pastoral Care and
Salvation in the Carolingian Period (London: Routledge, 2022); Monique Goullet, Martin
Heinzelmann, and Christiane Veyrard-Cosme, eds., L’hagiographie mérovingienne à travers
ses réécritures (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2010); Alice Rio, Legal Practice and the Written Word
in the Early Middle Ages: Frankish Formulae, 500–1000 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2009); and Rosamond McKitterick, History and Memory in the Carolingian World
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). On the impact of digitisation projects,
see, for example, Benjamin Albritton, Georgia Henley, and Elaine Treharne, eds., Medieval
Manuscripts in the Digital Age (London: Routledge, 2021).
unidentified material.21 At the same time, more work has turned to individual
manuscripts: Ulrich Stoll, for example, published an edition and translation
of the Lorscher Arzneibuch, while Peter Köpp and Monica Niederer have each
produced studies of distinct recipe collections in cod. sang. 217 (with the for-
mer including related fragments in cod. sang. 1396).22
By concentrating on material found outside the established corpus, such as
recipes in anonymous collections that appear to have been compiled in the
early Middle Ages as well as individual recipes added to manuscripts during
this period, this book builds on and contributes to these studies, continuing to
broaden the current discourse on early medieval recipe literature. These reci-
pes and their contexts will be discussed in Chapter 2 (and see Appendix 1 for a
more detailed review of the specific manuscripts involved in this study).
suggested, perhaps Einhard’s claim that Charlemagne did not listen to his phy-
sicians has coloured modern historians’ approach to this area: ‘scholars have
followed Einhard’s lead—unconsciously or not—in discounting medicine as
an important aspect of the Carolingian renaissance’.24 Regardless of Einhard’s
influence, however, the realm of medicine has traditionally been seen as a field
comparatively unaffected by the Carolingian focus on learning and writing.
Although the copying of classical and late antique medical texts during this
period may seem to fit with the more general Carolingian interest in studying
writings from Antiquity, it has been shown that few of these medical texts were
actually rediscovered at this time.25 The surviving written record has thus been
interpreted as continuing late antique trends rather than marking a new phase
in relation to Carolingian cultural and intellectual developments. As a result,
the primary medical achievement of this period has often been characterised
as an increase in the production of manuscripts containing medical content
rather than as an increase in the production of new medical material.26
If early medievalists have, by and large, begun to engage with medical his-
tory only in relatively recent years (as discussed below), earlier generations
of historians of medicine often dismissed the early Middle Ages entirely. The
now outdated, though still influential, teleological approach to medical history
understood medicine to be on a path of inevitable progress from Antiquity to
the present day, excepting a period of stagnation coinciding with the ‘Dark
Ages’.27 These centuries—the millennium or so between the heights of classi-
cal learning and the reintroduction of Greek medical knowledge in the central
751–987 (London: Longman, 1983); and Joanna Story, ed., Charlemagne: Empire and Society
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005). Michael McCormick’s contribution to
The Long Morning of Medieval Europe: New Directions in Early Medieval Studies is a notable
exception: Michael McCormick, ‘Molecular Middle Ages: Early Medieval Economic History
in the Twenty-First Century’, in The Long Morning of Medieval Europe: New Directions in
Early Medieval Studies, ed. Jennifer R. Davis and Michael McCormick (Aldershot: Ashgate,
2008), 83–97.
24 Meg Leja, ‘The Sacred Art: Medicine in the Carolingian Renaissance’, Viator 47, no. 2
(2016): 1–34, https://doi.org/10.1484/J.VIATOR.5.111224; see especially pp. 1–2.
25 Vivian Nutton, ‘Early Medieval Medicine and Natural Science’, in The Cambridge
History of Science 2: Medieval Science, ed. David C. Lindberg and Michael H. Shank
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 323–40, at p. 336.
26 MacKinney, Early Medieval Medicine, 99; Peregrine Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early
Medieval Medicine?’ Social History of Medicine 24, no. 1 (2011): 5–25, https://doi.org/10
.1093/shm/hkp052, at p. 17. For a reassessment of medicine’s place in the Carolingian
world, see Leja, Embodying the Soul.
27 See, for example, the general assessments of late antique medicine in Vivian Nutton,
‘From Galen to Alexander, Aspects of Medicine and Medical Practice in Late Antiquity’,
Dumbarton Oaks Papers 38 (1984): 1–14, https://doi.org/10.2307/1291489, and for a more
and later Middle Ages thanks to the translation of Arabic texts—have been
described as a ‘refrigerator, in which the medical knowledge of antiquity [was]
merely preserved’.28 Early medieval medicine, therefore, was largely ignored
(or even ridiculed) by numerous earlier scholars.29 Accordingly, it remains less
well established than many other comparable subfields in both Carolingian
history and medical history.30
Already in the early twentieth century, however, a handful of researchers,
including Henry Sigerist and Loren MacKinney, bucked the general trends and
took seriously the study of early medieval medicine.31 Although their landmark
recent assessment, Vivian Nutton, Ancient Medicine, 2nd ed. (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013),
299–317.
28 Peter van Minnen, ‘Medical care in late antiquity’, in Ancient Medicine in Its Socio-Cultural
Context, Volume 1: Papers Read at the Congress Held at Leiden University, 13–15 April 1992,
ed. H. F. J. Horstmanshoff, Philip J. van der Eijk, and P. H. Schrijvers (Amsterdam: Rodopi,
1995), 153–169, at p. 153.
29 While many earlier historians may have viewed medieval medical writings simply as wit-
nesses to the blind copying of older sources, others went further, comparing early medie-
val pharmacy to the potion produced by the witches in Macbeth and even labelling some
material as ‘absurd and childish’; Charles Singer, ‘A Review of the Medical Literature of
the Dark Ages, with a New Text of about 1110’, Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine
10 (1917): 107–60, see especially pp. 158–60. Similar views are espoused in J. H. G. Grattan
and Charles Singer, Anglo-Saxon Magic and Medicine: Illustrated Specially from the Semi-
Pagan Text Lacnunga (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1952). On the development of
these perceptions, see Medieval Herbal Remedies: The Old English Herbarium and Anglo-
Saxon Medicine, trans. Anne Van Arsdall (New York: Routledge, 2002), 35–100.
30 On general Carolingian histories, see n. 23 above. For an overview of western medical
history, and the relatively limited space given to early medieval medicine, see Lawrence
I. Conrad, Michael Neve, Vivian Nutton, Roy Porter, and Andrew Wear, The Western
Medical Tradition: 800 bc to ad 1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). For
medicine in the ancient world, see especially Nutton, Ancient Medicine; and for later
medieval medicine, see, for example, Nancy G. Siraisi, Medieval and Early Renaissance
Medicine: An Introduction to Knowledge and Practice (Chicago, University of Chicago
Press, 1990); Monica H. Green, ‘Bodies, Gender, Health, Disease: Recent Work on Medieval
Women’s Medicine’, Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History 3 (2005): 1–46; Michael
R. McVaugh, Medicine before the Plague: Practitioners and their Patients in the Crown of
Aragon, 1285–1345 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Michael McVaugh, The
Rational Surgery of the Middle Ages (Florence: sismel Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2006); and
Piers D. Mitchell, Medicine in the Crusades: Warfare, Wounds and the Medieval Surgeon
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). These titles offer only a fraction of the
available scholarship on these topics.
31 See, for example, MacKinney, Early Medieval Medicine; Studien und Texte, ed. Sigerist;
Henry E. Sigerist, ‘A Summer of Research in European Libraries’, Bulletin of the Institute
of the History of Medicine 2, no. 10 (1934): 559–610; Henry E. Sigerist, ‘The Latin Medical
Literature of the Early Middle Ages’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences
13, no. 2 (1958): 127–45.
studies remain valuable today, they still perpetuated many of the prevailing
ideas about medical knowledge and practice during this period, such as its
perceived backwardness and superstitious nature. Consider how, on the one
hand, Sigerist’s opening remarks in Studien und Texte zur frühmittelalterlichen
Rezeptliteratur assumed medicine’s stagnation in the ‘Dark Ages’ while, on the
other hand, his concluding analyses recognized the production of new, origi-
nal compilations that reflected the needs and conditions of the communities
in which they were produced.32 Negative stereotypes of medieval medicine
may persist in popular culture but, thanks to these pioneering scholars, more
researchers began to question these assumptions.33
Expanding from this foundation, the study of early medieval medicine
experienced a significant swing of the historiographical pendulum in the sec-
ond half of the twentieth century. Led by historians such as John M. Riddle,
Jerry Stannard, and Linda Ehrsam Voigts, a wave of revisionist scholarship rad-
ically altered the field, and especially with respect to topics concerning the
relationship between medical knowledge and practice.34 Although Riddle and
Stannard concentrated on continental material, much of the research into
the practicality of medical texts has been rooted in the study of Old English
recipe literature.35 Voigts’s 1979 article, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies and the
Anglo-Saxons’, for example, provided one of the first in-depth reassessments of
early English herbal medicine and contends that texts such as the Old English
Herbarium could have been used in practice.36 While arguments for the practi-
cality of early medieval recipes will be reviewed in more detail below, Voigts’s
analysis, alongside Riddle’s work on the evolving relationship between medi-
cal theory and practice, has proved pivotal. In particular, Malcolm L. Cameron,
Anne Van Arsdall, Maria Amalia D’Aronco, and Audrey Meaney, among oth-
ers, have built on Voigts’s arguments by exploring the transmission of medical
information, the processes involved in translating knowledge into practice, the
allegedly ‘magical’ or ‘superstitious’ elements within recipes, as well as their
potential efficacy.37
Although this significant body of scholarship has provided great insights into
early medieval medicine whilst simultaneously overturning the traditional,
36 Voigts, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies’. On medieval herbals more generally, see Minta
Collins, Medieval Herbals: The Illustrative Traditions (London: British Library, 2000) and
on the Old English Herbarium, see Maria Amalia D’Aronco and Malcolm L. Cameron, The
Old English Illustrated Pharmacopoeia (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1998) and
Medieval Herbal Remedies, trans. Van Arsdall.
37 M. L. Cameron, Anglo-Saxon Medicine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993);
M. L. Cameron, ‘Anglo-Saxon Medicine and Magic’, Anglo-Saxon England 17 (1988): 191–
215; Anne Van Arsdall, ‘Challenging the “Eye of Newt” Image of Medieval Medicine’, in The
Medieval Hospital and Medical Practice, ed. Barbara Bowers (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007),
195–205; Anne Van Arsdall, ‘The Transmission of Knowledge in Early Medieval Medical
Texts: An Exploration’, in Between Text and Patient: The Medical Enterprise in Medieval
and Early Modern Europe, ed. Florence Eliza Glaze and Brian K. Nance (Florence: sismel
Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2011), 201–15; Maria Amalia D’Aronco, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Pharmacy
and the Latin Medical Tradition’, in From Earth to Art: The Many Aspects of the Plant-
World in Anglo-Saxon England. Proceedings of the First aspns Symposium, University of
Glasgow, 5–7 April 2000, ed. C. P. Biggam (Amsterdam: Rodopi: 2003), 133–51; Maria Amalia
D’Aronco, ‘The Transmission of Medical Knowledge in Anglo-Saxon England: The Voices
of Manuscripts’, in Form and Content of Instruction in Anglo-Saxon England in the Light
of Contemporary Manuscript Evidence: Papers Presented at the International Conference,
Udine, 6–8 April 2006, ed. Patrizia Lendinara, Loredana Lazzari, and Maria Amalia
D’Aronco (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 35–58; Medieval Herbal Remedies, trans. Van Arsdall;
Audrey Meaney, ‘The Practice of Medicine in England about the Year 1000’, Social History
of Medicine 13, no. 2 (2000): 221–37, https://doi.org/10.1093/shm/13.2.221; and Audrey
L. Meaney, ‘Extra-Medical Elements in Anglo-Saxon Medicine’, Social History of Medicine
24, no. 1 (2011): 41–56, https://doi.org/10.1093/shm/hkq105. For more recent work on
efficacy since Cameron’s research, see Barbara Brennessel, Michael D. C. Drout, and
Robyn Gravel, ‘A Reassessment of the Efficacy of Anglo-Saxon Medicine’, Anglo-Saxon
England 34 (2005): 183–95; Freya Harrison, Aled E. L. Roberts, Rebecca Gabrilska, Kendra
P. Rumbaugh, Christina Lee, and Stephen P. Diggle, ‘A 1,000-Year-Old Antimicrobial
Remedy with Antistaphylococcal Activity’, mBio 6, no. 4 (2015), https://doi.org/10.1128
/mBio.01129-15; and Rebecca Brackmann, ‘“It Will Help Him Wonderfully”: Placebo and
Meaning Responses in Early Medieval English Medicine’, Speculum 97, no. 4 (2022): 1012–
39, https://doi.org/10.1086/721680.
38 Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, 6. The major surviving recipe
collections in Old English include three Leechbooks (Bald’s Leechbook i and ii as well as
Leechbook iii), the Lacnunga, and translations/adaptations of several late antique Latin
recipe collections.
39 On the numbers of surviving manuscripts, see Beccaria, I codici and Wickersheimer, Les
manuscrits; the former includes 158 manuscripts produced between the ninth and elev-
enth centuries while the latter, which only focuses on manuscripts held in French collec-
tions, gives 119 manuscripts for the same period. Both catalogues, however, are in need of
revision and the Corpus of Early Medieval Latin Medicine (cemlm, formerly the Beyond
Beccaria Project (2020–23)), a British Academy-funded cataloging project (https://cemlm
.wp.st-andrews.ac.uk/), is working to produce a new, expanded catalogue of early medie-
val manuscripts containing medical texts that includes manuscripts missed by Beccaria
and Wickersheimer. A preliminary handlist is in preparation that covers these additional
manuscripts (approximately 200 in number).
40 On pan-European traditions, see Gundolf Keil and Paul Schnitzer, eds., Das Lorscher
Arzneibuch und die frühmittelalterliche Medizin: Verhandlungen des medizinhistor-
ischen Symposiums im September 1989 in Lorsch (Lorsch: Laurissa, 1991); Medieval Herbal
Remedies, trans. Van Arsdall, 68–100; Riddle, ‘Theory and Practice’. On the Latin sources
of Old English medical writings, see Conan T. Doyle, The Reception of Latin Medicine in
Anglo-Saxon England: Evidence from Old English Medical Texts (York: York Medieval Press,
forthcoming).
41 Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall’, 5–6.
42 Faith Wallis, ‘Signs and Senses: Diagnosis and Prognosis in Early Medieval Pulse and Urine
Texts’, Social History of Medicine 13, no. 2 (2000): 265–78, https://doi.org/10.1093/shm/13.2
.265, at p. 273.
been interpreted as evidence for their practical value.43 Yet the sheer number
of extant manuscripts containing a certain genre of texts does not indicate
how these texts were used. Furthermore, these manuscripts actually comprise
a relatively small percentage of the total number of codices that survive from
this period. According to Vivian Nutton, ‘out of roughly 9,000 codices surviv-
ing from the ninth century, barely 100 can be classed as medical’.44 While the
full story of the manuscript evidence is more complicated—not least because
hundreds of recipes have also been identified as additions to fly-leaves, mar-
gins, and other blank spaces in early medieval manuscripts otherwise unre-
lated to medicine—Nutton’s point still stands: medical writings make up but a
small percentage of the surviving textual record. The simple existence of med-
ical literature should not be read as evidence of its use in medical practice.
A variety of other features, including signs of wear and tear, the presence
of glosses, the lack of theoretical writings, and the size and shape of manu-
scripts, have also been employed as indications of the use of these texts in
medical practice.45 The dimensions and folds of several manuscripts contain-
ing recipes considered in this study, such as Paris, BnF lat. 11218 and cod. sang.
217, have been interpreted as evidence of their use by medical practitioners. In
the case of BnF lat. 11218, this small, rectangular manuscript dated to the late
eighth or early ninth centuries contains a diverse collection of medical and
pharmaceutical texts.46 Based on its proportions (23.2 cm x 13.3 cm) and lack of
writings on medical theory, it has been described as having ‘the appearance of
a manual [intended] for practical use’.47 While the portability of a manuscript
does indicate that it could have travelled with ease—and thus could have
accompanied a Carolingian medicus—its size cannot be conclusively linked
to its deployment in medical contexts. Small volumes may have been made for
many reasons entirely unrelated to their use in therapy, such as the constraints
of available parchment and other resources. The jump from portability to
practicality, moreover, assumes much about how medicine was practised and
imagines that a physician-figure would have needed a portable medical guide
to assist in his or her practice.48 And what does this say about medical manu-
scripts with larger folia? Would the use of wider or longer pieces of parchment,
as seen in many of the manuscripts considered in this book, suggest that such
compendia were impractical with respect to medical practice?
Regarding glosses, consider, for example, those in cod. sang. 878, Walahfrid
Strabo’s vademecum, another manuscript analysed in this study. On p. 333, a
number of recipes have been glossed in Old High German, translating many
of the ingredients into the vernacular.49 In mixed linguistic communities,
this would have been a very practical addition for an individual who was less
familiar with Latin. Such glosses, however, could also reflect the manuscript’s
role in teaching vocabulary. Regardless, in this case, they date to the eleventh
century and therefore cannot be used to comment on the Carolingian use of
these texts. London, bl Harley ms 585, a manuscript containing the Lacnunga,
a copy of the Old English Herbarium, and other medical texts, provides a par-
allel from the Insular world. It has been described as ‘a complete manual for a
physician’s use’, which ‘has the aspect of a manuscript intended for use, study,
and/or reference’.50 While its texts do include many recipes and other writ-
ings related to therapy, as Katharine Park highlights, the degree to which they
were intended for use in the practice of medicine remains unknown, even in
manuscripts that that appear ‘decidedly practical in orientation’ to a modern
reader.51 This final point is crucial: while it is tempting to assume that medical
texts that look practical were intended for medical practice—and then to read
all evidence of practical features as supporting this conclusion—it is a circular
argument and ignores the possibility that such texts may have been used in
other ways.52 While the evidence mobilised in these arguments does confirm
the use of these manuscripts, rarely does it pinpoint the specific contexts in
which they were read, handled, annotated, and otherwise used. In fact, with
respect to the glosses in London, bl Harley ms 585, the comments that most
48 All surviving records of a term for a professional medical practitioner are masculine
(medicus), though the possibility of female healers with access to medical texts should
not be automatically discounted. See also Leja, Embodying the Soul, 137.
49 Emil Elias von Steinmeyer and Eduard Sievers, Die althochdeutschen Glossen. 5 vols.
(Berlin: Weidmann, 1879–1922), vol. 4, 455.
50 D’Aronco, ‘The Transmission of Medical Knowledge’, 50.
51 Katharine Park, ‘Medicine and Society in Medieval Europe, 500–1500’, in Medicine in
Society: Historical Essays, ed. Andrew Wear (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1992), 59–90, at p. 66.
52 Peregrine Horden, ‘Prefatory Note: The Uses of Medical Manuscripts’, in Medical Books in
the Byzantine World, ed. Barbara Zipser (Bologna: Università di Bologna, 2013), 1–6.
clearly connect the texts to the practice of medicine have been dated to the
fourteenth century, reinforcing the need for caution.53
Studies of cod. sang. 217 paint a similar picture. Based on its ‘very practi-
cal orientation and simple decoration’, it has been argued that the manuscript
served as the vademecum of an early medieval physician.54 A number of ele-
ments, including its a) shape, size, and folds, b) exclusive focus on recipes and
bloodletting treatises, c) lack of writings on medical theory, d) simplicity of
decoration, and e) signs of wear and tear, support this as a possibility. That
is, the evidence suggests that it could have been used in the context of ther-
apy and could have accompanied a practising early medieval medicus. Yet to
understand these features as proof of the manuscript’s use in medical practice
assumes that it was designed with this single purpose in mind: the argument
presupposes that any signs of use are indicative of its use by a medical practi-
tioner in the context of therapy.55
Instead, as Peregrine Horden emphasises, it is essential to recognise the
variety of ways in which medical texts could have been used.56 Although
the ‘simple preservation of a text for its own sake … should be automatically
suspect’, we should not entirely rule out the possible influence of antiquar-
ian impulses in the drive to copy certain texts.57 Alternatively, some surviving
medical manuscripts, such as the richly decorated Vienna Dioscorides, may
have been intended as markers of prestige and involved in elite gift exchange.58
these questions through the lens of practicality. In doing so, it takes the topic
in a new direction by distinguishing between general evidence for the use of
these texts and more specific signs suggesting that they were intended to be
used in medical practice.
61 For connections between medicine and other subfields of Carolingian history, see, for
example, Leja, Embodying the Soul; Zubin Mistry, Abortion in the Early Middle Ages, c. 500–
900 (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2015); Palmer, ‘Merovingian Medicine’; and Faith
Wallis, ‘Medicine in Medieval Calendar Manuscripts’, in Manuscript Sources of Medieval
Medicine, ed. Margaret R. Schleissner (London: Garland, 1995), 105–43. For more focused
assessments of health and disease, medicine, and medical practitioners in early medieval
Europe, see, for example, Timothy P. Newfield, ‘Malaria and Malaria-like Disease in the
Early Middle Ages’, Early Medieval Europe 25, no. 3 (2017): 251–300, https://doi.org/10.1111
/emed.12212; Pilsworth, Healthcare in Early Medieval Northern Italy; and Patricia Skinner,
Health and Medicine in Early Medieval Southern Italy (Leiden: Brill, 1997); and on the inte-
gration of medicine into the study of medieval history, see Monica H. Green, ‘Integrative
Medicine: Incorporating Medicine and Health into the Canon of Medieval European
History’, History Compass 7, no. 4 (2009): 1218–45, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1478-0542.2009
.00618.x.
62 On the increasing range of evidence and methodologies available to historians, see
McCormick, ‘Molecular Middle Ages’. On the history of health vs. the history of medicine,
see, for example, Monica H. Green, ‘‘History of Medicine’ or ‘History of Health’?’, Past and
Future: The Magazine of the Institute of Historical Research 9 (2011): 7–9.
lived and died is striking.63 Indeed, the general dearth of named practitioners
and few glimpses of medici in the early medieval west may help to explain
why this period’s medical history has suffered neglect in comparison to earlier
and later periods: though medici occasionally appear as witnesses in charters
and their presence is alluded to in law codes, poems, and other documentary
evidence, only two royal medici, Wintar and Zedechias, are named in the sur-
viving sources.64 This book, through its examination of the lived experiences,
and especially the experiences of injury and disease, of individuals in early
medieval Europe, in concert with the textual record, thus expands on current
trends in the field by drawing together different types of evidence to investi-
gate questions of health alongside the transmission of medical knowledge.
Sources outside of the standard textual corpus are of particular interest
and relevance to the study of health and disease in past populations. Genetics,
for example, now provides previously unimaginable evidence for tracing the
histories of pathogens, while the integration of the osteological record can,
as Robin Fleming writes, help historians ‘to re-animate the historical dead’.65
Indeed, combinations of multiple lines of written and archaeological evidence
63 Monica H. Green, ‘Gendering the History of Women’s Healthcare’, Gender & History 20,
no. 3 (2008): 487–518, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-0424.2008.00534.x, at p. 492. On the
framework of ‘cultures of healing’, see Peregrine Horden, Cultures of Healing: Medieval
and After (Abingdon: Routledge, 2019), ix-xi.
64 On Wintar, see Heiric of Auxerre, Miracula S. Germani 86, pl 124, cols. 1207–72, at
col.1248B and Eigil of Fulda, Vita Sturmi 25, in Eigil of Fulda, Die Vita Sturmi des Eigil
von Fulda: Literarkritisch- historische Untersuchung und Edition, ed. Pius Engelbert
(Marburg: N. G. Elwert, 1968), 161. On Zedechias, see the Annales Bertiniani, ed. G. Waitz,
mgh ss Rer. Germ. 5 (Hanover: Hahn, 1883), 136–7 (note: his name recorded as ‘Sedechias’)
and The Annals of St-Bertin, trans. Janet L. Nelson (Manchester: Manchester University
Press, 1991), 202. For examples of medici named in charters, see Pilsworth, Healthcare in
Early Medieval Northern Italy and Skinner, Health and Medicine in Early Medieval Southern
Italy. On doctors in early medieval law codes, see Lisi Oliver, The Body Legal in Barbarian
Law (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2011).
65 Maria A. Spyrou, Kirsten I. Bos, Alexander Herbig, and Johannes Krause, ‘Ancient patho-
gen genomics as an emerging tool for infectious disease research’, Nature Reviews Genetics
20 (2019): 323–40, https://doi.org/10.1038/s41576-019-0119-1; Monica H. Green, ‘Genetics
as a Historicist Discipline: A New Player in Disease History’, Perspectives on History 52,
no. 9 (1 December 2014), https://www.historians.org/research-and-publications/perspecti
ves-on-history/december-2014/genetics-as-a-historicist-discipline; Monica H. Green, ed.,
Pandemic Disease in the Medieval World: Rethinking the Black Death (Kalamazoo, MI: Arc
Humanities Press, 2015); Robin Fleming, ‘Bones for Historians: Putting the Body Back into
Biography’, in Writing Medieval Biography, 750–1250: Essays in Honour of Frank Barlow, ed.
David Bates, Julia Crick, and Sarah Hamilton (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2006), 29–
48 (note: quotation is from p. 29); and Robin Fleming, ‘Writing Biography at the Edge of
History’, The American Historical Review 114, no. 3 (2009): 606–14.
66 Paolo Squatriti, Landscape and Change in Early Medieval Italy: Chestnuts, Economy,
and Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013); Paolo Squatriti, Weeds
and the Carolingians: Empire, Culture, and Nature in Frankish Europe, ad 750–900
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2022); Jamie Kreiner, Legions of Pigs in the
Early Medieval West (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2020); and Caroline Goodson,
Cultivating the City in Early Medieval Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021).
67 McCormick, ‘Molecular Middle Ages’, 90. See also Raphaël G. A. M Panhuysen,
‘Demography and Health in Early Medieval Maastricht: Prosopographical Observations
on Two Cemeteries’ (Diss., Universiteit Maastricht, 2005), 10–12.
68 Jennifer R. Davis and Michael McCormick, ‘The Early Middle Ages: Europe’s Long
Morning’, in The Long Morning of Medieval Europe: New Directions in Early Medieval
Studies, ed. Jennifer R. Davis and Michael McCormick (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 1–10,
at p. 5.
for, say, gout must have been preserved because people suffered from gout.
Much scholarship has made this assumption, but there is little direct evidence
to indicate that the recording of recipes represented a response to the med-
ical concerns of individuals in early medieval Europe.69 There are no case
notes accompanying these texts and, as the opening example of Terenti(an)us
demonstrated, even seemingly personal comments should not be automati-
cally interpreted as a reflection of the scribe’s experience with a treatment. Just
as with the question of practicality (where it is tempting to assume that medi-
cal texts were, by definition, used in medical practice), the existence of medical
writings does not prove their applicability. Many of the recipes analysed in this
study, though they are not directly attributable to classical and late antique
writings, are related to this body of knowledge. As Peregrine Horden suc-
cinctly puts it, ‘early medieval medicine is ancient medicine’.70 Although there
are important developments in the recorded medical knowledge of the early
Middle Ages (on which, see Chapters 3–5), the content is largely derived from
(late) ancient texts. The overarching influence of classical medical traditions
demands that we question the texts’ assumed applicability because the cli-
mate, living conditions, and lifestyles of the Mediterranean world of Antiquity
and of ninth-century western Europe were different in many ways. These
fundamental differences may have resulted in vastly altered experiences of
disease, injury, and overall health between the original authors of these med-
ical writings and the scribes responsible for the manuscripts discussed in this
book. The question of a text’s relevance to contemporary individuals is there-
fore essential for understanding the relationship between medical knowledge
and practice, and recent research trends have laid the groundwork for such an
investigation.
Although there has traditionally been a ‘non-relationship between histori-
ans and researchers in more scientific disciplines’, historical studies integrat-
ing evidence from the archaeological sciences have greatly increased in recent
years.71 Scholarship relating to past experiences of and responses to health and
69 Take, for example, Vivian Nutton’s comment on the content of early medieval medical
manuscripts: ‘most medical manuscripts before 1100 are largely recipe lists, often well
organized and well suited to the needs of the community’; Nutton, ‘Early Medieval
Medicine and Natural Science’, 335.
70 Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, 19.
71 Fleming, ‘Writing Biography’, 614. For an overview, see McCormick, ‘Molecular Middle
Ages’, and for a sample of the current diversity of research areas uniting evidence from
archaeological sciences with traditional historical sources, see, for example, A. Radini,
M. Tromp, A. Beach, E. Tong, C. Speller, M. McCormick, J. V. Dudgeon, et al., ‘Medieval
women’s early involvement in manuscript production suggested by lapis lazuli
as Clare Pilsworth, have made initial moves in this direction, and these brief
investigations have served to emphasise that further research is desperately
needed to reassess recipes in the light of skeletal evidence.75 Part 2 responds
to this need, using osteological evidence to reinform our understanding of the
recipe literature and its potential applicability to early medieval individuals.
3.4 Summary
As the example of Terenti(an)us revealed, the relationship between medical
knowledge and practice in the Carolingian world is far from straightforward
and, as the preceding pages have demonstrated, requires further study and
critical re-examination. This book’s dual investigation of the possible practi-
cality and applicability of the medical knowledge recorded in recipes bridge
the knowledge-practice divide and provide new perspectives on early medie-
val medicine. This study, therefore, explores, first, the potential practicality of
the recorded knowledge, questioning its useability in the context of therapy
rather than presuming an intended use in therapy. That is, do recipes recom-
mend ingredients that could have been sourced in Carolingian Europe? Do rec-
ipe collections contain user-friendly features suggestive of their application in
medical practice? And secondly, this book investigates whether there is a cor-
relation, a connection, or any overlap between the medical issues recorded in
the texts and those seen on skeletons dated to the same period. In other words,
is there evidence to suggest that individuals in the early medieval west suffered
from the conditions and symptoms described in the texts? These guiding ques-
tions consider whether it was possible that those individuals in possession of
the recorded medical knowledge could have used the texts in an attempt to
treat people during this period. The twin concepts of practicality and appli-
cability thus provide the analytical framework for the book and delineate its
use of evidence, with Part 1 a study of practicality and Part 2 an examination
of applicability. This dual approach, in conjunction with the examination of
a large sample of understudied material, breaks new ground in the field of
Carolingian medicine.
in the Spine and the Gendered Division of Labor at Ensay and Wharram Percy, UK’,
American Journal of Biological Anthropology 111, no. 3 (2000): 333–54, https://doi.org/10
.1002/(sici)1096-8644(200003)111:3%3C333::aid-ajpa4%3E3.0.co;2-k; Fleming, ‘Bones for
Historians’; and Fleming, ‘Writing Biography’.
75 Clare Pilsworth’s chapter on diet and health within her study of healthcare in early medi-
eval northern Italy offers one such exception: Pilsworth, Healthcare in Early Medieval
Northern Italy, 47–72, see especially pp. 68–71 for the section on joint diseases and frac-
tures, ‘Joint Conditions and Fractures in the Osteo-Archaeological Evidence’.
76 On the extant medical manuscripts see Beccaria, I codici and Wickersheimer, Les manu-
scrits. On medical texts listed in Carolingian library catalogues, see Glaze, ‘The Perforated
Wall’, 268–71. On writing and manuscript production in the Carolingian period, see
McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word and Rosamond McKitterick, ‘Eighth-
Century Foundations’, in The New Cambridge Medieval History ii, c. 700-c. 900, ed.
Rosamond McKitterick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 681–94. James
Palmer, however, highlights the need for caution when comparing numbers of surviv-
ing manuscripts, especially with respect to medicine; see Palmer, ‘Merovingian Medicine’
and, on the shift from papyrus to parchment, see Dario Internullo, ‘Du papyrus au
parchemin. Les origines médiévales de la mémoire archivistique en Europe occidentale’,
Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 74, nos. 3–4 (2019): 523–57, https://doi.org/10.1017/ahss
.2020.52.
77 Much has been written about the related topics of reform, manuscript production,
and literacy in the Carolingian world; for a sample of the range of assessments of
the Carolingian ‘renaissance’ in recent decades, see Giles Brown, ‘Introduction: The
Carolingian Renaissance’, in Carolingian Culture: Emulation and Innovation, ed. Rosamond
McKitterick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 1–51; Rosamond McKitterick,
‘The Carolingian Renaissance of Culture and Learning’, in Charlemagne: Empire and
Society, ed. Joanna Story (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 151–66; van
Rhijn, Leading the Way to Heaven; Carine van Rhijn, ‘Manuscripts for local priests and
the Carolingian Reforms’, in Men in the Middle: Local Priests in Early Medieval Europe, ed.
Steffen Patzold and Carine van Rhijn (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016), 177–98; Carine van Rhijn,
early medieval historians have not tended to see medical writing as affected by
or contributing to this evolving intellectual culture, Meg Leja has convincingly
argued for medicine’s direct engagement with these developments.78 Many
of the same impulses seen in other genres of writing, such as legal, liturgical,
exegetical, grammatical, and computistical texts, are likewise apparent in the
medical literature produced in this period. Recipe collections, for example,
bear witness to an interest in compiling and reordering knowledge from earlier
sources, a strong focus on the presentation and structure of texts, intersections
with other fields of learning, and engagement with contemporary theological
discourses.79 It is therefore essential to study the medical texts written at this
time within the particular intellectual and cultural climate in which they were
produced in order to grasp more fully their significance.
By beginning this study in c. 775, it captures the start of the major increase
in manuscript production.80 This upswing not only provides the sources of this
book but also documents the evolving intellectual and cultural environment
of the Carolingian world, an environment inherently linked to the ecclesiasti-
cal and elite networks of the period. The movement of manuscripts and dis-
semination of knowledge, themes that emerge in Part 1, were dependent on
the intellectual, socio-cultural, ecclesiastical, and political dynamics of this
period. In the decades after c. 900, changes in these dynamics, including in the
intellectual culture of medicine, begin to emerge. Building on the increasing
number of medical texts in circulation, scribes and scholars started moving in
new directions. A growth in cathedral schools can be seen in France, with cen-
tres such as Laon, Chartres, and Reims recorded as places of medical teaching
in the tenth century.81 Around the same period, sites in southern Italy, includ-
ing Montecassino and Salerno, appear to have begun to reintroduce more the-
oretical elements into their medical writings.82 While the growth of a tenth-
century ‘School of Salerno’ continues to be debated, recent work on Cassinese
and early Salernitan manuscripts has suggested that new impulses can be
seen in the medical literature produced in this period.83 Simultaneously, the
introduction of a basic vocabulary that differentiated between various kinds
of medical specialists (i.e., terminology that named physicians, surgeons, herb-
alists, and bleeders as distinct types of practitioners), reflects further changes
in the medical culture of the Latin west around the turn of the millennium.84
Determining c. 775 to c. 900 as the book’s chronological focus thus centres
the manuscript sample around the shared cultural and intellectual framework
of the Carolingian world while avoiding overlap with new developments in the
study and recording of medical knowledge that emerged in the wake of the
long ninth century. It must be remembered, however, that the selected dates
are guidelines rather than strict boundaries, and manuscripts whose dating
has been debated or that contain hands dated beyond this timeframe are dis-
cussed further in Appendix 1. The dating of archaeological sites, and the oste-
ological remains found within them, must likewise be approached with some
degree of flexibility given that a) many sites were used over a longer period
of time than the years considered in this book, and b) much dating is relative
rather than exact. The specific challenges presented by this material are con-
sidered in Chapter 6.
As noted above, this book is divided into two parts, aligning with its dual
approach. Part 1 focuses on the textual evidence for practicality. Chapter 2
introduces the investigation into the question of the recipes’ practicality by
reviewing the relationship between medical knowledge and practice as doc-
umented by the written record and outlining the recipe literature under anal-
ysis. Chapters 3–5 each explore a different aspect of the recipe literature’s
practicality, shedding light on these treatments’ potential useability in the con-
text of therapy from multiple directions. Chapter 3 traces the introduction (or,
in some cases, reintroduction) of materia medica from the east, following the
appearance of ingredients such as camphor, musk, and ambergris. Recipes that
include these types of exotic products highlight the dynamic nature of this
body of knowledge in the Carolingian world and may reflect the practicality
of these treatments—if only for a very restricted and elite clientele. Chapter 4
then looks at the other end of the spectrum, turning to the appearance of beer
and mead (specifically as medus) in medical contexts. The assimilation of these
non-classical beverages in medical texts points to the active adaptation of the
written record to meet local conditions. While Chapters 3 and 4 concentrate
on case studies of ingredients, Chapter 5 examines other features within rec-
ipes: units of measurement and the inclusion of instructions for substituting
ingredients. By considering how knowledge is presented in recipes, these two
aspects explore the practicality of their design, complementing the preceding
chapters’ focus on the possibility of their use via the availability of ingredients.
The combination of case studies thus addresses the potential practicality of
the recipe sample from a variety of perspectives to reconsider whether this
material was intended to be used in medical practice.
Part 2 unites the textual and skeletal evidence to investigate the potential
applicability of this body of knowledge. Chapter 6 introduces the process of
reconsidering the recipe literature in view of the evidence provided by the
osteological record, addressing key conceptual challenges, such as retrospec-
tive diagnosis, and outlining the analytical approach to the following case
studies. Chapters 7–9 each concentrate on different types of pathologies that
have the potential to be recorded in skeletal remains, using palaeopathologi-
cal reports from excavations of early medieval burials to re-evaluate the texts.
More specifically, Chapter 7 examines dental disease, Chapter 8 considers joint
diseases, and Chapter 9 focuses on surgery and trauma.
Bringing together the two approaches, Chapter 10 assesses the findings
from both Parts 1 and 2. This chapter concludes with a final reflection on the
practicality and applicability of the medical knowledge circulating during the
1 Voigts, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies’. See Chapter 1 for further discussion of this piece and its
influence on the field.
2 Voigts, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies’, 256. For an edition of Pseudo-Apuleius’ Herbarius,
see Pseudo-Apuleius. Herbarius, in Antonii Musae De herba vettonica liber. Pseudoapulei
Herbarius. Anonymi De taxone liber. Sexti Placiti Liber medicinae ex animalibus etc., ed. Ernst
Howald and Henry E. Sigerist. cml 4 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1927), 15–225.
3 Voigts, ‘Anglo- Saxon Plant Remedies’, 256; Erhard Landgraf, ‘Ein frühmittelalterlicher
Botanicus’, Kyklos 1 (1928): 114–46.
4 Ibid.
Niederer, who has more recently published a critical edition, translation, and
commentary of the St. Galler Botanicus, points out, it is dangerous to jump to
conclusions regarding the manuscript’s context of production and intended
use(s) based on this evidence alone since such textual adaptations could have
occurred for a host of reasons:
The only certainty is that some exotic, oriental plants are actually left out
of the work and that some of the newly added [plants] are said to grow
in the mountains. As the only argument, however, this is not enough
for localisation: exotic drugs were difficult to obtain and very expensive
throughout the Latin west and therefore could easily have been deleted
from the recipe texts. And ‘mountains’ as a way to localise the origin of
the text is far too imprecise: even if one assumes that the Alps are meant,
that is still a very large area.5
5 Der St. Galler Botanicus, ed. and trans. Niederer, 29: ‘Sicher ist nur, dass tatsächlich manche
exotischen, orientalischen Pflanzen aus der Vorlage weggelassen sind, und dass von man-
chen der neu hinzugefügten gesagt wird, sie wüchsen im Gebirge. Als einziges Argument
reicht das jedoch nicht aus zur Lokalisierung: Exotische Drogen waren im ganzen latein-
ischen Abendland schwer zu beschaffen und sehr teuer und hätten daher leicht aus den
Rezepttexten gestrichen werden können. Und ‘Gebirge’ als Lokalisierungshilfe für die
Entstehung des Textes ist viel zu ungenau: Selbst wenn man annimmt, dass damit die Alpen
gemeint sind, ist das immer noch ein sehr grosses Gebiet’.
6 Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall’, 5–6; Wallis, ‘Signs and Senses’, 273.
7 Horden, ‘Prefatory Note’.
remarks of Niederer, Glaze, Wallis, and Horden underscore the need for more
critical analyses that approach the texts without assuming that they were nec-
essarily intended to be used in the practice of medicine. This chapter, there-
fore, provides an introduction to Part 1 by opening with the bigger picture: I
survey textual sources beyond the recipe literature to consider a wider range of
evidence for the potential practicality (or impracticality) of recipes and exam-
ine whether there are external signs that these texts were consulted for thera-
peutic purposes. I then turn to the recipes under analysis and their manuscript
contexts, reviewing the textual evidence that underpins this book.
Chapter 1 showcased how research into the corpus of surviving Old English
recipes has moved the study of the relationship between medical knowledge
and practice in new directions, often positing that these texts were not only
intended to be used in the context of therapy but that they were, in fact, useable
texts. Such arguments have offered direct challenges to the traditional view
that the presumed non-local nature of many of the ingredients named in rec-
ipes would have rendered them useless in practice.8 Voigts’s aforementioned
landmark article challenges this assumption, among others; she contends that
a wider range of plants could have been growing in England than might have
been expected due to a combination of ‘auspicious climatic conditions’ and
careful cultivation. Voigts also suggests that other, non-local materia medica
could have been acquired through trade.9 Regarding the latter possibility, how-
ever, a letter from the Insular world exchanged between Cynehard (d. c. 778),
bishop of Winchester, and Lull (d. 786), archbishop of Mainz (though origi-
nally from Wessex), presents a different scenario: it documents instead the
challenge posed by procuring particular ingredients and underlines that, for
all their practical features, recipes could still present impracticalities.
In his letter, Cynehard complains to Lull that many exotic ingredients
listed in medical texts ‘are unknown to us and difficult to come by’, asking his
continental colleague to send supplies.10 Despite coming from beyond the
Carolingian world, this epistle has three significant implications for the present
study. First, Cynehard’s complaint indicates that some communities in eighth-
century England were encountering challenges in sourcing all the ingredients
listed in recipes, raising the possibility that people in Carolingian Francia may
have experienced similar problems. This lack of access would have made cer-
tain recipes impractical since, at least in their recorded state, they would have
been unusable. Although Cynehard’s attempts to obtain the specified ingredi-
ents exhibit no signs of attempted substitutions, it remains possible that rec-
ipes could have been adapted in situ by replacing unavailable materia medica
with local products.11 Two chapters in Part 1 address these topics specifically,
with Chapter 3 investigating the potential practicality of recipes in relation
to their inclusion of non-local materia medica and Chapter 5 considering the
presence of instructions for the substitution of ingredients.
On the other hand, Cynehard’s letter reflects that Lull, situated in the mid-
dle of the Frankish Empire, may have had better access to foreign products,
or at least that Cynehard expected (or hoped) this was the case. Indeed, Lull,
along with two other missionaries, Denehard and Burchard, is recorded as hav-
ing sent a gift of frankincense, pepper, and cinnamon to the English abbess
Cuneburg earlier in the eighth century—did Cynehard know of this gift?12 Was
he, in effect, asking for a similar package to be sent in his direction? As will be
explored in Chapter 3, a number of records of elite gift exchange on the con-
tinent feature non-local products that could have served as materia medica—
was Cynehard trying to insert himself into this gift economy?
Finally, the letter indicates that Cynehard was, in fact, consulting the medi-
cal remedies listed in his codices with the intention of preparing them. In the
same letter, he also writes, ‘if you should come into the possession of any books
of secular learning unknown to us, for example, concerning medicines—of
which we have a goodly quantity here … you might consider sharing them
[with us]’.13 Cynehard’s comments thus provide direct evidence for the desire
to apply the medical knowledge recorded in the texts in practice. Crucially, this
letter highlights that an intention to follow a recipe does not necessarily reflect
its practicality with respect to use: Cynehard was unable to put his recorded
medical knowledge into practice because he lacked certain ingredients. The fol-
lowing sections review additional evidence from non-medical texts that speak
to the potential (im)practicality of recipes. As Cynehard’s experience demon-
strates, it is essential to consider practicality at two levels: intention (i.e., were
recipes understood as being intended for therapeutic purposes?) and use (i.e.,
if they were intended to be used, could they be followed?). Cynehard’s une-
quivocal statement regarding his attempt to prepare treatments based on his
recipe collections provides a notable window onto the relationship between
medical knowledge and practice, especially because, as will become apparent
over the following pages, such clear evidence testifying to the use of recipes in
the context of therapy, whether intended or actualised, is exceedingly rare in
the Carolingian world.
Before reviewing non-medical textual evidence for the perception and prac-
tice of medicine in Carolingian Francia, it is important to acknowledge some of
the major ways in which the general healthscape of the Latin west evolved over
the preceding centuries. The interrelated social, cultural, intellectual, political,
economic, and religious shifts of late Antiquity altered not only the medical
marketplace and approaches to healing, but also the study and transmission
of medical knowledge.14 Such changes likewise had major implications for the
survival of evidence relating to medicine, from the ways in which it was stud-
ied, practised, and perceived to the types of medical texts recorded, excerpted,
compiled, and (re)copied. Much has been written about these topics in recent
years and what follows presents a brief overview in relation to evidence that
helps to elucidate how, why, and where medical texts, and especially those
concerning pharmacy, were read and written in the Latin west.15
Given medicine’s complex relationship with the Church, the spread of
Christianity, and its concomitant restructuring of communities and power
dynamics, is among the most significant developments to highlight during
this period. Notably, this evolving relationship is documented by a wealth of
non-medical sources, ranging from hagiographies and histories to the writ-
ings of the Church Fathers.16 Some texts paint doctors and classical medical
traditions—a ‘religion of Hippocrates’ as described by Owsei Temkin—in a
negative light by recording the ineffectiveness of medicine in comparison with
divine healing or raising concerns with its pre-Christian roots.17 A number of
Church authorities, including Gregory the Great (d. 604), even questioned the
appropriateness of human intervention in matters of health and disease, life
and death.18 Yet, as Peregrine Horden cautions, the apparent ‘tensions between
religion and medicine should not be overstressed’.19 Not only do diatribes
against doctors and medical practice underline their presence and perceived
efficacy among the general populace, but, more significantly, ‘secular’ medicine
was often viewed positively and as a divinely provided complement to spiritual
healing.20 Indeed, the Christian emphasis on charity made caring for the sick
a virtuous act and fostered the rise of hospitals, while theologians turned to
15 For more detailed accounts of the state of medicine in late Antiquity and the transition
to the early Middle Ages in relation to wider social, cultural, intellectual, political, eco-
nomic, and religious shifts, see, for example, Nutton, Ancient Medicine, 299–317; Horden,
‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’; Peregrine Horden, ‘Sickness and Healing’,
in The Cambridge History of Christianity 3: Early Medieval Christianities, c. 600–1100, ed.
Thomas F. X. Noble and Julia M. H. Smith (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008),
416–32; Palmer, ‘Merovingian Medicine’.
16 Jonathan L. Zecher, Spiritual Direction as a Medical Art in Early Christian Monasticism
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2022); Andrew Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh: Illness and
Sanctity in Late Ancient Christianity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press,
2013); Gary B. Ferngren, Medicine and Health Care in Early Christianity (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press, 2009).
17 Owsei Temkin, Hippocrates in a World of Pagans and Christians (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1995), 181. Healing miracles make frequent appearances in hagiograph-
ical writings; on Caesarius of Arles’ concerns about pagan influences, see Caesarius of
Arles, Sermons, trans. Mary Magdeleine Mueller, 3 vols. (Washington, D.C.: Catholic
University of America Press, 1956), vol. 1, Sermons 52 and 53, at pp. 259–65.
18 Gregory the Great wrote that the ‘gift’ of sickness should be endured (though he does not
appear to have always heeded his own advice): Gregory the Great, The Book of Pastoral
Rule, trans. James Barmby (Buffalo: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1895), 35.
19 Horden, ‘Sickness and Healing’, 101.
20 Nutton, Ancient Medicine, 312–17; Horden, ‘Sickness and Healing’, 100–3.
medical imagery, such as the Christus medicus metaphor, and engaged with a
‘Galenic logic of practice’ to convey their interpretations of doctrine and pro-
vide guidance to their communities.21 The accommodation or appropriation
of classical and late antique medical knowledge had profound effects, marking
this body of scholarship as (largely) acceptable within a Christian intellectual
culture, if used with the acknowledgement that successful healing ultimately
depended on God.
With theologians in the Greek east presenting more (and more diverse)
examples of sustained engagement with medical writings in their works, the
relatively few Latin authorities, such as Cassiodorus (d. c. 585) and Isidore (d.
636), who offered explicit statements on the practice and study of medicine
became particularly impactful in shaping perspectives in the early medieval
west. Cassiodorus, a scholar and Roman civil servant of the Ostrogothic regime,
founded a monastery in southern Italy, Vivarium, and composed a text, the
Institutiones, to guide this community in their pursuit of both divine and sec-
ular learning.22 Medical matters feature within his guidance: in line with the
positive attitude towards healing evinced by many intellectuals of the period,
he admonished the monks to help those afflicted by illness and disease with
medicines and with hope in God, ‘emphasizing the eternal rewards granted to
21 Ferngren, Medicine and Health Care. On hospitals, see Andrew T. Crislip, From Monastery
to Hospital: Christian Monasticism & the Transformation of Health Care in Late Antiquity
(Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2005); and especially the work of Peregrine
Horden, including, Peregrine Horden, ‘Alms and the Man: Hospital Founders in
Byzantium’, in The Impact of Hospitals, 300–2000, ed. John Henderson, Peregrine Horden,
and Alessandro Pastore (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2007), 59–76; Peregrine Horden, ‘Poverty,
Charity, and the Invention of the Hospital’, in The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, ed.
Scott Fitzgerald Johnson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 715–43; and Peregrine
Horden, ‘Cities Within Cities: Early Hospital Foundations and Urban Space’, in Stiftungen
zwischen Politik und Wirtshaft. Ein Dialog zwischen Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. Sitta
von Reden (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), 157–75. On the use of medical imagery and ideas in
theological writings, see, for example, Marie-Anne Vannier, ‘L’image du Christ médecin
chez les pères’, in Les Pères de l’Église face à la science médicale de leur temps, ed. Véronique
Boudon- Millot and Bernard Pouderon (Paris: Beauchesne, 2005), 525– 34; Michael
Dörnemann, ‘Einer ist Arzt, Christus: Medizinales Verständnis von Erlösung in der
Theologie der griechischen Kirchenväter des zweiten bis vierten Jahrhunderts’, Zeitschrift
für antikes Christentum/Journal of Ancient Christianity 17 (2013): 102–24, https://doi.org
/10.1515/zac-2013-0006; and, on the ‘Galenic logic of practice’, Zecher, Spiritual Direction,
23–196, and especially at pp. 32–3.
22 Cassiodorus, Cassiodori Senatoris Institutiones, ed. R. A. B. Mynors (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1937); for an English translation, see Cassiodorus, Institutions of Divine and Secular
Learning, in Cassiodorus, Institutions of Divine and Secular Learning and On the Soul,
trans. James W. Halporn (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2004).
those who charitably heal the sick’.23 Carolingian theologians would build on
Cassiodorus’ instructions, framing the practice of medicine as a ‘sacred art’.24
In addition to articulating a general conception of medicine’s place in a
Christian community, Cassiodorus also provided very specific details for the
monks of Vivarium, recommending a selection of Greek medical writings in
Latin translations.25 This list reveals a group of treatises that were accessible
to a primarily Latin-speaking community and that he considered acceptable
for a Christian audience. Cassiodorus included a herbal of Dioscorides, Latin
translations of Hippocrates and Galen, ‘a certain anonymous work that has
been collected from various authors’, Caelius Aurelius’ Medicine, and ‘various
other works … I have left to you’.26 Although Cassiodorus’ ambiguous phrasing
and nonstandard names of authors and their works have puzzled modern his-
torians (e.g., should ‘Caelius Aurelius’ be interpreted as ‘Caelius Aurelianus’?),
surviving Carolingian copies of the texts it is thought that he suggested, in con-
cert with evidence from extant ninth-century library catalogues, illustrate that
these writings circulated in Carolingian Europe.27 Such findings not only bear
witness to his long-term impact on the perception of medicine but also reflect
his influence on the transmission of medical knowledge itself.
Moreover, Cassiodorus’ practical approach to medicine aligns with com-
ments on medical care recorded in monastic rules, such as the Rule of St
Benedict. Chapter 36 of this rule, for example, instructs monastic communities
to care for their sick brothers, stipulating that there should be a designated
23 Cassiodorus, Cassiodori Senatoris Institutiones, 78; Leja, Embodying the Soul, 106.
24 Leja, Embodying the Soul; Leja, ‘The Sacred Art’.
25 Cassiodorus, Cassiodori Senatoris Institutiones, 78–9.
26 Cassiodorus, Cassiodori Senatoris Institutiones, 78–9: Quod si vobis non fuerit Graecarum
litterarum nota facundia, in primis habetis Herbarium Dioscoridis, qui herbas agrorum
mirabili proprietate disseruit atque depinxit; post haec legite Hippocratem atque Galienum
Latina lingua conversos, id est Tharapeutica Galieni ad philosophum Glauconem desti-
nata, et anonymum quendam, qui ex diversis auctoribus probatur esse collectus. Deinde
Caeli Aureli de Medicina et Hippocratis de Herbis et Curis diversosque alios medendi
arte compositos, quos vobis in bibliothecae nostrae sinibus reconditos Deo auxiliante der-
eliqui. Translation from: Cassiodorus, Institutions of Divine and Secular Learning, trans.
Halporn, 166.
27 On the question of identifying the texts, see Pierre Courcelle, Late Latin Writers and Their
Greek Sources, trans. Harry E. Wedeck (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969),
403. For mentions of medical texts in surviving early medieval library catalogues, see
Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall’, 268–91. On early medieval catalogues (with a focus on those
from Lorsch), see Angelika Häse, Mittelalterliche Bücherverzeichnisse aus Kloster Lorsch.
Einleitung, Edition und Kommentar (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2002).
room, complete with a ‘God-fearing’ attendant, for the ill and infirm.28 Certain
regulations, such as the prohibition on meat consumption (or at least the meat
of four-footed animals), were also relaxed for the sick.29 While recent schol-
arship has challenged the ‘misleadingly tidy picture’ presented by Benedict
of Aniane regarding the evolution of monastic rules as well as the immediate
impact of the series of councils at Aachen in the early ninth century that estab-
lished the Rule of St Benedict as the standard rule guiding monastic communi-
ties, the prescriptive perspective of such a text can illuminate common ideals
and underlying attitudes.30 In this case, it suggests that caring for a communi-
ty’s infirm and elderly members was an expected feature of monastic life.
However, just as with hospitals in this period, ‘care’ should not be con-
flated with ‘cure’. Furthermore, acts of both caring and curing could concern
the health of the soul rather than or alongside the body.31 In other words,
although the Rule of St Benedict supports caring for the sick, its instructions do
not refer to medical interventions as part of this care (aside from the possible
therapeutic benefits resulting from relaxed bathing and dietary rules). On this
point, the so-called Plan of St Gall, cod. sang. 1092, offers further insights.32
While this manuscript, sent by the monks of Reichenau to Abbot Gozbert of
St Gall (816–37), may look like an architectural blueprint, the diagram is now
28 rb 1980: The Rule of St. Benedict in Latin and English with Notes, ed. and trans. Timothy Fry
(Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1981), Chapter 36.
29 rb 1980, ed. and trans. Fry, Chapters 36–7, 39.
30 Felice Lifshitz, ‘The Historiography of Central Medieval Western Monasticism’, in The
Cambridge History of Medieval Monasticism in the Latin West, ed. Alison I. Beach and
Isabelle Cochelin, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 365–81. For recent
approaches, see especially Albrecht Diem, ‘Inventing the Holy Rule: Some Observations
on the History of Monastic Normative Observance in the Early Medieval West’, in Western
Monasticism ante litteram: The Spaces of Monastic Observance in Late Antiquity and the
Early Middle Ages, ed. Hendrik Dey and Elizabeth Fentress (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011),
53–84; Albrecht Diem and Claudia Rapp, ‘The Monastic Laboratory: Perspectives of
Research in Late Antique and Early Medieval Monasticism’, in The Cambridge History
of Medieval Monasticism in the Latin West, ed. Alison I. Beach and Isabelle Cochelin,
vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 19–39; Albrecht Diem and Philip
Rousseau, ‘Monastic Rules (Fourth to Ninth Century)’, in The Cambridge History of
Medieval Monasticism in the Latin West, ed. Alison I. Beach and Isabelle Cochelin, vol. 1
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 162–94 (quotation at p. 163); and Kramer,
‘Monasticism, Reform, and Authority in the Carolingian Era’.
31 Horden, ‘Sickness and Healing’; Nutton, Ancient Medicine, 315.
32 Cod. sang. 1092. On the Plan, see Barbara Schedl, Der Plan von St. Gallen: Ein Modell
europäischer Klosterkultur (Vienna: Böhlau, 2014) and Walter Horn and Ernest Born, The
Plan of St. Gall: A Study of the Architecture and Economy of, and Life in a Paradigmatic
Carolingian Monastery, 3 vols. (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1979).
33 In cod. sang. 1092, these are listed as costo, menta, pulegio, ruta, and saluia; Horn and
Born, The Plan of St. Gall, 181–3. See Chapter 4 for further discussion of gardens and local
materia medica.
34 Evina Steinová, ‘The Oldest Manuscript Tradition of the Etymologiae (Eighty Years after
A. E. Anspach)’, Visigothic Symposium 4 (2020–21): 100–43, https://doi.org/10.17613/ehr8
-5c39. For the text, see Isidore of Seville, Etymologiarum sive originum, libri xx, ed. W. M.
Lindsay, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1911); and for an English translation, see
appears immediately after the three opening books on the liberal arts, though
topics related to health and medicine can also be found throughout the entire
encyclopaedia.35 Book 11, ‘The human being and portents’ (De homine et por-
tentis), Book 17, ‘Rural matters’ (De rebus rusticis), and Book 20, ‘Provisions and
various implements’ (untitled in early manuscripts), for example, each con-
tain content with direct relevance to medical knowledge, such as a descrip-
tion of the human body as well as information regarding substances that could
have been used as materia medica. Within De medicina, Isidore reviews a wide
range of medical matters, including the history of medicine, the concept of
the four humours, acute and chronic diseases, types of remedies and medi-
cations, varieties of medical books, physicians’ instruments, and scents and
ointments, ending with a section on the ‘foundations of medicine’ (De initiis
medicinae), which outlines the basic educational requirements of this ‘Second
Philosophy’.36
While Isidore’s overview of medicine covers much ground, it is fairly super-
ficial and would have provided little in the way of practical guidance. Rather,
it demonstrates how medical knowledge could be redeployed for Christian
learning: the medical information he recorded was ‘intended to be studied as
words’.37 And, as Meg Leja points out, by focusing attention on the art of med-
icine and its various components, Isidore ‘implicitly classified it as something
essential for future Christian societies’; that is, medical knowledge, including
material derived from non-Christian classical and late antique writers, had a
place within the pastoral and pedagogical project of the early medieval west.38
Moreover, as Jacques Fontaine has argued, the Carolingian reception of the
Etymologiae introduced new layers of allegorical interpretation.39 Hrabanus
Maurus (d. 856), archbishop of Mainz, for example, produced an encyclopae-
dia, De rerum naturis (also known as De universo) that reordered and adapted
Isidore of Seville, The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. Stephen A. Barney, W. J. Lewis,
J. A. Beach, and Oliver Berghof (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). On the
general reception of the Etymologiae, see Andrew T. Fear and Jamie Wood, eds., Isidore
of Seville and His Reception in the Early Middle Ages: Transmitting and Transforming
Knowledge (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2016).
35 See Isidore, Etymologiae, Book 4. On Isidore and medicine, see especially Arsenio
Ferraces Rodríguez, ed., “Isidorus medicus”: Isidoro de Sevilla y los textos de medicina (A
Coruña: Servizio de Publicacións, Universidade da Coruña, 2005).
36 On De initiis medicinae, see Isidore, Etymologiae, 4.13.
37 Nutton, Ancient Medicine, 301.
38 Leja, Embodying the Soul, 105.
39 Jacques Fontaine, ‘Isidore de Séville et la mutation de l’encyclopédisme antique’, Cahiers
d’Histoire Mondiale 9, no. 1 (1966): 519–38.
However, while some scholars, such as Loren MacKinney and John Contreni,
have identified a handful of intellectual centres, such as Laon and Chartres,
as possible hubs of medical learning in the early medieval west, it would be
inappropriate to see these cathedral schools as continuations of the classical
and late antique medical schools.45 On the other hand, additional indirect evi-
dence, including the writings of individual Carolingian intellectuals, such as
Walahfrid Strabo (d. 849), Lupus of Ferrières (d. c. 862), and Pardulus of Laon
(d. c. 865), reveal that their authors acquired some level of medical knowledge,
supporting the idea that medicine did, in fact, feature within the general cur-
riculum in many communities.46
In a letter sent by Pardulus to Hincmar of Reims (d. 882), for example,
Pardulus shares dietary advice with his unwell superior, aiming to rebalance
his humours and restore his health. As part of his recommendations, he writes,
‘when rising from table, one should take a measure of beans that have been
thoroughly purged and cooked with very clear fat. Although according to the
philosophers this is said to dull the senses, it is nonetheless believed to evac-
uate and dry out phlegm’.47 While this epistle documents ecclesiastical elites
engaging with learned medicine in a practical, hands-on way, Pardulus does
not comment on where he gained his medical knowledge. His references to
philosophers, descriptions of dietetic approaches to finding humoral balance,
and use of specific terminology (such as hygeia) imply a familiarity with the
types of writings circulating during this period. Pardulus’ letter is thus highly
suggestive that recipes and other medical texts were studied with the intent
of Europe (London: Allen Lane, 2020), 239–44. On the Alexandrian curriculum, see, in
addition to Nicoletta Palmieri’s works cited above, Ivan Garofalo and Amneris Roselli,
eds., Galenismo e medicina tardoantica. Fonti greche, latine e arabe. Atti del Seminario
internazionale di Siena, Certosa di Pontignano, 9 e 10 settembre 2002 (Naples: Istituto
Universitario Orientale, 2003).
45 MacKinney, Early Medieval Medicine; MacKinney, ‘Tenth- Century Medicine’; John
J. Contreni, ‘Masters and Medicine in Northern France in the Reign of Charles the Bald’,
in Charles the Bald: Court and Kingdom. Papers Based on a Colloquium Held in London in
April 1979, edited by Margaret T. Gibson and Janet Nelson, 2nd ed. (Aldershot: Variorum,
1990), 267–82.
46 For examples of Carolingian intellectuals who demonstrate some degree of medical
learning in their surviving writings, see especially Contreni, ‘Masters and Medicine’. On
medicine as part of a general education, see Palmer, ‘Merovingian Medicine’.
47 Contreni, ‘Masters and Medicine’, 282: In ultimo, antequam surgatur a mensa, faba pur-
gatissima cum purissimo pingui ad mensuram decocta sumatur; quae licet secundum phi-
losophos sensum obtundere dicatur, tamen phlegmata et deponere et exsiccare creditur.
Translation from Wallis, Medieval Medicine, 111–12.
of applying this knowledge in therapy, though it does not provide explicit evi-
dence of this practice.
In contrast, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, the period immediately
following this study, the use of medical texts, and specifically pharmaceutical
prescriptions, for therapeutic purposes is clearly recorded in letters exchanged
among the ecclesiastical elite. The writings of Richer of Reims (d. after 998) or
Fulbert of Chartres (d. 1028), for instance, indicate that medical texts were stud-
ied and consulted to prepare medications.48 In a letter to Bishop Adalbero of
Laon, Fulbert writes that he is sending several medications to help treat Ebalus,
Adalbero’s secretary, who is suffering from an unnamed illness.49 Fulbert spe-
cifically recommends referring to the antidotaria (books of antidotes) in Laon
if Adalbero needs guidance on ‘what these [medications] are good for and how
to take or to administer them’.50 Yet, given the shifting landscape of medical
learning discussed in Chapter 1, the comments of Richer and Fulbert should
not be assumed to reflect the ways in which Carolingian scribes, readers, and
medical practitioners engaged with their medical texts.
Returning to the ninth century, Walahfrid Strabo’s poem Hortulus offers
a window onto the author’s first-hand knowledge of gardening while also
showcasing his familiarity with possible medical uses for many of the plants
growing in his ‘little garden’. Significantly, Walahfrid begins the poem with a
comment on how he has learnt about gardening, listing his own experiences
in the garden alongside the knowledge he has acquired from books and picked
up from oral traditions:
48 Richer of Reims, Histoire de France, ed. and trans. Robert Latouche, 2 vols. (Paris: H.
Champion, 1930), vol. 2, 224–30; Fulbert of Chartres, The Letters and Poems of Fulbert
of Chartres, ed. and trans. Frederick Behrends (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), see, for
example, Letters 24, 47, 48, and 71 (at pp. 45–7, 83–4, 84–5, and 119–20, respectively).
49 Fulbert, The Letters and Poems of Fulbert of Chartres, Letter 47 (at pp. 83–4).
50 Ibid, and translation from Wallis, Medieval Medicine, 15.
51 Walahfrid Strabo, De cultura hortorum, ed. Ernst Dümmler, mgh Poet. 2 (Berlin: Weidmann,
1884), 335–49. Latin text and translation from Walahfrid Strabo, Hortulus, trans. Raef
Alcuin offers a tantalising glimpse into the practices of these largely invisible
professionals, noting what the medici do—and these activities fit with those
recorded in the medical texts—but he provides no further evidence regard-
ing their identity, training, sources of information, and so on.55 As noted in
Chapter 1, named medical practitioners are few and far between, though medici
Payne (Pittsburgh: Hunt Botanical Library, 1966), 24–5: Plurima tranquillae cum sint insig-
nia vitae, /Non minimum est, si quis Paestanae deditus artis /Noverit obsceni curas tractare
Priapi. / … Haec non sola mihi patefecit opinio famae /Vulgaris, quaesita libris nec lectio
priscis; /Sed labor et studium, quibus otia longa dierum /Postposui, expertum rebus docuere
probatis.
52 Voigts uses Walahfrid’s comments in the Hortulus as evidence of his use of medical texts
in the practice of medicine. Walahfrid’s references to book learning, however, do not
explicitly confirm this. See Voigts, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies’, 268.
53 Horden, ‘Sickness and Healing’, 96.
54 Alcuin, Carmina, 26, ed. Ernst Dümmler, mgh Poet. 1 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1881),
245: Accurrunt medici mox, Hippocratica secta: / Hic venas fundit, herbas hic miscet in olla, /
Ille coquit pultes, alter sed pocula praefert. Translation from Wallis, Medieval Medicine, 80.
55 For additional comments on medici by Alcuin, see Alcuin, Epistola, 213, ed. Ernst Dümmler,
mgh Epp. kar. aevi 2 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1895), 356–7.
can be found in charters and law codes.56 Their appearance in these contexts,
however, offers little sense of their medical practice and no direct evidence
regarding their possible use of medical texts as part of this practice. On the
other hand, these sources shed light on certain aspects of their lives, such as
their position in society and apparent literacy, that are typically lacking in the
documentary evidence reviewed above.57 It seems plausible, therefore, that
these literate medical practitioners consulted medical writings during their
general education, training in medicine, and possibly in their practice, too.
It must also be remembered that the written record captures only a frac-
tion of the variety of medical practitioners active during this period.58 While
the textual evidence reveals the existence of elite male practitioners, it rarely
sheds light on ‘informal healthcare delivered by men and women in their
communities’.59 Yet, the general absence of evidence regarding the provi-
sion of healthcare beyond elite networks should not be read as evidence of
absence; as Patricia Skinner cautions, ‘we must remain alive to the possibility
that [informal healthcare] existed, and that the picture we build up from the
surviving sources may only be a small part of the whole’.60 When considering
the potential diversity of the medical marketplace, it is important to recognise
that many of the individuals involved in healing practices, and especially those
unrecorded by the texts, may not have had the skills or resources (including
access to the manuscripts) to incorporate medical texts in their practice or that
they worked within complementary healing systems (e.g., miraculous cures).61
The literate medici, who, given their connections and education, are more
likely to have consulted texts as part of their practice, may have represented
only a small percentage of the available practitioners during this period.
Consequently, their practices and potential engagement with the medical lit-
erature in circulation likely reflect just one of the many interwoven threads
within the complex web of healing traditions in early medieval Europe.
While acknowledging that the medical writings recorded in manuscripts
capture only a partial picture of the wider healthscape, as the other types
of documentary evidence surveyed above make clear, these texts remain
56 Skinner, Health and Medicine in Early Medieval Southern Italy; Pilsworth, Healthcare in
Early Medieval Northern Italy, 187–209.
57 Pilsworth, Healthcare in Early Medieval Northern Italy, 187.
58 Horden, ‘Sickness and Healing’, 92–3.
59 Skinner, Health and Medicine in Early Medieval Southern Italy, 83.
60 Ibid.
61 Valerie J. Flint, ‘The Early Medieval ‘Medicus’, the Saint—and the Enchanter’, Social
History of Medicine 2, no. 2 (1989): 127–45, https://doi.org/10.1093/shm/2.2.127; Park,
‘Medicine and Society’.
2.1 Summary
While past scholarship has uncovered evidence for a number of different ways
to practise medicine and pursue healing in the Carolingian world, there are
few clear signs that medical texts were consulted as part of this practice. That
is not to say that texts were ignored in the context of therapy, but rather to
remember that explicit evidence for this type of use, such as Cynehard’s letter,
is exceedingly rare. Therefore, although it may be tempting to extrapolate from
the evidence presented in the writings of Cassiodorus, the medical features
depicted in the Plan of St Gall, or the comments of later authors, and presume
that medical writings were used in medical practice, it would be inappropriate
to make such an assumption. Between the repurposing of medical knowledge
seen in the works of Isidore and Hrabanus, the ‘unintelligibility’ exhibited by
some medical texts, as well as Cynehard’s inability to access ingredients, it
becomes clear that medical writings, including seemingly practical recipe col-
lections, could be used in multiple ways or become unusable for therapeutic
purposes.69
An in-depth reconsideration of recipe practicality, in terms of both inten-
tion/design and use, is therefore much needed. Can the evidence for both
practicality and impracticality be reconciled? Cynehard’s letter documents
his experiences across the channel, but what was the situation in Carolingian
Francia? Before turning to case studies on the question of practicality
66 Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, 12; Horden, ‘Prefatory Note’.
67 Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, 13.
68 Ibid.
69 Horden, ‘Sickness and Healing’, 96: ‘other, lesser, texts often degenerate into unintelligibil-
ity through repeated copying’.
Over 100 codices containing medical texts have survived from the eighth and
ninth centuries alone.70 Most of these can be termed ‘medical manuscripts’, i.e.,
their contents focus largely, if not entirely, on texts relating to health and medi-
cine. Given the vocabulary used in manuscript catalogues from the period, this
label parallels Carolingian descriptions of these codices.71 It must be remem-
bered, however, that although this terminology suggests that medical writings
were understood to belong to a distinct subject area, such writings could also
appear outside of strictly medical manuscripts. Medicine often travelled with
calendrical material, for example, due to the significant links between these
areas of learning.72 Medical texts also appear in seemingly unexpected con-
texts, such as the addition of medical material—sometimes no more than a
single recipe—to a blank space in a manuscript otherwise unconnected to
health, medicine, and related fields.73 While these finds are important, espe-
cially when considering the spread of medical knowledge, they provide only a
fraction of the total number of surviving texts, and the majority of the recipes
analysed in this book are located in medical manuscripts. It is therefore worth
pausing to highlight the complex, unstable nature of these codices before
reviewing the recipe literature contained within them, especially since many
70 On the numbers of surviving manuscripts, see Beccaria, I codici and Wickersheimer, Les
manuscrits; the former includes 158 manuscripts produced between the ninth and elev-
enth centuries while the latter, which only focuses on manuscripts held in French collec-
tions, gives 119 manuscripts for the same period. As noted in Chapter 1, the cemlm has
identified roughly 200 manuscripts missed by Beccaria and Wickersheimer.
71 Leja, Embodying the Soul, 12.
72 On the links between medicine and calendars, see Wallis, ‘Medicine in Medieval
Calendar Manuscripts’ and Faith Wallis, ‘Counting All the Bones: Measure, Number
and Weight in Early Medieval Texts About the Body’, in Was zählt Ordnungsangebote,
Gebrauchsformen und Erfahrungsmodalitäten des “numerus” im Mittelalter, ed. Moritz
Wedell (Cologne: Böhlau, 2012), 185–208.
73 For examples of non-medical manuscripts to which recipes have been added, see, for
example, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, ms 223, a ninth-century codex containing a
variety of non-medical texts, such as works by Prudentius, with recipes added to its open-
ing flyleaf, or Laon, Bibliothèque Municipale, ms 199, a ninth-century codex covering the
Lateran Council of 649 in which a recipe has been added to the final half folio.
74 For a full breakdown of the genres of medical writing and number of texts associated with
each during this period, see Wallis, ‘The Experience of the Book’, 112, n. 30.
75 For particularly insightful syntheses of early medieval medicine in relation to the manu-
script evidence, see Wallis, ‘The Experience of the Book’ (quotation at p. 107) and Horden,
‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, though these themes are also addressed
in their other work; see the bibliography for more examples.
76 Wallis, ‘The Experience of the Book’, 103–4.
77 Wallis, ‘The Experience of the Book’.
other words, while the recipes under analysis are intimately related to earlier
medical writings (and, in some cases, individual recipes can be traced to a par-
ticular classical or late antique source), additional influences from beyond the
classical corpus are also apparent (see Chapters 3 and 4).78 Early medieval rec-
ipe collections, each presenting a distinct blend of sources, thus present fertile
ground for exploring the evolution of medical knowledge during this period.
Over the following pages, I introduce the recipes under consideration, first
reviewing the typical ways in which prescriptions were presented and ordered
into collections. This starts with an emphasis on classical and late antique
traditions due to their influence on early medieval compilations. Indeed, the
shared manuscript contexts in which all these texts are located highlight both
the differences between collections as well as their innate entanglements and
commonalities. This leads, therefore, to an overview of the specific manu-
scripts involved in the present study.
78 Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, 19. For examples of the identi-
fication of individual extracts and transmission of earlier sources within early medieval
recipe collections, see the work of Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez and Klaus-Dietrich Fischer
highlighted in Chapter 1.
79 Ferraces Rodríguez, ‘Un recetario médico altomedieval’, 41.
80 Alain Touwaide, ‘Pharmaceutic Handbooks’, in Medieval Science, Technology and
Medicine: An Encyclopedia, ed. Thomas Glick, Steven J. Livesey, and Faith Wallis
(London: Routledge, 2005), 393–4; Alain Touwaide, ‘Pharmacy and Materia medica’, in
Medieval Science, Technology and Medicine: An Encyclopedia, ed. Thomas Glick, Steven
J. Livesey, and Faith Wallis (London: Routledge, 2005), 397–9.
recipe collections also contain many complicated recipes that feature long
lists of exotic ingredients and claim to treat a host of different diseases, from
common maladies (headaches, stomach pains, and the like) to more extreme
illnesses and injuries (including rabid dog bites, scorpion stings, and epilepsy, to
name but a few examples). Such sweeping panaceas often provide treatments
for poisons and encounters with venomous animals and appear to be derived
from and modelled on ancient compound medicines, such as Mithridates’
antidote, reflecting the influence of classical treatises on toxicology.81
Simples and compounds were traditionally associated with different types
of recipe collections, though these divisions and organising principles were
somewhat fluid, especially in early medieval compendia. Texts focused on
and ordered by materia medica, such as herbals and bestiaries, concentrate
on simplicia.82 In these collections, each chapter covers a different ingredient
and often provides some information about the substance in question (e.g.,
synonyms, instructions for collection and/or preparation, etc.) in addition
to its medical uses. Dioscorides’ (c. 40–90) De materia medica, an enormous
composition with individual chapters dedicated to nearly 800 plants and
over 100 animals and minerals, respectively, is the most comprehensive of the
ancient works following this general schematic and had a lasting impact.83
New compositions were created not only by following Dioscorides’ model but
also by directly excerpting, rearranging, and translating his text and, later, its
descendants.
In surviving manuscripts, the widespread circulation of recipe collections
ordered by materia medica suggests that they were a popular genre within
pharmaceutical writing.84 In particular, a group of late antique herbals and
85 Gerhard Baader, ‘Die Anfänge der medizinischen Ausbildung im Abendland bis 1100’,
in La scuola nell’Occidente latino dell’alto medioevo, 15–21 aprile 1971, Settimane 19, vol. 2
(Spoleto: Fondazione Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1972), 669–772. Voigts,
‘The Significance of the Name Apuleius’, 215; Riddle, ‘Pseudo-Dioscorides’ Ex herbis femi-
ninis’, 43–81. Ernst Howald and Henry Sigerist produced a cml volume (4) featuring many
of these texts: Antonii Musae De herba vettonica liber. Pseudoapulei Herbarius. Anonymi De
taxone liber. Sextii Placiti Liber medicinae ex animalibus etc.
86 Baader, ‘Die Anfange der medizinischen Ausbildung’. On Ravenna’s medical school, see
n. 44 above. On translation at Ravenna, see also Innocenzo Mazzini, ‘Les traductions
latines d’Oribase et d’Hippocrate’, in Les écoles médicales à Rome: Actes du 2ème Colloque
international sur les textes médicaux latins antiques, Lausanne, septembre 1986, ed.
Philippe Mudry and Jackie Pigeaud (Geneva: Droz, 1991), 286–93.
87 For Isidore’s discussion of medical books, see Isidore, Etymologiae, 4.10.1–4. On dyna-
midia, see Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez, ‘El Pseudo-Dioscórides De herbis femininis, los
Dynamidia e Isidoro de Sevilla, Etym. xvii, 7–11’, in Tradición e Innovación de la Medicina
Latina de la Antigüedad y de la Alta Edad Media: Actas del iv Coloquio Internacional
sobre los “textos medicos latinos antiguos”, ed. Manuel Enrique Vázquez Buján (Santiago
de Compostela: Servicio de Publicacións e Intercambio Científico da Universidade
de Santiago de Compostela, 1994), 183–203; John M. Riddle, ‘The Pseudo-Hippocratic
Dynamidia’, Sudhoffs Archiv für Geschichte der Medizin und der Naturwissenschaften 27
(1989): 283–311; and Loren C. MacKinney, ‘“Dynamidia” in Medieval Medical Literature’,
Isis 24, no. 2 (1936): 400–14.
therapeutic property, and follow the precedent set by Galen’s (c. 129-c. 216) On
Antidotes.88 The textual boundaries between simple and compound medicines
are blurred, however, in collections ordered by diseases (generally following
a head-to-toe, a capite ad calcem, arrangement) or by style/method of treat-
ment. In the former, each chapter focuses on the treatment of a disease, con-
dition, or cluster of symptoms, presenting at least one prescription, though
multiple options are often listed. While simplicia comprise the core of these
collections, compound medicines also appear. In recipe collections ordered
by style/method, following Galen’s On Medicines by Genres, the prescriptions
are arranged into different groups based on their final form, distinguishing
between, for example, oils, unguents, plasters, electuaries, pessaries, collyria,
and so on.89 While some of these preparations align with the simple model
and centre on a single active drug, many involve more complicated mixtures.
The a capite ad calcem arrangement can already be seen in some texts attrib-
uted to Galen and became a very popular ordering strategy in late antique
adaptations of earlier works. Consider, for example, the Plinian family of phar-
maceutical writings. Medical recipes are scattered throughout Pliny the Elder’s
(23–79) monumental and unwieldy Natural History.90 Anonymous compilers
excerpted the medical sections and reordered them from head to toe, produc-
ing new texts, the Medicina Plinii and Physica Plinii, in the fourth and sixth
centuries, respectively.91 Similar processes of reworking, excerpting, condens-
ing, and translating ancient medical writings can be observed in the works
of numerous late antique authors, including Oribasius (c. 320–400), Caelius
Aurelianus (fl. c. 400), Marcellus of Bordeaux (fl. late fourth/early fifth centu-
ries), Alexander of Tralles (c. 525–605), and Paul of Aegina (c. 625–90).92 While
such efforts were formerly seen as the unsophisticated repackaging and sim-
plification of earlier texts that resulted in the stagnation of medical progress,
more recent scholarship has viewed this work as indicative of an environment
in which the study of medicine flourished.93 In the context of the present
study, it is important to recognise how the reordering of texts, composition of
commentaries on existing works, and translations of Greek writings into Latin
suggest that late antique compilers, authors, and translators worked to make
this body of knowledge more user-friendly: older texts were revised to create
more practical medical guidebooks.94
When producing new compilations, late antique authors did not simply
work from a single text, reordering or excerpting material in isolation; rather,
just like the ancient medical writers before them and the early medieval com-
pilers who would follow, they often brought together multiple sources. In these
late antique syntheses, as Nutton highlights, ‘extracts from earlier writers are
assembled, often verbatim and duly acknowledged, into a coherent mosaic
of opinions, ideas and remedies’.95 In some cases, the authorities cited were
near contemporaries: Marcellus, for example, refers to the ‘two Plinies’, i.e.,
Pliny the Elder and the anonymous compiler of the Medicina Plinii, as sources
for his extensive recipe collection, De medicamentis liber.96 The production
of new compendia in the early Middle Ages continued these practices of
excerpting and reordering earlier sources, if with certain differences. While
some trends appear amplified, such as the reduction of theoretical material
and emphasis on texts with a seemingly practical orientation, others speak to
evolving contexts of production: material unrecorded in the classical corpus,
ranging from the inclusion of Christian elements to new materia medica, also
comes into view.97 Overall, these developments suggest that broadly similar
impulses underpinned the creation of new compendia in both late Antiquity
and the early Middle Ages, supporting the idea that many of these compila-
tions were intended to be used in the context of therapy—just as Cassiodorus
recommended.
Significantly, although, like earlier compilations, many early medieval
compendia brought together material from classical and late antique recipe
collections that followed multiple organisational principles, in contrast to
earlier compilers, early medieval compilers did not necessarily impose a single
overarching structure on their new compositions.98 As a result, many of these
early medieval products only loosely follow one of the standard organisational
strategies or alternate between several approaches, suggesting that clusters of
information were derived from specific sources. For example, entries follow-
ing the herbal model (i.e., a section of text that names a plant, provides some
basic information about it, and lists a series of simples using it) sometimes
punctuate a collection in which recipes are more frequently listed under head-
ings reflecting the ailment they aim to treat, though the headings may not be
ordered a capite ad calcem.99 Although such varied assemblages might raise
questions about their potential usability in practice (how would a practitioner
know where to find a particular recipe within this assortment?), many com-
pendia begin with lists of their contents that would have helped readers to
navigate these multi-layered collections.100
Furthermore, it is important to recognise that these compilations, like
the manuscripts in which they are found, often include more than recipes
alone. In addition to prescriptions, pharmaceutical collections commonly
incorporate supplementary, related material, such as brief tracts on weights
and measures, urine analysis, or phlebotomy.101 Such inclusions reinforce the
impression that they were conceived of as general handbooks for medical care,
and, notably, when lists of contents are recorded, they also include these extra-
pharmaceutical elements, thereby indicating that they were understood as
integral parts of the collection rather than as unplanned addenda. Given the
comprehensiveness of these works, this book’s use of ‘recipe collection’ must
be clarified. Under this label, I include textual units that a) consist primarily of
recipes, and b) contain at least three recipes. Collections vary enormously in
size and scope: some feature hundreds of numbered entries, each containing
one or more recipes, and are accompanied by lists of contents, while others
list only a handful of recipes. Though the latter present a significant contrast
with the much larger collections, they still appear as a coherent textual unit
recording pharmaceutical information. Additionally, some collections involve
multiple hands and were corrected and/or added to over time, whereas others
appear to have been the work of a single scribe.
Here, it is also necessary to elaborate on the term ‘recipe’. Excepting the
extra-pharmaceutical extracts mentioned above, most of the entries within
recipe collections could be classified as ‘remedies’; that is, ‘a medicine or treat-
ment that promotes healing or alleviates symptoms’.102 Some, however, are
broader in scope, such as instructions for the preparation of composite ingre-
dients, including oxymel, various oils and unguents, and incense. Recipes for
these products can be found alongside remedies.103 Although such ingredients
may not have been intended to treat a disease or alleviate symptoms, they still
had a medical purpose, serving as components within remedies. Moreover,
some of these composite ingredients may have, in fact, been used both as the
constituent parts of a remedy and as treatments themselves. The term ‘recipe’,
therefore, more accurately describes the material at hand and, in the analyses
that follow, all recorded recipes have been considered, rather than exclusively
focusing those entries that can be clearly shown to be remedies, given the
potential ambiguities and overlap between categories.
Related to defining what constitutes a recipe within the context of this
study is the question of how to count recipes. In line with classical and late
antique pharmaceutical writings, titled entries within recipe collections often
represent discrete chapters, within which multiple recipes may be listed.
Contents lists record these titles, meaning that their numbering is based on
chapters rather than individual recipes. In the following analyses, all recipes
102 For a definition of the word, see the entry for ‘remedy, n.’, in oed Online, last modified
December 2023, last accessed 10 March 2024, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/6942526268.
103 Claire Burridge, ‘Incense in Medicine: An Early Medieval Perspective’, Early Medieval
Europe 28, no. 2 (2020): 219–55, https://doi.org/10.1111/emed.12394.
104 For a more detailed review of the twenty-four manuscripts, see Appendix 1.
Total 5392
11219, this material has been included in the present study; later additions,
such as the eleventh-and twelfth-century Old High German material seen in
cod. sang. 878 and BnF lat. 11219, respectively, have not been considered in the
analysis (though they provide insights into the long-term histories of several
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via Open Access.
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Setting the Scene 67
manuscripts). The majority of manuscripts, including codd. sang. 44, 751, and
bav pal. lat. 1088, have been dated to the ninth century, with some date ranges
fairly broad, i.e., to the first or second half of the ninth century, and others
more precise. For example, codd. sang. 397 and 878, the handbooks of Grimald,
Abbot of St Gall (841–72), and Walahfrid Strabo, respectively, were produced
in the decades when these scholars were active, while BnF lat. 5543 has been
dated to around the year 847.
Regarding geographic distribution, these codices were written in centres of
manuscript production across continental western Europe, including in eccle-
siastical communities at the heart of Carolingian intellectual developments,
such as St Gall and Reichenau, as well as at sites on the peripheries of the
Frankish Empire, such as centres in northern Italy and Brittany (see the map
for sites with known connections to a number of individual manuscripts under
consideration as well as, in the cases where localisation remains regional, prob-
able locations of production). Many of the manuscripts located in St Gall today,
such as codd. sang. 752 and 899, appear to have originated within this commu-
nity, while others, including codd. sang. 217 and 751, appear to have arrived not
long after they were produced. These two codices, along with the medical half
of cod. sang. 44, are thought to have been written in northern Italy and illus-
trate the connections between northern Italian sites of manuscript production
and Alpine monastic centres. Indeed, despite their distance from the Frankish
heartlands, northern Italian writing centres, such as Bobbio, Nonantola, and
Verona, were deeply embedded within Carolingian ecclesiastical and intellec-
tual networks, and the movement of several of the manuscripts involved in
this study bears witness to these connections.108 Moreover, a general survey of
extant early medieval medical texts suggests that centres in northwest Francia
and northern Italy were especially active in the production and dissemination
of manuscripts containing medical writings during this period.109 With this in
mind, it is therefore worth noting that a significant proportion of the manu-
scripts in the sample are thought to have been produced and were circulating
in these regions; codices that can be linked to more western Frankish intellec-
tual centres include, for example, BnF lat. 2858, 5543, and 9332.
Lastly, the sample also contains a variety of manuscript types. Many of the
manuscripts, including codd. sang. 751, 759, bav pal. lat. 1088, reg. lat. 1143, BnF
108 On the movement of manuscripts and links between writing centres, including a number
of those featured in this review, see Bernhard Bischoff, Manuscripts and Libraries in the
Age of Charlemagne, trans. Michael M. Gorman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2007), 33, 122, and 147–8.
109 Leja, ‘The Sacred Art’, 4; Beccaria, I codici; Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits.
lat. 11218, and 11219, can be classed as medical manuscripts given their primary,
if not exclusive, focus on writings concerning health and medicine. However,
the sample also features more mixed manuscripts that contain texts on other
topics, such as the aforementioned handbooks codd. sang. 397 and 878; cod.
sang. 899, which is primarily a poetry anthology; and BnF lat. 2858, which con-
tains the letters of Lupus of Ferrières. This assortment thus centres on medical
manuscripts while also featuring codices in which medicine is but an element
within a wider assemblage, reflecting the diverse codicological contexts in
which medicine appears.
Based on the sample’s a) inclusion of multiple manuscript types, b) varied
geographic distribution that simultaneously emphasises regions associated
with the production of medical manuscripts, and c) chronological spectrum
spanning c. 775–900, this study considers a representative selection of early
medieval Latin manuscripts that contain medical texts. The sample is also
particularly well-suited, both chronologically and geographically, to the osteo-
logical evidence addressed in Part 2, a topic covered in Chapter 6. Table 1 sum-
marises the distribution of recipes within the manuscript sample; the total
number of recipes from the manuscript sample comes to 5392, with roughly
three-fifths of the recipes found in the eleven manuscripts from St Gall and
one-fifth found in the manuscripts of both the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana
and Bibliothèque nationale de France, respectively. Given the uneven distri-
bution of recipes between manuscripts—BnF lat. 7021 contains just one rec-
ipe whereas cod. sang. 751 includes over 1000—certain codices are referred to
more frequently in the following chapters than others.
Building on this background to the texts and manuscripts, it is time to inves-
tigate the ingredients recorded in their folia.
The above ingredient list, found on f. 90r of bav pal. lat. 1088, names the sub-
stances (and their respective amounts) needed to prepare the Antidotum gira
deacoloquintidis, ‘A ‘sacred’ antidote of colocynth’. A fairly typical antidote, the
scribe claims that it treats roughly two dozen different conditions, from head
pains to gout—and seemingly everything in between. The scribe even asserts
that, in addition to curing present infirmities, it will defend against future mal-
adies: non solum presentes infirmitates curat, sed futuras egritudines defendit.
While this catch-all approach to treatment raises important questions regard-
ing the practicality and applicability of antidotes more generally, here, I shall
explore the materia medica listed within the antidote. Like the large number
of conditions it supposedly treats, the recipe also incorporates a host of differ-
ent ingredients—twenty-eight to be specific. Nearly all of these ingredients
are derived from plants; honey (mel) and agaric (agarico), a mushroom, are
the only exceptions. Where did these twenty-six different plants grow? Could a
1 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 90r: Antidotum gira deacoloquintidis… Recipit hęc eringio radices, polopo-
dię radices, sirobalsamo, amomo, piper longum, meu, gingiber, gentiana, brathea, costo, spico,
casia, agarico, agaro, interiones, ana dragmas II, scolopendria, camitrius, cafora, ana untia I et
dimidia, aloę, croco, reopontico, masticę, cinamo, diagridiu, epithimo, asaro, pionia, ana unt I,
omnia pulueraem facis, adde mel dispumatum quod sufficit. Only the recipe’s ingredient list
is included in the opening quotation; the full entry begins with the conditions the antidote
treats and ends with instructions for its preparation; for the entire recipe, see Appendix 2,
entry 16.26.
2 Voigts, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies’; Walahfrid Strabo, Hortulus; Horn and Born, The Plan of
St. Gall, 181–3.
3 Voigts, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies’, 261–3.
4 Riddle, ‘The Introduction and Use of Eastern Drugs’, 185–98.
recipes of this collection.5 Some of these ingredients, such as fennel and rose, are
also recorded in the texts relating to gardens mentioned in Chapter 2, whereas
others, including camphor and ambergris, appear to have been unknown to
classical physicians. After eliminating ingredients used largely as emollients,
flavouring agents, or solvents, such as honey, wine, and wax, Riddle delineates
the twenty most frequently recorded ingredients: aloe (aloes), gum ammoniac
(ammonicum), Nepal cardamom (amomum), parsley or celery seeds (apium
semen), cinnamon (cassia), cumin (ciminum), colophony resin (colofonia),
saffron (crocus), fenugreek (fenugrecum), frankincense (libanus), flax (linum),
mastic (mastice), myrrh (murra), parsley (petroselinum), pitch (picea), pepper
(piper), scammony (scamonia), storax (storace), terebinth (terebintina), and
ginger (zinziber).6 While seven of these ingredients could have grown locally,
the remaining thirteen, nearly two-thirds of the ingredients in question, are
not native to northern and western Europe. Like the opening antidote, there is
a range of exoticness among the non-local products; a number of these ingre-
dients, such as scammony and terebinth, can be found in the southern and
eastern Mediterranean, though others, including cinnamon, pepper, and gin-
ger, are grown in southeast Asia. Is it probable (or even possible) that such
non-local ingredients were available in the Carolingian world? Is there evi-
dence that reflects the movement and trade of these particular spices, gums,
resins, and woods? Or are there signs suggesting that the Franks, like Cynehard,
encountered difficulties in obtaining exotic ingredients?
This chapter will explore the question of practicality through the lens of
non-local materia medica. After first reviewing evidence for the movement of
exotic ingredients through gift exchange, trade, and even illicit means, I return
to Riddle’s study. Riddle and others, such as Michael McCormick, have high-
lighted the appearance of camphor, ambergris, and several other substances
from southeast Asia in early medieval recipes. They argue that their use as
materia medica in this period reflects the arrival of new pharmaceutical knowl-
edge. Using my significantly larger sample of recipes, I expand on their work,
identifying not only additional examples of camphor and ambergris, but also
the occurrence of a cluster of new products that, within the recipe literature,
appear to have travelled together as a distinct unit of information. By analysing
the manuscript contexts in which this ingredient cluster is located and exam-
ining additional evidence concerning the trade of exotic substances, I pres-
ent potential routes for the dissemination and spread of this pharmaceutical
information and suggest that it was, in fact, linked to the movement of the
substances themselves. I argue that recipes incorporating such ingredients
offer a window into dynamic centres of manuscript production where scribes
integrated ‘cutting edge’ information and updated their recipe collections
with new pharmaceutical knowledge. It must be remembered, however, that
these non-local products would have been available only sporadically, in lim-
ited quantities, and at great expense. Recipes including these substances were
not, therefore, practical in that they involved readily available ingredients
that suited local conditions, but their inclusion reflects a scribal environment
actively engaging with new ingredients and information. The findings of this
case study suggest that such recipes were intended to be used if and when the
necessary ingredients could be obtained.
7 Wallis, Medieval Medicine, 110–11; ‘Epistula 114’, in Die Briefe des heiligen Bonifatius und Lullus,
ed. Tangl, 247.
8 ‘Epistula 49’, in Die Briefe des heiligen Bonifatius und Lullus, ed. Tangl, 78–80; ‘Epistula
62’, 127–8.
9 Huneberc, Vitae Willibaldi et Wynnebaldi, ed. O. Holder-Egger, mgh ss 14.1 (Hanover: Hahn,
1887), 80–117; Huneberc, Hodoeporicon, in The Anglo-Saxon Missionaries in Germany, trans.
Charles Hugh Talbot (London: Sheed and Ward, 1954), 170. On Huneberc, see Bernhard
Bischoff, ‘Wer ist die Nonne von Heidenheim?’ Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte
des Benediktinerordens und seiner Zweige 49 (1931): 387–8; Peter Dronke, Women Writers of
the Middle Ages: A Critical Study of Texts from Perpetua (†203) to Marguerite Porete (†1310)
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 1–35.
10 Huneberc, Hodoeporicon, 170.
11 Cf. entries for these products in Carmélia Opsomer, Index de la pharmacopée du Ier au Xe
siècle, 2 vols. (Hildesheim: Olms-Weidmann, 1989).
12 ‘Epistula 62’, in Die Briefe des heiligen Bonifatius und Lullus, ed. Tangl, 127–8.
of these substances in Mainz had spread and/or that the networks between
Rome and Frankish ecclesiastical centres resulted in the sporadic distribution
of these ingredients in the Rhineland.
A letter in the Collectio sangallensis from the second half of the ninth cen-
tury suggests that access to these types of non-local substances increased in
the years following Gemmulus’ gifts to Boniface. In this case, the letter records
that a bishop, probably Salomon ii of Constance, sent Louis the German exotic
goods, including fine textiles, an ivory comb, and foreign fruits and spices, in
an attempt to appease him.13 Although there is no reference to medicine,
many of the fruits, spices, gums, and resins listed in the letter, such as dates,
figs, pomegranates, cinnamon, galangal, pepper, cloves, and mastic, appear as
ingredients in medical recipes. Regardless, this text suggests that ecclesiastical
and aristocratic elites may have had access to a wider range of foreign products
by the middle of the ninth century: Salomon’s gifts contained a much more
diverse spread.
However, predating Salomon’s peace offerings to Louis the German, there
is also evidence for an even richer collection of eastern products entering the
Latin west. First described by the Royal Frankish Annals and then later men-
tioned by Notker the Stammerer (c. 840–912), Harun al-Rashid, the Abbasid
caliph (r. 786–809), sent gifts to Charlemagne in 802 and 807.14 The largesse
displayed by Harun al-Rashid was extraordinary, a clear signal of his wealth
and power; indeed, among the most remarkable of his gifts was an elephant,
the famous Abul Abbas. Other products named include luxurious linens and
silks, a water clock, two enormous brass candlesticks, and, most importantly
for this study, ‘perfumes and ointments and balsam’ (odores atque unguenta et
balsamum).15 While the Royal Frankish Annals do not describe the ingredients
of the perfumes and ointments, it is highly probable that they were composed
13 Collectio Sangallensis, ed. Karl Zeumer, mgh Formulae (Hanover: Hahn, 1886), 29, at
p. 415, lines 15–19: Palliolum coloris prasini et aliud polimitum, spatulas palmarum cum suis
fructibus, cynamomi, calangani, cariofili, masticis et piperis fasciculum, Caricas ficorum,
malogranata, pectinem elefantinum, vermiculos, cicadas, aves psitacos, merulam albam
et longissimam spinam de pisce marino; Michael McCormick, Origins of the European
Economy: Communications and Commerce, A.D. 300–900 (Cambridge, 2001), 710.
14 Annales regni Francorum inde ab a. 741 usque ad a. 829 qui dicuntur Annales laurissenses
maiores et Einhardi, ed. Friedrich Kurze, mgh ss Rer. Germ. 6 (Hanover: Hahn, 1895). Abul
Abbas is first mentioned in the entry for 801 (in transit); for the arrival of these gifts in
802, see p. 117; for 807, see pp. 122–5. Notker, Gesta Karoli Magni Imperatoris, ed. Hans
F. Haefele. mgh ss Rer. Germ. N. S. 12. (Berlin: Weidmann, 1959), 62–5.
15 Annales regni Francorum, ed. Kurze, 123–4.
of eastern resins, gums, and spices, including, perhaps, many of the individual
substances named in the examples above.
Although these records do not directly link the non-local products involved
in elite gift-giving to medical uses, the connection between exotic substances
and medicine is more explicit in other sources.16 The annual purchase of honey
and spices, pigmenta, for the treatment of sick monks recorded in the Gesta of
the Abbey of Fontenelle offers one such example. The abbot Ansegisus (c. 770-
c. 833) allocated a pound of silver per year for this purpose.17 The use of the
term pigmenta is somewhat ambiguous as the word could refer to a range of
products including paints, pigments, and their composite parts as well as spices
and medicaments.18 In this case, it makes sense to read pigmenta as spices due
to the direct link with medical practice; these substances, however, may have
been intended for multiple purposes given that medical recipes share many
ingredients in common with paints and pigments.19 The particular products
the abbot intended to buy remains unknown.
A final example offers more specificity while continuing to blur the lines
between substances intended for medicinal, artisanal, and ecclesiastical uses: a
ninth-century list from Corbie details various items the monks intended to buy
at the market in Cambrai—if they had sufficient funds (si pretium habemus).20
A diverse range of products are named, from fairly humble goods, such as wax,
to imported spices and resins, including pepper and mastic. While many of
these items, such as bandages and leeches, were clearly destined for medical
16 The ointments recorded by the Royal Frankish Annals for the year 807 present a partial
exception: while their purpose is not stated, it seems likely that they were intended for
medical uses.
17 Chronique des Abbés de Fontenelle (Saint- Wandrille), ed. and trans. Pascal Pradié
(Paris: Belles Lettres, 1999), 13.8, at p. 188: Ad infirmorum curam mel et pigmenta libram I.
See also McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, 709.
18 Jan Frederik Niermeyer, Mediae Latinitatis Lexicon Minus, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 796.
19 For more on ink and paint production, see Dominique Cardon, Natural Dyes: Sources,
Tradition, Technology and Science (London: Archetype, 2007) and, for the early medieval
context, McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word, 241–6 and Adriano Caffaro,
Scrivere in oro: Ricettari medievali d’arte e artigianato (secoli ix–x i). Codici di Lucca e Ivrea
(Naples: Liguori, 2003). For the multipurpose nature of these substances more generally,
see also Hilary Becker, ‘Pigment nomenclature in the ancient Near East, Greece, and
Rome’, Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 14 (2022), https://doi.org/10.1007/s12
520-021-01394-1; and Nicholas Everett, ‘The Manuscript Evidence for Pharmacy in the
Early Middle Ages’, in Writing the Early Medieval West, ed. Elina Screen and Charles West
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 115–30.
20 Polyptyque de l’abbé Irminon ou dénombrement des manses, des serfs et des revenus de l’ab-
baye de Saint-Germain-des-Prés sous le règne de Charlemagne, ed. Benjamin Edme Charles
Guérard, 2 vols. (Paris: Imprimerie royale, 1844), vol. 2, 336.
purposes, others could have served a variety functions. The mineral products
named, such as sulphur and orpiment, are often associated with the produc-
tion of inks and paints but are also listed as ingredients in recipes; likewise,
many of the exotic spices, resins, roots, and other plant products could have
been used to prepare incense or medications—or the incense could have
been used for medical purposes, as it, too, appears as an ingredient in medical
recipes.21 Overall, nearly all of the goods recorded in this list could have been
used in a pharmaceutical context, thereby offering a glimpse into the range
of non-local materia medica that was being commercially traded—or at least
that the monks expected to be available for purchase—at Cambrai in the ninth
century. Intriguingly, the quantities requested for each of the exotic products
vary significantly: some substances, such as pepper, were to be bought in bulk
(120 pounds), whereas much smaller amounts were named for others, includ-
ing galangal, spikenard, and cozumber (ten pounds for galangal, five for both
spikenard and cozumber). While this could reflect the volume of each product
needed by the monastic community, it may also relate to the prices of these
individual substances and/or indicate that some products were circulating in
smaller quantities.
Before examining non-local materia medica in recipes, it is important to
consider what these records suggest about the potential availability of exotic
ingredients in the Carolingian world. First, given that relatively few non-
medical sources document these types of substances, it is likely that access to
such products, whether acquired through trade, gift exchange, or even illicit
means, would have been extremely limited. The handful of references reviewed
above do, however, indicate that at least a number of the many non-local ingre-
dients listed in recipes did appear in the Frankish Empire during this period.
Nonetheless, although these items made appearances, the length of time
they would have lasted, in terms of both quantity and quality, also deserves
consideration. The texts suggest that exotic products did not typically move in
large volumes: take the ounces and pounds recorded in the letter to Boniface
or the five pounds of spikenard and cozumber in Corbie’s ‘shopping list’. The
large amount of pepper named in this source is an exception, but even 120
Carolingian pounds, roughly equivalent to forty kilograms today, is not a vast
sum, depending on how long it was intended to last and/or how widely it was
21 For example, thymiama appears as an ingredient in Ad cadiuo homine of bav reg. lat.
1143 (f. 109r); see Appendix 2, entry 18.3. For more on the topic of incense in medicine,
see Burridge, ‘Incense in Medicine’. Also noted by Henry Sigerist in passing; see Henry
E. Sigerist, ‘“The Sphere of Life and Death” in Early Medieval Manuscripts’, Bulletin of the
History of Medicine 11, no. 3 (1942), 292–303, at p. 296.
22 Jean Lestocquoy gives fifteen Carolingian pounds as roughly equivalent to five kilograms;
see Jean Lestocquoy, ‘Épices, médecine et abbayes’, in Études mérovingiennes. Actes des
journées de Poitiers, 1er-3 mai 1952 (Paris: A. et J. Picard, 1953), 179–86, at pp. 184–5. On pep-
per’s comparatively ‘mundane’ nature among exotica, see, for example, Kasper Grønland
Evers’ study of ancient trade between the Indian subcontinent and Roman Empire, Worlds
Apart Trading Together: The Organisation of Long-Distance Trade Between Rome and India
in Antiquity (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2017), 72–4. Likewise, on pepper’s status as a ‘neces-
sary luxury’ (though focused on the later Middle Ages), see Paul Freedman, ‘Spices and
Late-Medieval European Ideas of Scarcity and Value’, Speculum 80, no. 4 (2005): 1209–27,
https://doi.org/10.1017/S0038713400001391. See also Zohar Amar and Efraim Lev, Arabian
Drugs in Early Medieval Mediterranean Medicine (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, 2017).
23 On one approach to defining gradations of localness, see Bernhard Zeller, Charles West,
Francesca Tinti, Marco Stoffella, Nicolas Schroeder, Carine van Rhijn, Steffen Patzold,
Thomas Kohl, Wendy Davies, and Miriam Czock, Neighbours and Strangers: Local Societies
in Early Medieval Europe (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2020), xiv-xv.
24 As noted in Chapter 1, Linda Ehrsam Voigts has also considered the potential impact
of past climatic conditions on the cultivation of medicinal plants in the Insular world,
pointing to another important dimension to take into account when investigating this
would have had relatively easy access to alpine plants but perhaps encoun-
tered difficulties in procuring Mediterranean products. On the other hand,
an aristocratic household in Septimania might have experienced the oppo-
site situation. While this points to the difficulty of assessing ease of access
within the Carolingian world, what about products that would have been
imported from outside of the Empire? Would goods sent from the eastern
Mediterranean be considered exotic beyond the Alps but more readily avail-
able in Rome, Ravenna, and sites that maintained a greater level of contact
with the Byzantine world? Even non-local substances, therefore, are subject
to varying degrees of accessibility and exoticness. That being said, non-local
materia medica that were native to the lands beyond the Mediterranean basin,
such as southeast Asia, would have travelled extremely long distances—and
required significant financial backing—to reach any part of the Carolingian
world. These types of substances, including a number of the gums and resins
already noted, are unambiguously non-local. This chapter therefore concen-
trates on materia medica that would have been grown or collected far beyond
north-western Europe and the Mediterranean region, such as animal products
from the Himalayas and spices, resins, and woods from the Maluku Islands.
topic. Voigts, ‘Anglo-Saxon Plant Remedies’, 261–3. See also Pilsworth, Healthcare in Early
Medieval Northern Italy, 80.
25 Becker, ‘Pigment nomenclature in the ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome’.
of origin and could instead document another location along the journey to
their final destination.26 Given these ambiguities, the ingredients selected for
analysis in the present chapter do not contain geographic descriptors as stand-
ard elements within their names.
More fundamentally, however, the identities of many ingredients continue
to be debated given the challenges posed by translating and interpreting
ancient and medieval terms for materia medica.27 Consider, for example, Jerry
Stannard’s thorough investigation into ‘the plant called Moly’ that unpacks the
many varied modern identifications (at least a dozen) that have been proposed
for the plant(s) in question and the convoluted textual puzzle presented by the
Greek and Latin sources involved in the ‘moly tradition’.28 Stannard’s detective
work revealed not only that ‘many of the attempts to identify moly have gone
astray’, but also that ‘in the Greek tradition, moly designates at least three dif-
ferent plants’, which resulted in further confusions in Latin translations and
the descendants of these texts.29 Stannard found that one of the major turning
points in this nomenclatural enigma stemmed from a misinterpretation of a
section of Dioscorides’ De materia medica: just before describing moly, which,
in Dioscorides’ case, most likely refers to an Allium species, the text addresses
wild rue.30 Dioscorides reports a resemblance between the two plants based
on their shared colours and explains that, as a result, the Cappadocians also
call the former ‘moly’.31 This mention of synonymy appears to have confused
later writers, who then interpreted moly as referring to both an Allium and wild
rue; simultaneously, some authors conflated moly with plants with similar-
sounding names (e.g., Galen’s ‘mylē’), and the range of synonyms for each
these plants added further layers of complexity.32 Becker, too, highlights the
importance of regional name variation, while the multiple linguistic traditions
on which medical texts drew introduced additional variables.33
Yet, as Gavin Hardy and Laurence Totelin note, ‘despite all these difficulties,
scholars since Antiquity have attempted to identify plants named in ‘older’
authorities’, and, following the development of Linnaean binomial nomen-
clature, there has been a strong emphasis on species-specific identification.34
26 Ibid.
27 Gavin Hardy and Laurence Totelin, Ancient Botany (London: Routledge, 2016), 93–104.
28 Jerry Stannard, ‘The Plant Called Moly’, Osiris 14 (1962): 254–307.
29 Stannard, ‘The Plant Called Moly’, 254.
30 Stannard, ‘The Plant Called Moly’, 259–63; Dioscorides, De materia medica, 3.46–7.
31 Dioscorides, De materia medica, 3.46–7.
32 Stannard, ‘The Plant Called Moly’, 263–6.
33 Becker, ‘Pigment nomenclature in the ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome’.
34 Hardy and Totelin, Ancient Botany, 94–5.
However, given that the terms for materia medica were unstable and variable
(across languages, time, and space), it is often necessary to take a broader and
more cautious approach to the identification of ingredients. In fact, it must be
remembered that multiple, distinct species can be used to produce a single
ingredient. The spice known as ‘cinnamon’, for example, can be harvested from
several different species within the Cinnamomum genus, including C. cassia,
C. burmannii, C. loureiroi, and C. verum.35 While the early medieval Latin terms
cinnamomum and cassia (and their orthographic variants) are each commonly
identified with only one species, it seems more appropriate to classify both
as plants potentially related to all those that are today considered to repre-
sent ‘cinnamon’. Although it may appear problematic that the various spe-
cies belonging to the Cinnamomum genus are native to a vast region, from Sri
Lanka to China to Indonesia, it is evident that, regardless of which species is
concerned, the tree would have grown in south, east, or southeast Asia and, for
the purposes of this study, fall into the category of unambiguously non-local
ingredients.36 The following case study therefore focuses on a select group of
ingredients whose origins were, without question, extremely far from Francia.
35 Pei Chen, Jianghao Sun, and Paul Ford, ‘Differentiation of the Four Major Species of
Cinnamons (C. burmannii, C. verum, C. cassia, and C. loureiroi) Using a Flow Injection
Mass Spectrometric (fims) Fingerprinting Method’, Journal of Agricultural and Food
Chemistry 62, no. 12 (2014): 2516–21, https://doi.org/10.1021/jf405580c.
36 Chen, Sun, and Ford, ‘Differentiation of the Four Major Species of Cinnamons’. For a help-
ful visualisation, see Figure 9 in Weiwei Wang, Khanh Trung Kien Nguyen, Chunguang
Zhao, and Hsiao-Chun Hung, ‘Earliest curry in Southeast Asia and the global spice trade
2000 years ago’. Science Advances 9, no. 29 (2023): https://doi.org/10.1126/sciadv.adh5517.
37 Riddle, ‘The Introduction and Use of Eastern Drugs’, 190–1. See also Bruno Laurioux,
‘Parfums d’Orient. La science des épices au Moyen Âge’, in Parfums et odeurs au Moyen
Âge. Science, usage, symboles, ed. Agostino Paravicini Bagliani (Florence: sismel Edizioni
del Galluzzo, 2015), 61–87.
38 Riddle’s examples of zedoary and galangal (which he terms ‘galingale’) come from London,
British Library, Harley ms 585; Glasgow, University Library, Hunter 96 (olim T.4.13); and
Karlsruhe, Badische Landesbibliothek, Aug. perg. 120. These findings are based on his
assessment of the published transcriptions of recipe collections in Studien und Texte, ed.
Sigerist, and Grattan and Singer, Anglo-Saxon Magic and Medicine (note: the text of the
recipe collection analysed in London, bl Harley ms 585, the Lacnunga, is written not in
Latin but in Old English). It must also be noted that there is some debate regarding the
timing of zedoary’s arrival in the west: Heinrich Zörnig claims that it appears in the works
of Paul of Aegina and Aetius of Amida, but Riddle suggests that this is a later interpola-
tion. See Riddle, ‘The Introduction and Use of Eastern Drugs’, 191–2 and Heinrich Zörnig,
Arzneidrogen als Nachschlagebuch für den Gebrauch der Apotheker, Ärzte, Veterinärärzte,
Drogisten und Studierenden der Pharmazie, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Klinkhardt, 1909), vol. 1, 558.
39 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, 714, nn. 83–4. For the manuscripts in
question, see Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, Msc. Med. 1 and Glasgow, ul Hunter 96.
Although McCormick suggests that azarum was introduced to western Europe during the
Carolingian period, I suggest that azarum represents an alternative spelling of asarum,
hazelwort, a plant native to Europe and known in Antiquity. This seems to make more
sense in the contexts in which I have seen the term. In the recipes containing azarum
in cod. sang. 44 (all of which appear within a few folia of each other in one of the man-
uscript’s recipe collections: pp. 345, 351–3), the other ingredients are all locally available
products, including beer, a substance highlighted in Chapter 4 in relation to adaptations
made to suit local conditions. In one of these recipes, the juice of the ingredient in ques-
tion (azari sucum) is recommended, strengthening an identification with hazelwort
rather than a resin. For examples, see Appendix 2, entries 5.18.3 and 5.22.
40 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, 714–15; Riddle, ‘The Introduction and
Use of Eastern Drugs’, 190–6; Riddle also highlights zedoary and galangal as new ingre-
dients, though his references to these substances appear in other manuscripts, includ-
ing Glasgow, ul Hunter 96 and London, bl Harley ms 585. On camphor and ambergris,
see also Amar and Lev, Arabian Drugs in Early Medieval Mediterranean Medicine, and
especially Chapter 3, ‘‘Arabian’ Substances’, 129–227 (camphor is discussed in detail on
pp. 144–8, and ambergris on pp. 148–52).
f igure 3
Confectio timiame in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 44 (p. 247), an early
medieval composite manuscript, the second half of which contains medical
texts and was written in northern Italy in the ninth century (https://www.e-codi
ces.unifr.ch/de/csg/0044/247)
© st. gallen, stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
Arabic terms, though often originally stemming from other languages such as
Malay—do point to their eastern origins and immediately support the idea
that Islamicate trade networks were central to their westward diffusion.41 Are
there additional examples of ambergris, camphor, galangal, or zedoary found
in within the manuscripts under analysis? Is there evidence to suggest that
knowledge of these products spread within the Frankish Empire?
41 Camphor, for example, can be traced to the Malay kāpūr; Hūšang A‘lam, ‘Camphor’,
in Encyclopædia Iranica, edited by Ahmad Ashraf, Nicholas Sims-Williams, Mahnaz
Moazami, Mohsen Ashtiany, Christopher J. Brunner, Manouchehr Kasheff, and Habib
Borjian. Vol. 4/7 (1990): 743–7, https://iranicaonline.org/articles/camphor-npers; Riddle,
‘The Introduction and Use of Eastern Drugs’, 190–2. On camphor, see also Amar and Lev,
Arabian Drugs in Early Medieval Mediterranean Medicine, 144–8.
42 Cod. sang. 44, p. 247: Confectio timiame. Cozumbrio lib I, storace ~ II et dr II, confiti ~ III et dr
VI, thus ~ I dr II, mirra dr VI, mastice ~ s, spica ~ I et dr VI, croco dr II, aloa ~ I et dr VI, cafora
~ I et dr I, musco dr IIII, ambar dr I. See Appendix 2, entry 5.7.
Although this is a recipe for incense and does not include a list of ailments it
intends to treat, its appearance within a recipe collection and listing of many
ingredients that are frequently named in treatments suggest that it was intended
for use in a medical context. Its simple presentation is not unlike many of the
recipes for composite ingredients, such as oxymel (a mixture of vinegar, honey,
and sometimes additional components) or mixed oils (rose oil (oleo roseo),
cedar oil (oleo cedrinum), myrtle oil (oleo mirtino), and so on), that would have
required advance preparation before they could have been used in recipes.
Finally, as noted above, incense appears as an ingredient in recipes, confirming
that it could have been used for both pharmaceutical and liturgical functions.43
A review of this recipe’s twelve ingredients, cozumber (cozumbrio), storax
(storace), confita (confiti), frankincense (thus), myrrh (mirra), mastic (mas-
tice), spikenard (spica), saffron (croco), agarwood (aloa), camphor (cafora),
musk (musco), and ambergris (ambar), reveals its total reliance on non-local
products: not a single ingredient is native to northern and/or western Europe.
Most of the ingredients are aromatic gums and resins, although ambergris and
musk stand out as animal-based substances.
While Riddle and McCormick emphasised the newness of only ambergris
and camphor, the appearance of three other ingredients in this incense recipe,
cozumber, confita, and musk, is similarly noteworthy. McCormick does make a
passing reference to cozumber, classifying it as an ‘exotic substance’ and noting
that its ‘derivation … is unclear’; confita, on the other hand, is mentioned by
neither author.44 According to Carmélia Opsomer’s Index de la pharmacopée
du Ier au Xe siècle, these ingredients do not occur in classical sources, though
both terms are listed in later medical texts, such as the Alphita, a thirteenth-
century medico-botanical glossary.45 This text records that the two substances
are related to each other (cozimbrum is described as fex confite) and repre-
sent derivatives of storax, an identification which fits within the context of an
incense recipe.46 In Alejandro García González’ commentary on this glossary,
43 Burridge, ‘Incense in medicine’; Henry E. Sigerist, ‘“The Sphere of Life and Death” in Early
Medieval Manuscripts’, 296.
44 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, 708.
45 Cozimbrium is recorded six times in Index de la pharmacopée du Ier au Xe siècle (see
Opsomer, Index de la pharmacopée, vol. 1, 222) in non-classical texts, while there is no
entry for confita. Alphita, ed. Alejandro García González (Florence: sismel Edizioni
del Galluzzo, 2007). Sigerist describes cozumber as a ‘precious kind of aromatic gum’
and notes that confita is usually found ‘in connection with gums’, although he was
‘not sure what it actually is’; Sigerist, ‘“The Sphere of Life and Death” in Early Medieval
Manuscripts’, 296.
46 Alphita, ed. García González: confita, entry C4 (at p. 174), and cozimbrum, C114 (at p. 184).
47 Ibid, 400–1: ‘Confita < deformación del gr. γομφίτης … designa la gomorresina del
‘estoraque’, una planta identificada con la estiracácea Styrax officinalis L.’
48 Ibid, 403, 551. For the entry on storax, see S46 (at pp. 290–1).
49 ‘Epistula 62’, in Die Briefe des heiligen Bonifatius und Lullus, ed. Tangl, 127–8; Polyptyque de
l’abbé Irminon, ed. Guérard, vol. 2, 336.
50 Polyptyque de l’abbé Irminon, ed. Guérard, vol. 2, 336.
51 Galangal is listed as ingredient twice in BnF lat. 11218: first in the Pocio mirabilis contra
omnes infirmitates (f. 99r) and secondly in a recipe for which the title has faded and is
no longer legible (f. 124v, following the Antidotum de peretro and preceding the Pocio ad
apostema). Both galangal and zedoary are named as ingredients in BnF lat. 11219: galan-
gal appears in the Puluera ad epaticos (f. 221vb) and in a recipe for those who cannot
urinate, Ad eos qui urinam facere non possunt (f. 225va); zedoary is listed in the Potio ad
incense recipe and consider one final ingredient, musk, that appears to repre-
sent a reintroduced substance in the Latin west—though likely entirely new to
the Frankish world. In Latin, the first attestation of this substance, a secretion
of the musk deer, occurs in Jerome’s (d. 419) Adversus Iovinianum.52 Musk then
disappears from the written record in the west, though it is mentioned by a
handful of Greek sources, such as Paul of Aegina (fl. seventh century), dur-
ing the following centuries.53 The next Latin references to musk come from
Carolingian medical texts, such as this incense recipe, suggesting that it was
reintroduced to western Europe during this period. Most significantly from a
medical perspective, musk appears in neither classical medical writings nor
late antique Latin medical texts, revealing that even if musk had been known
in earlier periods, it was not recorded in relation to medicine in the west.54
The existence within a single recipe of a cluster of five newly introduced (or
reintroduced) non-local ingredients is particularly striking. While the recipe’s
exclusive reliance on foreign, imported substances adds to its overall exotic-
ness, its listing of a variety of new products is most noteworthy. By incorpo-
rating substances unrecorded in classical and late antique medical texts, it
becomes clear that not only were multiple sources used in the creation of this
recipe collection, but that some of these sources included information beyond
the classical canon. Furthermore, this recipe’s inclusion within a recipe col-
lection indicates that at least one site of manuscript production had access
to non-classical medical information and, crucially, was open to recording it.
In this collection, the incense recipe appears to be fully integrated within the
composition; information from non-classical and non-local sources is not seg-
regated from the rest of the material or distinguished in any way.
Riddle and McCormick consulted transcriptions of recipe collections from
a number of other manuscripts not analysed in the present study, finding
carbunculum (ff. 223va–233vb). For these recipes see Appendix 2, entries 3.10, 3.16, 4.1, 4.6,
and 4.2, respectively.
52 Anya H. King, Scent from the Garden of Paradise: Musk and the Medieval Islamic World
(Leiden: Brill, 2017); Amar and Lev, Arabian Drugs, again, see Chapter 3, ‘‘Arabian’
Substances’, 129–227 (musk is discussed on pp. 157–62).
53 King, Scent from the Garden of Paradise, see especially pp. 133–6 for late antique refer-
ences to musk.
54 Amar and Lev, Arabian Drugs, 157–62. Although galangal is generally thought to have been
newly introduced to the west during this period, it may have followed a similar trajectory;
cf. Dioscorides, De materia medica, 1.4–5. For the standard interpretation, see Amar and
Lev, Arabian Drugs, 110–12; for the idea that it was introduced in the thirteenth century, see
Carlo Battisti, ‘Ripercussioni lessicali del commercio orientale nel periodo giustinianeo’,
in Moneta e scambi nell’alto medioevo, 21–27 aprile 1960, Settimane 8 (Spoleto: Fondazione
Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1961), 627–82, at p. 639.
that are also based on this core group of ingredients.57 These numerous recipe
variants and their constituent parts deserve a more detailed examination.
The titles of the recipes in codd. sang. 752 and 761, Thymiama paltgrimi
and Thimiama, respectively, leave no doubt that these, too, are preparations
for incense. The two recipes in cod. sang. 878, representing the only material
written on p. 334, lack such an obvious reference to incense: the first recipe,
labelled ‘cod. sang. 878 (a)’ in the tables, is missing a title, while the second rec-
ipe, ‘cod. sang. 878 (b)’, is listed as Item aliter, ‘likewise in another way’. It can be
assumed, however, that these recipes also concern incense given the parallels
they share with the other recipes and the absence of this particular combina-
tion of ingredients in other contexts. Like cod. sang. 878, the groups of incense
recipes in cod. sang. 899 (see Figure 4) and BnF lat. 11219 are clustered together
on individual folia and represent the only material on the pages in question. In
both manuscripts, titles explicitly link these recipes to incense.58
As seen in Table 2, the twenty recipes, despite containing a variety of differ-
ent ingredients, centre around a primary group of five substances (i.e., ingre-
dients that appear in at least ninety percent of the recipes), and these almost
perfectly parallel the five newly recorded ingredients. The five core ingredients
are agarwood, confita, cozumber, camphor, and musk, meaning that ambergris
is the only newly recorded product that is listed less consistently. Of the five
primary ingredients, agarwood appears in all twenty recipes, confita and coz-
umber in nineteen (ninety-five percent), and camphor and musk in eighteen
(ninety percent). Notably, agarwood, the fragrant wood of aquilaria trees, is
both the only ingredient to appear in every recipe and, despite its similarly
exotic origins, the only ingredient within the core group that was already
recorded in the west in Antiquity.59 Table 2 reveals that, in addition to these
five most frequently named ingredients, frankincense, storax, cloves, and cin-
namon are listed in the majority of recipes, while ambergris, spikenard, saffron,
myrrh, mastic, and galingale appear in half of the recipes or less. Although
these twenty recipes are evidently related and share many similarities, very
few present exactly the same group of ingredients and none is perfectly iden-
tical; that is, even though several preparations, such the second recipe of cod.
sang. 899 and seventh recipe of BnF lat. 11219, contain the same ingredients,
they are arranged differently and/or name varying quantities.
Ms Cod. sang. Cod. sang. BnF lat. 11219 Cod. sang. 44 BnF lat. BnF lat. BnF lat. Cod. sang. BnF lat. BnF lat.
899 (a) 878 (b) (h) 11219 (e) 11219 (i) 11219 (a) 899 (b) 11219 (g) 11219 (j)
Note: the order of the ingredients in each recipe has been rearranged to illustrate their parallels more clearly; recipes are ordered from most complex to simplest
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Ms Cod. sang. BnF lat. BnF lat. BnF lat. 11219 Cod. sang. Cod. sang. Cod. sang. BnF lat. BnF lat. 11219 BnF lat. 11219 (b)
899 (c) 11219 (c) 11219 (f) (d) 878 (a) 761 752 11219 (l) (k)
Recipe title Item alia Item Alia [untitled] Alia [untitled] Thimiama Thymiama Confectio Item Tymiamum
paltgrimi timiama
Ingredients cozumber cozumber cozumber cozumber cozumber cozumber cozumber cozumber confita cozumber
confita confita confita confita confita confita confita confita
agarwood agarwood agarwood agarwood agarwood agarwood agarwood agarwood agarwood agarwood
camphor camphor camphor camphor camphor camphor camphor camphor
musk musk musk musk musk musk musk musk
ambergris ambergris ambergris
frankincense frankincense frankincense frankincense frankincense frankincense frankincense
storax storax storax storax storax storax
cloves cloves cloves spikenard cloves cloves
cinnamon cinnamon cinnamon cinnamon cinnamon
saffron
Note: the order of the ingredients in each recipe has been rearranged to illustrate their parallels more clearly; recipes are ordered from most complex to simplest
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90 Chapter 3
f igure 4 Three incense recipes in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 899 (p. 137), a
poetry manuscript that also includes several sections of recipes (https://www.e
-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0899/137)
© st. gallen, stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
Overall, the consistency of the five core ingredients, all exotic and the major-
ity newly recorded in the west, suggests that an incense recipe tradition from
the east arrived in the west during this period. To investigate how this knowl-
edge spread, it is essential to consider when and where the manuscripts con-
taining these recipes were produced.60 Codd. sang. 761 and 878 represent the
earliest of the six manuscripts that contain this distinctive cluster of ingredi-
ents, with Bischoff dating both to the first half of the ninth century. Regarding
cod. sang. 878, Walahfrid Strabo’s vademecum, Bischoff has identified the
hand on p. 334 as Walahfrid’s own and has categorised it as belonging to his
penultimate script phase, thereby dating it to the second quarter of the ninth
century.61 In contrast, cod. sang. 44 was composed in the second half of the
ninth century and cod. sang. 752 has been dated to the very end of the century,
c. 900.62 Cod. sang. 899 and BnF lat. 11219 were traditionally dated to the late
ninth or early tenth centuries (with some individual hands dated even later),
but more recent analyses have dated the hands responsible for these recipes to
the late ninth century.63 The page of incense recipes in the latter codex, f. 227v,
is particularly striking: the varied scripts indicated that the twelve recipes were
written by at least six different individuals, the implications of which will be
revisited below.
Codd. sang. 752, 761, 878, 899, and BnF lat. 11219 were written at centres north
of the Alps (St Gall, Fulda, Reichenau, St Gall, and ‘western Francia’, respec-
tively), whereas the medical half of cod. sang. 44 was produced in northern
Italy and then moved to St Gall shortly after its composition.64 Despite being
among the later manuscripts in this group, the movement of cod. sang. 44
illustrates a possible route for the transmission of this recipe and parallels the
known movement of cozumber based on the gifts sent to Boniface. With this in
mind, I suggest that the new incense tradition may have been first included in
Latin medical texts in the Italian peninsula. Links between intellectual centres
in northern Italy and present-day Switzerland and Germany, such as St Gall,
Reichenau, and Fulda, then resulted in the dissemination of this recipe within
the Carolingian world.65 Indeed, Florence Eliza Glaze has drawn attention to
the movement of manuscripts with medical texts between several monastic
centres in this region, including Reichenau, St Gall, and Murbach, though the
codices in which these incense recipes are located were not addressed.66
The high degree of subtle variation seen between all twenty incense recipes
suggests that individuals may have been experimenting with using these newly
introduced ingredients, learning what ratios produced the desired result, and
trialling with which other substances they worked well in combination. The
creation of variants may also reflect ad hoc adaptation responding to the
62 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, nos. 5530 and 5845; Bernhard
Bischoff, ‘Italienische Handschriften des neunten bis elften Jahrhunderts in frühmit-
telalterlichen Bibliotheken ausserhalb Italiens’, in Il libro e il testo: Atti del Convegno
Internazionale, Urbino, 20–23 Settembre 1982, ed. Cesare Questa and Renato Raffaelli
(Urbino: Università degli Studi di Urbino, 1984), 169–94.
63 My thanks to Rosamond McKitterick and Anna Dorofeeva for their reassessments of the
scripts in these manuscripts.
64 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, nos. 5845, 5847, 5862, 5865,
4670–1, and 5530, respectively; Bischoff, ‘Eine Sammelhandschrift Walahfrid Strabos’,
pp. 34–51; Bischoff, ‘Italienische Handschriften’, 177–8.
65 Bischoff, Manuscripts and Libraries in the Age of Charlemagne, trans. Gorman, 33,
122, 147–8.
66 Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall’, 73–5, 92–8; Contreni, ‘Masters and Medicine’, 267–82.
fluctuating availability of ingredients. Given that the vast majority of the sub-
stances listed in these recipes represent unambiguously non-local products
(whether newly recorded or long known), ingredient access may have been
highly unstable and uncertain. The page of incense recipes in BnF lat. 11219
offers a remarkable window onto an evolving body of knowledge: as noted
above, a new palaeographical assessment of f. 227v suggests that these twelve
incense recipes were written by at least half a dozen different scribes.67 Most
significantly, the scripts appear to be closely related, possibly representing a
series of teachers and students. These scribal relationships suggest that the
individuals responsible for the different recipe variants were all working at the
same writing centre and added to the manuscript over the course of a few gen-
erations, building up a collection of distinct yet related incense recipes in the
decades around the year 900. Ultimately, this growing corpus of incense reci-
pes bears witness to an active scriptorium where scribes continued to engage
with and add to manuscripts over time, recording the latest iterations of this
incense tradition.
To contextualise this family of incense recipes, it is important to investigate
whether alternative, unrelated incense recipes circulated in the Carolingian
period. My analysis of the recipe sample uncovered two additional incense
recipes, the Conpositio thymiamatis and Tymiama simplex, both located in cod.
sang. 759.68 Despite sharing titles similar to those seen above, these two reci-
pes, as seen in Table 3, contain none of the core ingredients observed in the
twenty other incense recipes reviewed above and appear to derive from an
entirely distinct tradition. They do, however, share some ingredients with the
longer incense recipes, such as myrrh and storax, and generally rely on similar
types of substances—namely, non-local gums, resins, and spices—but all of
their ingredients represent products that were recorded in the classical and
late antique west. It should also be noted that, although these two recipes in
cod. sang. 759 are the only other incense recipes found within the sample, the
contents list of a lost collection in BnF lat. 6882A parallels the list of the collec-
tion in which the two recipes occur in cod. sang. 759.69 Therefore, while BnF
lat. 6882A no longer includes incense recipes, its contents list indicates that
this alternative incense recipe group circulated more widely than the surviving
recipes would suggest.70
Several further points may help to shed light on how and why the incense
recipes containing newly introduced ingredients and those in cod. sang. 759
differ. First, the ingredients listed in the latter manuscript appear to have much
in common with biblical recipes for incense.71 Exodus xxx.34, for example,
offers the following instructions: ‘And the Lord said to Moses: Take unto thee
spices, stacte, and onycha, galbanum of sweet savour, and the clearest frank-
incense, all shall be of equal weight’.72 Although the recipes in cod. sang. 759
record neither galbanum nor frankincense, both list spices, myrrh (stacte), and
possibly onycha, paralleling the biblical incense recipe.73 Secondly, Bischoff
dated both manuscripts to the first half of the ninth century, suggesting that
71 On the reception of recipes in Exodus, see especially Béatrice Caseau, ‘La parfum de
Dieu’, in Parfums et odeurs au Moyen Âge. Science, usage, symboles, ed. Agostino Paravicini
Bagliani (Florence: sismel Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015), 3–22 and Iolanda Ventura,
‘“Sume tibi aromata prima”: Profumi ed aromi nell’esegesi ad Ex. 30’, in Parfums et odeurs
au Moyen Âge. Science, usage, symboles, ed. Agostino Paravicini Bagliani (Florence: sis-
mel Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2015), 349–428.
72 Exodus xxx.34: Dixitque Dominus ad Moysen: sume tibi aromata, stacten et onycha, galba-
nen boni odoris, et tus lucidissimum; aequalis ponderis erunt omnia.
73 The terms unguiculas and ungellas may be linked with onycha, but the interpretation
of all three words is debated; for more on this debate, see Harold J. Abrahams, ‘Onycha,
cod. sang. 759 was written in Brittany whereas BnF lat. 6882A was written in
southwest France.74 These origins not only place the manuscripts on the early
end of the spectrum of those considered in this study but also outside of the
northern Italian-transalpine network noted above. While it is true that BnF
lat. 11219, the manuscript containing the largest number and range of incense
recipes with newly introduced ingredients, is also thought to have been pro-
duced at a site outside of this network, it represents one of the latest manu-
scripts included in the study. Taking these factors into consideration, it seems
plausible that knowledge of the ‘new’ incense recipe family (i.e., the recipes
containing the newly recorded ingredients) had not reached the centres that
produced cod. sang. 759 and BnF lat. 6882A by the early ninth century. The
gradual accumulation of recipes in BnF lat. 11219 demonstrates that this sit-
uation changed over time: the new tradition was widely diffused and further
expanded during the ninth century and beyond. Based on the evidence of the
manuscripts’ origins as well as the lack of newly recorded ingredients in the
recipes of cod. sang. 759, it appears that this codex preserved an older incense
tradition, and possibly one with biblical influences.75 Finally, that the recipe
collection in cod. sang. 759 was based on an earlier exemplar (since the same
collection was once part of BnF lat. 6882A, too) adds further weight to the age
of this incense recipe. Given that two early ninth-century manuscripts pro-
duced in different (and distant) writing centres are known to derive from this
lost exemplar, it seems likely that the original collection was compiled no later
than c. 800, though it could be considerably earlier. As such, these recipes
could predate the earliest surviving recordings of the newly introduced ingre-
dients, such as the letters that document the eighth-century gifts of cozumber
to Boniface, and their physical presence in the Latin west.
Before turning to evidence for the arrival of these substances in the
Carolingian world, and how this relates to the practicality of the recipes that
record them, the appearance of the newly introduced ingredients in recipes
independent of preparations for incense must also be considered.
not exclusively associated with incense. In total, the sample contains a single
non-incense recipe with ambergris, two with camphor (including the afore-
mentioned Antidotum gira deacoloquintidis), two with confita, three with coz-
umber, and three with musk (see Table 4).76 These eleven references represent
only nine recipes since two recipes, both in cod. sang. 44, include two newly
introduced ingredients: the Confectio saponi Constantini lists both confita and
musk and the second recipe under the entry titled Potio maniacis siue gutta
catiua contains confita and cozumber.77 While it must be recognised that the
appearance of these products within the recipe sample remains very limited
overall, it is significant that each of these substances are named in at least one
non-incense recipe. In fact, as discussed below, I suggest that their limited dis-
tribution is central to understanding the dissemination of these eastern mate-
ria medica and the knowledge regarding their uses.
Although cod. sang. 44 and bav pal. lat. 1088 contain the bulk of the exam-
ples, with both including four instances of newly recorded ingredients, three
other manuscripts, cod. sang. 751, bav vat. lat. 5951, and bav reg. lat. 1143, each
include an additional example of one of these ingredients in a recipe.78 Musk
and cozumber appear most frequently and exhibit the widest spread among
manuscripts, each occurring three times and in three separate manuscripts.
Notably, only one of these manuscripts, cod. sang. 44, contains an incense rec-
ipe. This is also the only manuscript to record recipes that use multiple newly
introduced ingredients in a single preparation. Two recipes, the Potio muscata
ad omne infirmum of bav vat. lat. 5951 and the Medicamentum ad maculas ocu-
lorum et ad caliginem of bav pal. lat. 1088 have been inserted in the margins,
representing slightly later but near contemporary additions.79
76 While further examples of galangal and zedoary have also been identified (see above), the
following section concentrates on the appearances of the ingredient cluster connected to
the incense recipe tradition given the chapter’s primary focus.
77 Cod. sang. 44, p. 282: Confectio saponi Constantini; and p. 285: Potio maniacis siue gutta cat-
iua; see Appendix 2, entries 5.14 and 15. On the wider tradition of the Sapone Constantini,
see Innocenzo Mazzini, ‘Il sapone di Costantino’, in Costantino il grande: dall’Antichità
all’umanesimo: colloquio sul Cristianesimo nel mondo antico, Macerata, 18–20 Dicembre
1990, ed. Giorgio Bonamente and Franca Fusco (Macerata: Università degli studi di
Macerata, 1992–3), vol. 2, 693–9. The recipes in the manuscripts Mazzini consulted do not
contain these ingredients.
78 In cod. sang. 44 and bav pal. lat. 1088, two ingredients are repeated, such that only three
different substances within the cluster are found in these manuscripts.
79 bav vat. lat. 5951, f. 1r: Potio muscata ad omne infirmum; bav pal. lat. 1088,
f. 34v: Medicamentum ad maculas oculorum et ad caliginem; see Appendix 2, entries 19.1
and 16.1, respectively.
Manuscripts
Ambergris - 1 - - - 1
Camphor - - - 2 - 2
Confita 2 - - - - 2
Cozumber 1 - - 1 1 3
Musk 1 - 1 1 - 3
Total 4 1 1 4 1 11
similar path, moving from northern Italy to St Gall and helping to disseminate
information about these new products.
Secondly, the single instance of one of the newly recorded exotic products
in bav reg. lat. 1143 is particularly interesting when considered in view of its
origins. In this case, the recipe Ciraturiu artriticus opotatricus a parlasensis,
found on ff. 187r–187v, records cozumber as its thirty-fifth ingredient (out of
an astounding list of sixty-four ingredients).83 This relatively early manuscript
was composed in Mainz, the seat of Boniface, who, as noted above, received
exotic gifts from Rome—and these gifts included cozumber. While it may be
tempting to connect the existence of cozumber at Mainz to its subsequent
inclusion in a medical recipe, this is a fairly large leap to make given that the
manuscript was composed roughly two or three generations after Boniface’s
death. It should not be assumed, therefore, that there is a direct link between
the appearance of cozumber in a recipe and the gifts received by Boniface,
though this possibility, or that Mainz was known to have had access to these
products, is an attractive hypothesis, especially in the light of Lull’s gifts to
Cuneburg and Cynehard’s request for exotic materia medica.
The possible Burgundian origins of bav vat. lat. 5951 and bav pal. lat. 1088
suggest another direction in which this knowledge and these products trav-
elled. Like cod. sang. 44, bav pal. lat. 1088 contains four references to the newly
introduced products but, in contrast to cod. sang. 44, these represent four sep-
arate recipes (cod. sang. 44 only contains two recipes with new ingredients
since each recipe lists two of the substances in question).84 The relatively high
number of newly recorded ingredients listed in bav pal. lat. 1088, combined
with its later date, supports the idea that the number of available exotics, or at
least an awareness of them, increased throughout the Carolingian period. The
origins of this codex also call to mind BnF lat. 11219, the manuscript that con-
tains the highest number of incense recipe variants. As the latter manuscript is
thought to have been produced in western Francia at the very end of the ninth
century, it demonstrates that knowledge of these newly recorded products had
spread far beyond the northern Italian-transalpine network by c. 900, extend-
ing into the heartlands of Frankish territories and beyond. It is also important
to remember that the Corbie monks’ shopping list for the Cambrai market
indicates that at least some of these substances themselves were circulating
83 bav reg. lat. 1143, ff. 187r–187v: Ciraturiu artriticus opotatricus aparlasensis; see Appendix
2, entry 18.10.
84 As noted above, for both manuscripts, the four references to newly recorded ingredients
refer to three separate ingredients (confita is mentioned twice in cod. sang. 44 and cam-
phor is recorded twice in bav pal. lat. 1088).
in this part of the Empire in the ninth century. The individuals compiling the
recipes that contain references to these specific ingredients may have acquired
first-hand knowledge of these products by this time (or were only a few steps
removed from first-hand knowledge).
With this in mind, and by comparing the frequency of incense recipes to
non-incense recipes with individual newly introduced ingredients, it becomes
possible to consider how pharmaceutical information about these materia
medica spread within the Carolingian world. Although cod. sang. 44—the
only manuscript to contain both an incense recipe and unrelated recipes that
include newly introduced ingredients—represents an exception, I suggest that
the dissemination of the incense recipe tradition and of pharmaceutical infor-
mation concerning the individual ingredients took separate, if at times inter-
secting and ultimately converging, paths.
The diffusion of the incense recipe appears to reflect a rapid process, and
one in which a core unit of knowledge—the five primary ingredients—was
consistently transmitted over time and between sites. Although I have focused
on the use of incense in medical contexts, its primary role was liturgical, and
I propose that this burst of incense recipe interest was underpinned by wider
developments in the Carolingian world, namely, that the legislation promul-
gated by the court brought about an increased use of incense in the liturgy.85
Although, as noted in Chapter 2, normative evidence does not necessarily
reflect smooth transitions on the ground, the liturgical use of incense does
appear to have expanded during this period.86 The provision of sufficient
quantities of incense thus became an urgent matter in terms of both spiritual
and corporeal health.87
The arrival of this new incense recipe tradition would have offered an alter-
native to the older, possibly biblical recipes, such as those recorded in cod.
sang. 759 and BnF lat. 6882A. By relying on different ingredients, the new recipe
would have provided more options for sourcing the components of incense,
thereby allowing for greater overall production or for the creation of a substi-
tute if certain ingredients were unavailable. The recording of so many variants
On the basis of this analysis, what can now be said about the practicality of
these ingredients? And what are the implications of this case study for assess-
ing the recording of non-local ingredients more generally?
The above review of a selection of newly recorded materia medica has high-
lighted the movement of both knowledge and ingredients. The correspondence
between the arrival of pharmaceutical information regarding these previously
unrecorded ingredients and the physical substances themselves points to the
practical nature of these recipes, though a number of important caveats must
be addressed. First, while it is true that sources beyond the medical literature
bear witness to the existence of exotic substances in the west in this period—
and, of particular note, include several of the key ingredients analysed in this
chapter—it must be remembered that much of this evidence, such as records
of diplomatic gifts, registers exceptions rather than norms. That is, not only
did such exchanges occur sporadically, but the surviving records emphasise
the movement of especially noteworthy goods within very elite networks.
Therefore, while this evidence remains immensely valuable, caution is needed.
On the other hand, the Abbey of Fontenelle’s annual supply of pigmenta
or the shopping list from Corbie do suggest more regular trade in these types
of imported substances. Still, these sources only paint a partial picture of the
situation on the ground. They reveal what these communities intended to buy
and not what was actually available. Ultimately, the documentary evidence
indicates that some unambiguously non-local products, including newly intro-
duced materia medica, were circulating in the Carolingian world. This circula-
tion, however, was limited. Even if certain exotica were available at the market
at Cambrai, for example, it is likely that most non-local items were present
in relatively small quantities (though the 120 pounds of pepper suggests that
larger amounts of some substances may have been available) and, given their
expense, restricted to an elite clientele. In short, evidence for the occasional
existence of these ingredients should not be read as evidence for their regular
availability.
Nevertheless, I would suggest that recipes including newly recorded ingredi-
ents were practical in a limited way. Although the ingredients in question would
have been far from local, the recipes that include them appear to demonstrate
some degree of familiarity with these substances, if only indirectly. Such rec-
ipes would have provided blueprints for possible preparations when these
ingredients were available. This is particularly relevant when considering the
rapid dissemination of the new incense recipe: its addition to existing western
incense traditions opened up multiple options for incense production depend-
ing on the availability of ingredients; having a range of options may have been
necessary for these communities given their increasing incense needs and the
variable availability of the ingredients involved. Overall, although the evidence
for the existence of these substances in the Latin west is sporadic and should
not be understood as reflecting their sustained presence, the sources reveal
the possibility of their availability within the Frankish Empire. The repeated
inclusion of the five newly recorded exotics in medical recipes can therefore be
seen as practical information that was ready to be deployed when a need arose
and when the ingredients were on hand: this is ‘latent knowledge’.
Finally, the wider implications of this case study must be considered: to
what extent can we extrapolate from these findings? Are these newly recorded
ingredients representative of non-local materia medica more generally? While
it would be dangerous to use this case study as a proxy for all exotic ingredients,
it is notable that a significant number of non-local ingredients that were known
in classical Antiquity, such as pepper, ginger, and cinnamon, not only continue
to appear in the recipe literature but are also named in the non-medical sources
examined above. The monks of Corbie, for example, intended to buy these three
products, among a number of other foreign goods, at the Cambrai market. This
combination of medical and other documentary sources therefore suggests that
many exotic substances, not unlike the newly recorded ingredients, may have
been practical in that they stored this latent knowledge—information that was
by no means always or even consistently useable, but that offered options when
the conditions were right. It must be noted, however, that previously known
ingredients present a more challenging group to study: since they have long
been recorded in pharmaceutical prescriptions, their individual appearance in
recipes, in contrast to the newly introduced ingredients, cannot be used to trace
the dissemination of knowledge and its possible connection with the presence
of the physical substances themselves.
Despite this general picture of practicality, there are counter examples that
challenge this finding. The case of silphium presents one such case: this plant is
thought to have become extinct during Antiquity and yet continues to appear
in later recipes.88 Within the sample analysed in this study, it is recorded over
88 Ken Parejko, ‘Pliny the Elder’s Silphium: First Recorded Species Extinction’, Conservation
Biology 17, no. 3 (2003): 925–7.
twenty times. Although it is possible that the term may have been used to refer
to a different, related plant in the early Middle Ages or that scribes continued
to copy it without knowing it had gone extinct (or perhaps with the hope that it
might be identified in the future) or that they were simply unsure (and wanted
to record it, again, in case of possible future use), the surviving evidence does
not provide additional information. Instead, the inclusion of recipes that rely
on substances that would have been impossible to obtain suggests that, in
some cases, older authorities may have been copied without a consideration
of the possible practicality of the information they contained or that they were
preserved for other reasons.89 While the silphium example represents a very
small percentage of the total number of recipes, it is a useful reminder that,
despite the strong evidence for practicality on the basis of latent knowledge,
the situation remained highly complex and variable.
5 Conclusion
This chapter offers just a glimpse of the vast range of non-local materia medica
recorded in early medieval recipes. The analysis of a cluster of newly intro-
duced ingredients speaks to the arrival and distribution of this knowledge
within northwest Europe. Tracing the distribution of incense recipes contain-
ing these core ingredients as well as the appearance of each of these ingredi-
ents individually has uncovered patterns in the diffusion of this information
and related this diffusion to the movement of the substances themselves. The
need for increasingly large amounts of incense appears to have been a key fac-
tor underpinning the spread of the new incense recipe. Simultaneously, the
entry of the substances themselves allowed for their gradual application in
medical contexts. While these patterns are grounded in the evidence provided
by the recipes and the manuscripts in which they are located, non-medical
texts have offered important insights into the movement of the ingredients, as
well. By bringing together these varied types of evidence, it becomes possible
to see the potential practicality of recipes that incorporate non-local materia
medica.
89 For example, a number of rough parallels can be found with treatments listed in Marcellus’
De medicamentis liber. A recipe for Sales catarticos in cod. sang. 751 (p. 418) that uses silfiu
is similar to several preparations in Book 30 of De medicamentis liber, including recipes 51
(Confectio salis cathartici) and 52 (Liquamen catharticum); see Marcellus, De medicamen-
tis liber, ed. Liechtenhan and Niedermann, trans. Kollesch and Nickel, 30.51–2 (pp. 532–5);
see Appendix 2, entry 9.21.
were central to the movement of these products across Eurasia. Recent schol-
arship has also suggested the impact of simultaneous developments in Tang
China on the diffusion of both knowledge and materia medica.91
Meanwhile, within the Mediterranean world, the spread of non-local
substances may have also been facilitated by Byzantine connections and
Radhanite traders.92 That some of the newly recorded ingredients, such as
confita, appear to reflect an evolving Latinisation of originally Greek terms
suggests that Byzantine networks were involved in the introduction and
spread of the incense recipe tradition. Considering the movement of informa-
tion and substances between sites in the Italian peninsula and communities
north of the Alps, intellectual, policital, and ecclesiastical centres with strong
Byzantine connections, such as Rome and Ravenna, likely represent key nodes
in the transmission of pharmaceutical knowledge and products, crucial gate-
ways linking east and west.93
Ultimately, a combination of all these networks may have been involved in
the introduction of the newly recorded ingredients, and further investigations
into the dynamics underpinning this long-distance trade must be pursued in a
future study. This chapter confirms McCormick’s remark that the manuscripts
‘may still hold some surprises’.94 It is evident that these types of ‘miscellane-
ous’ recipes offer new insights into the evolution of medical knowledge and
practice in the Carolingian world. To develop a more complete understanding
of early medieval medicine, it is essential to explore this rich corpus in greater
depth within both global and local frameworks, and the next chapter turns to
the latter perspective.
91 Alain George, ‘Direct Sea Trade Between Early Islamic Iraq and Tang China: From the
Exchange of Goods to the Transmission of Ideas’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 25,
no. 4 (2015): 579–624. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1356186315000231.
92 Amar and Lev, Arabian Drugs, 129–227. On Byzantine connections in the west, see, for
example, T. S. Brown, ‘Byzantine Italy, c. 680-c. 876’, in The New Cambridge Medieval History
ii, c. 700-c. 900, ed. Rosamond McKitterick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995),
320–48; Michael McCormick, ‘Byzantium and the West, 700–900’, in The New Cambridge
Medieval History ii, c. 700-c. 900, ed. Rosamond McKitterick (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1995), 349–80.
93 Thomas S. Brown, ‘Ravenna and Other Early Rivals of Venice: Comparative Urban and
Economic Development in the Upper Adriatic c.751–1050’, in Byzantium, Venice and the
Medieval Adriatic: Spheres of Maritime Power and Influence, c. 700–1453, ed. Magdalena
Skoblar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021), 173–87.
94 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, 714, n. 84.
The frequency with which alcoholic beverages are mentioned in medical texts
is noteworthy. Various alcoholic drinks, including wine, beer, and mead, appear
in many dietetic works detailing the foods and drinks best suited to balancing
the humours or, conversely, those to be avoided. Recipes, too, make frequent
use of these beverages and others, such as mixtures of wine with honey or
water. Of the fifteen recipes from cod. sang. 752 included in this study, the first,
fifth, and fifteenth recipes each include wine as an ingredient, while the four-
teenth recipe notes both beer and mead (see Figure 5 for the fourteenth and
fifteenth recipes):
On Melancholy. To get rid of black bile, a purgative that purges cold and
dry humours: dodder, 10 denarii; dried mint, 10 pounds, 2 scruples; pep-
per, 1 ounce; grind these together finely and then give the entire potion,
10 scruples, or half potion, 5 scruples, with half a cup of old wine. Do this
frequently, it is most useful.1
For paralysis: juice of the herb sage, 6 denarii; juice of savin, 4 denarii;
skimmed honey, 2 denarii; wine, 1 ounce. The fasting [patient] should
drink [this]; it heals wonderfully.2
1 Cod. sang. 752, p. 5: De melancolicis ad fel nigrum deponendum purgatorium quod deponit
umores frigidos et siccos. Epitimo đ x, menta sicca lib x ℈ ii, piper ℈ i, hęc conteres subtilissime
et dabis exinde integra potione ℈ x et media potione ℈ v cum uino uetere medio calice. Faciat
hoc frequenter, utilissimum est. For a transcription of the recipe, see Appendix 2, entry 10.1.
2 Cod. sang. 752, p. 5: Ad paralisin. Sucum erbę saluie đ vi, sucum sauine đ iiii, mel dispumatum đ
ii, uino ℈ i. Ieiunus bibat, mirifice sanat. See Appendix 2, entry 10.2.
f igure 5 Two recipes in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 752 (p. 158), a manuscript
compilation with the Medicina Plinii, Gargilius Martialis’ Medicinae ex oleribus
et pomis, the Oxea et chronia passiones Yppocratis, Gallieni et Urani, etc. and
additional medical recipes, such as those pictured (https://www.e-codices.unifr
.ch/de/csg/0752/158)
© st. gallen, stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
eat [this] with bread. [They] should drink beer and mead but not water
before [they] are healed.3
3 Cod. sang. 752, p. 158: De fico emendando. Accipe plantaginem et herbam acerem, quae alio
nomine gundereba nominatur, et seuum de multone, hoc est unslit, et ista tria tundantur in mor-
taliolo et fricantur in patella, et sic ieiunus comedat cum pane. Ceruisam et medum nec aquam
bibat antequam sanetur. See Appendix 2, entry 10.4.
4 Cod. sang. 752, p. 158: Si tertiana aut cottidiana febris hominem tangit. Colligat de ueruena
manipulum i, quae alio modo isarnina uocatur, et viiii grana de pipero, et cum uino mixtam
componat, et ante accessionem inde bibat staupum unum. See Appendix 2, entry 10.5.
After the final recipe on p. 158, there is a short text that describes certain
foods and drinks from which to abstain if suffering from paralysis, Quibus cibis
abstinere debeant quem paralysin tangit. Bread, various meats (beef, pork, and
goat), fish, most legumes, and unrefined olive oil are to be avoided, as are all
drinks that have the potential to cause inebriation.5 The author of this pas-
sage, however, makes several exceptions, noting three alcoholic beverages that
would be acceptable to drink: thin white wine, thin mead, and thin, light beer.
Within this manuscript’s fifteen remedies under analysis in the present
study, four—nearly a third of the total—include alcoholic beverages. All three
of the alcohols that appear in these recipes are also noted in the dietary guide-
lines that follow one of the manuscript’s recipe clusters. The sheer prevalence
of alcohol in medical texts, and especially as ingredients in recipes (even if
their primary function was as a liquefying agent rather than an active phar-
macological component), demands a closer look. The traditional stereotypes
attached to each of these beverages, moreover, add another dimension to this
investigation into alcoholic drinks’ relationship(s) with medicine and connect
to this book’s core questions regarding practicality.
In this chapter, I shall first review the attitudes towards and roles played
by various alcohols in classical and late antique medicine before turning to
the early medieval evidence. In contrast to classical medical texts, which pro-
mote the use of wine but regard beer as unhealthy, my analysis of eighth-and
ninth-century recipes has uncovered treatments that list beer as an ingredi-
ent. Simultaneously, I have tracked the spread of a Germanic term for mead,
medus, in medical contexts. The appearance of these two alcohols in recipes
and related medical writings (such as accompanying dietary advice), often
listed together, indicates that classical and late antique medical knowledge
was not passively received; rather, early medieval scribes actively engaged with
and added to this material. Supported by non-medical sources that document
beer and mead production in the Carolingian world, I argue that the inclu-
sion of beer and medus reveals adaptations made to suit local conditions. Such
changes reflect another aspect of the practicality of the recipes involved in this
study and bear witness to an evolving body of medical literature.
5 Cod. sang. 752, pp. 158–9: Quibus cibis abstinere debeant quem paralysin tangit. See Appendix
2, entry 10.6.
Beer, ale, and mead tend to be portrayed as having northern European ori-
gins; these alcohols are seen in Germanic contexts and as drinks consumed by
rowdy barbarians. Wine, in contrast, is more often associated with the classical,
Mediterranean world. The stereotypes persist today: beer remains the every-
man’s drink while wine tends to be more expensive and perceived as more
sophisticated. These stereotypes depend, at least in part, on the narrative of
a ‘clash of cultures’ that resulted in a sharp break between classical Antiquity
and the barbaric ‘Dark Ages’. Modern scholarship has, thankfully, revised the
notion of decline and fall, highlighting instead the vibrant, flourishing intellec-
tual cultures of the early Middle Ages as well as many continuities between the
Roman Empire and its successors.6 Nevertheless, with the exception of craft
brewing, the contrasting images of less refined (barbarian) beer and sophis-
ticated (classical) wine have largely endured. The divide can be seen along
geographic lines, as well, with northern and western Europe known for its
production of beer whereas southern, Mediterranean Europe is famed for its
vines. Is this divide purely due to the environmental and climatic conditions
needed to produce each beverage or have cultural factors played a role? Is the
separation between beer-and wine-drinking areas a more modern concept
that has been inappropriately applied to the past?
The north-south division of alcoholic beverages in a European context has
been explored extensively in recent scholarship.7 The fact that there were
(and are) many areas in Europe where both cereals and grapes can grow
6 See, for example, Rosamond McKitterick’s work on literacy, scholarship, and culture in
the Carolingian period, such as McKitterick, ‘The Carolingian Renaissance of Culture
and Learning’; McKitterick, ‘Eighth- Century Foundations’; Rosamond McKitterick, ed.,
Carolingian Culture: Emulation and Innovation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1994); or McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word. On the wider political, eco-
nomic, and social dynamics of this period, see also the outputs from the esf project
‘Transformation of the Roman World’ (mentioned in Chapter 2), including Hansen and
Wickham, eds., The Long Eighth Century; Corradini, Diesenberger, and Reimitz, eds., The
Construction of Communities; and Theuws and Nelson, eds., Rituals of Power.
7 Ruth C. Engs, ‘Do Traditional Western European Drinking Practices Have Origins in
Antiquity?’ Addiction Research 2, no. 3 (1995): 227–39, https://doi.org/10.3109/1606635950
9005208, at pp. 228–31; Max Nelson, ‘The Geography of Beer in Europe from 1000 bc to ad
1000’, in The Geography of Beer: Regions, Environments, and Societies, ed. Mark Patterson and
Nancy Hoalst-Pullen (Dordrecht: Springer, 2014), 9–21, at pp. 9–10; Benjamin Wayens, Isabelle
van den Steen, and Marie-Eve Ronveaux. ‘A Short Historical Geography of Beer’, in Food
and Environment: Geographies of Taste, ed. Armando Montanari (Rome: Società Geografica
Italiana, 2002), 93–114, at pp. 93–4.
peculiarity.11 He writes that the beverage causes flatulence and bad humours.12
These two qualities were also noted earlier by Dioscorides in De materia med-
ica. Dioscorides’ vast work, as mentioned in Chapter 2, addresses the medical
properties of roughly 1000 different substances, and he includes two entries
for beer, differentiating between zūthos and courmi (κοῦρμι). The former, made
from barley, is ‘especially hurtful to the membranes, it is apt to cause flatu-
lence, to engender an unhealthy state of humors, and to cause elephantiasis’.13
On courmi, made from either barley or wheat, he writes: it ‘causes headaches, is
unwholesome, and does damage to the sinewy parts’.14 Dioscorides specifically
links wheat beers to Spain and Britain.
In stark contrast, De materia medica contains roughly one hundred entries
for different types of wines and other fruit-based alcohols, honey-based alco-
hols, and alcohols made up of both honey and fruit, nearly all of which high-
light the potential medicinal values of these types of drinks. At this point, it is
important to note that the definitions of the various alcohols under consid-
eration have changed over time and the situation is more complicated than
a simple tripartite division between wine, beer, and mead. For the purposes
of this discussion, I use the term ‘wine’ to mean any fermented beverage pro-
duced from fruit. Grapes are generally, but by no means exclusively, the fruit in
question.15 The term ‘beer’ represents fermented beverages made from malted
cereals, including wheat, barley, and other grains. Finally, ‘mead’ refers to fer-
mented beverages produced from honey. As will be discussed below, there is
some overlap and ambiguity between the categories of wine and mead due to
blends of the two substances and mixtures of wine with honey. Many mod-
ern translations are perhaps overzealous in their use of ‘mead’, deploying it in
cases where a term like ‘honeyed-wine’ might be more appropriate. However,
as Nelson notes, ‘the distinction between those substances which were meant
to ferment and those simply added to, or macerated in, a fermented bever-
age for flavour can rarely be determined either from archaeological remains
or from the information in our written sources’.16 I shall revisit the question
11 Galen, In Hippocratis Aphorismos, 2.20. In Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia, ed. Karl Gottlob
Kühn, 20 vols. (Leipzig: Carl Cnobloch, 1821–33), see specifically xviib.492.14–493.5.
12 Galen, De simplicium medicamentorum temperamentis ac facultatibus, 6.6.3. In Claudii
Galeni Opera Omnia, ed. Karl Gottlob Kühn, 20 vols. (Leipzig: Carl Cnobloch, 1821–33),
xi.379–892K and xii.1–377K, see specifically xi.882.5–8.
13 Dioscorides, De materia medica, 2.87.
14 Ibid, 2.88.
15 It will be noted if a fruit other than or in addition to grapes is used to produce a beverage.
16 Nelson, The Barbarian’s Beverage, 2.
presentation of the two types of beer noted above. His descriptions of all of
these beverages, and the general attitudes they represent, appear to have influ-
enced later Greek and Latin medical authors alike.
Prejudice against beer and beer-drinkers can also be seen in other types of
writing, reinforcing and repackaging the stereotypes about foreigners and their
odd tastes. Tacitus, a Roman senator and historian active in the late first and
early second centuries, composed an ethnographic work on the Germanic peo-
ples living beyond the empire, Germania. In Chapter 23, Tacitus describes their
drinking habits, writing that ‘for drink they use the liquid distilled from barley
or wheat, after fermentation has given it a certain resemblance to wine’.22 He
also records that some tribes buy wine from their Roman neighbours and notes
their overindulgence when it comes to alcohol: ‘if you humour their drunken-
ness by supplying as much as they crave, they will be vanquished through their
vices as easily as on the battlefield’.23 While Tacitus’ comments on beer itself
are not overly negative, the barbarians’ intemperance is presented as inferior
to the ‘civilised’ Roman approach to alcohol.
Pliny, too, records information on beer and beer-drinkers in his encyclopae-
dic Natural History. Noting that ‘the nations of the west also have their own
intoxicant, made from grain soaked in water’, he highlights Spain, Gaul, and
Egypt as specific regions that produced beer.24 Like Tacitus, his basic presenta-
tion of beer remains neutral, but the character of those who drink this alcohol
is again critiqued, noting that ‘in no part of the world is drunkenness ever out
of action, in fact they actually quaff liquors of this kind neat and do not temper
their strength by diluting them, as is done with wine … Alas, what wonderful
ingenuity vice possesses! A method has actually been discovered for making
even water intoxicated!’25 Thus, in contrast to the medical texts, which found
problems with the substance of beer itself, writings outside of the medical
arena instead seem to take issue with the beer-drinkers, disapproving of their
apparent tendency to overindulge in alcohol.
As noted in Chapter 2, Pliny recorded a vast amount of medical advice,
including hundreds of recipes, in his encyclopaedia. Despite this extensive cor-
pus of medical material, he never refers to beer in a medical context, neither
addressing its potential medical properties nor including it as an ingredient in
recipes. Just as with Dioscorides, the treatment of beer starkly contrasts with
the information provided for wine, mead, and mixed alcoholic beverages. While
Pliny, like Dioscorides, does not hide the potential dangers of consuming these
drinks in excess, he frequently recommends their use in treatments, and there
are hundreds of references to mead and/or honey-wine in the Natural History.
The terms used by Pliny include mulsum, aqua mulsa, hydromel, melitites, and
thalassomeli (a mixture of seawater, rainwater, and honey, possibly fermented).
Most of these cases represent the use of these substances in recipes, though
some are full descriptions of the particular substance in question. In Book 24,
for example, Pliny writes that ‘if [fenugreek] is boiled down with mallows, and
honey wine [mulso] be afterwards added, a draught is praised as a preeminent
remedy for troubles of the uterus and intestines’.26 He advises that ‘for pain of
the kidneys or liver, [bugloss] is taken in hydromel [aqua mulsa], should there
be fever, otherwise in wine’.27
Notably, although beer was not deemed by Pliny to have medical properties,
other cereal-based products were recorded in treatments. Regarding bread,
for example, he writes that ‘in hydromel [aqua mulsa], it is very soothing to
indurations’.28 Thus, in Pliny’s eyes, beer was seen to be useless, whereas other
cereal-based products as well as alcohols derived from fruits and honey pos-
sessed beneficial medicinal properties or could serve as neutral components
within a recipe (e.g., as a liquefying agent). This particular disapproval of beer,
whether it was seen as an actively harmful substance or as related to uncouth
barbarians, left its mark for centuries and continues to influence the stereo-
types surrounding beer-and wine-drinking today.
26 Pliny, Natural History, ed. Jones, vol. 7, 24.187: si vero cum malva decoquatur postea addito
mulso, potus ante cetera vulvis interaneisque laudatur.
27 Pliny, Natural History, ed. Jones, vol. 6, 22.52: et in dolore renium aut iocineris ex aqua
mulsa, si febris sit, sin aliter, e vino bibitur.
28 Pliny, Natural History, ed. Jones, vol. 6, 22.138: ex aqua mulsa duritias valde mitigat.
Although beer may have been looked down on as an inferior drink consumed
by foreigners, many of those ‘foreigners’, such as Gauls and Egyptians, actu-
ally lived within the bounds of the Roman Empire. The Germanic tribes men-
tioned by Tacitus, while they mostly remained beyond the limes for a few more
centuries, were a constant presence on the frontier and an increasing force
within the army. Romans certainly would have had contact with beer-drinking
communities or, indeed, could have belonged to both drinking cultures. The
increasing visibility of beer appears to have resulted in a softening of some of
the extreme views of earlier writers, though some sources indicate that many
Romans continued to disapprove of it. To be clear, although beer seems to have
achieved some degree of acceptability in the provinces, it was not perceived
as on par with wine.29 Medicine is a field in which this changing attitude can
be discerned, if only slightly: in contrast to Dioscorides’ description of the
harmful properties of beer and Pliny’s disregard for the drink from a medical
perspective, a handful of late antique Latin authors do comment on beer in
medical contexts.
The Medicina Plinii, noted in Chapter 2 as an example of the late antique
reworking of existing texts, is made up of three books of recipes. As its name
suggests, much of the material is derived from Pliny’s Natural History, though
other influences can also be seen.30 Book 3 contains a chapter on scrofulous,
swollen glands; the tenth and final recipe of this chapter recommends that the
leaves of elder be ground up and mixed with the dregs of beer and then applied
with a linen cloth.31 It is important to remember the size of this work: the three
books making up the Medicina Plinii contain hundreds of recipes. The use of
beer dregs to help scrofulous swellings is the single reference to beer in the
entire text, meaning that beer appears in less than one percent of the text’s
remedies. Wine, in contrast, appears very regularly; it is one of the standard
liquifying agents recorded in recipes. Despite this seemingly insignificant
representation of beer, the sheer fact that it is included in a recipe is signifi-
cant, marking a departure from earlier Mediterranean medical writings and
confirming that sources other than Pliny’s Natural History were incorporated
in the Medicina Plinii.
Marcellus of Bordeaux, the Gallo-Roman statesman active in the late fourth
and early fifth centuries, and his large pharmaceutical collection, De medica-
mentis liber, were also introduced in Chapter 2.32 While he cites both ‘Plinies’,
meaning Pliny the Elder’s Natural History and the Medicina Plinii, as sources
for his work, it is clear that a wider range of material influenced the text.33 In
particular, the local, Gallic environment appears to have left a strong imprint,
both in terms of Marcellus’ writing style and with respect to the medical infor-
mation he recorded.34 Remembering that many classical sources associated
beer-drinking with Gaul, it is perhaps unsurprising to see this beverage appear
alongside wine, mead, and mixed alcohols. Beer is listed in two treatments,
and both are distinct from the single instance recorded in the Medicina Plinii.
First, in Chapter 16, on coughs and lung conditions, Marcellus suggests drink-
ing a potion of salt dissolved in beer.35 Chapter 28, on worms and intestinal
issues, provides the second example, where beer appears to be a liquefying
agent in which a compound medicine is soaked.36 Of particular note in the
second recipe is that Marcellus comments on what to do if the reader finds
him-or herself in a province in which beer is not available: in this case, they
are instructed to use water in which myrtle has been cooked.37 While these
two recipes double the total seen in the Medicina Plinii, De medicamentis liber
contains over 2000 recipes. Consequently, beer appears in less than 0.1% of
recipes.
Given the extremely low frequencies with which beer is mentioned, these
examples of late antique medical authors recording beer in their recipes may
seem trivial, barely representing an increase over their classical predecessors.
Slight as this increase is, however, it still indicates a change, moving from
32 Marcellus, De medicamentis liber, ed. Liechtenhan and Niedermann, trans. Kollesch and
Nickel; Stannard, ‘Marcellus of Bordeaux’, 47–53.
33 Doody, Pliny’s Encyclopedia, 138.
34 Stannard, ‘Marcellus of Bordeaux’, 49.
35 Marcellus, De medicamentis liber, ed. Liechtenhan and Niedermann, trans. Kollesch and
Nickel, 16.33: Salis quantum intra palmam tenere potest qui tussiet in potionem ceruisae
aut curmi mittat et calidum bibat, cum dormitum uadit, neque postea loquatur, sed tacitus
somnum capiat; cito sanabitur, si hoc uel triduo fecerit.
36 Ibid, 28.13: … Facies pilulas magnitudine ea, qua ano inici possint, ipsasque factas infundes
in ceruesiae nouae sextariis duobus et mellis cyatho.
37 Ibid: Quod si in ea prouincia faciendum fuerit hoc medicamentum, in qua ceruisia non est,
ex aqua dabis, in qua myrta cocta sit, ad sextarios duos aut cum sapae mixtae sextariis duo-
bus atque ex eo temperabis potionem et dabis bibendam.
The opening examples from cod. sang. 752 suggest that the changing attitudes
towards alcohols seen in late Antiquity continued to develop over the follow-
ing centuries. Four aspects of this example stand out, marking a departure
from the classical and late antique medical writings reviewed above. First,
and perhaps most obviously, the increasing proportion of references to beer
is noteworthy: it is mentioned twice in this small selection of material. The
first example comes from the fourteenth remedy, where it is recommended
that beer and mead be consumed during the patient’s recovery. Beer is then
noted as an exception in the list of foods and drinks to avoid if suffering from
paralysis: light beer is considered acceptable. While beer is not recorded as
an ingredient in recipes in this manuscript, its appearance in two types of
dietary guidelines still places it within a medical environment. Secondly, the
references to beer, mead, and wine are presented neutrally and beer sits as
an equal with wine and mead. Furthermore, where mead is recorded in these
recipes, it is written as medus as opposed to any of the terms noted above,
such as mulsum, aqua mulsa, melicraton, or melitites. Finally, all of the refer-
ences to alcohols come from medical material found outside of established
classical and late antique pharmaceutical writings given the selection criteria
involved in this study. Therefore, although neither beer nor medus is named
as an ingredient in these recipes, the references to these beverages are highly
significant.
Turning to the rest of the manuscript sample, additional examples of beer
and medus, both in dietary guidelines and as ingredients within recipes, sug-
gest an increasing acceptance of beer as well as several other linked develop-
ments. In total, I have recorded forty references to beer and sixteen references
to medus within the texts under analysis. From these examples, beer appears
as an ingredient in twenty-six recipes and as a drink recommended for con-
sumption or avoidance in fourteen dietary guidelines accompanying recipes,
while medus appears as an ingredient in five recipes and in dietary guidelines
eleven times. I shall review the beer examples first.
4.1 Beer
Of the twenty-six early medieval recipes that include beer as an ingredient
within the sample, none appears to have been derived from the few recipes
with beer found in the Medicina Plinii and De medicamentis liber. Within these
twenty-six cases, however, several recipes are repeated, suggesting the exist-
ence of shared sources that have not survived or the inheritance of a common
tradition. Codd. sang. 44, 751, and bav pal. lat. 1088, for example, all present
a treatment intended to expel ‘serpents and other worms’ that uses the juice
of wild cucumber mixed with fresh beer.38 An earlier recipe in cod. sang. 751
offers the same instructions, too, but is labelled as a cure for haemorrhoids, Ad
fico; perhaps the combination of wild cucumber and beer was recorded as a
treatment for multiple maladies or perhaps the scribe added the wrong recipe
or title at this point in the manuscript (or was copying an exemplar in which
this error had already occurred).39 Another case of parallel treatments can be
seen in cod. sang. 44 and bav pal. lat. 1088: a recipe intended to help with
‘hardness of the stomach’ combines flax seeds and honey in beer.40 Taking the
repeated material into account, the manuscript sample features twenty-one
distinct recipes that include beer as an ingredient. These twenty-one recipes
are unknown in classical and late antique sources and represent a substantial
increase in the recording of beer in recipes when compared to the previous
periods.
These examples must be contextualised within the full sample of recipes.
The transcribed texts produced over five thousand individual recipes, meaning
that the twenty-six prescriptions listing beer as an ingredient still form but
a very small percentage of the total. Indeed, the frequency with which beer
is mentioned may look fairly similar to the late antique examples addressed
above: as seen in Table 5, beer appears in less than one percent of the recipes
38 Cod. sang. 44, p. 364: Ad serpentes uel alios uermes de homine expellendos. Potio probata.
Ius de cocurbita saluatica, nuce plena cum nouella ceruisia, ieiuno dabis bibere luna decur-
rente. Cod. sang. 751, p. 423: Ad serpentes uel alios uerme de ominem expellendum, potio
probata. Ius de cocurbita siluatica, nucae plena cum nouella ceruisa, ieiuno bibere dabis
luna decurrente. bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 37r: Ad serpentes uel aliorum uermes de homine expel-
lendum, potio probata. Sucum de cucurbita siluatica, nuce plena cum nouella ceruisa, ieiuno
dabis bibere luna decursa. See Appendix 2, entries 5.28.1, 9.23.1, and 16.5.1, respectively.
39 Cod. sang. 751, p. 413: Item [Ad fico]. Cucurbita saluatica, nuce plena cum molle ceruisa,
dabis diebus supra dictis. See Appendix 2, entry 9.16.2.
40 Note: the recipe collections in which these two recipes are located, though not iden-
tical, are based on the same tradition; see Appendix 1 for more details. Cod. sang. 44,
p. 366: Item ad duritiam uentris. Lino semen cum mel tritum in ceruisa ieiunus bibat, mirum
est; bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 40v: Item ad duritiam uentris. Lini semen cum mel tritum in ceruisia
ieiunus bibat, mirum est. See Appendix 2, entries 5.30.6 and 16.7.5, respectively.
in all cases, occurring in 0.5% of the recipes from the manuscript sample, 0.1%
of the recipes of Marcellus, and 0.2% of the recipes from the Medicina Plinii.
Yet, as insignificant as these numbers may seem, it is notable that the percent-
age of early medieval medical recipes mentioning beer more than doubles the
percentages seen in the late antique texts.
A more detailed examination of the distribution of recipes that list beer
nuances this general picture, revealing that, although beer is rarely recorded
overall, its appearance in recipes is often concentrated. As Table 6 illustrates,
the spread of the twenty-six recipes that name beer as an ingredient is far from
uniform. Not only are these recipes found in only seven of the twenty-four
manuscripts under analysis (codd. sang. 44, 751, 550, 759; bav pal. lat. 1088;
and BnF lat. 11218 and 11219), but the distribution is uneven even within these
manuscripts. Cod. sang. 44 contains just over forty percent of the recipes that
list beer as an ingredient (eleven of twenty-six), while cod. sang. 550 and BnF
lat. 11219 each include a single instance of a recipe with beer. This analysis can
be taken further by looking at the spread of recipes within cod. sang. 44, a
manuscript with three separate large recipe collections. Do the individual texts
within this manuscript parallel the uneven distribution pattern seen among
the manuscript sample as a whole? This tendency is confirmed, with nine of
cod. sang. 44’s eleven recipes with beer located within the manuscript’s second
major recipe collection found on pp. 337–54. More specifically, three recipes
with beer appear on p. 345, one on p. 347, two on p. 350, one on p. 351, and
two on p. 353, revealing the that the nine recipes form a fairly tight cluster
within the collection, too. Indeed, the three recipes on p. 345 all come under
the same heading, Potio ad nescia, ‘Potion for hip pain’, and, in each case, act
table 6 The appearance of beer as an ingredient within the recipe sample under analysis
(ordered by %)
Note:
a Cod. sang. 550 does not provide a large enough sample of recipes for comparison (three total
for the manuscript). All of the other manuscripts containing recipes with beer include over
100 recipes and thus present comparable datasets.
as the potion’s liquefying agent.41 The nine recipes with beer in this collection
reflect a marked increase in the frequency with which beer appears: given that
the collection contains 247 recipes, beer occurs as an ingredient in 3.6% of
the recipes in the collection. This percentage is significantly higher than any
of those previously noted (again, see Tables 5 and 6), representing a roughly
twenty-fold and fifty-fold increase (by percentage) when compared to the
Medicina Plinii and De medicamentis liber, respectively.
What are the implications of this unequal distribution? The diversity of reci-
pes combined with their irregular spread within the sample suggests that these
recipes stem from multiple sources. That these recipes include beer already
indicates that they incorporate information from beyond the classical canon.
Yet, it is their distribution and diversity that signify that these recipes draw
on a variety of non-classical sources: within this study’s recipe sample, unique
examples of treatments that list beer as an ingredient can be seen in five of the
seven different manuscripts. Moreover, even though all four instances of beer
in cod. sang. 751 have parallels in other manuscripts, the parallel recipes are
found in cod. sang. 44, bav pal. lat. 1088, and BnF lat. 11218, thereby revealing
that cod. sang. 751 could not have drawn exclusively on one of these others as an
41 Cod. sang. 44, p. 345: Potio ad nescia; see Appendix 2, entries 5.18.2–4.
exemplar. On the other hand, the shared recipes of bav pal. lat. 1088 and cod.
sang. 44 are located in a collection of recipes linked to the Tereoperica family
of recipe collections that is found in both codices. Though not identical, these
collections are closely related, as these recipes that record beer illustrate.42 In
fact, in cod. sang. 44, these two recipes correspond to the only beer-containing
recipes outside of its primary cluster of recipes that list beer as an ingredi-
ent on pp. 345–53. Overall, given the varied origins of the manuscripts under
analysis, it is not surprising that their texts contain information from different
traditions and were shaped by multiple, if often shared, influences. Before con-
sidering these non-classical sources, the availability of beer in the Carolingian
world, and how this information can shed light on the question of practicality,
it is useful to examine the evidence for medus in the recipe literature.
42 Three versions of a series of recipes to expel serpents and other worms, Ad serpentes uel
alios uermes de homine expellendos, are found codd. sang. 44 (p. 364), 751 (p. 423), and bav
pal. lat. 1088 (ff. 37r–37v), while versions of a cluster of recipes under the heading Ad uen-
tris dolorem are found in cod. sang. 44 (p. 366) and bav pal. lat. 1088 (f. 40v). See Appendix
2, entries 5.28, 9.23, and 16.5 for the former; see entries 5.30 and 16.7 for the latter.
43 Additional early examples of the use of medus can be seen in the writings of Venantius
Fortunatus and Anthimus, both active in the sixth century; Anthimus’ letter on diet is
considered later in this chapter.
44 Isidore, Etymologiae, 20.3.11–12.
45 Ibid, 20.3.10.
46 Ibid, 20.3.13.
47 Angus Stevenson, ed., Oxford Dictionary of English, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2010).
48 Consider, for example, the terms used for ‘mead’ in Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese,
and Catalan: hidromiel, hydromel, idromele, hidromel, and hidromel, respectively.
49 Cod. sang. 751, p. 305: Item ad ilii dolorem uel uesicae et difficultatem urinae; p. 413: Potio ad
oua colobrina. See Appendix 2, entries 9.1.4 and 9.17, respectively.
50 BnF lat. 11218, ff. 115v–116r: Ad prugine qui uocatur morbus regio; f. 122v: Ad ueretrum sus-
citandum; f. 122v: Item ad ipsum suscitandum. See Appendix 2, entries 3.13 and 3.15.1–2,
respectively.
51 Cod. sang. 759, p. 66: Confectio ydromellis; pp. 88–9: Confectio ydromellis. See Appendix 2,
entries 11.12 and 11.19, respectively.
52 On dietary calendars in the early medieval west, see ‘Die frühmittelalterlichen lateinis-
chen Monatskalendarien. Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar’, ed. and trans. Frank-Dieter
Groenke (Diss., Freie Universität Berlin, 1986).
53 BnF lat. 2849A, f. 23v: Ceruisa nec metus non bibat, absentio et faniculo bibat.
54 Cod. sang. 759, p. 8: ceruissa et metus non bibat.
55 Cod. sang. 759, p. 8: aqua bibere \ceruissa non bibere/nisi pusca usitare, lactucas mandu-
care, acetum bibere.
The consistent pairing of the two beverages may reflect their original con-
nection in an earlier dietary treatise that has since been lost. Alternatively,
while classical texts offer no information on a possible link between the two
substances, a late antique letter on diet, Anthimus’ De observatione ciborum,
may shed light on the topic. Anthimus, a Byzantine physician active in the
sixth century, was exiled to the west during a period of political intrigue in
Constantinople. While acting as an ambassador of Theodoric, king of the
Ostrogoths (r. 493–526), Anthimus composed a letter on diet in honour of his
host Theuderic, king of the Franks (r. 511–34) in the area around Metz.56 The
letter fuses Greek, Roman, and Frankish cultural and dietary traditions, offer-
ing the reader advice on how to maintain good health through the observance
of a healthy diet. In Chapter 14, for example, Anthimus reports on the medic-
inal powers of raw bacon according to Frankish medical traditions. He writes,
‘as for raw bacon which, so I hear, the Franks have a habit of eating, I am full of
curiosity regarding the person who showed them such a medicine as to obviate
the need for other medicines … Look at what power there is in raw bacon, and
see how with it the Franks heal what doctors try to cure with drugs or with
potions’.57 While bacon may seem entirely unrelated to the beverages under
consideration, the location of this discussion is significant: the description
of the particularly Frankish bacon-eating and medicating traditions occurs
immediately before the entry detailing beer and mead. On these beverages,
Anthimus comments that ‘beer, plain mead and spiced mead are absolutely
fine for drinking by almost everyone. Beer that is well brewed possesses good-
ness and surpasses expectation … Mead that is well brewed is very beneficial,
provided that the honey is good’.58 Like the references to mead in the dietary
guidelines assessed in the manuscript sample, Anthimus uses the term medus.
His use of the term also predates Isidore’s usage in the Etymologiae, offering
the earliest surviving witness and making it particularly meaningful that it
occurs within this Frankish context.
56 Mark Grant, ‘Introduction’, in Anthimus, On the Observance of Foods, ed. and trans. Mark
Grant, 2nd ed. (Totnes: Prospect, 2007), 12.
57 Anthimus, De observatione ciborum, ed. and trans. Liechtenhan, Chapter 14 (at pp. 9–
10): De crudo uero laredo, quod solent, ut audio, domni Franci comedere, miror satis, quis illis
ostendit talem medicinam, ut non opus habeant alias medicinas … ecce quale beneficium in
laredo crudo, ut, quod medici in medicamentis uel potionibus temptant sanare uel inplastris
uulnera curare, de laredo crudo Franci sanantur.
58 Ibid, Chapter 15 (at p. 10): ceruisa bibendo uel medus et aloxinum quam maxime omni-
bus congruum est ex toto, quia ceruisa, qui bene facta fuerit, beneficium prestat et rationem
habet … Similiter et de medus bene factum, ut mel bene habeat, multum iuuat.
4.3 Summary
Ultimately, these results suggest that a subtle but significant shift occurred
in the early medieval west. The recipes and other medical writings analysed
above document an increased presence of beer in medical contexts as well as
the use of the term medus for mead. That beer, mead (under any name), and
wine appear to be treated similarly, or at least without prejudice, also marks a
notable change. The medical knowledge recorded in eighth-and ninth-century
manuscripts must now be considered within the wider context and related to
the question of practicality.
While classical sources suggest that beer was being produced in parts of west-
ern Europe in Antiquity, is there evidence confirming its continued production
in the Carolingian period? Writings like Isidore’s Etymologiae point to brewing
as an alternative to wine in regions that could not sustain viticulture.60 Since
much of the Frankish Empire covered areas that could support both grape and
cereal production, do non-medical texts suggest that multiple beverages coex-
isted or that, just as in the classical world, a particular class of alcoholic bever-
ages was privileged over others? Documentary evidence, such as the Capitulare
de villis, can help to address these questions.
59 According to Beccaria’s catalogue, copies of or extracts from Anthimus’ letter have sur-
vived in eight early medieval manuscripts, including two involved in the present study,
codd. sang. 751 and 878; see Beccaria, I codici, nos. 133 and 139.
60 Isidore, Etymologiae, 20.3.17–18.
Composed in the late eighth century, the Capitulare de villis concerns the
management of royal estates.61 The seventy chapters of the text cover a wide
range of topics, from the administration of justice to the care of horses and
hounds, and the production of beer and wine is addressed in several places.
Chapter 8, for example, focuses exclusively on wine, detailing the care of vine-
yards as well as the production and shipping of wine and its general supply
on royal estates.62 The maintenance and cleanliness of wine-presses is also
mentioned in Chapters 41 and 48. The significance of brewing is expressed in
Chapter 61, which states that master-brewers should be attached to stewards,
following their movements while on service to ensure that good beer was read-
ily available.63 Brewers are also classed among the essential workmen to have
in each district; other professions listed include shoemakers, carpenters, black-
smiths, and fishermen.64 Although the production of mead and the keeping
of bees is not explicitly described by the capitulary, both mead and honey are
mentioned in several chapters, including Chapter 34, which asks that particu-
lar care is taken when making products to eat or drink, thereby confirming that
mead and honey were being produced, as well.65 Significantly, medus is the
term used to describe mead.
61 Capitulare de villis, ed. Alfred Boretius, mgh Capit. 1 (Hanover: Hahn, 1883), no. 32; H. R.
Loyn and John Percival, The Reign of Charlemagne. Documents on Carolingian Government
and Administration (London: Edward Arnold, 1975), 64–73.
62 Capitulare de villis, ed. Boretius, no. 32, c. 8: Ut iudices nostri vineas recipiant nostras, quae
de eorum sunt ministerio, et bene eas faciant et ipsum vinum in bona mittant vascula et
diligenter praevidere faciant, quod nullo modo naufragatum sit; aliud vero vinum peculi-
are conparando emere faciant, unde villas dominicas condirigere possint. Et quandoquidem
plus de ipso vino conparatum fuerit quod ad villas nostras condirigendum mittendi opus sit,
nobis innotescat, ut nos commendemus qualiter nostra fuerit exinde voluntas. Cippaticos
enim de vineis nostris ad opus nostrum mittere faciant. Censa de villis nostris qui vinum
debent, in cellaria nostra mittat.
63 Ibid, no. 32, c. 61: Ut unusquisque iudex quando servierit suos bracios ad palatium ducere
faciat; et simul veniant magistri qui cervisam bonam ibidem facere debeant.
64 Ibid, no. 32, c. 45: Ut unusquisque iudex in suo ministerio bonos habeat artifices, id est fabros
ferrarios et aurifices vel argentarios, sutores, tornatores, carpentarios, scutarios, piscatores,
aucipites id est aucellatores, saponarios, siceratores, id est qui cervisam vel pomatium sive
piratium vel aliud quodcumque liquamen ad bibendum aptum fuerit facere sciant, pistores,
qui similam ad opus nostrum faciant, retiatores qui retia facere bene sciant, tam ad venan-
dum quam as piscandum sive ad aves capiendum, necnon et reliquos ministeriales quos ad
numerandum longum est.
65 Ibid, no. 32, c. 34: Omnino praevidendam est cum omni diligentia, ut quicquid manibus lab-
oraverint aut fecerint, id est lardum, siccamen, sulcia, niusaltus, vinum, acetum, moratum,
vinum coctum, garum, sinape, formaticum, butirum, bracios, cervisas, medum, mel, ceram,
farinam, omnia cum summo nitore sint facta vel parata.
The results presented above demonstrate several key features. First, a long-
term transition towards the acceptance of beer for medical purposes can be
seen through the changing portrayal of the beverage and its gradual increase
in recipes. Secondly, the recipe literature documents the adoption of a new
term for mead, medus, in medical contexts, paralleling the term’s appearance
in other early medieval sources. Third, these two developments appear to
be linked, with beer and mead (specifically as medus) often found together.
The relationship between the two beverages is further strengthened by their
connections to Frankish traditions, highlighted by Anthimus’ De observatione
ciborum. Fourth, although wine continues to occur more frequently than either
beer or mead, it is important to recognise that these beverages are presented
on equal terms: all three are recorded in recipes as well as in dietary guidelines.
In contrast to classical sources, beer is not dismissed as unhealthy, uncouth, or
otherwise unsuitable for medical purposes in this textual sample.
The significance of each of these changes must be considered in context.
Although the recipes under analysis are strongly related to classical and late
antique medical traditions, this chapter, like the previous one, reveals that they
also contain influences beyond these traditions. In this case, I have identified
ingredients that were unrecorded in classical and late antique recipes. The
similarities seen across many manuscripts suggest that these additions should
be viewed collectively as part of a larger pattern—a pattern linked to ingredi-
ent availability. The inclusion of these non-classical ingredients represents a
widespread, practical development, i.e., the use of locally produced and read-
ily available substances.
However, while non-medical texts, such as the Capitulare de villis and Plan
of St Gall, support the idea that these beverages were expected to have been
locally available in early medieval western Europe, it is important to avoid
placing too much weight on the evidence of such normative texts. With this
in mind, the pairing of beer and medus in dietary guidelines takes on greater
significance: their frequent, linked appearance in the medical literature at this
time—and specifically in the lists of substances that were either acceptable to
consume or best to avoid—is noteworthy as these writings appear to reflect
contemporary dietary and drinking habits. As such, dietary guidelines offer
a more direct glimpse into Carolingian food and drink, highlighting the sub-
stances that likely featured in daily life. The evidence from a range of textual
sources therefore indicates that beer and mead formed part of the standard
‘dietary landscape’ and their inclusion as ingredients in recipes thus docu-
ments a practical shift in medicine: their use as liquefying agents reflects adap-
tations made to suit local conditions.
7 Conclusion
and in-depth textual analyses. Such detailed studies have the potential to
identify significant patterns in the data that could be missed in studies with
smaller textual samples, such as a single recipe collection. By analysing over
5000 recipes, it was possible to detect particularly significant data clusters.
Following the large-scale analysis with more specific studies of the clusters
and then investigating the patterns that emerged within manuscripts and
their recipe collections accentuated the increasing frequency of references to
beer. While this beverage was listed roughly 0.5% of recipes from the entire
manuscript sample, it was included in nearly 2% of the recipes in cod. sang.
44. This percentage increased even further when its recipe collections were
considered separately: nine of the recipes that record beer can be found in the
collection on pp. 337–54, representing close to 4% of the 247 treatments con-
tained within this collection. Therefore, as illustrated by, on the one hand, the
observation of a general increase in references to beer and medus, and, on the
other hand, the identification of a striking concentration of recipes involving
beer in cod. sang. 44, the recipe sample involved in this study has the potential
to reveal both large-scale patterns as well as very specific information.
Finally, it must be remembered that the texts in which the examples of beer
and medus were identified continue to share many features with classical and
late antique medical writings. The introduction of these ingredients cannot
be said to mark a sharp break in intellectual traditions, but rather the gradual
evolution of the medical knowledge in circulation. The developments noted
above, though limited in scale, reflect two significant changes: a) that the com-
pilers of recipe collections were open to incorporating non-classical informa-
tion and traditions, and b) that these changes were of a highly practical nature.
The supporting evidence, such as the Capitulare de villis and Plan of St Gall,
indicates that the alcoholic beverages listed in recipes were being produced in,
and therefore likely obtainable in, the Carolingian world. This picture is further
strengthened by the frequent linking of beer and mead in dietary guidelines.
Ultimately, the addition of such practical ingredients supports the idea that
these collections were intended to be used in the practice of medicine. The
texts document changes to recorded medical knowledge, and these changes
appear to reflect responses to the local environment, medical traditions, and/
or available ingredients. While the individuals responsible for the composition
of these texts worked with a body of knowledge largely descended from classi-
cal traditions, their adaptations and additions to the recipe literature suggest
that they took into account practical considerations in an attempt to produce
recipe collections intended for use in practice.
The above potion recorded in bav reg. lat. 1143, the Potionem probata ad ilica
passio, offers an allegedly tried and tested treatment for those suffering from
abdominal pains. The recipe presents a number of different features that
argue for its practicality. The most eye-catching of these is the bold claim in
the title: this is a potionem probata, a recipe that has been used. As seen in the
case of Terenti(an)us, however, such statements need more careful scrutiny.
Phrases that promote the ‘tried and tested’ nature of recipes appear frequently,
usually either in the title or, most often, at the recipe’s close. These efficacy
clauses are best understood as advertisements for the treatment, represent-
ing a recurrent trope rather than a clear indicator of contemporary use. While
it remains possible that the inclusion of a term like probata could reflect the
scribe’s personal experience (or knowledge of others’ experiences), it would be
inappropriate to assume this without further evidence. Indeed, as the example
of Terenti(an)us showed, even recipes with detailed descriptions of use and
1 bav reg. lat. 1143, ff. 185r–185v: Potionem probata ad ilica passio. Agrimonia radices prinde
manipulos tres, mitte in ulla noua et addis ibidem uinum staupos nouem et coquatur usque ad
tertiam partem et bibit quando oporte fuerit. Radicem de rusco, radicem de tribulo, radicem de
sparago, radicem de olisatro, radicem appio, radicem de petroselino, puleio siccum, allii capiti-
nas iii, semen de malua sicca uncia una, porros iiii cum radicinas suas, bettonica cum radice sua
siue sicca siue uiride, radicem de uiola, nasturtium, ruta siluatica, et si non domestica, corian-
drum, anetum, oleum quod sufficit. The recipe continues with simple instructions for prepar-
ing the potion with these ingredients; for the full transcription, see Appendix 2, entry 18.9.
2 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, 713; McCormick’s comments on the unit stau-
pus are addressed below.
3 For more general studies of weights and measures, see Henry E. Sigerist, ‘Maße und Gewichte
in den medizinischen Texten des frühen Mittelalters’, Kyklos 3 (1930): 439–44 and Bernhard
Bischoff, ‘Maße und Gewichte zur Zeit Papst Hadrians I. (772–795)’, in Anecdota novissima.
Texte des vierten bis sechzehnten Jahrhunderts, ed. Bernhard Bischoff (Stuttgart: Hiersemann,
1984), 169–70. See also Isidore’s sections on weights, measures, and their symbols in Book
16: Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae, 16.15–17.
4 Polyptyque de l’abbé Irminon, ed. Guérard, vol. 1, 188; Studien und Texte, ed. Sigerist, 175.
5 Das Lorscher Arzneibuch, ed. and trans. Stoll, 40.
cup) and English ‘stoup’ (a basin for holy water) as well as to a variety of terms
for vessels in other Germanic languages, including Norwegian (staup), Swedish
(stop), Danish (støb), Middle High German (stouf), and Old High German
(stou(p)f).6
Moving beyond the debate regarding the volume of a staupus and its rela-
tionship to classical units, a number of scholars have also commented on its
linguistic significance. Julius Jörimann, for example, makes a special note of
its occurrence in the collections he transcribed and edited, despite the fact
that the term only appears twice in this material. He highlights the Germanic
influence indicated by the use of staupus when describing the practical nature
of many of the recipes’ measurements; other units he mentions as practical
include simple, comparative measurements such as a ‘handful’ or an ‘eggshell-
full’.7 Michael McCormick similarly comments on the ‘intrusion of [this] ver-
nacular Frankish term’ in the Lorscher Arzneibuch, writing that the use of stau-
pus indicated that ‘the Lorsch physician composed or reformulated recipes
which he actually used’.8 While I agree with both scholars that the inclusion
of this unit is noteworthy, I have reached a different conclusion regarding its
significance based on the analysis of a much wider selection of material. If the
unit staupus were only to be found in the recipes of the Lorscher Arzneibuch,
the argument that it documents a medicus recording his own experiences of
practice would be stronger (though still debateable), but, as the opening exam-
ple of this chapter as well as Jörimann’s comments make clear, the Lorscher
Arzneibuch is not unique in its use of this unit. Instead, as the following analy-
sis demonstrates, it is part of a much larger trend, and I argue that it is, in fact,
the term’s widespread appearance that makes it particularly significant. That
is, the prevalence of the unit staupus—rather than its uniqueness—is not only
striking but also especially relevant to consider when exploring the question
of practicality.
6 Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm, eds., Deutsches Wörterbuch. 32 vols. (Leipzig: S. Hirzel,
1854–1961), vol. 17, 1169–74. My thanks, too, to Rosamond McKitterick for alerting me to the
English term ‘stoup’.
7 Frühmittelalterliche Rezeptarien, ed. Jörimann, 90.
8 McCormick, Origins of the European Economy, 713.
Cod. sang. 44 6 5
Cod. sang. 397 1 1
Cod. sang. 550 2 1
Cod. sang. 751 60 38
Cod. sang. 752 1 1
Cod. sang. 759 12 9
Cod. sang. 761 1 1
Cod. sang. 899 1 1
bav pal. lat. 1088 2 2
bav reg. lat. 1143 3 3
BnF lat. 2849A 14 9
BnF lat. 5543 3 2
BnF lat. 9332 1 1
BnF lat. 11218 30 19
BnF lat. 11219 2 2
Total 139 95
twenty-four codices. While the relative prevalence of staupus confirms that its
use in the Lorscher Arzneibuch should not be read as a distinctive addition
by the ‘Lorsch physician’, these findings may appear to be somewhat insignif-
icant when considered against the backdrop of the entire recipe sample. The
ninety-five recipes that record the unit staupus represent only about two per-
cent (1.8%) of the recipes under analysis. It is, however, important to remem-
ber that many recipes do not specify any units, or any detailed instructions
for that matter, offering only lists of materia medica. With this in mind, the
appearance of staupus nearly 150 times is highly significant. Building on this
general perspective, it is essential to examine the contexts in which staupus is
found in more detail.
A recipe in BnF lat. 5543 offers a useful example to begin reviewing how
staupus is deployed and what it is used to measure. In this manuscript, the
sixth entry within a group of recipes titled Cura ad omnes apostomas, a cure for
all abscesses, offers the following instructions:
The first ingredient, horehound juice (marrubio ius), is given as three cups,
using the classical Latin word calyx. The next three ingredients do not list a
unit as they all involve the same amount: celery (apio) is paired simply with
‘iii’, while betony (betonica) and honey (mel) are listed as similiter. Nine cups
of the final ingredient, old wine (uinum uetus), is written out again with the
classical term. An interlinear gloss above calices, however, adds staupos, indi-
cating that this word is a synonym for calices. Crucially, unlike many of the
glosses seen in the manuscripts under analysis, it is written in the same hand as
the main text and is not a later addition. Indeed, the scribe may have thought
that glossing calyx at this point was necessary since the recipe then ends with
the newly introduced unit: the mixture should be cooked until twelve stau-
pos remain. Was the switch from calyx to staupus made to help readers who
were less familiar with the classical unit? Was the gloss added by the scribe for
Latin/Romance speakers who might not know the Germanic staupus? Or was
it simply to clarify that the two units should be read as equivalent in this recipe
since the scribe changed words, whether intentionally or accidentally, in the
middle of the recipe?
Regardless of the underlying rationale for providing the gloss, it represents a
user-friendly addition to the text that would have helped readers to understand
the instructions. Such a clarification, though it could be linked to an educa-
tional context and the study of vocabulary, is also particularly suited to a prac-
tical setting. The ingredients in this recipe may be fairly safe and an incorrect
measurement would have been unlikely to do much harm; many other treat-
ments, however, involve highly toxic substances and, if they were consulted in
practice, a misunderstanding regarding the amount of an ingredient to use or
a dose to administer could have had serious consequences.
This recipe in BnF lat. 5543 also illustrates two of the three main types of
liquids with which staupus is paired. This unit is most often recorded as meas-
uring: a) unsurprisingly, the most common liquid ingredients, such as the stand-
ard liquefying agents wine, water, and vinegar; b) the final liquid product of a
recipe (or a liquid mixture at some stage in the preparation process); and c)
notably local liquid ingredients. In BnF lat. 5543, the unit is first used with old
9 BnF lat. 5543, f. 2r: Item [Cura ad omnes apostomas]. Marrubio ius calices III, apio III, betonica
similiter, mel similiter, uinum uetus calices \staupos/VIIII, coque lento igne in olla rude usque
ad staupos XII. See Appendix 2, entry 2.1.6.
f igure 6
Infussio ad capud et ad colera in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 759 (p. 51), a
ninth-century manuscript with a collection of medical texts (https://www.e-codi
ces.unifr.ch/de/csg/0759/51)
© st. gallen, stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
wine, one of the most frequently recorded liquid ingredients, and then used as
the measurement for the recipe’s end result, the volume of the cooked potion.10
The chapter’s opening example, the Potionem probata ad ilica passio of bav reg.
lat. 1143, also measures wine by the staupus, as does the only other recipe in
BnF lat. 5543 that includes the unit. In the latter recipe, a treatment for joint
pain, a substantial volume of wine, fifty cups, is required, though it should be
noted that this large quantity was intended to last for several weeks: the patient
is instructed to drink the potion for fifty days.11 Turning to examples of other
common liquid ingredients, a potion intended to combat paralysis in BnF lat.
11219, for example, includes a full staupus of hot water (plenum staupum de aqua
calida) while an infusion for the head and for jaundice in cod. sang. 759 uses a
third of a staupus of vinegar (aceto tertia parte de staupo; see Figure 6).12
In addition to these typical liquefying agents, staupus often appears as a
liquid measure for a recipe’s end product or during the process of preparation,
as demonstrated by the second appearance of the unit in the Cura ad omnes
apostomas of BnF lat. 5543. Similarly, a potion to kill worms in cod. sang. 751
uses staupus twice: once to measure an ingredient (three staupus of strong
vinegar, tres staupus de aceto uehementi) and once to measure the potion being
prepared.13 A two-recipe unit found in codd. sang. 397, 752, and 899 contains
a striking cluster of ingredients named in the vernacular and explained in
Latin.14 The recipes in cod. sang. 752 were included in the opening example of
the previous chapter in relation to their comments on wine, beer, and mead
(see Figure 5). Within this recurring two-recipe cluster, the treatment for fevers
includes the unit staupus, fitting with this unusual, vernacular-heavy context:
Given the linguistic origins of the term staupus, it may, at first, seem surpris-
ing that it is not used to measure any of the notably local ingredients, namely,
those listed in the vernacular. These ingredients, however, are not liquid prod-
ucts, so the use of staupus, should not be expected. Indeed, in the first recipe,
no units of measurement are given and, in the second, vervain is measured by
the handful, manipulus.
Yet, in many of the other recipes in which the unit staupus is found, it is
paired with liquid substances of a local flavour, the third primary category.
A recipe to dry out swellings, Ad glandolas siccandas, in cod. sang. 44, for
example, ends with six cups of beer, sex staupos de ceruisa (see Figure 7).16
The use of this latinised vernacular unit alongside, as argued in Chapter 4, a
locally produced and consumed beverage that was newly introduced into the
recorded medical literature is especially noteworthy. Beer is also measured by
15 The above translation represents the recipes titled De fico emendando and Si tertiana aut
cottidiana febris hominem tangit in codd. sang. 397 (p. 22), 752 (p. 158), and 899 (p. 131);
as an example of the Latin text (which is nearly identical across the three recipes), the
following is from cod. sang. 752: De fico emendando. Accipe plantaginem et herbam acerem,
quae alio nomine gundereba nominatur, et seuum de multone, hoc est unslit, et ista tria
tundantur in mortario et fricantur in patella et sic ieiunus comedat cum pane. Ceruisam
et medum nec aquam bibat antequam sanetur. Si tertiana aut cottidiana febris hominem
tangit. Colligat de ueruena manipulum i, quae alio modo isarnina uocatur, et viiii grana
de pipero, et cum uino mixtam componat, et ante accessionem inde bibat staupum unum.
See Appendix 2, entries 7.1–2, 10.4–5, and 14.1–2. Note that the order of the two recipes is
reversed in cod. sang. 752.
16 Cod. sang. 44, p. 353; Ad glandolas siccandas. See Appendix 2, entry 5.23.
f igure 7
Ad glandolas siccandas in St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, cod. sang. 44 (p. 353), an
early medieval composite manuscript, the second half of which contains medical
texts and was written in northern Italy in the ninth century (https://www.e-codi
ces.unifr.ch/de/csg/0044/353)
© st. gallen, stiftsbibliothek, licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
the staupus in recipes in codd. sang. 550, 751, and BnF 11218.17 In addition to
beer, the unit’s frequent pairing with local ingredients can be seen in its use
to measure the juices of a number of different herbs, vegetables, and weeds
that were growing in northern and western Europe, such as plantains, cabbage,
savory, betony, fennel, coriander, feverfew, and horehound. Like the additional
documentary evidence for beer in the Carolingian world, it is worth highlight-
ing that many of these plants are named in other non-medical texts, including
the Plan of St Gall’s garden of medicinal plants, Walahfrid Strabo’s Hortulus,
as well as the final chapter of the Capitulare de villis, which lists nearly one
hundred plants to be cultivated in gardens, reinforcing their particularly local
feel.18 Two treatments for lung problems in cod. sang. 751, for example, call for
a full staupus of white horehound juice as well as two of vinegar and one of
honey.19
In this review of the contexts in which the unit staupus is used, two further
trends have emerged with respect to the recipes in which the term appears.
First, in the majority of cases, these recipes rely primarily, if not exclusively, on
local ingredients, such as those named in the final category addressed above.
The chapter’s opening example, the recipe for abdominal problems in bav reg.
lat. 1143, exemplifies this focus on local materia medica: all eighteen ingredients
17 Cod. sang. 550, p. 54: Istam causa facias contra morbum qui dicitur nesse; cod. sang. 751,
p. 447: Potione ad ebrugine; and BnF lat. 11218, f. 102r: Pucione ad ebrugine. See Appendix 2,
entries 8.1, 9.31, and 3.11.
18 See Schedl, Der Plan von St. Gallen; Horn and Born, The Plan of St. Gall, 181–3; Walahfrid
Strabo, Hortulus; and Capitulare de villis, ed. Boretius, no. 32.
19 Cod. sang. 751, p. 417, Ad pulmones curandum (and note that the same recipe is repeated
on p. 430). See Appendix 2, entry 9.19.
listed in the recipe could have been grown or found in northern and/or west-
ern Europe.20 Many of the other recipes seen so far also follow this pattern,
such as the two recipes from BnF lat. 5543. The first, a treatment for abscesses,
combines the juices of horehound, celery, and betony with honey and wine,
while the second, a cure for joint pain, lists a wide range of local plants, includ-
ing wormwood, plantain, ivy, nettles, and sage. Pepper is the sole exception,
the only non-local item within the list of nearly twenty different ingredients.
Secondly, ‘simple’ measurements, as labelled by Jörimann, such as a ‘hand-
ful’ (manipulus) or an ‘eggshell-ful’ (ouum plenum), often appear in recipes
that use the unit staupus.21 Turning again to BnF lat. 5543, the recipe for joint
pain mentioned above begins with a call for handfuls of dittany roots, centaury
leaves, and basil.22 Likewise, the recipe in cod. sang. 44 intended to dry out
swellings begins by measuring ingredients by the ‘handful’, manipulus, switch-
ing to ‘similarly’, similiter, after the first three ingredients, and ends with the
unit staupus to measure beer.23 Like the preceding example, this recipe also
relies entirely on local products with the exception of pepper. The infusion
for the head and for jaundice in cod. sang. 759 (noted above for its use of a
third of a staupus of vinegar) uses pugnata, ‘fistful’, as its main measurement
for its predominantly local herbal ingredients.24 Although classical units can
also be found in these recipes, such as the use of calyx in the first recipe of BnF
lat. 5543, the frequent appearance of non-technical language for measuring
ingredients alongside the use of staupus is striking, revealing a strong tendency
within these recipes to communicate information in a straightforward, easily
understood manner.
There are, however, some other exceptions to the trends noted above.
A treatment in BnF lat. 11219 for those with problems urinating, which includes
the unit staupus to measure wine, relies on ingredients that cover the full spec-
trum of ‘localness’.25 Some, such as parsley, celery, and fennel, could have been
growing in northern and western Europe, while others were far from local.
20 See Appendix 2, entry 18.9 for the full transcription from bav reg. lat. 1143; the ingredients
are: agrimony roots cooked in wine; the roots of butcher’s broom, caltrops, asparagus,
angelica, celery, parsley, and violets; dried pennyroyal; three heads of garlic; one ounce
of marshmallow seeds; four leeks with roots; betony, with its roots either dried or fresh;
cress; wild rue or, if necessary, the cultivated variety; coriander; dill; and oil.
21 Frühmittelalterliche Rezeptarien, ed. Jörimann, 90.
22 BnF lat. 5543, f. 2v: Item alia eiusdem [Contra artetricos]. Diptamnum radices manipulum i,
centaurea folia manipulum i, basilisca similiter… See Appendix 2, entry 2.2.2.
23 Cod. sang. 44, p. 353: Ad glandolas siccandas. See Appendix 2, entry 5.23.
24 Cod. sang. 759, p. 51: Infussio ad capud et ad colera. See Appendix 2, entry 11.5.
25 BnF lat. 11219, f. 225va, Ad eos qui urinam facere non possunt. See Appendix 2, entry 4.6.
Most notably, the recipe incorporates one of the newly recorded ingredients
mentioned in Chapter 3, galinga, galangal. A recipe for a jaundice treatment
in cod. sang. 759, Ad yctericus, offers another example at odds with the general
findings presented above.26 In this case, however, it is one of the two ingre-
dients with which staupus has been paired that is exceptional. In the first
instance, it is used to measure water—a full staupus is to be drunk, fitting with
one of the usual uses of staupus. The term is then used with garum, the famous
Roman fish sauce: half a staupus should be drunk and then the patient’s blood
should be let. The use of this term to measure such a conspicuously classical
ingredient stands in stark contrast to the largely local, simple, and common
liquids with which staupus is most frequently paired.27 The significance of
these exceptions will be considered below.
table 8 The treatises on weights and measures found within the manuscript sample
Manuscript Treatise
these treatises in the manuscript (pp. 35–7) also ends with a list of the many
different symbols used to represent these units.
The weights and measures described in these texts are, with few exceptions,
those inherited from Antiquity. For measurements of volume, these often
include amphora, congius (an eighth of an amphora), sextarius (roughly a pint,
a sixth of a congius), hemina and cotyla (both equal to half a sextarius), ace-
tabulum (a quarter of a hemina/cotyla), and cyathus (a twelfth of a sextarius).
Measurements of weight include libra (pound), uncia (ounce), and then the
many subdivisions of the uncia, such as semuncia (a half ounce), sicilicus (a
quarter ounce), drachma (a dram, or an eighth of an ounce), scrupulum (scru-
ple, or a twenty-fourth of an ounce), obolus (a forty-eighth of an ounce), and
siliqua (carat).30 Weights based on coins, such as the denarius or the solidus,
are also sometimes listed, and many of the measurements are grounded in
30 As cautioned in the opening ‘Note on Weights, Measures, and Their Symbols’, the transla-
tion of these terms is approximate; that is, a libra is not identical to a modern pound, nor
is an uncia equivalent to an ounce, but they provide a general sense of the amount under
consideration. For a review of texts on weights and measures, see also Sigerist, ‘Maße und
Gewichte’, 439–44 and Bischoff, ‘Maße und Gewichte’, 169–70. Cf. Isidore, Etymologiae,
16.15–17.
31 Das Lorscher Arzneibuch, ed. and trans. Stoll, 40; Polyptyque de l’abbé Irminon, ed. Guérard,
vol. 1, 188; Studien und Texte, ed. Sigerist, 175.
32 Plinii Secundi Iunioris qui feruntur De medicina libri tres, ed. Önnerfors, 1.6.2: Gari excellen-
tis cyathus, aceti cyathus unus, mellis cyathus et dimidius: in calice nouo sensim decoquitur,
spuma subinde penna tollitur, et cum spuma resederit, remouetur et ex eo tepidum infundi-
tur. See also The Medicina Plinii, trans. Hunt, 1.6.2.
therapy: they capture and transmit the medical knowledge that was in use dur-
ing this period. The recipes that incorporate the unit staupus thus bear witness
to scribes’ active engagement with a variety of sources, both textual and oral,
and their drive to make the texts understandable to their readers. Overall, the
inclusion of staupus in recipes appears to have been very practical adaptation
and is highly suggestive that they were intended for use in medical practice.
Near the end of the Potionem probata ad ilica passio, this chapter’s opening rec-
ipe, there is a comment on the type of rue to include: wild rue is preferred but,
if not available, cultivated rue would be an acceptable alternative (ruta siluat-
ica, et si non domestica). These instructions provide practical advice for what to
do if wild rue is not obtainable and recommend a nearly identical plant with
which to replace it. Whatever the reason for preferring wild rue (perhaps the
wild type was thought to be stronger than the domesticated variety and thus
favoured), this note implies that it was not always available. This is a useful
reminder that even theoretically local substances were not necessarily accessi-
ble; an ingredient’s localness might make it more likely to be available, but this
is no guarantee that the product in question was on hand.
Does the inclusion of information regarding a substitution suggest that this
recipe incorporates knowledge gained through experience? Was this recom-
mendation included in reaction to difficulties encountered when attempting
to obtain wild rue? Or, like the Terenti(an)us example, might this recipe trans-
mit knowledge from older sources without necessarily addressing Carolingian
experiences? In this final case study of Part 1, I examine the presence of infor-
mation regarding ingredient substitutions within recipes as another possible
perspective on the question of practicality: while such notes within prescrip-
tions offer practical solutions if certain ingredients were unavailable, does this
information appear to be related to contemporary practices?
better to use the leaves of wild parsnip than the cultivated type. If you cannot
find wild parsnip, use the cultivated one’.33 In other cases, closely related plant
species are listed as substitutes. Two parallel antidotes for stomach problems
and various other ailments, the Antidotum ad stomaco frigido qui dicitur climax
of cod. sang. 751 and Antidotum ad stomachum frigidum qui dicitur climax of
BnF lat. 11218, for example, recommend using mustard seeds (senapi semen) if
rocket seeds (erucae semen) are unavailable, thereby substituting one member
of the Brassicaceae family for another.34 Alternatively, where multiple parts of
the ingredient in question may be used, such as its leaves, seeds, fruits, roots,
and/or wood, one part of the plant may be listed as a possible replacement for
another. A recipe for expelling various creatures found in codd. Sang. 44, 751,
and bav pal. Lat. 1088, for instance, suggests substituting hemp leaves (folia de
cannabe) for hemp seeds (semen de cannabe) if necessary.35 The recipes in cod.
33 Cod. sang. 44, pp. 330–1: Item aliud ad fagidinica…melior enim est pastinace siluestris folia
quam domestice, si non inuenis agrestem, domesticam uteris. See Appendix 2, entry 5.17.2.
On the evolving terminology used for certain ‘eating diseases’, including phagedaena, see
Luke Demaitre, ‘“Is It Lupus?”—The Wolf in a Disease, from Metaphor to Medicine’, in
Beyond Cadfael: Medieval Medicine and Medical Medievalism, ed. Lucy Barnhouse and
Winston Black (Budapest: Trivent Publishing, 2023), 31–56.
34 Cod. sang. 751, p. 448: Antidotum ad stomaco frigido qui dicitur climax; BnF lat. 11218, ff.
98v–99r: Antidotum ad sthomachum frigidum qui dicitur climax. See Appendix 2, entries
9.32 and 3.9, respectively.
35 Cod. sang. 44, p. 350: Ranas et craxantos haec potio expellere solet [although this title might
suggest otherwise, this is part of a group of recipes found under the heading Item ad ipsum
potio bibenda contra ipsos uermes eiciendos aut quacumque maleficio in se habuerit]. Et si
de hac potione non exierint, bibat alia potione ad occidendos. Ius de mora campestria teris
et exprimis et teris folia cannapi manu plena, et si folia non fuerint semen ipsius, dabis ei
potione calice pleno, et si ius more non habuerint aut cannapo inuenire non potuerit lacte
caprino calido bibat; cod. sang. 751, p. 423: Item [Ad serpentes uel alios uerme de ominem
expellendum potio probata]. Ius de mura campestria expremis et teris folia de canepa, miscis
simul et dabis bibere calicę pleno, si folia non habes semen mitte, ipsum ualet uel [note: the
instructions appear to end abruptly mid-recipe]; bav pal. lat. 1088, ff. 37r–37v: Item [Ad
serpentes uel aliorum uermes de homine expellendum]. Ius de mora campestria exprimis et
teris folia de cannabe, miscis simul et dabis bibere calice pleno, et si folia non habes semen
mitte, ipsum ualet, si mora non est lacte caprino calidum facit. For full transcriptions of
these recipes, see Appendix 2, entries 5.21.2, 9.23.3, and 16.5.3, respectively. On hemp pro-
duction, see Marie-Pierre Ruas, ‘Productions agricoles en Auvergne carolingienne d’après
un dépotoir découvert à Saint-Germain-des-Fossés (Allier)’, Revue archéologique du centre
de la France 39 (2000): 137–60, https://doi.org/10.3406/racf.2000.2849; Corrie C. Bakels,
‘Crops produced in the southern Netherlands and northern France during the early medi-
eval period: a comparison’, Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 14, no. 4 (2005): 394–9,
https://doi.org/10.1007/s00334-005-0067-x; and Robert C. Clarke and Mark D. Merlin,
Cannabis: Evolution and Ethnobotany (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013).
sang. 44 and bav pal. lat. 1088 also note that goat’s milk can be used as alterna-
tive if mulberry juice is unavailable.36
Thirteen of the substitutions concern exotic ingredients. In some cases, the
recommended replacements are similar products, such as the substitution
of cassia (cassia) for cinnamon (cinamomum) in the Anthidotus Teodori of
bav reg. lat. 1143, though the recipe specifies that if cassia is used the amount
should be increased from eight scruples to eighteen.37 Similarly, the Antidotum
qui dicitur acharistus of BnF lat. 11218 records that if cassia is used in place
of cinnamon, it should be doubled: cinamomum uncia I aut casiae duplum.38
Other substitutions concerning exotica are not so clearly related, or at least not
to a modern reader. Take, for example, the substitution listed in a treatment
for incontinence in cod. Sang. 761: if pepper (piper) is not available, use natron
(nitri).39 Regardless of the efficacy of the substitution in question, the inclusion
of instructions for how to proceed when the desired ingredient is not available
represents a very practical, problem-solving addition to a recipe. Unlike the
appearance of the newly recorded unit staupus, however, the degree to which
these types of substitution instructions reflect early medieval contexts is less
clear. Do they offer advice from early medieval practitioners who attempted to
use the recipes or was this information was copied from earlier sources?
36 Given the abrupt ending of the recipe in cod. sang. 751 (the next recipe begins immedi-
ately after uel), it seems that the recipe in its current form is incomplete, and it is thus
possible that this second substitution information should have been included.
37 bav reg. lat. 1143, ff. 81r–82r: Anthidotus Teodori. See Appendix 2, entry 18.1.
38 BnF lat. 11218, ff. 57v–58r: Antidotum qui dicitur acharistus. See Appendix 2, entry 3.4.
39 Cod. sang. 761, p. 56: Item [Ad incontinentiam hurinae] … piper ∻ I aut si piper nolueris,
nitri ∻ II. See Appendix 2, entry 12.1.8.
40 Klaus-Dietrich Fischer, ‘Drugs to Declare. Two Pharmaceutical Works Attributed to Galen’,
Cuadernos de Filología Clásica. Estudios griegos e indoeuropeos 28 (2018): 225–41, https:
//doi.org/10.5209/CFCG.59395, at pp. 233–9; Alain Touwaide, ‘Quid pro Quo: Revisiting
the Practice of Substitution in Ancient Pharmacy’, in Herbs and Healers from the Ancient
Mediterranean through the Medieval West: Essays in Honor of John M. Riddle, ed. Anne Van
Arsdall and Timothy Graham (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 19–61.
Manuscript Treatise
than in the pseudo-Galenic text.46 There are no close parallels, for example,
to the suggested substitutions seen in the Potionem probata ad ilica passio of
bav reg. lat. 1143 or Item aliud ad fagidinica ulcera of cod. sang. 44. The for-
mer recommended replacing wild rue with a cultivated variety if the wild type
was unavailable and the latter suggested that domesticated parsnips could be
swapped for wild parsnips if necessary.47 That these unparalleled instances
of suggested substitutions involve common plant products that could have
been grown in Carolingian Francia, whether wild or cultivated, indicates that
these recommendations may reflect experience on the ground. Nevertheless,
the large amount of overlapping and generally similar information shared
between De succedaneis liber and individual recipes suggests that this treatise
may be the underlying source for many of the substitution instructions seen in
the recipe sample.
46 For the full texts in the two Paris manuscripts involved in the present study, see BnF lat.
6882A, ff. 11v–15r; BnF lat. 11219, ff. 230ra–233vb.
47 bav reg. lat. 1143, ff. 185r–185v, Potionem probata ad ilica passio; cod. sang. 44, pp. 330–1:
Item aliud ad fagidinica ulcera; see Appendix 2, entries 18.9 and 5.17.2.
4 Conclusion
a copy of an earlier source, or a combination of the two. I end with this case
study not to reduce the weight of the evidence from the preceding studies,
but to highlight the complexity of investigating the question of practicality.
It is often tempting to interpret all signs of a manuscript’s use as indicative of
their use in medical practice and, as in this case, all practical elements within
recipes as further corroboration of their intention to be used in a therapeu-
tic context. A more cautious and critical approach to the sources, however,
must be taken. Ultimately, as analyses of materia medica and the unit staupus
have demonstrated, it is the ‘new’ elements in the recipe literature, such as the
appearance of newly recorded ingredients, that provide the most compelling
evidence for the ways in which these recipes offered practical information that
was likely intended for, and could have been used in, medical practice.
4 Flint, ‘The Early Medieval ‘Medicus’’, 127–45; Skinner, Health and Medicine in Early Medieval
Southern Italy, see especially Chapter 5 (pp. 79–107); Clare Pilsworth, ‘Could you just sign
this for me John? Doctors, charters and occupational identity in early medieval northern
and central Italy’, Early Medieval Europe 17, no. 4 (2009): 363–88, https://doi.org/10.1111/j
.1468-0254.2009.00282.x; David Knipp, ‘The Chapel of Physicians at Santa Maria Antiqua’,
Dumbarton Oaks Papers 56 (2002): 1–23, https://doi.org/10.2307/1291851.
5 Again, see the discussion of this topic in Chapters 1 and 2.
6 Wallis, Medieval Medicine, xxv-xxvii.
toothache and joint pain. But did they? An individual’s health is intrinsically
related to social and environmental factors such as diet, lifestyle, and living
conditions, so even seemingly universal conditions must be examined without
preconceptions. Indeed, the examples of toothache and joint disease will be
addressed in Chapters 7 and 8, respectively.
8 Piers D. Mitchell, ‘An Evaluation of the Leprosy of King Baldwin iv of Jerusalem in the Context
of the Medieval World’, in The Leper King and His Heirs: Baldwin iv and the Crusader Kingdom
of Jerusalem, ed. Bernard Hamilton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 245–58;
Mitchell, Medicine in the Crusades, 185–6, 188–90.
times the inclusion of new techniques suggests that they were practised by
the author who recommended their use’.9 Such detailed, first-hand accounts,
especially for surgical procedures, are unknown in Carolingian medical writ-
ings; instead, the vast majority of references to the use of texts, such as the
case of Terenti(an)us, appear to be part of efficacy clauses—stock phrases that
should not be used as direct evidence for a text’s use in therapy. Although sim-
ilar phrases continue to be found in later writings, the textual landscape had
changed dramatically.
In addition to using the textual record, Mitchell’s work on medicine in the
Crusades integrates archaeological evidence. His analyses of written sources,
skeletal remains, and the results from excavations of hospitals, latrines, and
other sites that may produce information regarding health and medicine pro-
vide a more comprehensive picture, demonstrating the importance of bring-
ing together complementary types of evidence. Consider, for example, the
evidence for surgical interventions. While some surgeries only concern soft tis-
sue, others affect the skeleton and would therefore leave indications of surgical
intervention, such as cutmarks, in an individual’s remains. Skeletal evidence
and surgical tools found in excavations can then be compared to surgical texts
to assess whether particular treatments were put into practice. While this com-
bined approach works for the central and later Middle Ages, the relative lack
of early medieval Latin surgical writings combined with the absence of med-
ical equipment, such as surgical tools or pharmacy jars, among the material
remains found in early medieval excavations makes this type of comparison
impossible for the Carolingian period.10
Yet, although early medieval written sources and material finds, when com-
pared to both earlier and later periods, provide more limited evidence for
11 Charlotte A. Roberts, Human Remains in Archaeology: A Handbook, rev. ed. (York: Council
for British Archaeology, 2012), 6; Piers D. Mitchell, ‘Retrospective Diagnosis and the
Use of Historical Texts for Investigating Disease in the Past’, International Journal of
Paleopathology 1, no. 2 (2011): 81–8, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ijpp.2011.04.002, at p. 81.
12 Mitchell, Medicine in the Crusades, 10; Fleming, ‘Bones for Historians’, 29–48; Fleming,
‘Writing Biography’, 606–14.
13 Donald J. Ortner, ‘What Skeletons Tell Us: The Story of Human Paleopathology’, Virchows
Archiv 459 (2011): 247–54, https://doi.org/10.1007/s00428-011-1122-x, at p. 247.
14 This review of challenges focuses on those specific to my use of the osteological evidence,
such as the location of excavations. For more information on the physical challenges of
studying human remains, such as the impact of disposal and decay on skeletal material
or the effect of excavation and conservation on its preservation, see Roberts, Human
Remains in Archaeology.
15 John Pearce, ‘Beyond the Grave: Excavating the Dead in the Late Roman Provinces’, in
Field Methods and Post-Excavation Techniques in Late Antique Archaeology, ed. Luke Lavan
and Michael Mulryan (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 441–82, at p. 445.
16 Pearce, ‘Beyond the Grave’, 445, 461.
17 Ibid, 444.
the project’s funding body, or simply because the location of these sites might
be better known. While the individuals buried in these contexts may not have
been privileged themselves or may have experienced a variety of conditions
throughout their life (consider, for example, some of the Carolingian eccle-
siastical elite who, despite humble origins, became bishops and courtiers),
excavations in these sites are not likely to represent an even cross-section of
society and are instead biased towards more privileged individuals. Emergency
archaeology often presents a similar picture since many of the excavated cem-
eteries are in urban contexts.18 Given the elite environments in which the man-
uscripts containing medical texts were generally produced and housed, a bias
towards elite sites is not a disadvantage. Indeed, excavations of monastic com-
munities, and especially those known to have had medical texts in their librar-
ies, are particularly relevant to this study, as will be detailed below. It must
be remembered, however, that some degree of healthcare provision may have
been made available to the wider communities attached to these sites, such as
the familia who worked the lands, as well as visitors passing through, including
missi dominici and pilgrims.19 Notably, some of the sites under consideration,
such as Lorsch, appear to contain multiple cemeteries, including separate bur-
ial areas for the monks, familia, and pilgrims.20
It must also be remembered that the geographic distribution of excavations
is not evenly spread across western Europe, and certain areas are better rep-
resented than others. This is particularly noticeable in northern Italy, where
large numbers of Lombard necropoli have been excavated due to the regional
interest in Lombard migration and settlement.21 Some of these sites continued
to be used in the generations following the Carolingian conquest of Lombard
18 Ibid, 445–8.
19 As noted in Chapter 2, the level of medical practice available within and beyond monastic
centres continues to be debated. See, for example, Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall’, 13–14, 69–
79; Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, 8, 10–13, and 16; Nutton, ‘Early
Medieval Medicine and Natural Science’, 326; Park, ‘Medicine and Society’, 65–6.
20 Claus Kropp, Anne-Karin Kirsch, Wilfried Rosendahl, Jörg Orschiedt, and Lukas Fischer,
Begraben und Vergessen? Knochen erzählen Geschichte: Anthropologische Ausstellung
im Schaudepot Zehntscheune des unesco Welterbe Kloster Lorsch (Bad Homburg v. d.
Höhe: Verwaltung der Staatlichen Schlösser und Gärten, 2017). My thanks, too, to mem-
bers of the scientific board of Lorsch, including Claus Kropp and Hermann Schefers,
for sharing their insights into the cemeteries and discussing unpublished data from the
excavations.
21 Alexandra Chavarría and Maurizio Marinato, ‘Frammentazione e complessità nelle
pratiche funerarie altomedievali in Italia settentrionale’, in vii Congresso Nazionale di
Archeologia Medievale. Palazzo Turrisi. Lecce, 9–12 settembre 2015, ed. Paul Arthur and
Marco Leo Imperiale, vol. 2 (Florence: All’Insegna del Giglio, 2015), 61–8.
Italy and are therefore considered in the case studies of Part 2. While I shall
return to the representativity of this concentration of sites below, significantly,
as mentioned in Chapter 2, the inclusion of a northern Italian cluster aligns
well with the surviving manuscript evidence since a number of the codices
involved in the present study appear to have been produced in this region,
moving north soon after their composition.
Moreover, many of the recent, well-documented northern Italian exca-
vations under consideration have published analyses of skeletal remains,
something essential to this investigation and that is often lacking in older
archaeological reports due to funerary archaeology’s traditional focus on the
study of burial contexts and grave goods rather than the osteological material
itself.22 While it is important to recognise that skeletal remains are not always
available to study (perhaps a result of cremation—a practice that continued in
the Rhineland into the eighth and, in some cases, even the ninth centuries—or
later disturbances of the burial site),23 there has been a significant increase in
research on osteological evidence in recent decades, coinciding with the devel-
opment of new techniques and methodologies, such as stable isotope analysis,
that are producing alternative approaches to studying the skeletal record.24
The growing number of publications from excavations across the Carolingian
world that not only examine burials but also address their skeletal remains has
made this study’s dual approach possible.
historical evidence given the differences between past experiences and under-
standings of disease and our own.29 Instead, he suggests that past disease, as
experienced and identified by the people who were affected by it, should be
understood in the past as exclusively historical studies without the introduc-
tion of modern medical concepts.30 Mitchell and Muramoto, despite agreeing
with aspects of Cunningham’s argument, have shown how retrospective diag-
nosis can provide valuable insights into understanding past populations. More
specifically, Muramoto has advanced an effective counter argument from a
theoretical perspective while Mitchell has shared constructive guidance on the
best practices for incorporating textual evidence in the study of past disease.31
In addressing the ontological challenge presented by making a diagnosis in
the past, Muramoto uses the example of tuberculosis, or rather a Mycobacterium
tuberculosis infection. Many retrospective diagnoses are interested in asking
‘whether Disease X which we recognise as tuberculosis today is the same and
identical disease as “phthisis”, “consumption”, or whatever they called [it] in
historical time’.32 This, he argues, is not an appropriate way to investigate a
past disease because it does not account for changing environmental, biologi-
cal, and cultural differences. Instead, he suggests framing the investigation by
questioning the ontology of a disease, its persistence and existence through
time: ‘consider modern tuberculosis representing Disease X, while historical
tuberculosis Disease X1. Diseases X and X1 may be related to each other, but
they are not identical, or may be clinically similar but may be different entities
with different aetiology and pathophysiology’.33 Accepting both the difference
and similarity or relatability between Diseases X and X1 is crucial to the pres-
ent study. Continuing with the tuberculosis example, although in a modern
medical setting tuberculosis is understood to be caused by Mycobacterium
tuberculosis, historical tuberculosis (‘consumption’, ‘phthisis’, etc.) may have
been caused by other pathogens (such as Mycobacterium bovis) that produced
a similar result.
Given the underlying questions of this book, thinking about a range of
related or similar diseases is more fitting: when considering the potential appli-
cability of medical remedies, I am interested in the symptoms that diseases
29 Andrew Cunningham, ‘Identifying Disease in the Past: Cutting the Gordian Knot’, Asclepio
54, no. 1 (2002): 13–34, https://doi.org/10.3989/asclepio.2002.v54 .i1.133.
30 Cunningham, ‘Identifying Disease in the Past’, 16.
31 Muramoto, ‘Retrospective Diagnosis of a Famous Historical Figure’; Mitchell, ‘Improving
the Use of Historical Written Sources’, 88–95.
32 Muramoto, ‘Retrospective Diagnosis of a Famous Historical Figure’.
33 Ibid.
produced rather than a specific disease label. Although tuberculosis is not one
of the selected conditions addressed in the following chapters, it provides a
useful example. It would be inappropriate to take the medieval Latin medi-
cal term phthisis, which is commonly translated as ‘consumption’ or ‘tuber-
culosis’, to mean an infection of Mycobacterium tuberculosis and to look for
skeletal indicators of this particular disease exclusively. Instead, it would be
more appropriate to read phthisis as a collection of symptoms that loosely cor-
respond to diseases like tuberculosis, such as coughing and weight loss. With
a group of symptoms in mind, it is then possible to consider whether skeletal
indicators might be present.
Although retrospective diagnosis continues to be debated, this type of
non-specific, conservative approach is generally accepted by many historians
of medicine. Faith Wallis, for example, writes, ‘it can sometimes be useful for
the purposes of historical analysis to try to determine what modern disease
category might match a medieval description; indeed, it can actually enhance
our understanding of what the medieval writer is attempting to convey’.34 This
fits with what the following chapters aim to do: by thinking about the ‘disease
categories’ suggested by the texts with respect to the osteological evidence, it
is possible to re-evaluate whether the texts might have been applicable—that
is, whether they record treatments for conditions (or rather the symptoms of
conditions) that, based on skeletal remains, individuals experienced in this
period.
Returning to Muramoto’s in-depth examination of retrospective diagnosis,
he also takes issue with one of the standard approaches to the question ‘how
do we know what disease a person had?’ Many opponents of retrospective
diagnosis point out that modern researchers can never know the full medi-
cal ‘reality’ of an individual in the past since historical evidence, whether tex-
tual, art historical, or archaeological, does not represent medical data, or at
least not the type of medical data recorded today for the purpose of diagnosis.
Yet, fundamentally, ‘medical diagnosis is a process of hypothesis-making and
hypothesis-adjustment’ as well as ‘a probabilistic judgment under uncertainty
rather than an apodictic judgement under certainty’.35 If modern diagnoses
are not given with complete certainty, then retrospective diagnoses should not
be held to a higher, impossible standard. Additionally, Muramoto explains that
‘a clinician is not a natural scientist whose task is to uncover a hidden state
of affairs of nature; she is only applying natural sciences to more pragmatic
tasks of caring and treating a sick patient, explaining the condition, and prog-
nosticating the future course of his suffering’.36 Understanding diagnosis as
an explanatory device is critical: it is less about defining a patient’s exact, cer-
tain, and total disease reality, and instead concerned with determining the
next course of action and possible long term expectations. This can be easy
to forget since modern medical diagnoses involving advanced laboratory tests
and imaging are often seen as the definition of an individual’s condition rather
than as an explanatory device based on probability and subject to revision.
Recognising that diagnosis, whether modern or medieval, is intended to pro-
vide a framework for treatment and care is essential for understanding the tex-
tual evidence under consideration.37
Muramoto tackles one further epistemological point: the methodolo-
gies involved in diagnosis. Modern medicine can diagnose conditions from
a number of different approaches: ‘by clinical signs and symptoms (clinical
diagnosis); by laboratory tests (laboratory diagnosis); by genetic tests (genetic
diagnosis); by identifying aetiology (aetiological diagnosis); [and] by patho-
logical examination (pathological diagnosis)’.38 Although the study of skeletal
remains makes possible the examination of pathologies and even some med-
ical tests, many of the above methods are not available when making diagno-
ses in the past, adding a further degree of uncertainty. An assessment of the
evidence should therefore take these methodological limitations into account,
framing the possible diagnosis cautiously, such as ‘X and Y symptoms or mark-
ers are consistent with Z disease’.39 Mitchell similarly advocates a cautious
approach to the identification of past disease and suggests using phrases such
as ‘possible example of’, ‘is compatible with’, ‘a probable example of’, or ‘very
likely to represent’ Disease X.40
Finally, with this theoretical framework in mind, the question of medical
ethics must be addressed. Since this book examines general trends and pat-
terns in the palaeopathological data regarding a selection of conditions, many
of the ethical concerns related to retrospective diagnosis pose less of an issue.
First, the selected conditions, such as joint disease and oral pathologies, are
not diseases that could damage someone’s reputation posthumously (i.e.,
reveal information that someone would want to conceal), and secondly, given
36 Ibid.
37 This take on diagnosis also aligns more closely to the early medieval focus on prognosti-
cation. See Wallis, ‘Signs and Senses’, 265–78.
38 Muramoto, ‘Retrospective Diagnosis of a Famous Historical Figure’.
39 Ibid.
40 Mitchell, ‘Improving the Use of Historical Written Sources’, 89.
the nature of the sample, the individuals are nearly always anonymous (the
discovery of Abbot Talaricus’ grave representing a rare exception) and not
linked to any living people.41
41 Richard Hodges, John Mitchell, and Lucy Watson, ‘The discovery of Abbot Talaricus’ (817–
3 October 823) tomb at San Vincenzo al Volturno’, Antiquity 71 (1997): 453–6, https://doi
.org/10.1017/S0003598X00085082.
42 James W. Wood, George R. Milner, Henry C. Harpending, and Kenneth M. Weiss, ‘The
Osteological Paradox: Problems of Inferring Prehistoric Health from Skeletal Samples’,
Current Anthropology 33, no. 4 (1992), 343–70.
43 Consider, for example, the twelve pages of responses to the original article (Wood, Milner,
Harpending, and Weiss, ‘The Osteological Paradox’, 358–70) and later responses such as
Mark Nathan Cohen, James W. Wood, and George R. Milner, ‘The Osteological Paradox
Reconsidered’, Current Anthropology 35, no. 5 (1994): 629–37; Sharon N. DeWitte and
Christopher M. Stojanowski, ‘The Osteological Paradox 20 Years Later: Past Perspectives,
Future Directions’, Journal of Archaeological Research 23 (2015): 397–450, https://doi.org
/10.1007/s10814-015-9084-1.
44 Wood, Milner, Harpending, and Weiss, ‘The Osteological Paradox’, 344–5.
evidence can provide a more precise date for site occupation or burial; the
excavation of Abbot Talaricus’ tomb at San Vincenzo al Volturno presents one
such example.50
The duration with which a site was used also deserves mention since many
sites were active over a relatively long period of time, often spanning several
centuries, and may have been used for multiple purposes over this period (set-
tlement, cemetery, quarry, disposal area, etc.), complicating the establishment
of a firm chronology.51 As a result, although the sites involved in this study
were in use during the Carolingian period, many pre-and/or post-date it, too.
This chronological breadth means that some of the skeletal material consulted
in the following case studies does not align perfectly with the chronologically
narrower textual record. Yet, as noted above, the external and internal factors
affecting health and disease, such as the environment and culture, tend to
change gradually, thereby allowing for some flexibility with respect to dating.
Cemeteries that contain remains pre-or post-dating the Carolingian period
by a few generations should, in the majority of cases, still be comparable and
relevant to this study. Consider, for example, the cemetery areas of the Abbey
of Lorsch. Although they may contain burials spanning the entire period in
which the monastery was active (i.e., up to the sixteenth century), radiocar-
bon dating has provided definite evidence of Carolingian burials within the
so-called Mönchsfriedhof, the cemetery that is thought to have contained the
monks.52 Additional archaeological evidence, including the cemetery area’s
size and uniformity, suggests that many of the un-dated individuals also lived
during the Carolingian period (or at least within a few generations of it) rather
than the later Middle Ages. The Lorsch skeletal material, moreover, represents
a particularly interesting reference point given its connections with medical
texts in the late eighth and ninth centuries: surviving library catalogues indi-
cate that its library housed several medical manuscripts during this period and
its scriptorium produced the Lorscher Arzneibuch in c. 800.53 As this codex
specificity: the first is a catch-all panacea while the second is a highly specific
treatment. I have used this variable, i.e., the specificity of a recipe’s approach to
treatment, in the following analyses to differentiate recipes, identify patterns
in the information they present, and assess how the textual evidence compares
to the osteological record. It has been especially useful to combine an analysis
of specificity with other features, such as target area(s) of treatment.
In the following chapters, I shall classify recipes as belonging to one of three
levels of specificity: a) non-specific, b) semi-specific, and c) highly specific.55
Generally, antidotes and other recipes that claim to treat a large variety of
seemingly unrelated conditions, ranging from snake bites to fevers to stom-
ach pains to gout, fall into the non-specific group; recipes that target a range
of similar conditions are considered semi-specific; and recipes that intend to
treat a single condition have been classified as highly specific. While the dif-
ference between these levels of specificity is subjective, their divisions become
easier to see when mapped onto the recipe literature. Consider, for example,
recipes that target joint pain: when joint pain is listed as one of a host of dif-
ferent conditions, the recipe is classified as non-specific, but when it is found
alongside a more limited number of other symptoms, such as dislocations
and fractures, the recipe is considered semi-specific (all of the conditions the
recipe intends to treat involve pain management). In contrast, a remedy that
only targets joint pain, whether general arthritic pains or a named joint area,
falls under the highly specific category. Given the particularly focused nature
of highly specific treatments, the following case studies tend to concentrate on
this category of recipes in relation to the skeletal evidence.
Having reviewed the significance of the question of applicability and out-
lined my approach to re-evaluating the recipe literature, it is now possible to
turn to the first case study, an investigation into the applicability of early medi-
eval treatments for dental problems.
55 In the tables of Chapters 7–9, these categories are generally abbreviated as: NSp, SSp, and
HSp, respectively.
Dental Disease
From Caries to Cosmetics
When considering human health in the past, few sights are more compelling
than a skeleton that shows clear signs of disease. Figure 8 offers one such
encounter, presenting a skull with evidence of a variety of dental problems,
including caries, deposits of dental calculus, and periodontal disease. Figures 9
and 10 provide a closer look at the state of this individual’s dentition, high-
lighting carious lesions (pointed out by arrows in Figure 9), deposits of calcu-
lus (seen as the deposits on the surface of the teeth in Figure 10), and dental
enamel hypoplasia, deh (evidenced by the horizontal bands across the teeth
in Figure 10). This individual, a male aged thirty-five to forty years old at the
time of his death, was uncovered in excavations at Lorsch in 1999.1 His burial
was part of the so-called Mönchsfriedhof, a cemetery within the Abbey com-
plex that is thought to have been used primarily by the monastic community.
Radiocarbon dating indicates that he lived during the late Carolingian period.2
What can be learnt about early medieval dental health by studying this monk
and other individuals from this period? And how do their teeth compare to the
descriptions of dental problems recorded in recipes?
Teeth provide a wealth of information. The oral pathologies recorded in the
Lorsch monk’s dentition, for example, do not present a straightforward case of
disease but can offer a much more nuanced picture of the state of his health,
both at the time of his death and in earlier phases of his life. Unlike bones,
which remodel throughout an individual’s life, teeth can provide a snapshot
of the period in which their growth occurred, generally infancy or childhood,
while simultaneously recording later dietary and disease experiences. Thus,
the presence of carious lesions and calculus point to poor dental hygiene as
an adult and illustrate the state of his oral health at the time of his death. The
existence of deh, on the other hand, reveals that he may have suffered from
malnutrition or serious, growth-interrupting disease(s) at a young age.
1 Kropp, Kirsch, Rosendahl, Orschiedt, and Fischer, Begraben und Vergessen?, 38–9.
2 The date range given by radiocarbon dating is 888–966. Kropp, Kirsch, Rosendahl, Orschiedt,
and Fischer, Begraben und Vergessen?, 38–9.
f igure 8
A skull from an individual buried in the monastic burial
area at Lorsch
© staatliche schlösser und gärten hessen,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
f igure 9
Carious lesions visible on skeletal remains excavated
at Lorsch
© staatliche schlösser und gärten hessen,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
f igure 10
Dental calculus and deh visible on skeletal remains
excavated at Lorsch
© staatliche schlösser und gärten hessen,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
in essentially all of the sites consulted. I argue, therefore, that the treatments
for dental problems recorded in the texts would have been highly applicable
to many individuals in early medieval Europe. A consideration of several cat-
egories of recipes, such as treatments that target specific types of teeth, adds
further weight to this argument.
Dental remains represent one of the best materials to study when investigating
health and disease in the past, and not simply because of the range of informa-
tion they can provide as noted above. Crucially, teeth tend to ‘resist destruction
and taphonomic conditions better than any other body tissue’ due to their pro-
tective layer of enamel.3 Before examining the state of dental health as seen
in early medieval skeletal assemblages, I shall provide a brief review of dental
anatomy and common conditions and address several tooth-specific method-
ological challenges.
3 Luis Pezo Lanfranco and Sabine Eggers, ‘Caries Through Time: An Anthropological
Overview’, in Contemporary Approach to Dental Caries, ed. Ming-Yu Li (Rijeka: IntechOpen,
2012), 3–34, https://doi.org/10.5772/38059; Odin M. Langsjoen, ‘Diseases of the Dentition’,
in The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Human Paleopathology, ed. Arthur C. Aufderheide and
Conrado Rodríguez-Martín (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 393–412, at
p. 393; Waldron, Palaeopathology, 236–48.
4 Langsjoen, ‘Diseases of the Dentition’, 394.
5 Langsjoen, ‘Diseases of the Dentition’, 395. As this chapter focuses on the state of dental
health generally, I shall not detail the nomenclature and annotation used to describe each
tooth and tooth area, but it is important to note that there are several systems used to record
the state of teeth uncovered in excavations, including the International Coding System (rec-
ommended by the Fédération dentaire internationale) and the Standards System (similar
to the ics but with a visual format); differences in recording and analysing teeth and asso-
ciated pathologies may account for some of the variation observed when comparing results
from multiple sites. For more information on tooth anatomy, see Simon Hillson, Dental
Anthropology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 6–105.
dental pulp. Enamel, the outer-most protective layer, is almost entirely made
up of mineral content (96%), making it among the hardest substances in
the body.6 The second layer, dentine, also called the root of the tooth, forms
another layer of protection for the pulp, though it is less hard than enamel.
Cementum, a bony connective tissue, links the root of the tooth to the perio-
dontal ligament.7 Finally, the pulp, the inner-most part of the tooth, contains
the soft tissue. Collectively, the tissues supporting and affixing a tooth to the
alveolar bone are called the periodontium.8 While this study concentrates on
teeth, an analysis of dental health cannot ignore the surrounding tissues, such
as the gingiva (gums) and alveolar bone.
Turning to the types of pathologies recorded in the skeletal remains, car-
ies, a term derived from the Latin caries, meaning decay or rottenness, is ‘the
most common cause of oral pain and tooth loss’ and ‘one of the few conditions
which has been recorded unfailingly in almost all reports on human remains
from archaeological sites’.9 As seen in Figure 9, the Carolingian monk from
Lorsch was suffering from multiple carious lesions when he died. The disease is
a progressive bacterial condition that affects the calcified dental tissues, dem-
ineralising the inorganic material and destroying the organic components.10
Caries tend to occur at two different locations on the tooth surface, either at
the crown or the root, resulting in several types of lesions with differing aetiol-
ogies.11 Coronal caries begin with the destruction of the enamel, then the den-
tine, and eventually penetrate the pulp chamber; molars and pre-molars tend
to be the most affected by this type of lesion due to their complex network of
fissures, fossae and groves.12 Root caries occur more frequently in later life due
to the effects of periodontal disease (addressed below), whereby the recession
of the gingivae and underlying supporting tissues exposes a tooth’s cementum
and roots, making them susceptible to infection.13
In their review of evidence for caries from prehistory to the present day,
Luis Pezo Lanfranco and Sabine Eggers reported that the disease reached a
peak in the early Middle Ages, having increased steadily from c. 1200 bc.14 This
peak was followed by a period of relative stability for several centuries, before
rising dramatically with the largescale introduction of sugar in the early mod-
ern period.15 Although skeletal evidence indicates that both sexes were heavily
affected by carious lesions, males tend to exhibit a lower prevalence of car-
ies than females. While the cause of this difference continues to be debated,
females may be predisposed to the development of caries due to earlier tooth
eruptions and hormonal fluctuations as well as ‘culturally regulated’ differ-
ences, such as gendered access to certain foods in some populations.16 The
recording and analysis of caries in the archaeological record is complicated
other pathologies, such as the effects of abrasion or the accumulation of dental
calculus.
The aging process has been linked to a number of degenerative changes in
the dentition, including attrition (wear), erosion, and abrasion.17 Paradoxically,
the rate of attrition and abrasiveness of an individual’s diet have been tied to
both the development and inhibition of caries.18 On the one hand, abrasive
foods and extensive wear may increase the risk of chipping teeth, creating
spaces in which dental plaque can collect while simultaneously exposing lines
of weakness and/or areas of dentine.19 On the other hand, a high level of den-
tal wear and abrasion can erode the carious tissue and dislodge plaque, pro-
tecting the teeth from the accumulation of bacteria.20 The degree to which
these processes support or inhibit the initiation of caries remains a conten-
tious issue in the field.
Dental calculus also presents a complex relationship with caries. Deposits
of calculus are formed over time as plaque, a biofilm made up of bacteria and
fragments of food particles, accumulates on the surface of a tooth and even-
tually mineralises.21 In theory, there is an inverse relationship between the
development of caries and the build-up of calculus since the latter requires an
alkaline environment (resulting in net mineralisation) while the former
requires an acidic environment (resulting in net demineralisation).22 Both
pathologies, however, are often found together, indicating that other factors
play a role in the development of both caries and calculus.23
Periodontal disease, or periodontitis, is a chronic, destructive inflammatory
process that affects the tissues of the periodontium over time.24 This occurs as
plaque accumulates at the gum margin and is one of the main causes of ante-
mortem tooth loss (amtl), a topic addressed in more detail below.25 In the
archaeological record, the condition is identified by a receded alveolar margin
and the bone often exhibits signs of inflammation and remodelling.26
Cysts, abscesses, and granulomas are three different types of lesions found
at the apex of the tooth that are caused by an infection of the dental pulp.27 If
the infected tooth is not removed, the infection induces an immune response
in the periapical tissue, a cavity.28 While acute abscesses and granulomas tend
to be less than 3 mm, cysts and chronic abscesses can be much larger, making
them easily recognisable in the archaeological record (as seen in Figures 12 and
13 below).29
Tooth loss, though not necessarily pathological, must also be mentioned
since many teeth may be missing from excavated skeletal remains. It is often
possible to determine whether teeth were lost before or after death based on
the appearance of the tooth’s socket. Post-mortem tooth loss (pmtl), which
can occur as a result of taphonomic processes or during excavation and con-
servation, leaves a ‘pristine’ tooth socket with no signs of remodelling.30 In the
case of amtl, the alveolar bone will ‘show some degree of remodelling’ and the
socket will eventually smooth over (an example of a jaw with extensive amtl
can be seen below in Figure 14a).31 amtl is a useful measure of dental health
since teeth tend to be lost as a result of carious lesions, periodontal disease,
and/or intentional extraction due to these causes, though it must be remem-
bered that they can also be lost due to trauma, non-medical extraction (e.g.,
ritual or cosmetic extractions), and other diseases (such as scurvy).32 Although
f igure 11
A close-up of carious lesions from skeletal remains excavated
at Lorsch
© staatliche schlösser und gärten hessen, licensed
under cc by-n c 4.0
The dental health of the individual from Lorsch highlighted above, how-
ever, might not have been as bad as popular stereotypes suggest. Although he
clearly suffered from carious lesions, was missing teeth, and exhibited depos-
its of calculus, these features must be examined in more detail. The missing
teeth, for example, appear to have been lost post-mortem (see Figure 9) and
the build-up of calculus is relatively light (see Figure 10). While it cannot be
said that his dental health was good, it was also not extremely poor. How does
his dental record fit with the rest of the sample from Lorsch?
Overall, the dental remains excavated at Lorsch contain a relatively high
percentage of teeth affected by caries.38 Figure 11, for example, illustrates two
teeth excavated at Lorsch that have been severely damaged by carious lesions.
Many teeth also exhibit calculus deposits, and often of a higher degree than
that seen in the opening example. Compare the relatively light presence of cal-
culus seen in Figure 10 with the much heavier accumulation seen in Figure 12.
The deposits of calculus are clearly visible in the three remaining molars of
the maxilla. A large cyst in the mandible is also observable in Figure 12. It is
likely that this stemmed from a carious lesion in the molar, now missing, under
which it is located. Similarly, Figure 13 provides evidence of both extensive cal-
culus deposits (best seen on the left-most tooth) and a deep abscess in the
38 Kropp, Kirsch, Rosendahl, Orschiedt, and Fischer, Begraben und Vergessen?, and supple-
mented by personal communications with members of the scientific board of Lorsch,
including Claus Kropp and Hermann Schefers.
f igure 12
Evidence of calculus build-up and a cyst seen on
skeletal remains excavated at Lorsch
© staatliche schlösser und gärten hessen,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
f igure 13
Evidence of calculus deposits and an abscess on
skeletal remains excavated at Lorsch
© staatliche schlösser und gärten hessen,
licensed under cc by-n c 4.0
mandible. In this case, the abscess has exposed the root of a tooth affected by
a carious lesion. These images, combined with the general assessments made
by the researchers at Lorsch, illustrate the overall poor state of dental health
in medieval Lorsch.
Despite these general signs of dental disease, it must be stressed that the
sample from Lorsch displays a high degree of variability. Consider, for exam-
ple, the two jaws pictured in Figure 14. The image on the left shows clear signs
of extensive amtl: not a single tooth remains in this mandible and nearly all
sockets appear to have been fully remodelled, suggesting that the vast majority
of teeth were lost at least several years before the individual died. This example
fits with the evidence highlighted above, adding further weight to the picture
of poor dental health. The image on the right, however, provides a stark con-
trast. In this case, all of the teeth are present and intact; none exhibits signs of
caries, major calculus build-up, or periodontal disease; and there is little evi-
dence of attrition. This serves as a valuable reminder, demonstrating that, even
f igure 14
Contrasting dental health visible in the skeletal remains excavated
at Lorsch
© staatliche schlösser und gärten hessen, licensed
under cc by-n c 4.0
of oral pathologies. Caries were noted in only 6.1% of teeth, amtl accounted
for just 10.8% of teeth, and very few abscesses were observed.40 While the sig-
nificant differences between these two sites could be due, at least in part, to
differences in the excavation and data recording methods employed by the
research teams responsible for this work, it is likely that these populations
experienced different living conditions and/or variations in diet. Regardless,
even though individuals buried at San Lorenzo di Desenzano appear to have
enjoyed relatively good dental health overall, some people still suffered from
caries, amtl, and abscesses.
Age is another factor that sometimes helps to explain the high level of var-
iation between sites. Excavations at a Merovingian-Carolingian cemetery in
Cherbourg, for example, uncovered 111 subadult individuals dating from the
seventh to eleventh centuries.41 Within this sample, there was no evidence of
carious lesions on permanent teeth, while only 1.3% of deciduous teeth were
affected by the disease.42 This is a strikingly low incidence of caries and unlike
any other site involved in the present study: barely any carious lesions were
reported despite the relatively large sample size. The results appear less unu-
sual, however, when the age of the individuals is considered. This study focused
on a sample of subadults, meaning that, at the time of their death, their teeth
had been exposed to cariogenic environments for only a short period of time.
Since caries is an age-linked disease that progresses over time, this very low
frequency would be expected.
Excepting cases such as Cherbourg, the evidence from most sites looks more
like that from Lorsch or Biel-Mett, exhibiting some intra-site variation but, on
the whole, moderate to high levels of caries and amtl. The excavation report
of the cemetery at Santa Maria Assunta di Cairate, a rural monastic site used
from the late sixth to ninth centuries, provides a detailed assessment of the
40 Alessandro Canci, Alexandra Chavarría Arnau, and Maurizio Marinato, ‘Il cimitero
della chiesa altomedievale di San Lorenzo di Desenzano (bs): note di bioarcheologia’,
in vi Congresso Nazionale di Archeologia Medievale. Sala Conferenze “E. Sericchi”, Centro
Direzionale CARISPAQ “Strinella 88”. L’Aquila, 12–15 settembre 2012, ed. Fabio Redi and
Alfonso Forgione (Florence: All’Insegna del Giglio, 2012), 452–5.
41 V. Garcin, P. Velemínsky, P. Trefny, A. Alduc-Le Bagousse, A. Lefebvre, and J. Bruzek,
‘Dental Health and Lifestyle in Four Early Mediaeval Juvenile Populations: Comparisons
between Urban and Rural Individuals, and between Coastal and Inland Settlements’,
homo—Journal of Comparative Human Biology 61, no. 6 (2010): 421–39, https://doi.org/10
.1016/j.jchb.2010.06.004, at pp. 423–4.
42 Garcin, Velemínsky, Trefny, Alduc-Le Bagousse, Lefebvre, and Bruzek, ‘Dental Health and
Lifestyle’, 430.
dental remains recovered from three distinct burial areas.43 The dental mate-
rial from Group A, which included sixteen individuals, nearly all of whom were
female, were relatively poorly preserved: only fifty-two teeth (out of a possible
512) were identified and all maxillae and mandibles were fragmentary.44 Given
this state of preservation, it is not surprising that only three individuals exhib-
ited signs of caries. However, the carious lesions of one of these individuals
were very severe and, despite the fragmentary nature of the jaw bones, exten-
sive amtl was also noted.45 Group B, which appears to have been used as the
burial area for an elite family, included eight individuals.46 Although only one
individual exhibited evidence of caries, this was another particularly severe
case: thirteen teeth, mostly pre-molars and molars, were affected.47 Finally,
the dental remains of Group C, representing the population of the surround-
ing area, also experienced relatively poor preservation, and only fifteen of the
sixty-eight individuals uncovered were analysed.48 Yet within this sample,
eight individuals exhibited carious lesions (five of whom were female), repre-
senting a higher frequency of caries than what was reported in Groups A and
B. Again, pre-molars and molars were the most affected teeth.49
In the excavation reports of early medieval cemeteries in Acqui Terme and
Rivoli, the former in use between the seventh and ninth centuries and the lat-
ter between the sixth and eighth centuries, it was noted that individuals exhib-
ited high levels of amtl and caries.50 Indeed, at least one carious lesion was
recorded on all of the female individuals studied and nearly two-thirds of the
males.51 Likewise, a higher incidence of caries was noted among females exca-
vated at the Saint Servatius complex in Maastricht, a site from which eighty-
three individuals have been dated to the so-called ‘Basilica Phase’ of its use,
43 Anny Mattucci, Cristina Ravedoni, and Elena Rettore, ‘Analisi antropologica e paleopa-
tologica della popolazione rinvenuta nel monastero dell’Assunta di Cairate’, in Un mon-
astero nei secoli. Santa Maria Assunta di Cairate: scavi e ricerche, ed. Valeria Mariotti
(Mantua: sap, 2014), 519–32.
44 Mattucci, Ravedoni, and Rettore, ‘Analisi antropologica e paleopatologica’, 520, 524–5.
45 Ibid, 524–5.
46 Ibid, 520–1.
47 Ibid, 524–5.
48 Ibid, 521–3, 525.
49 Ibid, 525.
50 Francesco Mallegni, Elena Bedini, Angelica Vitiello, Laura Paglialunga, and Fulvio Bartoli,
‘Su alcuni gruppi umani del territorio piemontese dal iv al xviii secolo: aspetti di pale-
obiologia’, in Archeologia in Piemonte, ed. Liliana Mercando, Marica Venturino Gambari,
and Egle Micheletto, vol. 3 (Turin: Allemandi, 1998), 233–61.
51 Mallegni, Bedini, Vitiello, Paglialunga, and Bartoli, ‘Su alcuni gruppi umani’, 233–61.
which roughly overlaps with the Carolingian period.52 Overall, of the thirty-
two adults with sufficiently preserved dental remains, over half exhibited evi-
dence of caries and amtl.53
Other sites present a similar picture. Caries were reported for approximately
two-thirds of the fifty-eight adults excavated at San Lorenzo di Quingentole,
a cemetery used from the late sixth or early seventh to eighth centuries.54 At
Bolgare, a late Lombard necropolis containing the remains of over 400 indi-
viduals, the widespread presence of carious lesions was also noted.55 However,
in contrast to these particularly high frequencies, only two out of eleven indi-
viduals (18.2%) uncovered at the Church of San Zeno, Campione d’Italia, a
site thought to have been used by the descendants of the Lombard merchant
Totone, exhibited signs of caries.56 One of these individuals, however, a male
aged roughly fifty years old at the time of his death, presented numerous cari-
ous lesions, reflecting the progressive nature of the disease.57
While caries are typically the dental pathology most thoroughly addressed
in archaeological reports, other aspects of dental health, such as patterns of
attrition, evidence of periodontal disease, and the presence of calculus and
abscesses are often noted, as well. The dental remains of the single burial
found in the church of San Vito di Illegio in Tolmezzo, Udine, for example, were
52 Panhuysen, ‘Demography and Health in Early Medieval Maastricht’, 206. In total, the
excavations of the Saint Servatius site identified 244 individuals buried in and around the
church complex dated between c. 350 and c. 950; the ‘Basilica Phase’ covers the third and
final period of use within this date range (pp. 120–1).
53 Ibid, 206–8.
54 Marco Dal Poz, Francesca Ricci, Bruno Reale, Maddalena Malvone, Loretana Salvadei,
and Giorgio Manzi, ‘Paleobiologia della popolazione altomedievale di San Lorenzo di
Quingentole, Mantova’, in San Lorenzo di Quingentole: archeologia, storia ed antropologia,
ed. Alberto Manicardi (Mantua: sap, 2001), 151–98.
55 Cristina Cattaneo and Andrea Mazzucchi, ‘Popolazioni tardo antiche e dell’alto medioevo
narrate dai resti ossei: il progetto di una banca dati lombarda’, in La via Carolingia: uomini
e idee sulle strade d’Europa. Dal sistema viario al sistema informativo, ed. Paola Marina De
Marchi and Stefano Pilato (Mantua: sap, 2013), 87–98.
56 Note: this site contains many more individuals when all phases of use are considered;
Phase 2, with eleven individuals, was the most relevant period of use to include in this
study. Paul Blockley, Roberto Caimi, Donatella Caporusso, Cristina Cattaneo, Paola Marina
De Marchi, Lucia Miazzo, Davide Porta, and Cristina Ravedoni, ‘Campione d’Italia. Scavi
archeologici nella ex chiesa di San Zeno’, in Carte di famiglia. Strategie, rappresentazione
e memoria del gruppo familiare di Totone di Campione (721–877), ed. Stefano Gasparri and
Cristina La Rocca (Rome: Viella, 2005), 29–80.
57 Blockley, Caimi, Caporusso, Cattaneo, De Marchi, Miazzo, Porta, and Ravedoni, ‘Campione
d’Italia’, 56–8.
58 Valeria Amoretti, Aurora Cagnana, Paola Greppi, and Andrea Saccocci, ‘Lo scavo della
chiesa di San Vito di Illegio (Tolmezzo, UD). Una “Eigenkirche” carolingia nelle Alpi
Carniche’, in v Congresso Nazionale di Archeologia Medievale. Palazzo della Dogana, Salone
del Tribunale (Foggia); Palazzo dei Celestini, Auditorium (Manfredonia); 30 settembre-
3 ottobre 2009, ed. Giuliano Volpe and Pasquale Favia (Florence: All’Insegna del Giglio,
2009), 487–91.
59 Amoretti, Cagnana, Greppi, and Saccocci, ‘Lo scavo della chiesa di San Vito di Illegio’,
487–91.
60 Panhuysen, ‘Demography and Health in Early Medieval Maastricht’, 210.
61 Mattucci, Ravedoni, and Rettore, ‘Analisi antropologica e paleopatologica’, 524–5.
62 Ibid.
63 Ibid, 525.
64 J. L. Hansen and K. W. Alt, ‘An Exceptional Case of Dental Calculus in a Merovingian
Skeleton from Mannheim- Seckenheim’, Bulletin of the International Association for
Paleodontology 6, no. 2 (2012): 70–6.
themselves’.65 Five periapical lesions were also noted in the sockets of teeth
that were lost ante-mortem and caries were present on one of the remaining
teeth, revealing that this individual suffered from very poor dental health.66
Yet it is the size of the calculus deposits that are the most striking feature: their
dimensions ‘indicate that the teeth were not used for mastication for some
time before death’, suggesting that this individual must have consumed a par-
ticularly liquid diet in the final years of their life.67
The findings reviewed above indicate that many early medieval individuals
suffered from a number of different oral health problems. Although there are
large variations between sites, it is evident that dental disease would have been
a serious concern for all populations: carious lesions were recorded at all sites
involved in the present study and are a common cause of amtl. The loss of
teeth in life was probably not only a very painful process, but also potentially
debilitating, affecting an individual’s ability to eat as well as their appearance.
Although most reports did not comment on sex-based differences, at several
sites, such as Saint Servatius, Acqui Terme, and Rivoli, it appears that females
were more frequently affected by caries, a result that fits with studies from other
periods.68 Molars and pre-molars were often noted as being particularly affected
by carious lesions in several reports (and illustrated by Figures 9 and 11), findings
that also correspond with the scientific literature on the disease.69 Although
many excavation reports focus more on caries, there is still an extensive record
of periodontal disease, abscesses, and calculus build-up within the literature.
Overall, the generally high frequency of caries and amtl, combined with the
presence of a number of other pathologies reported at some sites, suggests that
dental disease took a significant toll on many individuals during this period.
review of the recipe literature may provide deeper insights into the nature of
this overlap: do treatments comment on particular symptoms or describe the
specific problems they target? To what extent does the evidence presented
by the osteological remains align with or reshape how the texts have been
understood?
Within the recipe sample, 248 recipes are presented as treatments for condi-
tions of the teeth and mouth, such as tooth pain, cavities, and ulcers. In other
words, approximately five percent of all recipes analysed in this study address
dental disease and related concerns. While many other recipes concern con-
ditions near the mouth, such as those intended to treat sore throats, inflamed
tonsils, and cracked lips, only recipes that clearly indicate that they were
intended to treat symptoms that can be linked to dental conditions have been
selected for analysis (this includes recipes in which dental conditions are the
only treatment target named as well as recipes in which dental conditions are
one of multiple possible targets). A number of prescriptions with ambiguous
phrasing that could potentially treat problems of the teeth and mouth have
been excluded given their uncertainty.
As seen in Table 10, the recipes can be divided into six general categories
according to the information they record. That is, if an early medieval reader
came across this text, what would the recipe seem to be intended to treat? Or
if an individual were seeking a treatment for a particular condition, such as
toothache or putrid breath, what key words would they look for in a recipe
collection? As a result, this categorisation is often based on the titles of rec-
ipes, though, where applicable, any additional information provided within
recipes is also taken into account. The categories are: 1) toothache, 2) ulcers,
sores, wounds, and burns, 3) cavities and tooth loss, 4) putridity and cosmetics,
5) general, unspecified mouth complaints, and 6) gum problems.
NSp 22 8.9%
SSp 34 13.7%
HSp 192 77.4%
70 Cod. sang. 751, p. 473: Ad gengiuas plenas sanguinem … non solum gengiuas cumtetiris utile
est, sed a dentes et faucis et uuam oportum est. See Appendix 2, entry 9.37.1.
71 BnF lat. 11218, ff. 89r–89v, Ad oris uicia. See Appendix 2, entry 3.5.
72 BnF lat. 11218, f. 89v, Item ad gingiuas qui reumatizant. See Appendix 2, entry 3.5.6.
Putridity and 26 2 2 22
cosmetics 10.5% 9.1% 5.9% 11.5%
Mouth complaints 20 2 2 16
(unspecified) 8.1% 9.1% 5.9% 8.3%
Gum problems 17 1 0 16
6.9% 4.5% 8.3%
Dental Disease
Specificity Toothache Ulcers, sores, Cavities and Putridity and Mouth complaints Gum problems
etc. tooth loss cosmetics (unspecified)
NSp 11 1 5 2 2 1
9.1% 3.0% 16.1% 7.7% 10.0% 5.9%
SSp 27 2 1 2 2 0
22.3% 6.1% 3.2% 7.7% 10.0%
HSp 83 30 25 22 16 16
68.6% 90.9% 80.7% 84.6% 80.0% 94.1%
191
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192 Chapter 7
73 Cod. sang. 217, p. 262: Antidotus Atrianus; see Appendix 2, entry 6.2.
74 On the genre of complex, composite recipes known as antidotes, see Chapter 2.
75 Cod. sang. 44, pp. 234–6: Antidotum sotira; cod. sang. 217, pp. 263b–264b: Antidotum
Theodosion; bav pal. lat. 1088, ff. 52v–53r: Antidotum Adrianum; ff. 53r–53v: Antidotum pan-
christum; ff. 55v–56r: Antidotum gera Galieni fortissima, and ff. 59r–59v: Antidotum sotira;
bav reg. lat. 598, f. 124r: Antidotum sancti Paulini; bav reg. lat. 1143, ff. 161v–162v: Antidotus
polichristus; and BnF lat. 11218, ff. 113v–114v: Antidotum sotirie. For transcriptions of each of
these recipes, see Appendix 2, entries 5.1, 6.3, 16.19–22, 17.1, 18.6, and 3.12, respectively. As
seen in the entries of Appendix 2, even when multiple prescriptions share a title and may
be related, their ingredients, aims, and overall presentation can vary enormously.
76 Cod. sang. 44, pp. 256–7: Oleo roseo. See Appendix 2, entry 5.11.
77 Cod. sang. 217, pp. 257a–258b: Ad capitis. See Appendix 2, entry 6.1.
751, bav reg. lat. 1143, and BnF lat. 11218.78 Although these twenty-seven reci-
pes represent less than a quarter of those concerning toothache, they make up
approximately eighty percent of all semi-specific recipes.
With the aforementioned non-and semi-specific toothache recipes collec-
tively comprising less than a third of the total toothache recipes identified in
the sample, the majority of this category of recipes (68.6%) are highly specific.
Of these eighty-three recipes, essentially all are titled Ad dentium dolorem or
present very similar variants. Consider, for example, three different two-recipe
clusters in cod. sang. 759: Ad dentes dolorem trociscus (‘A pill for pain of the
teeth’, p. 48), Ad dentes ut numquam doleant (‘So that the teeth never hurt’,
p. 73), and Ad dentium dolorem (‘For pain of the teeth’, pp. 75–6).79 A recipe
titled De dentes dolores in BnF lat. 2849A provides a simple treatment using ivy
juice and ‘the roots [of a plant] called spana’ (de illa radice que dicitur spana).80
In addition to these individual recipes or small groupings, toothache treat-
ments can be found in larger clusters. In cod. sang. 217, for example, a group
of fourteen recipes for tooth pain is listed under the heading Item ad dentium
dolorem.81
Paradoxically, although there are many more highly specific toothache
recipes than non-or semi-specific recipes (eighty-three compared to eleven
and twenty-seven, respectively), they comprise a smaller percentage of their
specificity category (43.2% as opposed to 50.0% and 79.4%, respectively). The
remaining five categories, making up just over half of the dental disease-related
treatments in the sample (51.2%), present a somewhat different picture, and
I shall return to the significance of these different trends after reviewing the
findings from Categories 2–6.
3.2 Categories 2–6: the Other Half of the Recipes Concerning Oral Health
Categories 2–6 share a number of features. First, in contrast to the very large
number of treatments that fall under Category 1, each of the remaining five
78 Cod. sang. 217, p. 267: Item ad emigranium seu ad dentium dolorem; and lower on the same
folio, the fourth entry under the heading Ad dolorem auricule uel aque ingressu; cod. sang.
751, p. 457: Purgaturium capitis; bav reg. lat. 1143, f. 99r: Ad emigranium siue dentium dolo-
rem; and BnF lat. 11218, ff. 50r–50v: De capite dicit. See Appendix 2, entries 6.4.11, 6.5.4, 9.34,
18.2, and 3.3, respectively.
79 Cod. sang. 759, p. 48: Ad dentes dolorem trociscus; p. 73: Ad dentes ut numquam doleant;
pp. 75–6: Ad dentium dolorem. See Appendix 2, entries 11.4, 16, and 18.
80 BnF lat. 2849A, f. 19r: De dentes dolores. See Appendix 2, entry 1.1.
81 Cod. sang. 217, p. 335: Item ad dentium dolorem. See Appendix 2, entry 6.9.
categories includes a much smaller number of recipes (see Table 10), since,
taken together, they represent approximately half of the recipes relating to
dental conditions within the sample (127 recipes). They also have a relatively
even distribution of recipes, ranging from thirty-three to seventeen recipes
(13.4% to 6.9%) each.
Furthermore, while the majority of the recipes in Category 1 can be clas-
sified as highly specific (68.6%), the percentages of highly specific recipes
in Categories 2–6 is—without exception—even higher. Collectively, nearly
ninety percent of these recipes are highly specific (109 out of 127 recipes),
while non-and semi-specific recipes (with eleven and seven recipes, respec-
tively) comprise less than ten percent each. To put it another way, although the
toothache recipes of Category 1 are predominantly highly specific, non-and
semi-specific recipes still represent a sizeable minority. In contrast, nearly all
recipes in Categories 2–6 are highly specific, with only eighteen recipes catego-
rised as either non-or semi-specific. These trends will be reconsidered below.
82 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 35v: Ad ulcera oris uel quidquid intra labiis fuerit; cod. sang. 751,
p. 435: Ad ulcera quae in ore nascuntur; cod. sang. 44, p. 361: Ad ulcera oris uel quicquid in
labia fuerint. See Appendix 2, entries 16.4, 9.26, and 5.26, respectively.
83 Cod. sang. 217, p. 273: Ad uulnera oris siue tumores gingiuarum; cod. sang. 759, p. 5: Ad
uulnera in ore. See Appendix 2, entries 6.7 and 11.2, respectively.
while a panacea-type plaster in BnF lat. 11218 provides the sole example of a
non-specific treatment.84
84 BnF lat. 11219, f. 225rb: Puluis ad uuam leuandam uel oris ulcera. See Appendix 2, entry 4.5.
85 Cod. sang. 44, p. 360: Ad dentem cauum; cod. sang. 751, p. 472: Item ad dentem cauam; and
bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 35v: Item ad dentem cauum. See Appendix 2, entries 5.24, 9.36.3, and
16.2.7, respectively.
86 Cod. sang. 751, p. 472: Item ad dentes qui mouentur; bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 50r: Puluis ad den-
tium commotionem. See Appendix 2, entries 9.36.6 and 16.14, respectively.
87 Cod. sang. 759, p. 5: Ad dentis laxos; bav reg. lat. 1143, f. 148v: Ad dentes laxos. See Appendix
2, entries 11.3 and 18.5, respectively.
88 Cod. sang. 759, p. 92: Ad dentes stringendos uel si dolent uel putriscunt aut sanguinant.
For similar examples, see also cod. sang. 751, p. 472: Ad dentes ne cadent neque putriscant;
cod. sang. 899, p. 141: Ne cadant dentes neque putrescant; BnF lat. 11218, f. 122r: Ad dentes
stringendas uel si dolent uel putrescunt. See Appendix 2, entries 11.22, 9.36, 14.6, and 3.14,
respectively.
‘likewise’, are thus linked to it.89 The plaster names over thirty different condi-
tions it is intended to help, ranging from stomach problems to the bites of var-
ious animals (rabid dogs, snakes, and even humans), thereby fitting the model
of an antidote despite not being named as such.90 Within this list, it is noted
that the plaster is effective in treating various types of wounds and injuries,
including those of the dentition. Since it seems that teeth are mentioned here
in relation to being lost (or at least needing to be ‘corrected’ or ‘straightened’)
as a result of a head injury, I have classified the recipe as fitting with Category
2.91 The one example of a semi-specific treatment comes from cod. sang. 217.
Within a five-recipe cluster intended to treat ‘throat constraint’, Ad synances,
the fourth entry notes that this recipe is also intended to help teeth remain in
place (ad dentes constringit).92
89 BnF lat. 11218, ff. 45v–46r, Inplastrum Afrodites, f. 46r, Item de Afroditis, ff. 46r–46v, Item
catapodias Eufimie. See Appendix 2, entries 3.1.1–2 and 3.2, respectively.
90 BnF lat. 11218, ff. 45v–46r, Inplastrum Afrodites. See Appendix 2, entry 3.1.1.
91 BnF lat. 11218, ff. 45v–46r, Inplastrum Afrodites. E.g., statim curat et recte dentis capitis pla-
gas. For the full transcription, see Appendix 2, entry 3.1.1.
92 Cod. sang. 217, p. 338: for the fourth entry of Ad synances. See Appendix 2, entry 6.12.4.
93 Cod. sang. 217, p. 274: Ad fetorem oris. See Appendix 2, entry 6.8.
94 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 50r: Dentifricium ad dentium splendorem; f. 50r: Dentifricium odoris
fetorem. See Appendix 2, entries 16.15–16.
of the body (e.g., in the mouth, throat, and uvula), there are a few exceptions,
such as frigorem, chills.95 Although neither of the two remaining recipes, such
as the Sales ieraticas of cod. sang. 751, are named antidotes, they are both clas-
sified as non-specific given the wide array of different conditions they claim
to treat, ranging from eye problems to breathing difficulties, alongside rotten
teeth.96
95 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 50r: Dentifricium odoris fetorem; cod. sang. 44, p. 248: Dentisfritium
bonum et salubrem. See Appendix 2, entries 16.16 and 5.8.
96 Cod. sang. 751, p. 418: Sales ieraticas qui faciunt ad acies oculorum usque senectutę et
flegma impetum deducit et suspirium relaxat et dentes putresce non sinit. See Appendix 2,
entry 9.20.
97 Cod. sang. 751, p. 409: Ad dentium uitiae. See Appendix 2, entry 9.15.
98 BnF lat. 11218, ff. 89r–89v: Ad oris uicia; cod. sang. 217, p. 273: Ad uitium oris; cod. sang. 751,
p. 435: Ad uitia oris. See Appendix 2, entries 3.5, 6.6, and 9.27, respectively.
99 Cod. sang. 44, p. 258: Oleo lentisscinum. See Appendix 2, entry 5.12.
the end of this extensive list.100 A recipe in BnF lat. 11219 with a narrower treat-
ment focus falls into the semi-specific category. Like the Puluis ad uuam leuan-
dam uel oris ulcera mentioned in Category 2 (and, in fact, located on the same
folio in BnF lat. 11219), the Puluis uera ad faucium tumorem et omnis oris uitia
siue sordicia, a powder for throat swellings as well as all mouth complaints
and unpleasantness, targets a range of problems in the same general area of
the body.101 Another dentifrice found in bav pal. lat. 1088, the Dentifritium qui
omnem humorem exsiccat, is similarly semi-specific: its title mentions drying
out the humours, and it then opens by claiming to treat all diseases of the
mouth before listing more specific applications that extend to the throat.102
3.3 Summary
With treatments for dental disease and related conditions appearing in nearly
five percent of all recipes analysed in this study, oral health represents a signifi-
cant area of interest within the sampled recipe literature. Treatments intended
to combat toothache represent about half of these recipes, while treatments
100 Cod. sang. 761, pp. 62–3: Emplastrum somato filax. See Appendix 2, entry 12.3.
101 BnF lat. 11219, f. 225ra: Puluis uera ad faucium tumorem et omnis oris uitia siue sordicia. See
Appendix 2, entry 4.4.
102 bav pal. lat. 1088, ff. 50r–50v: Dentifritium qui omnem humorem exsiccat. See Appendix 2,
entry 16.17.
103 Cod. sang. 751, p. 473: Ad gengiuas plenas sanguinem; cod. sang. 44, p. 361: Ad exaspera-
tione gingiuarum; bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 35v: Ad experatione gingiuarum. See Appendix 2,
entries 9.37, 5.25, and 16.3, respectively.
104 Cod. sang. 44, p. 248: Dentisfritium ad gingiuas confortandas et dissicandas; cod. sang. 217,
p. 337: Item ad uuam reprimendum et gingiuas tumentes. See Appendix 2, entries 5.9 and
6.11.3, respectively.
105 Cod. sang. 751, p. 364, Item trociscus Eraclio; see Appendix 2, entry 9.4.
for tooth loss and cavities, gum problems and sores affecting the soft tissues, as
well as rottenness and putridity (in terms of both odour and appearance) also
occur. The vast majority of these treatments are restricted to the oral cavity: in
total, 77.4% of the dental health-related recipes can be considered highly spe-
cific. In some of these highly specific recipes, multiple dental issues are named,
such as cavities and foul smells or tooth loss and gum problems. The thirty-
four semi-specific treatments (representing 13.7% of the recipes) target a lim-
ited range of additional conditions, and generally those in the vicinity of the
mouth, such as problems with the throat. Less than ten percent of the recipes
(8.9%) represent cure-all panaceas, revealing that, when a recipe names an
aspect (or aspects) of dental health as its intended use, this is consistently—
nearly four times out of five—its only intended use. In other words, treatments
for dental problems often list dental problems exclusively, offering a very tar-
geted approach. Having now reviewed the recipes, it is possible to consider
their applicability in the light of the osteological evidence presented above.
The evidence analysed in this chapter indicates that there is a significant degree
of overlap between the skeletal remains and the textual record: the conditions
and symptoms that dental remedies claim to treat largely fit with what is
observed in the osteological evidence. The early medieval dental remains show
clear evidence of dental disease, and this was most often manifested by carious
lesions and amtl, though signs of periodontal disease, calculus build-up, and
abscesses were also noted. The recipes, meanwhile, target standard issues that
would have arisen from poor dental hygiene, such as toothache, mouth sores,
loose or lost teeth, gum problems, and foul-smelling breath. Some of these
treatment targets, such as those for cavities and lost or loose teeth, mirror the
skeletal remains. Others, including the many recipes for toothache or the den-
tifrices intended to improve bad breath, treat symptoms that are impossible to
see in the osteological record directly. However, the surviving skeletal evidence
makes clear that such symptoms would have been pressing concerns for many
individuals. Indeed, the regular occurrence of dental disease and its ensuing
symptoms may help to explain why the vast majority of the recipes offer fairly
simple and relatively focused treatments. Ultimately, the parallels between the
textual and archaeological evidence indicate that many of the recipes would
have been relevant to the individuals who had access to these texts and suggest
that these treatments could have been written with the intention of being used
in the context of therapy.
While the general picture created by the evidence is thus one of applicabil-
ity, a closer look at several trends and types of recipes can push this analysis
further.
106 Cod. sang. 217, p. 336: Ad dentes molares; cod. sang. 1396, p. 19: Ad dentes molares. See
Appendix 2, entries 6.10 and 15.1.
treatment titled Ut infantibus dentes sine dolore exeant in cod. sang. 44.107 With
this age-based differentiation, it is perhaps surprising that there were no reci-
pes intended for the aging population given that, as confirmed by the osteolog-
ical evidence, the frequency and severity of dental disease increases with age.
It could be argued, however, that most treatments would have simply become
more applicable with age, thereby making separate recipes that target the
tooth conditions of older adults unnecessary. In other words, once an individ-
ual’s teeth had developed, recipes for toothache, mouth sores, and tooth loss
would have been relevant regardless of their age, and senility would not have
resulted in new types of oral health problems but rather in higher frequencies
of their occurrence and/or increasing severity. In contrast, the teething process
is a distinct issue and requires a different treatment. The inclusion of such reci-
pes thus fits with the overall picture of applicability presented by the evidence.
When considering whether different types of patients are recorded in the
recipes, it is also important to reflect on another group of people: the poten-
tial practitioners (if, of course, these treatments were being consulted in the
context of practice). Given that the treatment of dental conditions is found
alongside all other types of health concerns rather than separated into distinct
treatises focused exclusively on dentistry, there is no sign of specialisation in
this respect. Such a finding fits with the general observation that the termi-
nology used to distinguish between different types of medical practitioners
expanded in later centuries and was less specialised during the early Middle
Ages.108 It remains possible, however, that the medical marketplace included
more specialised practitioners whose activities were not recorded in the sur-
viving written record.
4.3 Cosmetics
Given the evidence for severe dental disease, it may seem that dentifrices
and tooth whitening treatments are somewhat frivolous: why worry about
the whiteness of teeth if they have already been lost or are on their way out?
A consideration of the contexts in which these recipes were produced, how-
ever, suggests the opposite. As discussed in Chapter 2, the locations in which
medical texts were written and housed, whether monastic centres or courtly
libraries, were generally elite sites that involved the upper-most strata of soci-
ety. The privileged circles of the court, aristocratic households, and the eccle-
siastical elite represent groups of individuals who may have been especially
107 Cod. sang. 44, p. 304, Ut infantibus dentes sine dolore exeant. See Appendix 2, entry 5.16.
108 Park, ‘Medicine and Society’, 70.
interested in whitening their teeth and avoiding putrid breath. Monica Green
has highlighted the ‘continuity between “medical” and “cosmetic” concerns’
in the context of women’s medicine, and I suggest that an interest in cosmetic
recipes, such as these dental treatments, should also be read in this light, and
with the potential to appeal to men and women alike.109 Furthermore, Patricia
Skinner has argued that the emphasis on injuries (and their penalties) seen in
many early medieval law codes reflects not only the practicality of maintaining
law and order, but also the significance of an ‘unblemished personal appear-
ance’ in relation to an individual’s honour.110 While physical injuries, includ-
ing, notably, dental trauma, are often listed in the law codes, more superficial
damage, such as the cutting of hair, can also be found. This focus on appear-
ance and presentation helps to explain the inclusion of cosmetic preparations
alongside seemingly more serious issues, from chronic pain to open sores, in
early medieval recipe collections. Accordingly, the inclusion of recipes for cos-
metic purposes should not be seen to counter their potential applicability.
a selection of material from this late antique herbal. The recipe in question
parallels the seventh entry in De herba vettonica liber, Ad dentium uitia.113
For many recipes, however, a direct link a classical or late antique trea-
tise has yet to be identified and their origins remain unknown. In fact, in a
handful of cases, some of the new developments in pharmaceutical literature
discussed in Part 1 can be seen: the second recipe within a cluster titled Ad
dentium dolorem, ‘for tooth pain’, in cod. sang. 759, for example, includes beer
in its ingredients.114 The overall range of recipes relating to dental health—i.e.,
that many have a basis in classical and late antique traditions, while others
reflect new influences—documents an active process of selection. Carolingian
scribes engaged with a variety of sources and brought together this assortment
of information in new and different ways. As demonstrated in Part 1, the hybrid
nature of recipe collections further supports the idea that they were intended
to be used in practice.
5 Conclusion
The early medieval skeletal evidence reveals that treatments for tooth prob-
lems would have been necessary in the Carolingian world: poor dental health,
while not universal, was frequent. All sites reviewed in this chapter provided
evidence of dental disease. The recipe literature displays many examples of
overlap with the skeletal remains, such as treatments for toothache, tooth loss,
and/or mouth sores. Based on the undeniable parallels between the textual and
osteological evidence, I argue that the medical knowledge in circulation would
have been highly applicable to contemporary populations. Furthermore, cer-
tain types of recipes, such as those concerning appearance, suggest that these
recipes may have been particularly relevant to the individuals with access to
these manuscripts, such as members of royal, aristocratic, or ecclesiastical
communities.
This opening case study of Part 2 thus offers a fairly straightforward example
of overlap between the two bodies of evidence under analysis: by reading the
recipes in the light of the osteological record, it reinforces the idea that these
treatments were intended to be put into practice. While this conclusion may
not come as a surprise, the process of reaching it has involved a non-traditional
113 Pseudo-Antonius Musa, De herba vettonica liber, in Antonii Musae De herba vettonica liber.
Pseudoapulei Herbarius. Anonymi De taxone liber. Sextii Placiti Liber medicinae ex animali-
bus etc., ed. Ernst Howald and Henry E. Sigerist, cml 4 (Leipzig; Teubner, 1927), 3–11, no. 7.
114 Cod. sang. 759, pp. 75–6: Ad dentium dolorem; see Appendix 2, entry 11.18.
Joint Disease
Problematising Podagra
1 Gaafar Ragab, Mohsen Elshahaly, and Thomas Bardin, ‘Gout: An old disease in new
perspective—A review’, Journal of Advanced Research 8, no. 5 (2017): 495–511, https://doi.org
/10.1016/j.jare.2017.04.008, at p. 496.
2 George Nuki and Peter A. Simkin, ‘A concise history of gout and hyperuricemia and their
treatment’, Arthritis Research and Therapy 8 (2006), https://doi.org/10.1186/ar1906.
3 Ibid.
4 Ragab, Elshahaly, and Bardin, ‘Gout: An old disease in new perspective’, 496.
5 Nuki and Simkin, ‘A concise history of gout’.
to males in the most privileged strata of society, such as members of royal and
aristocratic households and, depending on the strictness with which dietary
rules were enforced, ecclesiastical communities, or at least certain members
within them.6 On the other hand, fasting has also been linked to the onset
of acute gout attacks, suggesting that members of male ecclesiastical com-
munities may have been particularly susceptible to developing the disease.7
This subset of the population, as discussed in Chapter 2, overlaps with those
individuals who would have been among the most likely to have had access to
the medical texts. With these factors in mind, an investigation into gout that
brings together written sources and the osteological record is much needed.
Moreover, although female religious houses cannot be discounted as centres
of manuscript production, the majority of the individuals in royal, aristocratic,
and ecclesiastical settings with access to medical texts were probably male,
adding further weight to the idea that treatments for gout may have been
highly relevant to individuals in these communities.8
The evidence for gout is strong in the recipe literature. The Latin term
podagra (from the Greek ποδάγρα) is typically understood to refer to gout in
the big toe. I identified podagra, related terms (e.g., podagricum, as in the
Antidotum podagricum), and their orthographic variants in nearly 150 recipes
within the sample, examples of which will be reviewed below. Indeed, recipes
intended to help those suffering from gout have already been seen in several
chapters, including the two treatments with which this book opened, the Potio
ad podagra of cod. sang. 759 and Antidotum podagricum of cod. sang. 751. Both
provide instructions for a potion involving birthwort, myrrh, laurel berries, and
centaury (the treatment in cod. sang. 759 also includes cardamom and parsley)
and claim that drinking this mixture for a year will cure the patient of gout.9
The prevalence of podagra in the written sources fits with the idea that the
6 Dietary rules were relaxed, for example, for the ill and elderly; see, for example, rb 1980, ed.
and trans. Fry, especially C hapters 36–41; Saint Columban: His Life, Rule, and Legacy, trans.
Terrence G. Kardong (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2017), especially C hapters 10 and 15.
7 Leo A. B. Joosten, Mihai G. Netea, Eleni Mylona, Marije I. Koenders, R. K. Subbarao Malireddi,
Marije Oosting, Rinke Stienstra, et al., ‘Engagement of Fatty Acids with Toll-like Receptor
2 Drives Interleukin-1β Production via the asc/Caspase 1 Pathway in Monosodium Urate
Monohydrate Crystal-Induced Gouty Arthritis’, Arthritis & Rheumatism 62, no. 11 (2010): 3237–
48, https://doi.org/10.1002/art.27667, at p. 3246.
8 See Chapter 2 for more on the environments in which manuscripts were produced. On
gynaecological texts in medieval medical writings, see Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early
Medieval Medicine?’, 11–13; and on female medical practitioners within monastic contexts,
see Green, ‘Bodies, Gender, Health, Disease’, 13–14.
9 Cod. sang. 759, p. 60: Potio ad podagra; cod. sang. 751, pp. 489–90: Antidotum podagricum. See
Appendix 2, entries 11.8 and 9.38, respectively.
individuals most likely to have engaged with the manuscripts in which these
recipes are recorded may have been at a higher risk of developing gout. Does
the osteological evidence support this idea? Given the underlying assumptions
about the potential users of these texts and their possible elevated risk factors
for the disease, it is crucial to look beyond the written sources in order to avoid
a circular argument.
The evidence for gout in early medieval skeletal remains, addressed below,
provides a stark contrast to the rich textual record of podagra: osteological evi-
dence for gout is almost entirely lacking in this period. A simple comparison
of these two bodies of evidence suggests that the large number of podagra-
related recipes would have been irrelevant to early medieval populations—can
this disconnect be explained? I return to this question after analysing the skel-
etal and textual evidence for joint disease in other areas of the body. A more
general study of joint disease provides a fuller picture of the arthropathies
observed in early medieval skeletal remains as well as the treatments for joint
pains and related problems recorded in the recipes. Informed by the wider
context, it is then possible to revisit the gout-podagra paradox. I argue that
the apparent incongruence between the textual and osteological evidence can
be resolved by recalibrating our interpretation of the term podagra. Reading
podagra as equivalent to a modern medical definition of gout inappropriately
restricts our analysis of the Carolingian texts to a contemporary understanding
of this disease and its effects. A broader interpretation of podagra, however,
fits with the textual and osteological evidence. I therefore suggest that the term
should often be understood as referring to a collection of symptoms relating
to toe and foot joint pain. Such an interpretation could include true gout but is
not restricted to this meaning alone. This re-evaluation of podagra highlights
the danger of understanding a medieval Latin medical term as aligning with a
single, clinically defined modern medical condition and contributes to current
discussions in the field concerning medieval medical terminology and lexicog-
raphy. Secondly, the new interpretation of podagra has major implications for
the question of applicability, indicating that, despite the initially conflicting
evidence, many of the treatments recorded in the recipe collections would
have been highly relevant to individuals in early medieval Europe.
within the sample of recipes involved in this study (roughly 2.5%) claim to
cure podagra and/or to alleviate the pain linked to the disease.10 This relative
frequency seems to fit with the aforementioned idea that those individuals,
whether writing in monastic centres or active at the royal court, were most
probably members of the elite and enjoyed a more privileged lifestyle associ-
ated with a number of the risk factors for gout.
As with the other case studies in Part 2, the following review of recipes takes
into account their specificity. With respect to podagra, recipes that list podagra
as one of many unrelated conditions, such as antidotes, are considered non-
specific; recipes that treat a small number of conditions presenting potentially
similar or related symptoms, such as those that treat both podagra and artrit-
icus (‘afflictions of the joints’, discussed below), are classified as semi-specific;
and those that only refer to podagra are considered highly specific. The distri-
bution of recipe specificity will be important to keep in mind when comparing
podagra-related treatments to those of other joint diseases later in this chapter.
Nearly fifty percent of the recipes that mention podagra (sixty-seven of
the 140 recipes) are non-specific treatments (see Table 14). Unlike the den-
tal conditions considered in the previous chapter, podagra and related terms
are frequently named as one of the many ailments targeted by antidotes. The
Antidotum gera Galieni fortissimo of bav pal. lat. 1088, for example, presents
a list of just under fifty different conditions it is intended to treat, including
epilepsy, paralysis, eye problems, gynaecological conditions, fevers, breathing
problems, and skin conditions; in the middle of the list, it is noted that the
antidote provides relief to those suffering from podagra.11 Other examples of
non-specific treatments include the Antidotum gira deacoloquintidis (noted in
Chapter 3 for its use of camphor, cafora), which is also found in bav pal. lat.
1088. This antidote claims to help individuals suffering from approximately
twenty-five different ailments, ranging from vertigo to liver pain, and, like the
Antidotum gera Galieni fortissimo, includes those afflicted with podagra.12 As
mentioned in Chapter 3, the list ends with the particularly bold claim that,
in addition to curing present infirmities, this potion will also defend against
future ills (non solum presentes infirmitates curat, sed futuras egritudines defen-
dit). The Anteditum Teodoritum of cod. sang. 759, offers another cure-all treat-
ment; the term podagricis can be found near the end of a long list of maladies.
In line with the Antidotum gira deacoloquintidis, this antidote not only claims
10 As noted above, I include recipes using the terms podagra, podagricis, etc. as well as their
orthographic variants.
11 bav pal. lat. 1088, ff. 55v–56r: Antidotum gera Galieni fortissima. See Appendix 2, entry 16.21.
12 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 90r: Antidotum gira deacoloquintidis. See Appendix 2, entry 16.26.
# of Recipes 67 31 42 140
% of total 47.9% 22.1% 30.0% 100%
to take care of a host of different diseases in the present, but also to repel the
onset of future infirmities.13
Not all non-specific antidotes, however, aim to treat scores of different con-
ditions: the Antidotum pigra Gallieni optimum and Antidotum filantropum,
both of cod. sang. 44, for example, only list about a dozen different afflictions.14
While these antidotes may appear to be more specific due to the reduced num-
ber of diseases they are intended to treat, they continue to list a wide range
of unrelated ailments, from stomach pain to epilepsy, and both, importantly,
include podagra, within this mix.15 These ‘simplified’ antidotes, therefore, rep-
resent abridged versions of comprehensive cures rather than more specialised
treatments.
In contrast to the frequent appearance of podagra within the antidotes seen
above, only thirty-one recipes, or 22.1% of the recipes that target podagra, rep-
resent semi-specific treatments. These preparations continue to treat multiple
conditions, but they do not cover the full range of health problems seen in the
non-specific reicpes. The Oxira podagricis of cod. sang. 751, for example, is pre-
sented as a treatment for sufferers of gout as well as omnem dolorem, all pain.16
While the inclusion of omnem dolorem makes the scope of this treatment very
broad, it relates entirely to pain management. As such, the Oxira podagricis is
intended for one type of medical issue—admittedly, one very wide-ranging
13 Cod. sang. 759, p. 2: Anteditum Teodoritum. Not unlike the Antidotum gera Galieni fortis-
sima (above), this antidote includes the phrase: non solum presentibus curat egritudines
sunt et futuris aduenientis infirmitates repellit. See Appendix 2, entry 11.1.
14 Cod. sang. 44, p. 238: Antidotum pigra Gallieni optimum and Antidotum filantropum. See
Appendix 2, entries 5.2–3.
15 The Antidotum pigra Gallieni optimum begins by listing the following conditions: Qui facit
stomaicis, epilenticis, melancolicis, freneticis, epaticis, spleneticis, podacricis, uertigines,
caligines, typus subito, metus saltus, membrorum neruorum contractiones, perfrictiones, et
quod liber stupor, uel mulieris uitia, et ad omnes causas quę subito ueniunt emendant. The
Antidotum filantropum lists the following conditions: Facit tissicis, dipnoicis, cefalargicis,
stomaticis, ad toraces, limosotis dissolutis, epaticis, spleneticis, colicis, aliis doloribus, nefret-
icis, podacricis. For full transcriptions, see Appendix 2, entries 5.2–3.
16 Cod. sang. 751, p. 419: Oxira podagricis. See Appendix 2, entry 9.22.
issue—and not the full spectrum of conditions and concerns listed in the
panaceas.
Some semi-specific recipes, however, are narrower in their focus. An earlier
recipe in cod. sang. 751, the Unguentum acupo galastico, is intended to cure
gouty or arthritic pains and swellings, for example.17 In this case, although the
treatment targets more than podagra alone, the range of conditions it claims to
cover is limited to a cluster of potentially related issues. Similarly, the Malagma
aduersus dolores fracturas et podagra ad luxum of cod. sang. 759 treats pain
from fractures, gout, and dislocations.18 bav pal. lat. 1088 offers a compara-
ble treatment on f. 65v, the Potio contra artreticam siue nesciam uel podagram,
which combats gout, hip pain, and arthritis.19 While none of these recipes tar-
gets gout exclusively, each one is intended to treat a range of ailments that
would have had somewhat similar symptoms, especially with respect to pain.
Finally, out of the 140 remedies that mention gout, forty-two (30.0%) offer
treatments highly specific to podagra (again, see Table 14). Cod. sang. 44, for
example, records the following recipe:
For gout: take equal measures of birthwort, centaury, and acacia powder
and mix with cyclamen juice; apply this on [the toe].20
The Potio ad podagra of cod. sang. 759 and Antidotum podagricum of cod. sang.
751, the two Terenti(an)us recipes noted above, also fall into the specific cate-
gory as they target podagra exclusively. Intriguingly, their recipes contain some
parallels to the previous example, Ad podacra of cod. sang. 44, with all three
prescriptions listing birthwort and centaury among their ingredients.21 Cod.
sang. 751 presents another treatment titled Antidotum podacricum forty-five
pages earlier; this Antidotum podacricum, however, offers an unrelated recipe
involving pepper, cumin, and ginger.22 This entry also specifies that the treat-
ment helps to reduce foot pain (ad pedis dolorem sedatur).
17 Cod. sang. 751, p. 319: Unguentum acupo galastico ad omnem dolorem uel tumorem tam
podagricis quam artetricis. See Appendix 2, entry 9.2.
18 Cod. sang. 759, p. 63: Malagma aduersus dolores uel fracturas et podagra ad luxum. See
Appendix 2, entry 11.11.
19 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 65v: Potio contra artreticam siue nesciam uel podagram. See Appendix
2, entry 16.25.
20 Cod. sang. 44, p. 260: Ad podacra. Aristologia rotunda, centauria, agatia puluis ęquali pon-
dere, cum succu ciclaminis distemperas et superpone proficit. See Appendix 2, entry 5.13.
21 Cod. sang. 759, p. 60: Potio ad podagra; cod. sang. 751, pp. 489–90: Antidotum podagricum.
See Appendix 2, entries 11.8 and 9.38, respectively.
22 Cod. sang. 751, p. 444: Antidotum podacricum ad pedis dolorem sedatur. See Appendix 2,
entry 9.30.
23 For biases of preservation, see Roberts, Human Remains in Archaeology (see especially
Chapter 3, ‘Resting Places for the Dead, and Factors Affecting Preservation of Bodies’).
24 Gaspare Baggieri and Francesco Mallegni, ‘A Probable Case of Gout’, Medicina Historica
1, no. 1 (2017): 23–8, at pp. 25–7; Jenna M. Dittmar, Piers D. Mitchell, Peter M. Jones, Bram
Mulder, Sarah A. Inskip, Craig Cessford, and John E. Robb, ‘Gout and ‘Podagra’ in medieval
Cambridge, England’, International Journal of Paleopathology 33 (2021): 170–81, https://doi
.org/10.1016/j.ijpp.2021.04.007.
At present, probable cases of gout have only been identified among individ-
uals buried at two early medieval sites within the Carolingian Empire (both
in northern Italy), though additional cases have been recorded in both ear-
lier and later periods as well as in other geographic areas, such as the British
Isles.25 The urban cemetery of Piazza Marconi in Cremona, in use from the
seventh to the tenth centuries, contained 141 individuals, while the burial area
in Bolgare, with over 400 individuals, was used in the seventh and eighth cen-
turies.26 The sheer size of these cemeteries may help to explain why gout was
observed: given that the disease only affects one to four percent of the pop-
ulation today (a population with a diet relatively high in purines), a higher
frequency of gout should not be expected in the past.27
A number of the other excavations considered in this study, however,
uncovered large cemeteries comparable to Cremona and Bolgare and yet
yielded no skeletons with evidence suggestive of probable cases of gout. The
burial area excavated at Santa Maria Assunta di Cairate, for example, produced
ninety-two individuals, and the excavations at Seckenheim, a site in use from
the sixth to the late eighth centuries, analysed 112 skeletons; evidence of gout
was reported from neither excavation.28 It is worth remarking that the skele-
tal remains at Seckenheim have been noted for their exceptionally good pres-
ervation. Furthermore, many of the sites under consideration are thought to
have contained elite burials, such as Lorsch, where separate burial areas for
the monks, familia of the monastery, and possibly pilgrims have been uncov-
ered, and Campione d’Italia, which appears to have contained the remains of
a privileged merchant family, the descendants of a certain Totone.29 Overall,
the lack of evidence for gout at many different sites around the Carolingian
25 Baggieri and Mallegni, ‘A Probable Case of Gout’, 23–8; Juliet Rogers, Iain Watt, and
Paul Dieppe, ‘Arthritis in Saxon and Mediaeval Skeletons’, British Medical Journal 283
(1981): 1668–70, https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.283.6307.1668; Dittmar, Mitchell, Jones,
Mulder, Inskip, Cessford, and Robb, ‘Gout and ‘Podagra’’.
26 Cattaneo and Mazzucchi, ‘Popolazioni tardo antiche e dell’alto medioevo’, 87–98.
27 Ragab, Elshahaly, and Bardin, ‘Gout: An old disease in new perspective’, 496.
28 Valeria Mariotti, ed., Un monastero nei secoli. Santa Maria Assunta di Cairate: scavi e ricerche
(Mantua: sap, 2014); Denise Navitainuck, Christian Meyer, and Kurt W. Alt, ‘Degenerative
Alterations of the Spine in an Early Mediaeval Population from Mannheim-Seckenheim,
Germany’, homo—Journal of Comparative Human Biology 64, no. 3 (2013): 179–89, https:
//doi.org/10.1016/j.jchb.2013.03.007; and Hansen and Alt, ‘An Exceptional Case of Dental
Calculus’, 70–1.
29 Kropp, Kirsch, Rosendahl, Orschiedt, and Fischer, Begraben und Vergessen?, and personal
communications with members of the scientific board of Lorsch, including Claus Kropp
and Hermann Schefers; Blockley, Caimi, Caporusso, Cattaneo, De Marchi, Miazzo, Porta,
and Ravedoni, ‘Campione d’Italia’, 29–80.
world, combined with its low frequency in large burial complexes, suggests
that this disease was not a significant medical problem for many people during
this period.
The absence of gout in the skeletal remains may seem puzzling given the
relatively high frequency with which podagra is mentioned in medical recipes.
Can the gap between the written sources and osteological record be recon-
ciled? Or does the lack of overlap between these two bodies of evidence sug-
gest that some of the medical knowledge circulating in the eighth and ninth
centuries did not, in fact, relate to the needs of contemporary individuals? To
answer these questions, it is necessary to assess the textual and osteological
evidence for other joint diseases to build a more complete picture of arthrop-
athic conditions in the Carolingian world. The gout-podagra paradox can then
be re-evaluated against this background.
Although gout has been recorded very rarely, many other forms of arthritis
have been consistently noted in skeletal assemblages from early medieval sites.
Fundamentally, joint diseases tend to be separated into two categories, pro-
liferative and erosive, based on their pathology. Osteoarthritis (oa), the bony
reaction to the degeneration of articular cartilage, is the ‘archetypical prolif-
erative joint disease’ and the most commonly seen pathology overall, often
affecting the vertebrae, shoulders, hips, knees, ankles, and feet.30 Gout repre-
sents a classic erosive arthropathy: well-defined round or oval erosions of the
bone are caused by ‘the precipitation of uric acid crystals in structures either
in or around a joint’, most frequently the metatarsal-phalangeal joint of the big
toe.31 Other erosive joint diseases include ra, psoriatic arthritis, and ankylos-
ing spondylitis. Like gout, these conditions only affect a small percentage of
the total population and would therefore be expected to be found in archae-
ological contexts only relatively rarely. Unlike gout, however, descriptions of
these diseases are fairly recent (no earlier than the seventeenth century), and
their diagnostic features are not recorded in pre-modern texts.32 With this in
mind, I shall concentrate primarily on osteological evidence for oa.
Changes that occur on the surface of a bone as a result of oa include the
formation of new bone, often seen as bone spurs; pitting on the surface of
the joint; alterations of the joint contour, such as widening or flattening; and
the development of an eburnated, highly polished area on the surface of the
joint.33 According to Tony Waldron, oa can only be said to be present if ebur-
nation is apparent or if at least two of the other changes noted above exist.34 It
is necessary to take a conservative approach to the diagnosis of oa since there
can be a ‘difference between skeletal appearances and clinical experiences’,
and palaeopathological analyses will lack information about pain as reported
by a patient.35 Similarly, when considering joint disease in the vertebrae, the
development of Schmorl’s nodes (protrusions formed as a result of damage
to the vertebral endplate) does not necessarily cause back pain.36 Schmorl’s
nodes are, however, often linked to other spondyloarthropathies (joint dis-
eases of the spine) and seen in association with bio-mechanical stress on the
lower back.37 Therefore, if evidence of these nodes is found alongside other
spinal pathologies, it can be assumed that the populations under considera-
tion would have experienced back pain to some degree.
The development of oa is primarily linked to the aging process and the
long-term wear on joints through daily activity, though metabolic and genetic
factors as well as injuries, obesity, and sex also have an impact on the preva-
lence and severity of this pathology.38 The natural effects of aging and phys-
ical activity, especially among populations involved in heavy labour, such as
agricultural work, help to explain the pervasiveness of these conditions. I shall
elaborate on the evidence for oa and joint stress in the following categories: 1)
the spine, 2) large joints and limbs: shoulders, elbows, hips, and knees, and
3) small joints: hands and feet.
39 Mallegni, Bedini, Vitiello, Paglialunga, and Bartoli, ‘Su alcuni gruppi umani’, 233–61.
40 Navitainuck, Meyer, and Alt, ‘Degenerative Alterations of the Spine’, 179–83.
41 Ibid.
42 Ibid, 183.
43 Ibid, 185.
44 Mallegni, Bedini, Vitiello, Paglialunga, and Bartoli, ‘Su alcuni gruppi umani’, 233–61.
45 Ibid.
46 Ibid.
47 Dal Poz, Ricci, Reale, Malvone, Salvadei, and Manzi, ‘Paleobiologia della popolazione
altomedievale di San Lorenzo di Quingentole’, 171–6.
48 Blockley, Caimi, Caporusso, Cattaneo, De Marchi, Miazzo, Porta, and Ravedoni, ‘Campione
d’Italia’, 56–8.
49 Panhuysen, ‘Demography and Health in Early Medieval Maastricht’, pp. 191–3.
50 Valeria Amoretti, ‘Analisi paleobiologiche dei resti scheletrici’, in Lo scavo di San Martino
di Ovaro (sec. v–x ii). Archeologia della cristianizzazione nel territorio di Aquileia, ed.
Aurora Cagnana (Mantua: sap, 2011), 481–536.
4.2 Large Joints and Limbs: Shoulders, Elbows, Hips, and Knees
While the spine often appears to be the most frequently and severely affected
area of the skeleton, there is extensive evidence for arthropathies in other
joints. Regular physical activity engages the large joints of the shoulders, hips,
knees, and elbows, leading to wear and tear over time. The intense physical
labour associated with agricultural work, blacksmithing, horseback-riding,
carrying heavy objects, etc., would put these joints under even more signifi-
cant bio-mechanical stress, and the skeletal remains from early medieval cem-
eteries confirm the active living and working conditions experienced by most
people during this period. For many individuals who lived long enough, this
intense physical activity has been documented by their skeletal remains.
Although the excavation of San Lorenzo di Quingentole recorded typical
levels of spinal arthropathies (with approximately forty percent of the popu-
lation exhibiting signs of stress on their vertebrae), it is exceptional in that the
spine was not the most severely affected part of the body. Unlike all other sites
considered in this study, the skeletal remains from San Lorenzo di Quingentole
display more evidence of arthropathies affecting the shoulder.51 Signs of stress
were also recorded in the elbows and extremities, though the severity of stress
decreased along the upper limbs.52 That is, while the shoulder was the most
acutely affected area of the body, evidence of joint disease in the elbows was
not as severe and the hands even less so. In-depth analyses of the patholo-
gies of several individuals at this site were highlighted as case studies in the
excavation report. The skeleton buried in Tomb 33, for example, a male aged
between forty and fifty years old, presented evidence of oa in the shoulders,
hips, and knees based on eburnation and signs of bone formation.53 Although
the shoulders exhibited more signs of oa than the spine at this site, the authors
of the report do not interpret this atypical finding as suggestive of particularly
unusual or distinctive labour, such as mining, but regard it as evidence of fairly
standard activities, such as agricultural work, wood chopping, and fishing. It
is, however, noted that the heavy, clay-rich soil may have played a role in the
accumulation of shoulder-stress in relation to agricultural activities and land
reclamation.54
The excavation of the large, rural monastic cemetery at Santa Maria Assunta
di Cairate produced over two hundred skeletons, and the third phase of its
51 Dal Poz, Ricci, Reale, Malvone, Salvadei, and Manzi, ‘Paleobiologia della popolazione
altomedievale di San Lorenzo di Quingentole’, 171–6.
52 Ibid.
53 Ibid.
54 Ibid.
use, dated between the sixth and ninth centuries, included ninety-two indi-
viduals. While the spine was the area most affected by oa, signs of arthritic
changes were present on the bones of the shoulders, hips, and knees of many
individuals.55 Similarly, at Acqui Terme, three of the twenty-nine adults, over
ten percent, had markers of oa in their hips; the sacroiliac joints of two indi-
viduals and coxofemoral joint of the third were particularly affected.56 Looking
to comparative sites beyond the Carolingian world, cemeteries from the British
Isles paint a similar picture. Juliet Rogers, Iain Watt, and Paul Dieppe’s study of
arthritis in medieval English skeletons, for example, noted that ‘hip and shoul-
der osteoarthritis were both common’ in the seven cemeteries analysed.57 Of
the fifty skeletons dated to the early medieval period involved in their study,
roughly a quarter presented evidence of advanced osteoarthritic changes in
the shoulders and nearly thirty percent in the hips.58 Overall, the skeletal evi-
dence indicates that oa was a common condition during this period, affect-
ing not only the spine but also the large joints, and especially the shoulders
and hips.
feet; this individual died at a relatively advanced age (fifty to sixty years old),
fitting the severity of his arthritis.62 As noted above, the excavation report of
San Lorenzo di Quingentole concentrated on a handful of skeletons (out of the
ninety-two excavated), providing detailed analyses of their pathologies.63 One
of these individuals, a male aged between forty and fifty, exhibited major signs
of stress in a variety of joints: in addition to evidence of oa in the vertebrae,
shoulder, elbow, hips, and knees, extensive osteophytic growth was observed
in the ankles as well as roughness around the surfaces of these joints.64 These
types of developments suggest that the affected individuals either experienced
prolonged periods of walking or running and/or carried substantial weight
that resulted in significant stress on the ankles and feet.65
Arthropathies of the hands were less frequently recorded, though still noted
at a number of sites. Individuals at Santa Maria Assunta di Cairate, for exam-
ple, displayed evidence of oa in their hands.66 At San Lorenzo di Quingentole,
males exhibited significantly more stress in their hands than females.67 Most
notably, evidence suggestive of ra was recorded at the site of Piazza Marconi
in Cremona and possibly also at San Lorenzo di Desenzano, a rural cemetery
with twenty-eight individuals dating from the seventh to eleventh centuries.68
At the latter site, an arthropathy observed on the left ring finger of one indi-
vidual could be due to ra or several other causes, including trauma.69 The
evidence from Cremona, on the other hand, is very convincing, in large part
because it is seen repeatedly within the site, and the onset of ra is strongly
linked to genetic and environmental factors.70 These two sites present the only
possible examples of erosive arthropathies (in addition to the cases of gout
noted above) identified within the sites under consideration.
The general trend seen in the skeletal evidence suggests that oa and minor
traumata of the ankles, feet, toes, and, to a slightly lesser extent, hands, were
62 Blockley, Caimi, Caporusso, Cattaneo, De Marchi, Miazzo, Porta, and Ravedoni, ‘Campione
d’Italia’, 54–5.
63 Dal Poz, Ricci, Reale, Malvone, Salvadei, and Manzi, ‘Paleobiologia della popolazione
altomedievale di San Lorenzo di Quingentole’, 151–95.
64 Ibid, 171–6.
65 Ibid.
66 Mattucci, Ravedoni, and Rettore, ‘Analisi antropologica e paleopatologica’, 523–4.
67 Dal Poz, Ricci, Reale, Malvone, Salvadei, and Manzi, ‘Paleobiologia della popolazione
altomedievale di San Lorenzo di Quingentole’, 171–6.
68 Waldron, Palaeopathology, 46–53.
69 Canci, Chavarría Arnau, and Marinato, ‘Il cimitero della chiesa altomedievale di San
Lorenzo di Desenzano (bs)’, 452–5.
70 Cattaneo and Mazzucchi, ‘Popolazioni tardo antiche e dell’alto medioevo’, 91–2.
4.4 Summary
The skeletal evidence reveals that joint disease affected a significant percent-
age of the population. oa was the most prevalent condition reported, although
possible cases of ra were also recorded at two sites. While the spinal column
was almost always recorded as the most frequently affected area of the body,
both large and small joints also exhibited signs of oa, testifying to the active life-
styles and physically demanding living conditions of many individuals. Before
reassessing the relationship between gout and podagra with respect to this
evidence, the treatments recorded for other arthropathies must be surveyed to
provide the full picture of joint disease.
In contrast to the big toe, pains associated with most other joints and joint areas,
such as the back, shoulders, neck, elbows, and knees, have not been linked to a
particular disease concept. Relatedly, and also unlike the case of podagra, a dis-
tinct, localised vocabulary has not emerged to address most other joint aches.
That is, when pains related to the knees or shoulders, for example, are noted
in recipes, they tend to be recorded in a simple, straightforward fashion, using
phrases such as ad geniculorum dolorem (‘for pain of the knees’) and ad scapu-
larum dolorem (‘for pain of the shoulders’).
The hips, however, present an important exception with some parallels to
podagra. On the one hand, the use of the standard Latin term for hip, coxa,
mirrors that of the aforementioned joints, appearing in expressions such as
ad coxarum dolorem (‘for pain of the hips’). On the other hand, two additional
terms, sciatica and nescia, also refer to problems associated with the hips. Like
podagra, these words a) have a Greek origin (in this case, both are Latinised
descendents of ἰσχία (ischia), meaning ‘hips’ or ‘hip joint’), and b) gave rise to a
wider vocabulary of related words (e.g., sciaticus, describing someone suffering
71 Isidore, Etymologiae, 4.7.29: Sciasis vocata a parte corporis, quam vexat. Nam vertebrorum
ossa, quorum summitas iliorum initio terminator, Graeci ἰσχία vocant. See also: Isidore, The
Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. Barney, Lewis, Beach, and Berghof, 112.
72 Yvette Hunt, for example, translates sciaticis as ‘sufferers of hip-disease’, and notes that
the condition is ‘variously translated as hip-gout, hip-disease, and even sciatica despite its
modern use relating to the sciatic nerve. It has been translated as “hip-disease” to allow the
broadest possible understanding’; see The Medicina Plinii, trans. Hunt, 2.3 (and commen-
tary at p. 176). Jutta Kollesch and Diethard Nickel translate sciatica as ‘Hüftschmerzen’,
hip pain; for many examples, see Book 25 (on cures for lower back and hip pain) of
Marcellus, De medicamentis liber, ed. Liechtenhan and Niedermann, trans. Kollesch and
Nickel. Unusually, Hunt is similarly cautious with the term podagra; see The Medicina
Plinii, trans. Hunt, 2.27 (and commentary at p. 215). Cf. Marcellus, De medicamentis liber,
ed. Liechtenhan and Niedermann, trans. Kollesch and Nickel, Book 34, and Isidore, The
Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. Barney, Lewis, Beach, and Berghof, 4.7.31 (at p. 112).
73 Isidore, Etymologiae, 4.7.31: Artriticus morbus ab articulorum passione vocabulum sumpsit;
translation from: Isidore, The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. Barney, Lewis, Beach,
and Berghof, 112.
74 It is impossible to be entirely comprehensive in this analysis given the differences in how
individuals feel, understand, and describe pain (and its causes). I have not, for example,
and pains of specific joints, the phrasing of some recipes can be more ambig-
uous. Consider, for example, recipes titled Ad ceruicis dolorem, ‘For pain of the
neck’, and Ad renum dolorem uel coxarum, ‘For pain of the kidneys or hips’.75
The former is intended to treat neck pain and thus offers a remedy for a gen-
eral joint area, the cervical spine. The latter, in contrast, claims to treat kidney
and hip pain, a combination that raises the following question: should it be
understood as a treatment for internal pains in the lower abdomen and pelvic
region (including the kidneys, bladder, urinary tract, and so on) or a treatment
for kidney pain as well as hip joint pain? In these types of cases, recipe titles
(and any extra details contained within the recipes themselves) rarely provide
a conclusive answer, and I include such recipes in the analysis if it appears
possible that they were intended as treatments for joint pains alongside or in
concert with other aims.
On this basis, I have identified 218 recipes that could be interpreted as tar-
geting joint afflictions or pain other than or in addition to podagra. As in the
preceding analyses, I have categorised these treatments by specificity, using
the same parameters to divide them into non-specific, semi-specific, and
highly specific groups (see Table 15). I have also investigated the distribution
of target joint(s) and joint area(s) (see Table 16). The results of these analy-
ses present both parallels to and divergences from the opening case study on
podagra; I shall review how nonlocalised joint afflictions appear in the recipes
before turning to individual joints and joint areas.
included treatments for omnem dolorem (‘all pain’) in this study given that such a descrip-
tion is entirely open-ended, but it is, of course, possible that such recipes were intended
to treat joint pains as part of their comprehensive coverage.
75 Examples of recipes entitled Ad ceruicis dolorem or Ad dolorem ceruicis can be found in
codd. sang. 751, 759, and bav pal. lat. 1088, while Ad renum dolorem uel coxarum is located
in cod. sang. 44, p. 345. For an example of the former, see Appendix 2, entry 9.33; for the
latter, see entry 5.19.
76 While the term artriticus appears more often, general problems with and pains of the
articuli are sometimes mentioned, too; see, for example, cod. sang. 751, p. 404: Ad uicia
articulorum. For the transcription, see Appendix 2, entry 9.11.
table 15 Overview of the specificity of recipes for joint pain other than or in addition to
podagra
77 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 65v: Potio contra artreticam siue nesciam uel podagram; cod. sang. 751,
p. 319: Unguentum acupo galastico ad omnem dolorem uel tumorem tam podagricis quam
artetricis. See Appendix 2, entries 16.25 and 9.2, respectively.
table 16 Number and percentage of recipes for joint pain other than or in addition to podagra presented by target areaa
224
b. Neck (ceruix)
Total # of recipes # of recipes in which # of recipes in which # of recipes in which
with the neck as a the neck is the only the neck & shoulders the neck is named
target joint area mentioned are the only joint areas with ≥ 2 other joint
mentioned areas
# 21 12 4 5
% of 218 9.6% 5.5% 1.8% 2.3%
% of 21 100% 57.1% 19.1% 23.8%
Chapter 8
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table 16 Number and percentage of recipes for joint pain other than or in addition to podagra presented by target area (cont.)
c. Shoulders (scapulae)
Joint Disease
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table 16 Number and percentage of recipes for joint pain other than or in addition to podagra presented by target area (cont.)
226
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table 16 Number and percentage of recipes for joint pain other than or in addition to podagra presented by target area (cont.)
g. Hands (manus)
Joint Disease
Note:
a The numbers of recipes in individual categories do not add up to their respective totals because a) the table presents a selection of the most important
combinations of targeted joints/joint areas, and b) under ‘e. hips’, several individual recipes use two of the three terms, thereby elevating their totals.
227
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228 Chapter 8
# of Recipes 36 26 22 84
(% of Total) (42.9%) (31.0%) (26.2%) (100%)
Thirteen of the sixteen recipes that claim to treat at least three different joints
and joint areas are non-specific, while just three are semi-specific. Thus, when
general joint afflictions are listed alongside podagra or listed with multiple
named joints and joint areas, the recipes tend to be non-specific panaceas,
though semi-specific treatments that pair the pains of podagrici and artritici
represent a significant minority within the sample.
When general joint afflictions are the only joint-related condition men-
tioned in a recipe, a different picture emerges: roughly three-fifths of the
treatments are highly specific (twenty-two out of thirty-seven recipes, 59.5%).
Examples include the Unguentum ad artiticus of bav reg. lat. 1143 and Gyma
artreticis of cod. sang. 759.78 Five recipes (13.9%) are semi-specific, including
two versions of a recipe entitled Catarticum artreticis et ydropicis intended to
treat general joint pains and dropsy, while nine (25.0%) are non-specific, such
as the Oxira crocira of bav pal. lat. 1088, which claims to cure over fifteen dif-
ferent conditions, including general joint afflictions but also spleen, liver, and
kidney problems, the bites of snakes and rabid dogs, and so on.79 The ratio
of these recipes’ specificity contrasts with the podagra study, as illustrated in
Table 14, where roughly half of the recipes are classified as non-specific and
just thirty percent are highly specific.
Within the semi-specific treatments, the pairing of general joint afflic-
tions with knee pain stands out as a recurring cluster. In three different treat-
ments, these two joint issues—one general and one localised to a particular
78 bav reg. lat. 1143, f. 169r: Unguentum ad artiticus; cod. sang. 759, p. 61: Gyma artreticis. See
Appendix 2, entries 18.7 and 11.9, respectively.
79 Cod. sang. 44, p. 250: Catarticum artriticis et idropicis; cod. sang. 759, p. 58: Catarticum
artreticis ydropicis; bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 60r: Oxira crocira facit epaticis, spleneticis, ad
ypocondria, tensiones nefreticis, ad omnem neruorum tensiones, pleureticis, peripleumon-
icis, artriticis, sciaticis, et omnem neruorum contractiones, et luxas, et fracturas, et incisos
neruos soluit, autem et omnes duritias, et ad serpentium morsus, et canis rabii morsum. See
Appendix 2, entries 5.10, 11.7, and 16.23, respectively.
5.2 Named Joints and Joint Areas: the Back, Neck, Shoulders, Hips, Knees,
and Hands
The back, neck, shoulders, hips, knees, and hands are mentioned as target
areas in many recipes, whether individually or in combination with each other
as well as the other joint-related terms discussed above. Having considered
how nonlocalised joint afflictions appear in recipes, I shall now concentrate
on the occurrence and distribution of aches and pains linked to these named
80 Cod. sang. 751, p. 320: Unguentum artitricis uel geniculorum dolorem; bav pal. lat. 1088,
f. 62r: Unguentum ad febrientes. See Appendix 2, entries 9.3 and 16.24.1.
81 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 62r: Unguentum ad febrientes. See Appendix 2, entry 16.24.1.
joints and joint areas. Out of the 313 recipes within the sample that appear to
be intended to treat named joint aches and pains, 124 recipes remain when
references to podagra and general joint afflictions are excluded (see Table 18).
This selection presents a number of striking differences when compared to the
previous analyses.
First, while nearly half of the recipes targeting podagra and over forty per-
cent of those for general joint afflictions are classified as non-specific treat-
ments, only twenty percent of these 124 recipes fall into the same category. The
vast majority, approximately four-fifths, of these treatments are more specific
in their focus.82 Although these twenty-five non-specific recipes are much like
the other non-specific treatments addressed above in that they claim to treat
a vast range of ailments and are typically based on a large number of primarily
exotic ingredients, they are unusual in one respect: in place of podagra and/or
artriticus (terms seen so frequently in general antidotes and other panaceas),
a specific joint area is named. The Antidotus polichristus of bav reg. lat. 1143,
for example, is recorded as a cure for hip pain as well as tooth pain, paralysis,
vomiting blood, and so on.83 As Table 18 illustrates, in all but one joint category,
non-specific recipes comprise less than twenty percent of each group. The one
exception, recipes that include the term sciatica (and related words), reverses
this trend: nearly eighty percent of recipes that offer treatments for ‘hip dis-
ease’ using this word are non-specific. Indeed, if all recipes featuring sciatica
and its related terms (twenty-three recipes) are removed from the sample,
only seven of the remaining 101 recipes, or about five percent, are non-specific
panaceas, highlighting the much more targeted nature of this recipe selection
overall. That is, catch-all antidotes that list scores of individual diseases and
ailments rarely list joint conditions other than podagra, artriticus, and sciatica.
When other joints and joint areas are named in recipes, the treatments tend to
be directed specifically at remedying the named joint(s) or joint area(s).
Semi-and highly specific recipes have been grouped together in Table 18
because many of the semi-specific treatments pair two neighbouring joints or
joint areas, such as the neck and shoulders or the lower back and hips. Despite
listing multiple areas, these recipes present very targeted treatments. Indeed,
of the ten recipes that claim to offer relief for pain in the lower back and hips,
for example, nine target this combination alone. The one exception is found in
82 As seen in Table 18, I have combined semi-and highly specific recipes in these cases
because the semi-specific recipes generally present treatments that target two, nearby
joint areas, such as the hips and lower back (as discussed below), and thus essentially
offer highly specific treatments, even though two different joints or joint areas are named.
83 bav reg. lat. 1143, ff. 161v–162v: Antidotus polichristus. See Appendix 2, entry 18.6.
table 18 Number and percentage of recipes for joint pain with references to neither
podagra nor general joint afflictions presented by specificity
a small cluster of recipes in cod. sang. 751 under the heading Ad laterum dolore,
‘For side pain’. The second treatment in this group extends to the hip and lower
back: ‘Likewise, burnt cabbage with grease, applied to the sides or the hips and
lower back, heals wonderfully’.84
Moreover, when recipes are ordered according to the a capite ad calcem
structure (‘from head to heel’), there can be some ambiguity regarding the
treatment targets. Consider, for instance, a group of recipes in bav pal. lat. 1088
with the title, Ad lumborum dolores, ‘For pain of the lower back’.85 While the
first recipe is limited to the lower back, the following treatment begins Item ad
lumborum uel coxarum dolores, ‘Likewise, for pains of the lower back or hips’,
while the third and final entry of the cluster is simply titled Item. In this case,
I would suggest that the third recipe also targets both lower back and hip pain,
though it is possible that it was intended just for lower back pain, the aim iden-
tified by this group’s main title. A parallel case can be found in cod. sang. 44,
while, in cod. sang. 751, a group of recipes located under the heading Ad dolo-
rem ceruicis, ‘For pain of the neck’, are similarly expanded to include shoulder
pain.86 In line with the lower back examples, the second recipe starts Item si
escapulas doluerint, ‘Likewise, if the shoulders hurt’, and the next two simply
start with Item, ‘Likewise’.87
While the pairing of individual joints and joint areas can thus be some-
what ambiguous, the majority of these recipes (sixty-nine of 101, 68.3%) rep-
resent highly specific treatments exclusively focused on a single joint/joint
area. Of the eighteen recipes for shoulder pain, for instance, eight are semi-
specific (including recipes that pair neck and shoulder pain) and ten are highly
specific. Examples include three recipes under the heading Ad scapularum
dolorem, ‘For pain of the shoulders’, in cod. sang. 44 and a recipe titled Ad scab-
ule dolorem in BnF lat. 11218.88 Intriguingly, the second recipe of the cluster
in cod. sang. 44 has close parallels to the recipe in BnF lat. 11218, highlighting
the shared sources of these different collections and the movement of medical
84 Cod. sang. 751, p. 461: Item [Ad laterum dolore]. Caulae cumbustae cum exungia lateribus
uel coxis et lumbis adpositus mire sanat. See Appendix 2, entry 9.35.2.
85 bav pal. lat. 1088, ff. 41r–41v: Ad lumborum dolores; Item ad lumborum uel coxarum; Item.
See Appendix 2, entries 16.8.1–3.
86 Cod. sang. 44, p. 367: Item ad lumborum uel coxarum dolorem; cod. sang. 751, p. 457: Ad
dolorem ceruicis. See Appendix 2, entries 5.31.2 and 9.33.1, respectively.
87 Cod. sang. 751, p. 457: Item si escapulas doluerint; Item; Item. See Appendix 2, entry
9.33.2–4.
88 Cod. sang. 44, pp. 361–2: Ad scapularum dolorem; BnF lat. 11218, f. 96v: Ad scabule dolorem.
See Appendix 2, entries 5.27 and 3.6, respectively.
Having now reviewed the textual evidence for joint afflictions and pain in a
variety of joints and examined the skeletal evidence for arthropathies in early
medieval populations, it is possible to return to the gout-podagra paradox.
Crucially, the following reappraisal is based on a comparative approach that
89 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 90r: Potio ad nesciam. See Appendix 2, entry 16.27.
90 For Hunt’s comments on sciatica, see The Medicina Plinii, trans. Hunt, 176.
91 Cod. sang. 759, p. 63: Malagma aduersus dolores uel fracturas et podagra ad luxum. See
Appendix 2, entry 11.11.
and foot pain, listed under the umbrella term podagra, would have been appli-
cable to many individuals and could have been used in an attempt to help
those suffering from oa, ra, gout, and other conditions.
Another angle strengthening this argument comes from recent research
into other disease terms, such as Alessandra Foscati’s work on ignis sacer.92
This ‘holy fire’ has long been understood as the medieval Latin term for ergo-
tism, ‘Saint Anthony’s fire’, a fungal disease that results from the ingestion of
rye, a common food product in medieval Europe, infected with Claviceps pur-
purea. As Foscati has convincingly argued, the unquestioning assumption that
ignis sacer can be simply equated with ergotism misses ‘the underlying com-
plexity and semantic richness of the nosographic terms in question’.93 Indeed,
the ‘polysemantic nature of the lexicon’ that Foscati so clearly unpacks in
the context of Saint Anthony’s fire shares much in common with the gout-
podagra paradox.94 Most significantly, Foscati’s framing of individual medical
terms as ‘semantic basins’ in which multiple, changing, and often overlapping
meanings accumulate has many resonances with the textual and osteological
evidence presented in this chapter. I suggest that podagra, too, should be
understood as a ‘semantic basin’ that has the potential to account for a wider
range of aches and pains than those caused exclusively by gout.95
To be clear, this argument for breadth is not to say that references to podagra
could not also represent true gout. As cited above, earlier sources, such as
Hippocrates and Galen, did, in fact, provide accounts of a condition that fit
extremely well with a modern medical description of the symptoms associated
with gout, revealing that the disease was known as a distinct entity. Moreover, a
handful of probable cases of gout have been identified in early medieval skele-
tal remains, indicating that recipes claiming to offer treatments for podagra in
the more limited sense would still have been applicable, if only to a very small
number of individuals. The presence and acknowledgement of true gout may
help to explain the frequent inclusion of podagra in non-specific panaceas—it
routinely appears as one of the standard, set pieces in cure-all antidotes. As
seen in the examples above and discussed in Chapter 2, these cure-alls tend to
name a large and varied set of conditions that they are intended to treat. Some
92 Alessandra Foscati, Ignis sacer. Una storia culturale del ‘fuoco sacro’ dall’antichità al
Settecento (Florence: sismel Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2013); with an updated edition in
English translation: Alessandra Foscati, Saint Anthony’s Fire from Antiquity to the Eighteenth
Century, trans. Francis Gordon (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020).
93 Foscati, Saint Anthony’s Fire, 17.
94 Ibid, 18; for the shifting terminology over time, see Part I, 33–123.
95 Ibid, 20.
of these conditions are fairly generic, such as stomach pains and headaches,
but many are extreme, ranging from snake bites to paralysis. Podagra, if inter-
preted broadly, could fit the former type of general condition, or, if taken to
mean gout according to a modern definition of the disease, could fall into the
latter category of rare, serious, and extreme conditions. That is, depending on
how it is understood, the term could cover the entire spectrum of severity and/
or urgency: on one hand, it could concern achy, arthritic joints (painful and
problematic but ordinary), while on the other hand, it could refer to true gout,
an excruciating, debilitating, and rare condition. In both cases, treatments
would be highly desired.
Ultimately, while the prevalence of podagra in the texts contrasts with
the general absence of gout in the skeletal remains, it does fit with the wider
context: toe and foot joint pain would have been common issues. Moreover,
contextualising recipes for podagra within their textual environment (i.e.,
observing the appearance of podagra in association with somewhat similar
descriptions of foot, leg, and joint pain) supports a more general reading of the
term and finds parallels with other recent research into the complex, ‘polyse-
mantic nature’ of past disease lexicon.96 Therefore, by reassessing the written
record in the light of the osteological evidence, I argue that podagra should
generally be interpreted as a collection of symptoms rather than a specific,
modern diagnosis, potentially referring to gout but not limited to this disease
exclusively. With this reframing of podagra, it is possible to return to the orig-
inal question of applicability with respect to the chapter’s entire textual and
osteological sample.
96 Ibid, 18.
97 On the placebo effect in the context of early medieval English recipes, see Brackmann,
‘“It Will Help Him Wonderfully”’. On current trends in self-medication, see, for exam-
ple, Rajasree K. Rajamma, Audhesh K. Paswan, and Lou E. Pelton, ‘Flipping the
script: Consumers’ propensity for self-medication’, Journal of Marketing Theory and
Practice 29, no. 4 (2021): 448–62, https://doi.org/10.1080/10696679.2020.1870240.
98 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 90r: Antidotum gira deacoloquintidis. See Appendix 2, 16.26.
99 Navitainuck, Meyer, and Alt, ‘Degenerative Alterations of the Spine’, 179–83.
whereas pains of the neck are only named in twenty-one treatments. The lower
back and shoulders, areas of the body that were often noted as showing signs
of stress and degradation in the osteological evidence, appear at similarly low
levels within the recipe sample. This may suggest that more general treatments
for artriticus were intended for arthritic pains in most joints while pains in
the lower extremities were conceived of as a separate entity, perhaps linked to
the knowledge that these joints could experience different types of joint pain,
such as that of true gout. Indeed, if the number of treatments targeting gen-
eral joint afflictions are added to each of the other individual joint treatment
categories, their recipe totals become much closer to the number of podagra-
specific remedies. The hips are, again, an exception to the general pattern if all
three terms are counted together; however, when each of the three hip terms
is assessed individually, they present only slightly elevated numbers in com-
parison to other named joints and joint areas. The varied vocabulary used to
describe hip ailments is certainly deserving of further study.
On the basis of these analyses, the overall picture is one of applicability. The
skeletal remains of early medieval individuals reveal that joint pain would have
been an issue for many people and suggest that the recipes examined in this
chapter, whether intended to treat a specific sore, aching joint or more gen-
eral joint pain, would have been highly relevant to communities in Carolingian
Europe.
7 Conclusion
A plaster that breaks and opens wounds and scrofulous swellings without
iron: Sal ammoniac, 1 pound; galena, 1 pound; oil, 1 pound; ashes of twigs,
1 pound; dove droppings, 3 ounces. Prepare [it] and use [it].1
1 Cod. sang. 44, p. 243: Emplastrum qui sine ferro rumpit uulnera et scrofas et aperit. Salis ammo-
niaci lib I, mollibdine lib I, oleo lib I, cineris sarmentorum lib I, femus columbino ~ III, conficis et
uteris. See Appendix 2, entry 5.5.
2 Mitchell, Medicine in the Crusades, 184. The topic of wounds received in battle will be consid-
ered in more detail below; for more on wounds generally in the medieval period, see Larissa
Tracy and Kelly DeVries, eds., Wounds and Wound Repair in Medieval Culture (Leiden: Brill,
2015). ‘Periodic bloodletting’, i.e., regular, and highly regulated, bloodletting, represents an
important exception whereby a (minor) surgical procedure was actively sought; see Mary
K. K. Yearl, ‘Bloodletting as Recreation in the Monasteries of Medieval Europe’, in Between
Text and Patient: The Medical Enterprise in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. Florence
Eliza Glaze and Brian K. Nance (Florence: sismel Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2011), 217–43.
to the early medieval Latin evidence, treatises on more invasive surgeries did
circulate in Antiquity, the medieval Islamicate world, and the later medieval
west. Yet, just as the existence of dietary and pharmaceutical recipes is not, in
itself, proof of their use in therapy, the inverse is true regarding surgery. That
is, the lack of major surgical texts does not necessarily indicate that invasive
surgery was not occurring in the early medieval west, but rather that, if such
procedures were happening, knowledge of them was transmitted through
non-textual means.3 However, the recording of a non-invasive alternative to
surgical intervention that emphasises this very feature suggests that surgery
was to be avoided when possible. Do skeletal remains reveal signs of surgical
practices unrecorded by the texts?
An investigation into whether evidence of surgical procedures can be
observed in the osteological record is inherently linked to signs of weapon
injuries, falls, and other trauma. Skeletal remains may provide indicators of the
types of treatments that occurred during this period other than, or in addition
to, surgery based on signs of healing (or lack thereof) recorded in the bones. It
is necessary, therefore, to consider the evidence of more general traumata in
both the written sources and osteological record. Accordingly, this chapter’s
recipe analysis explores the extent to which these texts attempted to heal and/
or provide care for serious injuries, such as broken bones, rather than focusing
on the examples of minor surgeries, including bloodletting and cautery, that
occasionally appear alongside recipes or as part of treatments. The latter, given
their superficial nature, are not recorded in the osteological record, whereas
more significant injuries can be considered from both textual and skeletal
perspectives.
In contrast to the conditions addressed in Chapters 7 and 8, trauma is usu-
ally the immediate result of a sudden event, such as a fall or blow. This direct
cause and effect relationship has given rise to a fairly consistent understand-
ing of the aetiology of traumatic injuries from Antiquity to the present day.4
Despite this unusually high degree of consistency between the modern and
medieval identification of the underlying mechanisms responsible for these
types of pathologies, trauma remains a notoriously difficult concept to define.
The Oxford Concise Medical Dictionary, providing a modern clinical perspec-
tive, defines trauma as ‘a physical wound or injury, such as a fracture or blow’,
3 Debby Banham and Christine Voth, ‘The Diagnosis and Treatment of Wounds in the Old
English Medical Collections: Anglo-Saxon Surgery?’, in Wounds and Wound Repair in Medieval
Culture, ed. Larissa Tracy and Kelly DeVries (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 153–74.
4 Margaret A. Judd and Rebecca Redfern, ‘Trauma’, in A Companion to Paleopathology, ed. Anne
L. Grauer (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 359–79, at p. 359.
5 See ‘trauma, n.’ in Elizabeth A. Martin, ed., Oxford Concise Medical Dictionary, 9th ed.
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), https://doi.org/10.1093/acref/9780199687817.001
.0001.
6 Judd and Redfern, ‘Trauma’, 360.
7 Ibid, 359–62.
8 While the inclusion of surgery as a type of trauma has, as noted above, been debated, it is
usually categorised as such.
2.1 Surgery
Given the ancient precedent of describing surgical procedures separately from
pharmaceutical and dietary prescriptions, it might seem strange to look for
evidence of surgery alongside recipes.9 Yet, as explained in Chapter 2, the var-
ied nature of early medieval medical compendia blurs such neat distinctions,
and short, non-recipe excerpts and writings can be found in recipe collections.
In a small recipe collection in cod. sang. 44, for example, entries such as De uul-
neribus putridis and De cautere, focus on superficial surgical procedures rather
than recipes.10 Moreover, as noted above, recipes occasionally mention fairly
minor, superficial procedures, such as phlebotomy, cautery, and scarification,
as a component of treatment—or even record treatments for the aftermath of
these procedures. A poultice in cod. sang. 899 titled Cataplasma ad tumorem
brachii que ex fleubotomo contingit, for example, is intended to combat swell-
ings in the arm after bloodletting.11 Old English recipe collections, too, record
a handful of fairly superficial surgeries, such as the lancing and draining of
an abscess and the removal of gangrenous flesh.12 It therefore seems possi-
ble that if surgical techniques beyond the aforementioned minor procedures
were recorded in the Carolingian world, they could have been located within
this textual environment, either mentioned in recipes as part of a treatment or
found as a discrete section of supplementary information within a larger col-
lection. This, however, is not the case, and more complex surgical procedures
are absent in the surviving texts.13 These findings suggest that knowledge of
more invasive surgeries, if in circulation, was transferred through non-textual
means, such as apprenticeships and oral traditions. However, many treatments
for open wounds and/or broken bones involved bandaging and suggest that
the injury was protected and possibly immobilised, splinted, and/or manipu-
lated; depending on the complexity of the injury, these processes could have
involved some minor surgical procedures, though explicit details are absent.
Exploring the broader category of trauma can offer more insights into the
types of care recorded in the recipe literature for serious injuries.
2.2 Trauma
Despite the lack of references to invasive surgeries, serious traumatic injuries
do appear with some frequency in the textual record. I have identified 193
recipes that claim to treat fractures, dislocations, cut tendons, and/or injuries
caused by a specific type of trauma, such as a blow, puncture wound, fall, or
named weapon. Recipes that only include general terms for wounds, ulcers,
and sores, such as uulnus and ulcus, without further contextualisation are
excluded from this chapter’s analysis because they could not be linked to a
traumatic injury. Likewise, recipes that use the non-specific tumor, which can
range in meaning from swelling to tumour, without further clarification are
not included. It should be noted, however, that three recipes for poultices in
cod. sang. 899 combine this term with more details and suggest that they are
treatments for swellings with bruising, and thus possibly linked to traumatic
injuries. Two of these occur within a cluster of recipes under the heading
Cataplasma ad tumorem; while the group of recipes cannot be taken as refer-
ring to bruising overall, these two recipes also include the words liuor (bruise)
and contusio (contusion, bruise), pinpointing their target.14 Finally, treatments
for animal bites and stings as well as the trauma of childbirth are also excluded
because signs of these injuries are often more difficult to see in the osteological
evidence.
As seen in Table 19, the majority of these recipes (76.6%) are highly spe-
cific, while non-and semi-specific recipes only account for twenty-six (14.1%)
and seventeen (9.2%) recipes, respectively. The non-and semi-specific cate-
gories follow the same criteria outlined in previous chapters, although I have
14 Cod. sang. 899, p. 141: Item ad tumores, liuores, contusiones; Item ad liuorem tollendum. See
Appendix 2, entries 14.5.2–3.
classified any recipes that only concern traumatic injuries as highly specific,
even in cases where multiple types of traumata are mentioned, such as frac-
tures and dislocations. I shall briefly review the non-and semi-specific recipes
before concentrating on those that target trauma exclusively.
The twenty-six non-specific recipes represent wide-ranging panaceas, eight
of which correspond to just two antidotes that reoccur in multiple manuscripts.
The Oxira crocira is found in codd. sang. 44, 761, bav pal. lat. 1088, and reg. lat.
1143, and in each case the treatment claims to heal luxum et fracturas, ‘dislo-
cations and fractures’ (the example in cod. sang. 761 also adds that it draws
out thorns, extrahit spinas), alongside a host of other maladies.15 Similarly, the
Apostolicon plaster is seen in four manuscripts (codd. sang. 44, 751, 761, and bav
reg. lat. 1143) and consistently includes a phrase noting that it was intended to
treat wounds caused by iron, glass, and other materials as well as embedded
arrows.16 The lengthy list of medical problems this plaster claims to treat then
continues with the bites and stings of venomous animals before moving on to
a range of other ailments. The non-specific recipes, as these two cases illus-
trate (and as has been noted in previous chapters), tend to treat a mixture of
extreme and general medical issues; in this hybrid context, it is not surprising
to see life-threatening wounds caused by traumatic injuries, such as arrows or
sword blows, alongside serious and urgent (if also unusual) health problems,
such as poisoning and snake bites.
Seventeen semi-specific recipes list traumatic injuries with or secondarily
to other potentially related conditions. Several recipes, for instance, mention
fractures while also noting wounds, pains, and/or infections. These other ail-
ments could stem from a traumatic event and thus be directly connected with
the fractures but, equally, they could represent unrelated conditions. As an
example, cod. sang. 751 records a recipe that claims to heal putrid shins and
all blows, Qui facit ad tibias putridas et ad omnes plagas sanandas.17 While the
putrid shins could reflect an open, infected sore that developed as a result of
trauma, the limited description given in the recipe does not address whether
15 Cod. sang. 44, pp. 243–4: Oxira crucira emplastrum; cod. sang. 761, pp. 59–60: Oxyra cro-
cira; bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 60r: Oxira crocira; and bav reg. lat. 1143, ff. 172r–172v: Oxyra gro-
cira. See Appendix 2, entries 5.6, 12.2, 16.23, and 18.8, respectively.
16 Cod. sang. 44, pp. 238–9: Emplastrum apostolicon; cod. sang. 751, pp. 423–4: Inplastrum
apostolicon; cod. sang. 761, pp. 65–6: Emplastrum apostolicum; and bav reg. lat. 1143, ff.
133r–134r: Apostolicon. The shared phrase, with some variation between recipes, is: ad …
omnes plaga quae a ferro inciditur siue [sudibus] siue uitro siue canna, sagittas educendas
infixas corpori. See Appendix 2, entries 5.4, 9.24, 12.4, and 18.4, respectively.
17 Cod. sang. 751, pp. 367–8: Qui facit ad tibias putridas et ad omnes plagas sanandas. See
Appendix 2, entry 9.5.
table 20 Categories and subcategories of highly specific recipes that name traumatic
injuries as the target of their treatment
the conditions might be linked. Sores on the shins could also fit with hae-
matogenous osteomyelitis, for example, and have no relation to a traumatic
injury. Three of these recipes, such as the Malagma aduersus dolores fracturas
et podagra ad luxum of cod. sang. 759, include podagra alongside fractures and
dislocations and, as elaborated in Chapter 8, may be linked to more general
joint and/or pain treatments of the lower extremities.18 Given these ambigui-
ties, the following analysis concentrates on the 141 highly specific recipes.
As shown in Table 20, the highly specific recipes can be divided into two
main categories: forty-eight recipes (34.0%) name a general type of traumatic
injury, such as fractures and dislocations, as the target of their treatment, while
eighty-six (61.0%) note the source or cause of a traumatic injury, such as a blow
or puncture. There are also seven recipes (5.0%) that mention both injury
type(s) and cause(s) of trauma. I have further divided the two primary catego-
ries into more specific subunits, as seen in Tables 20–22, based on the recipes’
titles and any additional information contained within them.
18 Cod. sang. 759, p. 63: Malagma aduersus dolores uel fracturas et podagra ad luxum. See
Appendix 2, entry 11.11.
table 21 Breakdown of highly specific recipes that name a general type of traumatic injury
# of recipes 48 26 15 1 6
% of total 100% 61.4% 15.9% 2.3% 13.6%
(48)
Of the forty-eight highly specific recipes that are intended to treat general
injuries, twenty-six (54.2%) focus exclusively on fractures (see Table 21). Twenty
of these recipes provide treatments for broken bones generally, bearing titles
such as Ad fracturas ossorum, Ad osa fracta in corpore, and Ad osso fracto across
a variety of manuscripts, including codd. sang. 751, 759, BnF lat. 11218, and bav
pal. lat. 1088. Two of the entries in cod. sang. 751 reveal the extent of variation
seen among the trauma treatments recorded in the texts: on the one hand, the
recipe entitled Ad osso fracto, ‘for a broken bone’, recommends that the patient
drink sulphur with wine and water for nine days, whereas the preparation Ad
ossa si fuerint fracta in testa provides instructions for treating broken bones of
the skull that involve the application of a powder directly on the injured area
and, if the skin is broken, washing and bandaging.19 In cod. sang. 759, the two
recipes listed under the heading Ad fracturas ossorum, ‘for fractures of bones’,
likewise present multiple approaches: the first suggests both a topical applica-
tion as well as a drink, while the second offers only a topical treatment.20
Six recipes intended for fractures, like the treatment for fractures of the
skull seen in cod. sang. 751, name specific areas of the body. One treatment in
BnF lat. 11218 titled Ad costas fractas, ‘For broken ribs’, recommends a prepara-
tion made of glass, pitch, and vinegar.21 The other five recipes are all intended
exclusively for cranial fractures, two of which, De simplices uulneribus ad capitis
19 Cod. sang. 751, p. 378: Ad osso fracto. Solfor bibat per die VIIII terciam partem dinarium
pinsantem ieiunus cum uino et aqua; p. 432: Ad ossa si fuerint fracta in testa. De pipinella
puluis facis super teola exsiccas et super puluere ponis, si reticolus fuerit ruptus lana de
papiro super reticulo ponis, et inde aceto et mel lauabis. See Appendix 2, entries 9.6 and
9.25, respectively.
20 Cod. sang. 759, p. 52: Ad fracturas ossorum. See Appendix 2, entry 11.6.
21 BnF lat. 11218, f. 97r: Ad costas fractas. Uitro, pice, acito resoluis in patena, bene adiuuat. See
Appendix 2, entry 3.7.
fracturam of bav pal. lat. 1088 and Ad capitis fractura of cod. sang. 751, appear
to be derived from a treatment found in De herba vettonica liber, though the
recipe of cod. sang. 751 is somewhat abbreviated.22 Notably, the longer recipe
in bav pal. lat. 1088 (as well as the original in De herba vettonica liber) includes
a comment on removing bone fragments: ossa fractura extrahit. While it may
be tempting to read this as evidence for some degree of surgical intervention,
perhaps even linked to trepanation (a technique which, as discussed below,
has been observed in early medieval skeletal remains), it would be inappropri-
ate to jump to such a conclusion based on the recipe’s limited description. The
other recipes addressing cranial fractures, also found in cod. sang. 751, do not
belong to the De herba vettonica liber tradition and make no reference to bone
fragment removal: the remedy Ad capitis fractura offers fairly detailed instruc-
tions for the preparation of an ointment that contains exotic, aromatic ingre-
dients, such as mastic and colophony resin, whereas a treatment titled Ossa in
capite si fracta fuerint, ‘Bones in the head, if they were broken’, recommends a
simple topical application made from agrimony and old grease.23
As shown in Table 21, fifteen recipes target dislocations, such as the recipes
titled Ad luxum, ‘For a dislocation’, in cod. sang. 751 or Ad luxatura, also mean-
ing ‘For a dislocation’, in cod. sang. 44.24 The ankle, talus, is specifically men-
tioned in several treatments, such as a recipe under the heading Ad talorem
dolorem quis luxauerit ut dolor pausit in cod. sang. 759, suggestive of a sprained
ankle.25 Moreover, one recipe in cod. sang. 1396 and six in bav pal. lat. 1088 pair
dislocation with bruising; this coupling is very fitting since discolouration and
swelling often complement injuries such as sprains and dislocations. The six
treatments in bav pal. lat. 1088 are found under the heading Ad contussionem
22 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 44v: De simplices uulneribus ad capitis fracturam. Uittonica contussa et
super uulnus inposita mira celeritate gluttinat eo quide sanabis si tertio quoque die recenti-
orem frequentius inposueris donec sanescat etiam et ossa fractura extrahit; cod. sang. 751,
p. 408: Ad capitis fractura. Uerba uittonica contusa in capitę in plaga inpositam rase celeri-
tate gluttinatur. For full transcriptions, see Appendix 2, entries 16.9 and 9.14, respectively.
Cf. Pseudo-Antonius Musa, De herba vettonica liber, ed. Howald and Sigerist, no. 1: Ad capi-
tis fracturam. Herba uettonica contusa et super capitis ictum inposita uulnus mira celeritate
glutinatum sanabit; eo quidem efficacius, si tertio quoque die refectam, id est recentiorem,
frequentius inposueris, donec sanat. Eius potestas tantam habere fertur utilitatem, ut ossa
quoque fracta ui sua extrahat.
23 Cod. sang. 751, pp. 405–6: Ad capitis fractura; p. 437: Ossa in capite si fracta fuerint. See
Appendix 2, entries 9.13 and 9.28.
24 Cod. sang. 751, p. 405: Ad luxum; p. 440: Ad luxum; cod. sang. 44, p. 348: Ad luxatura. See
Appendix 2, entries 9.12, 9.29, and 5.20, respectively.
25 Cod. sang. 759, p. 72: Ad talorem dolorem quis luxauerit ut dolor pausit. See Appendix 2,
entry 11.15.
uel luxatura de praesenti, ‘For bruising or dislocation of the present’, while the
one in cod. sang. 1396 is titled Ad luxum uel contussim; all provide instruc-
tions for topical applications.26 Just over half of the recipes that are intended
to treat dislocations provide more information about the injury, such as the
presence of bruising or that the ankle is the area concerned. This contrasts
with the fracture treatments, where the majority of recipes (twenty out of
twenty-six) do not supply additional details about the nature of the break or
its location. Furthermore, although the treatments for fractures and disloca-
tions are usually separate, one recipe, the Unguentum ad fractura uel luxatura,
mentions both types of injuries. Located in cod. sang. 759, this ointment uses
the fat of a wether, wax, old olive oil, laurel oil, and flax seeds to create a topical
application.27
Finally, ‘cut tendons’ are the focus of six recipes, four of which are found
together in bav pal. lat. 1088 under the heading Ad neruos incisos.28 All four of
these present simple topical applications: the first two recommend a prepara-
tion made with earthworms, the third sage, and the fourth a mixture of snails
(with their shells) and frankincense. Intriguingly, although this general type
of injury appears much less frequently in the recipe sample under analysis
than either fractures or dislocations, cut tendons receive comparatively more
coverage in classical and late antique sources. The Medicina Plinii, for exam-
ple, devotes a fairly substantial chapter to Recentibus vulneribus et nervis inci-
sis (‘For recent wounds and cut tendons’) that features over twice as many
prescriptions as its later chapter on broken bones, Ossibus fractis.29 Indeed,
the first and last of the four recipes for cut tendons in bav pal. lat. 1088 share
much in common with two of the opening treatments found in the Medicina
Plinii.30
Unlike the previous examples of recipes that name a general type of trau-
matic injury, eighty-six recipes name a source or cause of trauma that resulted
in the injury. As seen in Tables 20 and 22, I have grouped these treatments
into four subcategories: a) recipes for wounds sustained by blows or strikes,
26 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 45v: Ad contussione uel luxatura de praesenti; cod. sang. 1396, p. 20: Ad
luxum uel contussim. See Appendix 2, entries 16.12 and 15.2, respectively.
27 Cod. sang. 759, p. 75: Unguentum ad fractura uel luxatura. See Appendix 2, entry 11.17.
28 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 45r: Ad neruos incisos. See Appendix 2, entry 16.11.
29 Plinii Secundi Iunioris qui feruntur De medicina libri tres, ed. Önnerfors, 3.3 and 3.25. For
the English translation, see The Medicina Plinii, trans. Hunt, 72–5, 94–5.
30 Plinii Secundi Iunioris qui feruntur De medicina libri tres, ed. Önnerfors, 3.3.1–2: Vermes
terreni triti conglutinant, adeo ut etiam neruos incisos solident die septimo … cochleae cum
suis testis tusae cum myrrha et ture pari pondere etiam praecisos neruos sanant.
31 Annales Bertiniani, ed. Waitz, entry for 864 (at p. 67): Karolus iuvenis … noctu rediens de
venatione in silva Cotia, iocari cum aliis iuvenibus et coaevis suis putans, operante diabolo
ab Albuio iuvene in capite spatha percutitur pene usque ad cerebrum; translation from The
Annals of St Bertin, trans. Nelson, 111–12.
32 Cod. sang. 751, recipes with plaga: pp. 39 (two cases), 392, 399, 405, 407, 410, 435, 451 (two
cases); recipes with percussus: pp. 404, 439, 471; bav pal. lat. 1088, recipes with plaga: ff.
39r, 44r–45r (one cluster of five recipes, one cluster of six recipes), 50v.
33 Cod. sang. 751, p. 392: De mandragora … Ipsa radice teris et dequoquis cum oleo et super
plaga pone mirum sanat. See Appendix 2, entry 9.7.1.
34 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 50v: Puluera ad plagam assucandam et stringendam et celerius sanan-
dam et carnem mortuam manducat. See Appendix 2, entry 16.18.
35 bav pal. lat. 1088, f. 44v: Ad alia uulnera uel plagas ubicumque a ferro aut quolibet. See
Appendix 2, entry 16.10.
36 Cod. sang. 759, p. 61: Puluis qui facit ad implire placas etiam et si ossa minuta habuerit
excutit; BnF lat. 11219, f. 225ra: Puluis ad implere plagas et si ossa habet minuata discutit. See
Appendix 2, entries 11.10 and 4.3, respectively.
37 bav pal. lat. 1088, ff. 46v–47r: Ad eos qui cum toxicata sagittasi sunt; cod. sang. 751, p. 396: Si
spina in pede uel in alico membro fuerit. See Appendix 2, entries 16.13 and 9.9, respectively.
38 Cod. sang. 44, pp. 364–5: Ad punctas qui in latere superueniunt; bav pal. lat. 1088, ff. 39v–
40r: Ad punctas que lateribus superueniunt; BnF lat. 11218, f. 97r: Ad puncta que in lateribus
superuenit. See Appendix 2, entries 5.29, 16.6, and 3.8, respectively.
related to the first recipes in these clusters as all three treatments name south-
ernwood (abrotano) as their primary ingredient.39 Like some of the examples
seen above, the overlapping information presented in different manuscripts
illustrates not only the shared sources of pharmaceutical information that cir-
culated in early medieval Europe, but also their individuality. That is, although
two of the recipe collections in which these particular examples are found
belong to the Teraupetica-Tereoperica family of texts, they contain many dif-
ferences that point to a complex process of transmission and adaptation over
time.40 A recipe in cod. sang. 759, Remedium ad punctas, likewise highlights
how recorded medical knowledge was shifting during this period; in this case,
beer is listed as an ingredient, suggesting that the recipe may have been influ-
enced by local knowledge and/or adapted to suit readily available products (on
which, see Chapter 4).41
The single example of a highly specific recipe that refers to both blows
and punctures, Medicamen mirabile ad placas ad sagita percusso, is found in
cod. sang. 759.42 Unlike most other subcategories, the majority of recipes that
mention multiple forms of named trauma are non-specific recipes. The only
other grouping in which non-specific recipes predominate is the ‘fractures
and dislocations’ subcategory, suggesting that antidotes and other panaceas,
in their tendency to list particularly extreme medical problems, feature mul-
tiple weapon-based injuries—if such injuries are listed at all—rather than an
arrow wound or a sword blow individually. Recipes that mention falls are only
recorded twice (see Table 22); along with treatments for thorns, these recipes
are unusual in naming traumatic injuries that do not necessarily stem from a
violent act (whether intentional or accidental). These two recipes are found
under the title Si homo de arbore uel de equo ceciderit, ‘If a person has fallen
39 The first recipes of the clusters and the single recipe in BnF lat. 11218 are as follows: bav
pal. lat. 1088, f. 39v: Ad punctas que lateribus superueniunt. Aprotano trito in aqua colatum
medium calicem tepidum bibat, admiscis modicum sal; cod. sang. 44, p. 364: Ad punctas qui
in latere superueniunt. Abrotano trito in aqua colato medio calice tepidum bibat, admiscis
modicum sal; BnF lat. 11218, f. 97r: Ad puncta que in lateribus superuenit, hoc est defecciones
se in febre acute superuenit. Abrotanum in aqua tritum et euaporacione ne adhibeatur
propere omnia et agriamen uetandum est. For full transcriptions, see Appendix 2, entries
16.6.1, 5.29.1, and 3.8, respectively.
40 Ferraces Rodríguez, ‘Un recetario médico altomedieval’; Ferraces Rodríguez, ‘Reutilización
de fuentes en recetarios medicos de la antigüedad tardía’.
41 Cod. sang. 759, p. 68: Remedium ad punctas lias de ceruisa recentis colas n<…> das et alio
tando buter simul miscis et bibe dabis statim sanabitur. See Appendix 2, entry 11.14 for the
full transcription.
42 Cod. sang. 759, p. 67: Medicamen mirabile ad placas ad sagita percusso. See Appendix 2,
entry 11.13.
from a tree or a horse’, in cod. sang. 751.43 The first provides instructions for
a topical application and linen wrap, while the second produces a potion
to drink.
The final category, recipes that mention both general injuries as well as a
named source of trauma, includes seven highly specific treatments. Although
two recipes from cod. sang. 751 have titles that would suggest a single target, Ad
luxum, ‘For a dislocation’, and Potio ad plaga, ‘A potion for blows’, additional
information appears within the recipe itself. In the first, Ad luxum is written in
red capitals and then followed by ad luxum uel quolibet casum si percussum fue-
rit ut liuorem faciat, a phrase that reveals that the recipe is intended to treat not
only dislocations but also cases in which a strike has caused bruising.44 While
this is similar to the dislocation recipes that mentioned bruising noted above,
it differs in specifying that a blow, percussum, was involved. In contrast, a rec-
ipe from cod. sang. 878, Walahfrid Strabo’s vademecum, titled Ad fracturam uel
uulnera ferri, ‘For a fracture or wounds of iron’, more clearly indicates the mul-
tipurpose nature of the treatment in its title and recommends a mixture of
‘barley flour, boar fat, and stinging nettle’ with no further instructions regard-
ing the preparation or administration fo the treatment.45 Unusually, each of
the ingredients in this recipe has been glossed in Old High German.46 These
additions, however, date to the eleventh century and therefore cannot be taken
as evidence for how this recipe was read in the Carolingian period.
43 Cod. sang. 751, p. 395: Si homo de arbore uel de equo ceciderit. See Appendix 2, entry 9.8.
44 Cod. sang. 751, p. 400: Ad luxum. See Appendix 2, entry 9.10.
45 Cod. sang. 878, p. 333: Ad fracturam uel uulnera ferri. Farina ordeacia, adeps aprinus uel
uerrinus, urtica minor. See Appendix 2, entry 13.1.
46 For the glosses, see von Steinmeyer and Sievers, Die althochdeutschen Glossen, vol. 4, 455.
and may suggest whether the traumatic event was accidental or intentional.47
A fall, for example, could result in a crush fracture (a fracture of a vertebra
due to compression) or a Colles fracture (a fracture of the distal radius due to
landing on an outstretched hand). A blow to the head often causes a depressed
fracture (a fracture of the skull where the bone is forced inwards), whereas
a strike to a long bone may result in a linear cutmark (due to a sharp, slicing
weapon, such as a sword) or a transverse fracture (a fracture at right angles to
the bone’s long axis).48
Although the latter example, a transverse fracture, can be caused by many
different types of traumata and should not be automatically interpreted as the
result of interpersonal violence, the location of the injury can be instructive.
Fractures that occur on the shaft of the radius and/or ulna, for example, are
often referred to as ‘parry fractures’ since it is plausible ‘that the individual
was using his or her arm to ward off a blow aimed at the head’.49 Yet, despite
the information provided by the injury’s location and form, it must be remem-
bered that the interpretation of the traumatic incident always remains a case
of speculation.50 While a ‘parry fracture’ is suggestive of an individual parrying
a blow to the head, it is possible that this was not the case. Furthermore, as
noted above with the example of ‘horseplay’ from the Annals of St. Bertin, it is
important to keep in mind that some weapon-based injuries in the past may
have been accidental.51
Regardless of the question of intent, it may still be possible to deduce the
means by which certain fractures occurred: cranial injuries located in the left
frontoparietal region, for instance, suggest a ‘face-to-face encounter’ where
‘the weapon inflicting these wounds [was] held in the right hand’.52 When
considering trauma due to weapons, the appearance of the fracture may also
offer insights into the type of weapon used. Swords or knives tend to leave a
distinct cutmark whereas a projectile, such as an arrow or spear, results in a
small piercing or indentation.53 Sticks, stones, maces, and other large items
will typically result in a blunt force trauma, such as a depressed fracture.54
The presence or absence (and, if present, extent) of remodelled bone at the
site of injury can shed light on the timing of the traumatic event and healing
process. If there is no sign of remodelling, then the injury occurred at or very
near to the individual’s death.55 In some cases, it can be difficult to distinguish
between peri-and post-mortem trauma, though the fragmentation of bones
due to soil weight or any damage incurred during the excavation process are
often recognisable based on the appearance of the fracture edge.56 If the indi-
vidual survived the initial trauma, bone repair begins almost immediately (evi-
dence of remodelling can be seen within roughly two days of the incident) and
may continue for several years.57 The gradation of remodelling seen at the site
of injury can therefore provide a timeframe for understanding the healing pro-
cess: did the individual make a full recovery or die within a few days or weeks
after sustaining the trauma? If there are only early signs of bone repair, it sug-
gests that the individual survived the initial traumatic incident but died rela-
tively soon after, perhaps due to complications associated with the injury.58
When an individual survives a traumatic incident, it may also be possible
to see evidence of treatment. The successful healing of a broken bone requires
immobilisation and, depending on the location and type of fracture, returning
the bone to its normal anatomical position.59 A number of complications may
result if this does not occur, if it is done poorly, or if the individual begins to use
the injured bone before it is fully healed, such as non-union, shortening, and/or
angulation.60 Broken bones, and especially open fractures where the skin has
also been broken, are susceptible to infection, and the development of osteo-
myelitis may be visible in the skeletal remains.61 The complete remodelling
of bone at the site of injury would indicate that the individual survived for at
least several years after the trauma occurred and suggests that some type of
medical care was involved in their recovery. Poorly healed fractures, such as
those exhibiting a pseudoarthrosis (‘a fibrous joint formed between the broken
ends of the bones’ resulting from non-union), do not necessarily indicate that
medical care was absent since this bone formation may have resulted from the
use of the injured bone before healing was complete.62
Finally, the limits of osteological evidence must be remembered. Skeletal
remains will only record evidence of traumatic injuries that have affected the
skeleton, meaning that many forms of trauma will not be preserved in the
archaeological record: while a sword blow might produce an obvious cutmark
in a bone, a dagger might only pierce the soft tissue and leave no trace of the
injury. The resulting underrepresentation of traumatic injuries in the skeletal
record is therefore essential to keep in mind in the following review of skele-
tal evidence and will be revisited in the discussion that follows. Similarly, the
lack of evidence for soft tissue trauma is also important to note in relation to
the limited textual evidence for surgical intervention. Although, as mentioned
above, surgery is rarely seen in the early medieval written record, a number
of superficial procedures, most frequently bloodletting, do appear in medical
texts as well as other documentary evidence. The Plan of St Gall, for exam-
ple, includes a room in the medical area specifically designated as the mon-
astery’s site for phlebotomy.63 Information regarding certain times to avoid
bloodletting, such as lists of Egyptian Days (days thought to be unlucky, espe-
cially with respect to phlebotomy), also appears in and alongside calendrical
texts.64 While the practice is occasionally mentioned in medical recipes as a
component of a treatment, there are also writings that focus specifically on
bloodletting, including epistles and other treatises that provide guidance on
the best (or worst) days and times to phlebotomise, describe the different veins
involved, and so on.65 Within the manuscript sample involved in this book,
examples of calendars that include information on bloodletting can be seen
in codd. sang. 751 and 878, while BnF lat. 11218, bav reg. lat. 1143, codd. sang. 44,
62 Ibid, 144.
63 Cod. sang. 1092. The label reads: fleotomatis hic gustandum uel potionariis; see Horn and
Born, The Plan of St. Gall, 184–8.
64 On the relationship between calendars and medicine, see Wallis, ‘Medicine in Medieval
Calendar Manuscripts’; on Egyptian Days, see Don C. Skemer, ‘Armis Gunfe: Remembering
Egyptian Days’, Traditio 65 (2010): 75–106.
65 For a list of texts on bloodletting, see Beccaria, I codici; see also Sabbah, Corsetti, and
Fischer, btml, nos. 185–8, 234–41; Fischer, btml 1, no. A-100.
217, and 751 all contain versions of an Epistula de phlebotomia.66 These types
of superficial surgical procedures, however, are not investigated in the present
study since they only affect soft tissues and thus leave no skeletal indicators.
66 Cod. sang. 751, p. 428: untitled lunar calendar; cod. sang. 878, pp. 366–7: Conservatio fleoto-
miae et dies caniculares. BnF lat. 11218, ff. 34v–37r: Epistola fleobotomie; bav reg. lat. 1143, ff.
94v–96v: Epistola fleopotomiae; cod. sang. 44, pp. 191–4: Epistula de phlebotomia; cod. sang.
217, pp. 252a–252b, 255a–255b; cod. sang. 751, pp. 359–61: Epistula de fleotomia Gallieni,
pp. 455–6: Epistula de phlebotomia, and pp. 456–8: Epistula de phlebotomia.
67 Amoretti, ‘Analisi paleobiologiche dei resti scheletrici’, 513–15.
68 Ibid.
69 Aufderheide and Rodríguez- Martín, The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Human Paleo
pathology, 172.
70 Mallegni, Bedini, Vitiello, Paglialunga, and Bartoli, ‘Su alcuni gruppi umani’, 233–61.
of one individual and can, like osteomyelitis, result from either an existing
infection or an injury that became infected.71
A mixture of traumatic injuries was also reported at the cemetery excavated
at La Perosa in Rivoli. This cemetery includes thirty-seven individuals and
dates from the sixth to eighth centuries.72 A radial fracture was seen on one
male, while another male exhibited cranial injuries.73 Although the fracture
of the radius is not described in detail, the authors note that the fractured cra-
nium showed no signs of remodelling and that this blow was almost certainly
the direct cause of the individual’s death.74 Traumatic injuries were observed
on a number of the individuals uncovered during restoration work at the
Carolingian church of Sant’Agostino in Caravate.75 For example, a ‘small quad-
rangular perforation’ was observed on the skull of one individual, a female aged
approximately forty to fifty years old at death, and interpreted as the result of a
blow from ‘a pointed weapon with a pyramidal trunk head’, such as an arrow.76
Bone remodelling was present at the site of the injury, indicating that this
individual survived the incident.77 A second individual, a male of roughly the
same age, exhibited a fractured fibula, depressed cranial fracture, and deviated
septum. While the direct cause of the fibular fracture is unclear, the depressed
fracture was the result of blunt force trauma. According to the authors, the
deviated septum ‘is probably the result of a traumatic event’, though a con-
genital origin is also possible.78 In the case of both fractures, complete bone
71 Mallegni, Bedini, Vitiello, Paglialunga, and Bartoli, ‘Su alcuni gruppi umani’, 233–61;
Aufderheide and Rodríguez- Martín, The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Human Paleo
pathology, 179.
72 Mallegni, Bedini, Vitiello, Paglialunga, and Bartoli, ‘Su alcuni gruppi umani’, 233–61.
73 Ibid.
74 Ibid.
75 Marta Licata, Mario Ronga, Paolo Cherubino, and Giuseppe Armocida, ‘Different Types
of Traumatic Lesions on Mediaeval Skeletons from Archaeological Sites in Varese
(North Italy): Diagnosis on ante mortal Fractures Using Macroscopic, Radiological and
ct Analysis’, Injury 45, no. 2 (2014): 457–9, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.injury.2013.10.013;
Marta Licata, Melania Borgo, Giuseppe Armocida, Luca Nicosia, and Elena Ferioli, ‘New
Paleoradiological Investigations of Ancient Human Remains from North West Lombardy
Archaeological Excavations’, Skeletal Radiology 45 (2016): 323–31, https://doi.org/10.1007
/s00256-015-2266-6.
76 Licata, Ronga, Cherubino, and Armocida, ‘Different Types of Traumatic Lesions’, quota-
tion from p. 458; further discussion in Licata, Borgo, Armocida, Nicosia, and Ferioli, ‘New
Paleoradiological Investigations’, 327.
77 Licata, Ronga, Cherubino, and Armocida, ‘Different Types of Traumatic Lesions’, 458.
78 Ibid, 458–9.
remodelling was evident, revealing that the individual made a full recovery (at
least in terms of the skeletal processes involved in healing).79
At the rural monastic site of Santa Maria Assunta di Cairate, which includes
three distinct burial areas, relatively little trauma was recorded in the more
privileged burial groups found within the church (Groups A and B), though it
must be noted that the majority of these individuals were female and thus per-
haps less likely to participate in the types of activities that tend to result in trau-
matic injuries, such as hunting or fighting.80 One exception, however, stands
out: a particularly tall female found in Group B (which, as noted in Chapter 7,
has been interpreted as an elite family unit) suffered a compound fracture of
her left tibia.81 Evidence of extensive bone remodelling is visible, suggesting
that this individual lived for at least several years after the traumatic incident
occurred. In contrast, many more injuries are observed in Group C, a collec-
tion of sixty-eight individuals thought to represent the general population who
lived in the surrounding area during this period. Fractures of the clavicle, ribs,
ulna, and tibia were recorded.82 While the presence of remodelled bone in
these cases indicates that the injured individuals survived the traumatic inci-
dents that caused these injuries, evidence of periostitis, especially in the bones
of the lower limbs (the femur, tibia, and fibula), was also frequently noted.83
Although it often remains unclear if this inflammation was due to an infected
wound or the spread of an existing infection, in some of these cases, such as
the female with the compound tibial fracture, the periosteal reaction can be
convincingly linked to a traumatic injury.
Similarly, at the Saint Servatius complex in Maastricht, one instance of
osteomyelitis observed on a skeleton dated to the site’s final phase of use
‘was most likely secondary to a fracture of the femur’.84 Among the individ-
uals dated to this period, nearly twenty percent exhibit evidence of fractures,
all of which show signs of healing.85 This is not the case, however, for trauma
caused by sharp-bladed or pointed objects. In a study of a larger sample of
79 Licata, Ronga, Cherubino, and Armocida, ‘Different Types of Traumatic Lesions’, 458–9;
Licata, Borgo, Armocida, Nicosia, and Ferioli, New Paleoradiological Investigations’, 327.
80 Monica Motto, ‘Sepolture nel monastero di Cairate: tipologia e organizzazione delle
aree cimiteriali, uno sguardo di sintesi’, in Un monastero nei secoli. Santa Maria Assunta
di Cairate: scavi e ricerche, ed. Valeria Mariotti (Mantua: sap, 2014), 501–17; Mattucci,
Ravedoni, and Rettore, ‘Analisi antropologica e paleopatologica’, 519–32.
81 Ibid, 523.
82 Ibid, 521–4.
83 Ibid, 523.
84 Panhuysen, ‘Demography and Health in Early Medieval Maastricht’, 197.
85 Ibid, 181.
early medieval skeletons from Maastricht, 228 individuals dated from the fifth
to tenth centuries were analysed, and seven individuals displayed evidence of
violent wounds due to sharp-edged weapons.86 One individual showed signs
of multiple blows (to the skull, torso, and hand), five had cranial fractures, and
one exhibited a blow to the tibia.87 In three cases, no evidence of bone remod-
elling was present, indicating that these were peri-mortem injuries and proba-
bly the cause of death.88
Both the urban cemetery excavated at Piazza Marconi in Cremona (in use
from the seventh to tenth centuries) and the rural necropolis excavated at
Bolgare (in use during the seventh and eighth centuries) contain large skeletal
assemblages exhibiting evidence of traumatic injuries. Some of these skeletal
markers, such as radial fractures, suggest episodes of interpersonal violence or
injuries derived from occupational activities, not unlike many of the other sites
reviewed above.89 Yet, in contrast with other excavations, trauma was most
frequently noted in the lower limbs of individuals buried in these cemeteries;
this prevalence, however, appears to be linked to the use of a broad definition
of trauma at these sites.90 For example, fractures are recorded primarily on leg
bones at Cremona, a result heightened by the inclusion of osteochondritis dis-
secans, a type of fracture ‘caused by direct trauma or repetitive microtrauma’,
while small fractures in the phalanges due to repeated microtraumata were
often reported at Bolgare.91 Overall, this evidence for lower limb and foot inju-
ries inclusive of microtraumata, relates more to long-term processes of wear
and tear (see Chapter 8) than to a sudden traumatic incident.
A somewhat similar combination of fractures and signs of stress was
observed among adult males at San Cassiano.92 The eight tombs found inside
the church contained seven adult males and one child; although these burials,
dated to the late sixth or seventh centuries, predate the Carolingian period,
86 Raphaël G. A. M. Panhuysen, ‘Het scherp van de snede: Sporen van geweld in vroegmid-
deleeuws Maastricht’, Archeologie in Limburg 92 (2002): 2–7; Robert C. Woosnam-Savage
and Kelly DeVries, ‘Battle Trauma in Medieval Warfare: Wounds, Weapons and Armor’,
on Wounds and Wound Repair in Medieval Culture, ed. Larissa Tracy and Kelly DeVries
(Leiden: Brill, 2015), 27–56, at p. 35.
87 Panhuysen, ‘Het scherp van de snede’, 2–7; Woosnam-Savage and DeVries, ‘Battle Trauma
in Medieval Warfare’, 35.
88 Ibid.
89 Cattaneo and Mazzucchi, ‘Popolazioni tardo antiche e dell’alto medioevo’, 87–98.
90 Ibid.
91 Cattaneo and Mazzucchi, ‘Popolazioni tardo antiche e dell’alto medioevo’, 87– 98;
Waldron, Palaeopathology, 153–4.
92 Chavarría and Marinato, ‘Frammentazione e complessità’, 61–8.
93 Ibid.
94 Chavarría and Marinato, ‘Frammentazione e complessità’, 61–8; Cattaneo and Mazzucchi,
‘Popolazioni tardo antiche e dell’alto medioevo’, 87–98.
95 Weber and Czarnetzki, ‘Neurotraumatological Aspects of Head Injuries’, 352–6.
96 Ibid, 353.
97 Ibid.
98 Ibid.
99 Ibid.
100 Waldron, Palaeopathology, 161; Weber and Czarnetzki, ‘Neurotraumatological Aspects of
Head Injuries’, 353.
fractures at many sites speaks to some level of medical care, these three cases
of trepanation present definite evidence of surgical intervention.
Comparative evidence from earlier sites in continental Europe as well as
contemporary sites in the British Isles provide additional examples of surgery.
Charlotte Roberts and Jacqueline McKinley, for example, highlighted nine-
teen cases of trepanation in Insular contexts from the fifth to ninth centuries,
while more recent studies have identified further examples.101 An excavation
from Hemmaberg, Austria, has produced one of the most remarkable cases
of early medieval surgery and medical intervention. Twenty-nine individuals
dated to the sixth century were found in a small cemetery associated with
the early medieval church of St Hemma and Dorothea; though pre-dating the
Carolingian period, stratigraphic evidence combined with grave goods and
burial customs ‘place [these individuals] firmly within the Frankish cultural
sphere’.102 One of the skeletons, a male aged 35 to 50 years old at death, was
missing the left foot and distal joints of the left tibia and fibula. While it might
be assumed that this was due to poor preservation, the skeleton was otherwise
well-preserved and the point where the tibia and fibula ended was marked by
extensive bone remodelling.103 Furthermore, ‘a sub-circular iron band with a
diameter of 6.8–7.3 cm’ was found in place of the lower leg and foot, highly
suggestive of a prosthetic attachment.104 Ultimately, the osteological analysis
of the tibia and fibula indicated that the foot and distal portion of the tibia and
fibula had been amputated and that, despite suffering from osteomyelitis, this
individual eventually recovered. Full remodelling of the bones indicates that
the wound completely healed and the individual survived for at least some
years after the surgery.105 Although there is not enough evidence to deduce the
cause of the amputation, the existence of this case of surgical intervention fol-
lowed by long-term medical care—as illustrated by the individual’s survival of
the initial surgery and the resulting infection as well as his use of a prosthetic
lower leg after recovery—is noteworthy, not least because this cemetery has
been linked to an early Frankish context.
Overall, the above examples indicate that standard traumatic injuries, such
as broken bones, were not infrequent; while some may have been caused by
interpersonal violence, others could have been due to accidents, such as a fall.
There are, however, a number of spectacular cases that bear witness to surgical
inventions, such as multiple trepanations and the Hemmaberg amputation.
Most significantly, the evidence of healing in many examples reflects effective
(and often long-term) medical care.
The skeletal evidence presented above preserves signs of trauma from a variety
of sources, including violent incidents involving weapons, injuries caused by
falls or occupational hazards, and, rarely, examples of surgical intervention.
Bone remodelling indicates that large numbers of early medieval individuals
survived not only an initial traumatic incident but also made full recoveries (at
least in terms of the skeletal healing process). Evidence of healed fractures is
highly suggestive of medical care, even if this care remains otherwise invisible
in the skeletal record. Although many of the examples of surgery listed above,
such as the trepanations from early medieval England, are from sites beyond the
Frankish Empire or, as in the case of the amputation, pre-date the Carolingian
period, there are occasional signs of surgery in potentially Carolingian con-
texts, including the handful of trepanations in southwest Germany which may
date to the eighth century.
While the textual evidence lists treatments for a similar range of traumatic
injuries, there are no clear signs of trepanation, amputation, or other surgical
procedures beyond superficial surgeries, such as bloodletting and cautery, in
the recipes under analysis. The reference to the removal of bone fragments
comes closest to providing a possible hint of more complex and potentially
invasive surgical practices (and is especially intriguing given that it occurred
in the context of cranial fractures), yet it offers no direct comments on surgery.
Reassessing the recipe literature in view of the skeletal evidence thus indicates
that the surviving written sources do not provide a complete picture of con-
temporary medical approaches since surgical procedures, as documented by
the skeletal remains, were clearly performed—if only rarely.
This finding, however, should not diminish the significant parallels observed
between the osteological record and the recipes with respect to fractures, dis-
locations, and various wounds inflicted by weapons. Indeed, these parallels
take on increasing significance given that signs of healing were observed in
skeletal remains with some frequency. Overall, the evidence for traumatic
injuries, whether general (such as fractures) or more specific (such as wounds
caused by particular weapons), corresponds with the types of injuries named
in recipes, thereby indicating that much of the recorded knowledge would
have been applicable to early medieval populations. The osteological evidence,
moreover, suggests that surgical intervention may not have been needed in
many cases: immobilisation of the injured bone, reduction of inflammation,
and pain management would have often been the necessary course of action.
These more basic, non-invasive treatments fit with the information offered by
recipes. Although I cannot begin to address the possible efficacy of these treat-
ments with regard to inflammation reduction or pain management, the large
number of healed fractures in the skeletal record is striking. The inclusion
of instructions for bandaging in some recipes suggests that these treatments
could have been used in conjunction with knowledge passed on through alter-
native means, such as oral traditions, regarding bone setting or splinting tech-
niques. Like the preceding chapters, the skeletal evidence provides a crucial
counterbalance to the written record, offering a means to reassess the recipe
literature and dig deeper into the recipes’ potential applicability to individuals
in early medieval Europe.
With these two bodies of evidence in mind, several areas of analysis can be
pressed further in relation to the question of applicability.
107 Although it must be remembered that some of these injuries may have been accidental,
the method of inflicting damage (blows, strikes, cuts, etc.) can be described as violent.
108 Banham and Voth, ‘The Diagnosis and Treatment of Wounds’, 153–74.
109 Einhard, Vita Karoli Magni, ed. O. Holder-Egger, mgh ss Rer. Germ. 25 (Hanover: Hahn,
1911), Chapter 7 (at p. 10): Nam numquam eos huiuscemodi aliquid perpetrantes inpune
ferre passus est, quin aut ipse per se ducto aut per comites suos misso exercitu perfidiam
ulcisceretur et dignam ab eis poenam exigeret, usque dum, omnibus qui resistere solebant
profligatis et in suam potestatem redactis. Translation from Einhard, Life of Charlemagne,
in Two Lives of Charlemagne, trans. David Ganz (London: Penguin Books, 2008), Chapter 7
(at p. 23).
110 Angelbert, Versus de bella quae fuit acta Fontaneto, ed. Ernst Dümmler, mgh Poet. 2
(Berlin: Weidmann, 1884), 138: Caedes nulla peior fuit campo nec in Marcio; /fracta est
lex christianorum; sanguinis proluvio, /unde manus; inferorum, gaudet gula Cerberi.
Translation from Angelbert, The Battle of Fontenoy, in Poetry of the Carolingian
Renaissance, trans. Peter Godman (London: Duckworth, 1985), 263.
111 Ekkehard I of St. Gall, Waltharius, ed. and trans. Abram Ring (Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 124–
5: Huic galeam findens cerebrum diffudit et ipsam /Cervicem resecans pectus patefecit, at
aegrum.
112 Ekkehard, Waltharius, ed. and trans. Ring, 128–9: Hinc indignatus iram convertit in ipsum /
Waltharius humerumque eius de cardine vellit /Perque latus ducto suffudit viscera ferro.
113 Jan M. Ziolkowski, ‘Fighting Words: Wordplay and Swordplay in the Waltharius’, in
Germanic Texts and Latin Models: Medieval Reconstructions, ed. Karin E. Olsen, Antonina
Harbus, and Tette Hofstra (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 29–51; Jan M. Ziolkowski, ‘Blood, Sweat
and Tears in the Waltharius’, in Insignis Sophiae Arcator: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour
of Michael Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. Gernot R. Wieland, Carin Ruff, and Ross
G. Arthur (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 149–64.
114 Simon Coupland, ‘Carolingian Arms and Armor in the Ninth Century’, Viator 21
(1990): 29–50.
115 Coupland, ‘Carolingian Arms and Armour in the Ninth Century’, 44.
116 On Roman military medicine, see, for example, Ido Israelowich, ‘Medical Care in
the Roman Army during the High Empire’, in Popular Medicine in Graeco-Roman
Antiquity: Explorations, ed. William V. Harris (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 215–30. For medicine in
the Crusades, see Mitchell, Medicine in the Crusades.
117 Warren C. Brown, Violence in Medieval Europe (Harlow: Pearson Education Limited, 2011),
71–8; Capitulare Haristallense, ed. Alfred Boretius, mgh Capit. 1, no. 20 (Hanover: Hahn,
1883), c. 1; Admonitio generalis, ed. Alfred Boretius, mgh Capit. 1, no. 22 (Hanover: Hahn,
1883), c. 8.
118 Brown, Violence in Medieval Europe, 75; Capitula a sacerdotibus proposita, ed. Alfred
Boretius, mgh Capit. 1, no. 36 (Hanover: Hahn, 1883), c. 18; Capitulare missorum item
speciale, ed. Alfred Boretius, mgh Capit. 1, no. 35 (Hanover: Hahn, 1883), c. 37; Capitula
de causis cum episcopis et abbatibus tractandis, ed. Alfred Boretius, mgh Capit. 1, no. 72
(Hanover: Hahn, 1883), c. 4.
119 Cod. sang. 878, p. 333: Ad fracturam uel uulnera ferri; see Appendix 2, entry 13.1.
120 Edictus Rothari, in Leges Langobardorum, ed. Friedrich Bluhme, mgh ll 4
(Hanover: Hahn, 1868), 1–90; Rothair’s Edict, in The Lombard Laws, trans. Katherine
Fischer Drew (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1973), 39–130; on early
medieval law codes more generally, see Katherine Fischer Drew, Law and Society in Early
Medieval Europe: Studies in Legal History (London: Variorum, 1988).
121 Edictus Rothari, ed. Bluhme, 242 (at p. 60): Si quis sine iussionem regis aurum figuraverit
aut moneta confinxerit, manus ei incidatur; 243 (at p. 60): De cartola falsa. Si quis cartolam
falsam scripserit aut quodlibet membranum, manus ei incidatur. Translation from Rothair’s
Edict, trans. Fischer Drew, 100.
given the parallels seen in the osteological and textual evidence, I suggest that
these collections would have been applicable to the day-to-day healthscapes
of many individuals in early medieval Europe—not so relevant to those on
military campaigns, but highly relevant to those in, for example, a monastic
community or an aristocratic household. The non-medical written sources,
and especially Charlemagne’s capitularies, indicate that violence occurred
not simply in military settings but also in these domestic environments, if at a
lower level. This finding fits with the degree and frequency of injuries seen in
the skeletal remains. It must also be remembered that some individuals may
have survived the injuries they sustained in warfare and these wounds may
account for some of the cases of trauma observed in the archaeological record.
Overall, the types of recipes recorded in the medical texts appear to have
been highly applicable to many individuals in the Carolingian world, offering
basic treatments for standard injuries. Indeed, the recipe literature seems par-
ticularly suited to those individuals who would have had access to the texts,
such as the members of ecclesiastical communities and elite households.
Warfare, however, represents violence on a different scale given the severity,
urgency, and sheer number of injuries that would have occurred in battle.122
When entire limbs could be removed in a single blow, a topical plaster could
only do so much.123 I suggest, therefore, that medical practitioners involved in
military campaigns relied on an additional body of knowledge unrecorded by
the written sources, and one that quite possibly included surgery. This infor-
mation must have been primarily transmitted through non-textual knowledge
exchange, such as oral traditions and practical experience.
5 Conclusion
122 Banham and Voth, ‘The Diagnosis and Treatment of Wounds’, 169.
123 As illustrated by Walter’s attack on Gunther: Walter ‘pried Gunther’s shield away on the
right, made a mighty and amazing blow, and tore off his leg up to the knee, all of it below
the thigh’ (Impetit et scuto dextra de parte revulso /Ictum praevalidum ac mirandum fecit
eique /Crus cum poplite adusque femur decerpserat omne); Ekkehard, Waltharius, trans.
Ring, 152–3.
of the knowledge recorded in the texts was applicable to early medieval pop-
ulations, at least in certain contexts. Warfare, however, would have resulted
in traumata on an entirely different level, and the treatments recorded in the
recipes analysed in this study would not have suited such an environment.
Despite the general parallels between the two bodies of evidence, there are
particular areas that might, at first glance, seem to present conflicting results.
Yet, an in-depth analysis of the evidence has revealed that these more chal-
lenging topics are not necessarily incompatible with the bigger picture: with
respect to puncture wounds or non-violent traumatic injuries, by contextualis-
ing the evidence, the seemingly contradictory results were reconciled. Surgery
and warfare, however, are special cases, offering an important reminder that,
although there is much evidence to support the use of the recipes recorded
in Carolingian manuscripts in the practice of medicine, alternative sources of
medical knowledge, such as oral traditions, remained vitally important during
this period.
1 Cod. sang. 751, pp. 489–90: Antidotum podagricum; cod. sang. 759, p. 60: Potio ad podagra.
See Chapter 1 for a more detailed review of the recipes and Appendix 2, entries 9.38 and 11.8,
respectively.
(cardamomo, only listed in cod. sang. 759).2 Although the recipes include nei-
ther the newly recorded non-local substances discussed in Chapter 3 nor any
of the notably local alcohols highlighted in Chapter 4, similar combinations of
local and imported ingredients have been seen repeatedly. While the inclusion
of exotic ingredients has historically raised red flags regarding recipes’ practi-
cality, the evidence presented in Chapter 3 demonstrates that these types of
non-local substances were periodically available in the Frankish Empire—if
only in limited quantities and restricted to the elite. Other aspects of these
recipes’ instructions, however, appear to be less practical: Terenti(an)us
reports that he used the potion for 365 days and suggests that longer may be
necessary. The daily consumption of such a potion over the course of an entire
year does not seem viable. In sum, although the use of the ingredients named
in these recipes does not make them inherently impractical, the treatments’
recommended long-term use would certainly pose challenges and suggests
that the recipes would have been exceedingly difficult to use in practice.
The recipes’ applicability, however, is more promising. As shown in
Chapter 8, few cases of gout have been recorded in skeletal remains dated to
the Carolingian period. Yet, the relatively high frequencies of more general
foot and ankle arthropathies suggest that treatments claiming to help podagra
should often be interpreted more broadly. If the Terenti(an)us recipes are
therefore taken to address foot and toe joint pain, including oa, ra, gout, and
other diseases or injuries affecting the toes and feet, the treatments appear to
be highly applicable.
This re-evaluation of the opening recipes reflects the mixed picture of the
recipes overall: while the case studies pursued in the preceding chapters have
highlighted examples of practical and applicable treatments, there remain
counterexamples, i.e., recipes that would have been difficult, if not impossible,
to put into practice and/or that would not have been applicable to individuals
in early medieval Europe. Collectively, however, the findings presented in this
book point to a general picture of practicality and applicability, suggesting that
pharmaceutical information was often recorded with the intention of being
used in the context of therapy—though such a use may have been combined
with others. The analysis of a large sample of recipes, in conjunction with the
integration of osteological evidence, has made these conclusions possible.
I shall briefly review the results of Parts 1 and 2 to flesh out and expand on
these findings and their implications.
As seen in this book’s opening chapters, although there is only limited evidence
documenting the existence of medical practitioners in early medieval Europe,
there is even less evidence regarding the specifics of their practices, and espe-
cially the degree to which—if at all—these practices relied on the pharmaceu-
tical knowledge recorded in the manuscripts of the period.3 The present study
has therefore investigated the relationship between medical knowledge and
practice in the Carolingian world from a new angle, taking a dual approach that
brings together both textual and osteological evidence. Chapter 1 established
the conceptual framework that underpins this book. A review of early work in
the field showed that, traditionally, many scholars have worked on individual
texts (or families of texts) in isolation and prioritised writings tied to classical
and late antique traditions. Although the field is changing, the longstanding
lack of scholarship on recipes located outside of the established texts demands
more analyses of this material. Simultaneously, the potential pitfalls of studying
such texts in isolation, highlighted by the opening example of Terenti(an)us,
contributed to the selection of a large sample of understudied recipes from
twenty-four manuscripts. Although a revisionist wave of scholarship over-
turned many negative stereotypes concerning early medieval medicine, it has
also led to the generation (and repetition) of new assumptions regarding the
use of medical texts. My reassessment of the question of practicality has aimed
to move beyond the circular arguments seen in some of this work. Finally, by
focusing on the potential applicability of pharmaceutical writings to individu-
als in early medieval Europe, this book also draws on evidence from the osteo-
logical record, building on and contributing to scholarship that has called for
an investigation into past population health alongside traditional studies of
the history of medicine.
Chapter 2 opened Part 1 with an introduction to and contextualisation of
the recipe literature under analysis. This chapter laid the groundwork for the
following three chapters that explored the question of practicality. Chapters 3
and 4 analysed a selection of the materia medica listed in recipes, asking if
3 Flint, ‘The Early Medieval ‘Medicus’’, 127–45; Skinner, Health and Medicine in Early Medieval
Southern Italy; Pilsworth, Healthcare in Early Medieval Northern Italy; Pilsworth, ‘Could you
just sign this for me John?’, 363–88; Park, ‘Medicine and Society’, 67–9; Leja, Embodying the Soul.
these substances could have been obtained in the Frankish world during the
eighth and ninth centuries. Chapter 3 initiated the case studies by analysing
the introduction of a cluster of ingredients from the east, tracing their inclu-
sion in recipes individually, and considering evidence for the movement of
these substances (in addition to the arrival of pharmaceutical information per-
taining to them). I argued that recipes involving these non-local ingredients
were practical, even if the ways in which they were practical differ from typical
perceptions of practicality (as exemplified by the local materia medica exam-
ined in the following chapter). The evidence indicates that the substances in
question would have been available, but only sporadically, in small quantities,
and at great expense. I suggest, therefore, that recipes listing these types of
ingredients store ‘latent knowledge’, offering information that could be used
when the necessary substances were available. This may help to explain why
there are so many different recipes that claim to treat the same symptom(s)
or condition(s): each recipe provides a treatment option and could have been
used depending on what ingredients were on hand. Based on these findings,
I also argued that the inclusion of newly introduced eastern materia medica
revealed that scribes were adapting the recipe literature and incorporating
‘cutting-edge’ information. These modifications—that is, the integration of
the latest pharmaceutical information—strengthen the idea that this body of
knowledge was intended to be used in the practice of medicine.
Turning to the opposite end of the ‘localness’ spectrum, Chapter 4 con-
centrated on the appearance of beer and mead (medus) in eighth-and ninth-
century recipes. When considered alongside evidence for the production of
these beverages in the Frankish Empire, it suggests that the scribes responsible
for these recipe collections incorporated ingredients suited to local conditions.
I argued that the inclusion of these alcohols represents a practical addition to
the recipe literature and indicates that scribes were actively engaging with this
body of knowledge, updating it to rely on more accessible ingredients. These
features likewise support the idea that many recipes were recorded with the
intention of being used in therapy.
Chapter 5 then moved from an examination of ingredients to an analysis
of other features within recipes. I investigated the appearance of a vernacular
unit and the inclusion of instructions for substituting ingredients if a desired
substance was unavailable. The use of the Latinised vernacular unit staupus
and the addition of information on substituting materia medica represent two
highly practical features. The former points to user-friendly adaptations made
to suit a changing linguistic landscape. While the latter is similarly practical, it
should not be overemphasised since, in many cases, it may reflect information
derived from earlier sources rather than the experiences of Carolingian medi-
cal practitioners.
Collectively, the three chapters connected different yet complementary per-
spectives on the practicality of the recipe literature. Based on this combina-
tion of evidence, I argued that many recipes were practical in terms of both
their design and potential useability: on the one hand, they contain modifi-
cations that would have aided an individual consulting the texts and, on the
other hand, they often present several treatment options that would have ena-
bled a reader to select a recipe based on their available ingredients and other
variables.
Building on the assessment of practicality, Part 2 turned to the question
of applicability. Chapter 6 provided the foundation for the case studies of
Chapters 7–9, outlining the challenges of bringing together textual and oste-
ological evidence and reviewing the sites involved in the following chapters.
Chapter 7’s focus on dental disease exhibited many examples of overlap
between the two bodies of evidence: the signs of poor dental health seen in the
skeletal remains, such as cavities, tooth loss, and the accumulation of dental cal-
culus, corresponded to many of the descriptions of dental problems recorded
in the recipes. These treatments thus appear to have been highly applicable to
individuals in early medieval Europe. Moreover, while the potential utility of
a number of treatment subcategories, such as cosmetic dentifrices, may have
seemed questionable at first, a more detailed examination suggested that such
recipes would have been particularly relevant to the individuals who likely had
access to these texts, namely, elite members of aristocratic households and
ecclesiastical communities.
Chapter 8 concentrated on joint diseases, beginning with a study on gout.
Although I identified many examples of recipes claiming to treat podagra, few
cases of gout have been observed in early medieval skeletal remains. In con-
trast to the relative absence of gout, evidence for general arthropathies, such
as oa, was frequently noted. After reviewing recipes for more general joint
disease in the light of the osteological record, I reassessed the gout-podagra
paradox and argued that the apparent lack of correspondence between the evi-
dence for gout and podagra reflects an inappropriately rigid translation of the
medieval Latin terminology rather than a simple mismatch in the evidence.
Understanding the medieval usage of podagra as more generalised foot pain
instead of the modern medical definition of gout not only aligns more closely
with the osteological evidence, but also demonstrates the dangers of applying
modern medical definitions to medieval medical terms. Overall, based on the
frequency with which arthritis and signs of stress were observed in the skeletal
remains, recipes intended to treat joint pain—from the cervical spine to the
big toe—would have been applicable to essentially everyone who lived long
enough to develop these pathologies.
Lastly, Chapter 9 investigated surgical intervention and trauma. Given the
relative lack of treatises on surgery in the early medieval west, this chapter
assessed how the non-invasive treatments recorded in the recipes compared
to the evidence seen in the osteological record and explored whether there
is evidence to suggest that surgical practices unrecorded by written sources
were being practised during this period. While signs of surgery, such as trep-
anation, were observed in skeletal remains, these types of invasive practices
were reported very rarely. Meanwhile, given the evidence for healed fractures
and other injuries that do not bear signs of surgical intervention, the recipe
literature’s non-invasive treatments for traumatic injuries seem to fit with
the osteological record. An examination of texts beyond the medical corpus,
however, revealed that the skeletal evidence considered in this study did not
appear to record the extremely severe injuries of warfare. Although the recipes
under analysis would not have suited the context of military medicine, it does
appear that they would have been highly applicable in other settings, such as
an elite household or monastery.
While it must be remembered that each of these case studies represents
a single type of condition, all three chapters provided evidence that broadly
supports the applicability of the recipe literature to individuals in early medi-
eval Europe. Bringing Parts 1 and 2 together, it appears that a large proportion
of these treatments were both practical and applicable, though, as the case
of Terenti(an)us illustrates, this assessment is far from universal. The individ-
ual factors relating to a recipe’s practicality and applicability remain highly
complex and often context specific. Thus, in arguing that the recipe literature
was largely practical and applicable, I do not mean that recipes were always
and/or uniformly practical and applicable, but rather that they were poten-
tially practical and applicable given the right circumstances. These recipes
offer treatments that, though they might not have been consistently useful or
usable, could have been used when an individual presented with Disease X or
Injury Y and when Ingredient A, B, and C were available. Consider, for exam-
ple, the injuries discussed in Chapter 9: the osteological evidence suggests that
fractures were not an exceedingly common problem but that they did occur.
It would therefore make sense to have information regarding potential treat-
ments ready to be deployed when such an injury happened, even if the need for
these treatments was relatively rare. Likewise, the frequency with which mul-
tiple treatment options were recorded suggests that a recipe could be selected
on the basis of the available ingredients. Cynehard’s complaints about his lack
of non-local materia medica clearly illustrates that certain ingredients were
difficult to source during this period. Yet, since many of these types of ingre-
dients appear to have been occasionally available, if only in limited quantities
and at a high price, a recipe incorporating such ingredients stored knowledge
that had the potential to be used in practice. Ultimately, even if many recipes
were not (or only rarely) consulted in therapy, it is their potential for use in this
context that is a key conclusion of this book’s analyses.
The question of the recipes’ intended use(s) is inherently linked to this find-
ing. As discussed in Chapter 1, medical texts could have been used in a variety
of different, if often overlapping, ways.4 That many recipes were potentially
practical and applicable in early medieval Europe does not necessarily mean
that they were recorded with the intention of being used in medical practice,
but simply that they could have been used in this context. The addition of user-
friendly features in many recipes’ instructions, the increasing appearance of
locally producible ingredients, as well as, paradoxically, the inclusion of previ-
ously unrecorded products from the far east all suggest, however, that recipes,
on the whole, were recorded with the intention of being used in therapy. These
particular elements reveal not only that recipes were adapted in ways that
would have facilitated their use in treatment but also that scribes incorporated
the latest pharmaceutical knowledge.
Even if the recipes’ potential useability in medical practice was often the
primary motivation that lay behind their collection and documentation, it is
important to emphasise that this was by no means the only motivation. BnF
lat. 13955, a manuscript not considered in the present study, contains an assort-
ment of texts related to the liberal and mechanical arts as well as recipes and
was, therefore, perhaps intended primarily for educational purposes. That
being said, it could have served both pedagogical and therapeutic functions;
indeed, many of the recipes examined in this study could have had multiple
purposes and/or their uses could have changed over time.
A consideration of the ways in which the recipes were used necessitates
a comment on the environments in which these uses occurred. As argued in
Chapter 9, the recipe literature analysed in this study is unlikely to have been
suitable for the extreme conditions of warfare. It appears, however, that the
monastic setting in which many of these manuscripts were produced would
have had a better fit. Yet, the osteological evidence indicates that many recipes
would have been applicable to individuals living in a wide range of commu-
nities, so the potential for medical practice must be considered in additional
contexts. Given that there is evidence documenting the existence of medical
texts in both monastic and lay libraries, royal and aristocratic households also
represent likely locations for the practice of medicine related to the informa-
tion contained in these medical texts.5 But what can be said about the poten-
tial use of these writings outside of the most privileged strata of society? Based
on the skeletal record, it appears that the recipe literature would have been
widely applicable in non-elite contexts, as well. Despite the relevance of the
treatments to individuals from all levels of society, however, I suggest that the
use of these texts in relation to medical practice would have been largely lim-
ited to elite communities since the consultation of medical writings is pred-
icated on literacy. There is, however, evidence of monks practising medicine
beyond the cloister walls and the possibility that local communities surround-
ing elite sites or pilgrims passing through ecclesiastical institutions could have
benefitted from medical care at these locations.6 Furthermore, the addition
of medical recipes to a number of ‘priests’ handbooks’, a phenomenon noted
by Carine van Rhijn in a selection of manuscripts not considered in the pres-
ent study, likewise suggests that medical knowledge was moving beyond the
cloister and circulating in local communities.7 The application of the texts in
non-elite contexts should not, therefore, be ruled out, though, given the need
for literacy, the individuals using such material are likely to have come from an
elite establishment.
The cost of treatments must also be considered when addressing the con-
texts of medical practice—could people with more limited resources have
afforded the ingredients listed in recipes or would their high prices suggest a
very restricted clientele? Although some recipes rely on expensive, imported
materia medica, others combine a mixture of local and non-local substances.
A significant proportion, moreover, tend to use only a handful of products—if
not a single ingredient—that could have been obtained locally, whether grown
(such as the many plants also listed in texts on gardens and gardening), foraged
(including berries, mushrooms, and ferns), or produced (such as beer, medus,
and cheese). This range in ingredients suggests that the use of certain recipes
is likely to have been restricted to individuals within those communities which
had sufficient wealth to import exotica and/or the necessary connections to
be involved in the gift-giving economy that operated within royal, aristocratic,
and ecclesiastical networks. The ‘shopping list’ from Corbie, however, shows
5 On the evidence for the circulation of medical manuscripts, see Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall’,
69–79; on lay medical book ownership, see Glaze, ‘The Perforated Wall’, 13–14, n. 6.
6 Horden, ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’, 12– 13; Park, ‘Medicine and
Society’, 68–9.
7 van Rhijn, Leading the Way to Heaven, 195–202.
that some non-local imports, at least by the second half of the ninth century,
might have been within the reach of a wider proportion of the population. On
the other hand, many recipes may have been more generally accessible due
to their reliance on ‘kitchen table medicine’, i.e., ingredients that could have
been growing or produced locally and would have been more easily obtainable
across all levels of society.8 In fact, with respect to recipes that rely on local
products, and especially newly recorded local products, the texts may offer a
glimpse into the medical practices beyond the literate elite by documenting
previously unrecorded pharmaceutical knowledge. Taking these factors into
account, I maintain that the texts were used primarily in elite contexts, such
as the royal court, aristocratic households, and monastic communities given a)
the literacy needed to engage with this material, b) the resources required to
source certain ingredients, and c) the intellectual environments and networks
necessary to produce or obtain the manuscripts in which this information was
recorded. The knowledge they transmit, however, was likely circulating more
widely.
8 My thanks to Carine van Rhijn for the phrase ‘kitchen table medicine’.
Part 1 has also drawn attention to a variety of other medical texts, and espe-
cially those that are often found within recipe collections, such as treatises on
weights and measures and substitution lists, that remain chronically under-
studied. A better understanding of these types of writings would help to con-
textualise the recipe literature more generally. Similarly, medical glossaries and
hermeneumata are deserving of more research, presenting additional entry
points into the question of practicality. Are any of the newly recorded exotic
substances explained in glossaries or hermeneumata, for example? Were these
complementary texts being updated alongside the recipes, keeping up with the
expansion of pharmaceutical knowledge?
Looking beyond the texts, excavations of additional sites, the increasing
number of publications that address skeletal remains, and the development of
new techniques provide many exciting directions for future work incorporat-
ing osteological evidence. In particular, as noted by Piers Mitchell, alongside
the study of larger samples due to growing numbers of excavated and pub-
lished burial sites, ‘we can also improve the way we study [skeletal remains].
Progressive use of bioarchaeological techniques in partnership with other sci-
entific specialisms allows much greater information to be gleaned from mod-
ern excavations’.9 Recent advances in proteomics and genomics, for example,
are revolutionising the study of health in the past and offering new points of
intersection with historical research. Consider the emerging field of biocodi-
cology, the study of biological information contained within manuscripts. This
new research area has revealed the importance of studying a manuscript’s
biological record as a means to gain insights into both the physical object
itself (its materials, production, and conservation) as well as its users and the
environments in which it was used. The development of non-invasive biomo-
lecular sampling techniques is making such research increasingly feasible by
reducing costs and complementing conservation work.10 Protein analyses can
reveal substances on the surface of parchment leaves while an examination of
ancient dna (aDNA) can uncover pathogens.11 This has immense potential for
helping to elucidate the specific contexts in which manuscripts were handled
and, crucially, could provide more definitive answers to some of the questions
underpinning this book. Indeed, a recent study of an early modern birthing
girdle has identified proteins found in cervico-vaginal fluid, thereby confirm-
ing the use of this girdle as part of the birthing process.12 With respect to the
early medieval manuscripts analysed in this book, is there evidence, for exam-
ple, of any of the ingredients listed in the recipes on the pages in which they are
recorded? While this question must be saved for a future study, it reveals one
of the many new doors that are opening in this field and the ever-increasing
potential for interdisciplinary research: the study of Carolingian medical
knowledge and practice has a bright future.
This appendix provides a general overview of each of the twenty-four manuscripts that
contributed recipes to the analysis, including information on their dating, origins, and
contents.
1 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4253; Beccaria, I codici, no. 19;
Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits, no. 49.
2 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4253.
3 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4255; Bernhard Bischoff,
‘Caritas-Leider’, in Mittelalterliche Studien. Ausgewählte Aufsätze zur Schriftkunde und
Literaturgeschichte, ed. Bernhard Bischoff (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1967), vol. 2, 56–76,
at p. 66.
4 Bischoff, Manuscripts and Libraries in the Age of Charlemagne, trans. Gorman, 123.
5 Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits, no. 50.
6 Ibid.
7 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4367; Marco Mostert, The
Library of Fleury. A Provisional List of Manuscripts (Hilversum: Verloren, 1989), no. 1058f.
8 Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits, no. 56; Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften,
vol. 3, no. 4367.
9 On links between calendars, computus, and medicine, see Wallis, ‘Medicine in Medieval
Calendar Manuscripts’.
10 Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits, no. 56.
11 Beccaria, I codici, no. 26; Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits, no. 63.
12 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4419; Wickersheimer, Les
manuscrits, no. 63.
13 Beccaria, I codici, no. 26.
contents list and are also found in small groups on ff. 11r–11v, 18r–18v, 19r–19v, and 21r–
24r. My transcription of these folia resulted in a total of sixty-one recipes.
14 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4420; Wickersheimer, Les
manuscrits, no. 64.
15 Beccaria, I codici, no. 27.
16 Cf. Wickersheimer’s transcription of this recipe in Les manuscrits, no. 64.
17 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4569; Bischoff, Manuscripts
and Libraries in the Age of Charlemagne, trans. Gorman, 31, 144; Beccaria, I codici,
no. 31; Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits, no. 71. Note: this manuscript is also linked to Bern,
Burgerbibliothek, A 91.7, a manuscript not under analysis in the present study.
18 Loren C. MacKinney, ‘An Unpublished Treatise on Medicine and Magic from the Age of
Charlemagne’, Speculum 18, no. 4 (1943): 494–6, https://doi.org/10.2307/2853665, at p. 494.
19 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 4669.
20 Beccaria, I codici, no. 34; Wickersheimer, Les manuscrits, no. 76.
the tenth century, their close relationship to the earlier material and the overall ambi-
guity of the manuscript’s date range make it appropriate to include these recipes in the
following analyses. My transcriptions produced 121 recipes.
Cod. sang. 44
Cod. sang. 44 is a composite manuscript made up of two distinct halves. A bible given
to St Gall in c. 780 covers pp. 1–184 while a compilation of over twenty individual
medical texts can be found on pp. 186–368.28 The medical half of the manuscript, a
distinct ‘medical manuscript’ prior to its union with the bible, has been dated to the
second half of the ninth century, and Bischoff has suggested that it was written in
northern Italy.29 Its texts include a wide range of medical topics and genres of writing,
such as excerpts from the Hippocratic and Galenic corpora, letters of Vindicianus, the
Herbariencorpus, and prognostic and calendrical texts.30 Three major early medieval
recipe collections can also be found within the manuscript, covering pp. 228–60, 337–
54, and 354–68, each of which were transcribed and published in the early twentieth
century: Henry Sigerist included the first in Studien und Texte zur frühmittelalterlichen
Rezeptliteratur and Julius Jörimann addressed the second two in Frühmittelalterliche
Rezeptarien.31
While some research into their content has been pursued (John Riddle’s study of
non-local materia medica, for example, uses Sigerist’s transcriptions), rarely have the
three recipe collections been discussed together or with other texts within the medical
half of the manuscript.32 Some of these individual components, however, have been
recognised as related to material in other codices; the third of the large early medieval
recipe collections (pp. 354–68), for example, has been noted as sharing much in com-
mon with a recipe collection in bav pal. lat. 1088 (also part of this study’s sample), and
Arsenio Ferraces Rodríguez has linked both to the Teraupetica-Tereoperica tradition
that ultimately descends from Theodorus Priscianus’ (fl. fourth century) Euporista.33
These two collections, though clearly related, appear to be several steps removed from
each other and earlier texts (and, crucially, contain numerous entirely distinct reci-
pes), and thereby merit inclusion in this study.
Overall, I take a more comprehensive approach to the manuscript’s ‘miscellaneous’
and unattributed recipes, considering not only the early medieval recipe collections
(for which I have produced new, revised transcriptions), but also including individual
marginal remedies noted by Beccaria (pp. 195, 197, and 215), as well as small groups of
recipes either unmentioned by Beccaria or labelled ‘miscellaneous’ (pp. 186, 276–80,
282–6, 304, and 330–6), in my analyses. In total, the manuscript contributed 917 reci-
pes to the study, and a selection of these recipes can be seen in Figures 3 and 7.
from recipe collections, but also individual recipes or small clusters found between the
primary textual units.37 In total, the manuscript contributed 316 recipes to the study.
exercises. A small medical section appears on pp. 54–5, representing a single folio
separating the Inventio Michaelis archangeli (pp. 39–53) and the following formulae
(pp. 56–161). My transcription of these pages produced three recipes. Like the preced-
ing example, Beccaria does not include this manuscript in his catalogue.
46 Beccaria, I codici, no. 134; Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3,
no. 5845.
47 Beccaria, I codici, no. 134; Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3,
no. 5845.
48 For a recent English translation, see The Medicina Plinii, trans. Hunt.
49 Roy Michael Liuzza, ‘The Sphere of Life and Death: Time, Medicine, and the Visual
Imagination’, in Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for
Michael Lapidge, ed. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe and Andy Orchard (Toronto: University
of Toronto Press, 2005), vol. 2, 28–52, at p. 29. For a transcription of the Spera (both text and
image), see Sigerist, ‘“The Sphere of Life and Death” in Early Medieval Manuscripts’, 294–6.
50 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, no. 5846; Bischoff, Manuscripts
and Libraries in the Age of Charlemagne, trans. Gorman, 30.
51 Beccaria, I codici, no. 135.
century.57 Regarding the three medical sections I transcribed, Bischoff has suggested
that Walahfrid was responsible for the ninth-century material on pp. 331–4 and 372–7,
though the text on pp. 392–3, a collection of antidotes, belongs to a different, roughly
contemporary hand (named scribe ‘P’ by Bischoff).58
grim tuli; a mark of abbreviation above the ‘m’ in grim suggests that this should be
expanded to ‘Grimald’, thereby indicating that this material was copied from cod. sang.
397, Grimald’s vademecum.
63 Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3, nos. 5886–93 (note that the
medical sections under consideration here are covered by no. 5889); Beccaria, I codici,
no. 140.
64 On the original order of the pages in cod. sang. 217, see Vademecum eines frühmittelalter-
lichen Arztes, ed. and trans. Köpp, 15.
65 Lowe, cla, vol. 1, nos. 80–1; Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3,
no. 6474; The Alphabet of Galen: Pharmacy from Antiquity to the Middle Ages, ed. and
trans. Nicholas Everett (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012), 121–3.
66 Lowe, cla, vol. 1, nos. 80–1; Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften, vol. 3,
no. 6474; Bischoff, Die Abtei Lorsch im Spiegel ihrer Handschriften, 60, 118–19.
Recipe Transcriptions
The following appendix includes full transcriptions of the individual recipes which are
named in the text. As noted in Chapter 2, some manuscripts contain many more recipes
than others and thus contributed more material to the study (e.g., codd. sang. 44, 751,
bav pal. lat. 1088, and BnF lat. 11218). Individual recipes from five manuscripts (BnF lat.
2858, 6882A, 7021, and 9332 as well as bav pal. lat. 187) were not used as specific exam-
ples in the above chapters and are therefore absent from this appendix, though the rec-
ipes were part of the general analyses. The recipe numbering is structured as follows:
– The first number corresponds to a particular manuscript, starting with the first man-
uscript involved from the Bibliothèque nationale de France (i.e., 1 is BnF lat. 2849A)
and ending with the final manuscript from the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (i.e.,
19 is bav vat. lat. 5951). The order is outlined below.
– The second number corresponds to the order in which the recipe appears in the
manuscript. For example, entry 3.5 addresses the antidote titled Antidotum qui dici-
tur acharistus found on ff. 57v–58r of BnF lat. 11218 and entry 3.6 addresses the next
recipe in this manuscript that is also discussed in the present study, which, in this
case, is the recipe titled Ad oris uicia found on ff. 89r–89v.
– Some entries have a third number; this is to signify the different, individual recipes
that are sometimes found under a single title. The recipes of entry 2.2 provide one
such example: entry 2.2 corresponds to a recipe group titled Contra artetricos; this
heading covers two recipes on f. 2v of BnF lat. 5534. These two recipes are labelled
2.2.1 and 2.2.2.
For transcription conventions, see the ‘Note on Transcription and Translation’; for
metrological conventions, see the ‘Note on Weights, Measures, and Their Symbols’.
Manuscript order:
1 Lat. 2849A
2 Lat. 5543
2.1.6 Item marrubio . ius calices iii . apio . iii . betonica . similiter . mel . similiter .
uinum uetus calices \staupos/viiii . coque . lento igne in olla rude . usque ad
staupos xii.
2.1.7 Item uite betonica . et gamandrea . et apio . ius cal vi . per triduo bibat cum oleo.
2.1.8 Item adipe porcino cal i . oleo . cal i . apio . ius cal i . per triduo bibat.
2.1.9 Item marrubio fascl iii . apio foliis et radicibus . leuestico radice . costo radices
. sclareia . serpullum . ruta . sauina . senetionem . uuismalua . satureia italica .
ysopo . betonica . agrimonia . caulo crispo . plantagine . ueruena . artemisia . elna
. ane<t>o . tanaceta . feniculi radice . brusalzinatia . saluia . nepta . ambrosia .
coliandro . a<b>satureia . uino uetere s iii . mel . libram i . butiro libram i . oleo
cocler iii . coque <usque> ad medietatem colas . exinde . tepid<e> accipiat coclr i .
in as balneo . mane . et uespere . s<au>res permiserint . Postea facis . calidum . ex
cenamo . costo . gariofilo . spico piper . bagas lauri . gingiber . cum uino et melle
calide bibat.
3 Lat. 11218
opii . storacis . ~ . singulas . mel dispumatum quod sufficit . dabis in modo faue ita ut
in singulis pocionibus aque et mellis coclearius . iii . adas et aceti boni digito guttas xii.
sicionus siriacus hoc est nigella ~ ii . sili . ~ i . apii . ~ i . petrosilino ~ i . in omnibus enim
melior uisum est magnificus et in multis rebus . ad inflacionibus stomachi et inde-
gescione pacientibus sic in mulieribus minstrua . perducit . et ad modicus mirabiliter
operatus est . facit ruptus suauis datus et ad omnem tussem . et quibus est capite in
torace reuma fluit et ad omnes pectoris dolores . mirabiliter effectus est.
etatis dabis <i>n modo abila\i/ne . Recipit . hec mirra troclite drs . xviii . castoreo . drs
. viiii . opio . drs . xviiii <pet>rosilino . drs . xviiii . aniso . drs . xii . apii . semen . drs . xx
. isquinoantus . drs . xv . piper . drs . xv . senenus drs . xv . cenamo . drs . xii . costo . drs
. xviii . ispica drs . xiii asaro . drs . vii . croco maucma . drs . vi . seselleus . dr . vi . cassia
dr vi . istorace dr . vi . croco . dr xvi . piper albo dr . xii . amonio dr . iiii . piper longo
iscriptulum . i s . mel discumato . quod sufficit.
3.15.2 Item ad ipsum suscitandum . de persicis nucleos viiii . in medus aut in melle
tinctos comedat ante altare et deum omnipotentem precare debet qui omnes
sementes et corporibus . et hominibus et herbis dedit ut ei det semen bonum ad
uoluntate dei <f>acit.
4 Lat. 11219
1 This recipe is recorded as a list with each ingredient on a new line, so I have replicated the
structure in my transcription.
aristolicia rotunda ∻ i .
lupino ∻ i .
fenogreco ∻ i .
Haec omnia puluera facis dabis ex <bibere> <eu>ndi dormitum denr iii <pensante>.
4.4 Puluis uera ad faucium tumorem et omnis oris uitia siue sordicia,
f. 225ra
Puluis uera ad faucium tumorem et omnis oris uitia siue sordicia . Id est irius alumen
. scise . myrre . ana un . s . puluerem facis . addis mel et uino sufficienter conmiscis et
uteris.
5 Cod. sang. 44
2 The symbol in this recipe fluctuates but appears to reflect variations on the same character.
While it does not quite fit the ‘ʒ’ symbol, it looks closest to this; there is, however, some uncer-
tainty given that it is glossed with dr in the preceding recipe. In Sigerist’s transcription, ‘Z’ is
used to represent the symbol in question, a symbol/unit he does not address in his comments
on weights and measures; see Studien und Texte, ed. Sigerist, 80–81 (Antidotum sotira) and 175
(weights and measures).
siue uitro siue canna sagittas educendas infixas corpori uel ad morsum et ad punctus
anima uenerorum terrena et maritima et uenena trahendo foras quę in alto sunt oculta
facit etiam apostematicis ad cancros ad ignis agr[a]um ad ceruicis dolorem nimium
ad sacrofas rumpendas et per modico foramine omnia trahit et sanat ut catrix non
pereat et qui inter costas apostemas habent in epate in splene a foris inponis et intus
rumpitur per egestione et cyros in splenis soluit et sanat . facit autem arteriacis ad
percussuras uel cironia quę in genua uel in pedes et meliceridas rumpit et sanat . facit
autem ad reuma uel quacumque dolore et tumore coxas genua et ad talos descendit ut
ad cataplasmas inponas . facit etiam ad fistolas . Recipit autem hęc . Ligargi\r/o . lib . i
. et ~ i . s . galbano ~ i . dr . i . gutta ammoniaci . ~ iiii dr . i . cera ~ vi . mirra ~ . erugine
campano ~ i dr . i . bdellio ~ i . et s et manna turis ~ i . et s opopanace ~ i . aristologia
quale uolueris . ~ i . oleo uetere lib . i . et s . quę tuenda sunt cribellas . deinde cera
colofonia et oleo solues in foco et miscis litargirum . et postea miscis residuas species
et tamdiu coques dum mutet colorem.
5.5 Emplastrum qui sine ferro rumpit uulnera et scrofas et aperit, p. 243
Emplastrum qui sine ferro rumpit uulnera et scrofas et aperit salis ammoniaci lib . i .
mollibdine lib i . oleo lib . i . cineris sarmentorum lib . i . femus columbino ~ iii . conficis
et uteris.
3 The abbreviation ‘pbl’ remains puzzling and is entirely absent from Sigerist’s transcription
(see Studien und Texte, ed. Sigerist, 89); my thanks to Conan Doyle for suggesting perbelle as
a possible way to expand this.
4 It is unclear what ‘scut’ is abbreviating (mark of abbreviation over ‘u’); with stipteria meaning
‘alum’, I suggest that it possibly was intended to mean a word such as schistum or scissum that
are often descriptors of another word for ‘alum’, alumen.
5 It is unclear what ‘ss’ is abbreviating; given the measuresments that follow, it appears to be
an ingredient (rather than an alternate abbreviation of sextarius), but there are a variety
of possible ingredients that could work with this abbreviation (e.g., samsucus, sisimbrium,
solsequia, etc.).
. ad lumbricos similiter datur . colum laborantibus ita datur et sanat . ad omnia calida
adhibendus est interius et exterius.
5.21 Item ad ipsum potio bibenda contra ipsos uermes eiciendos, p. 350
5.21.1 Item ad ipsum . Potio bibenda contra ipsos uermes eiciendos . aut quacumque
maleficio in se habuerit Herba basilerica quae nascitur per montes . in loca
arida ubi petras minutas sunt . folia simili porro . radix eius crispa . et fistolas .
colligis eam mense septembre luna decurrente die martis aut iouis . aut sabbati
. herba ipsa teris diligenter . miscis cum nouella ceruisia calice pleno das ei
ieiuno bibere . et ante die abstineat se a cibo die iouis luna uetere debet bibere
. si uermes ipsa die iactauerit . priusquam manducet calido bibat aut exouera.
5.21.2 Ranas et craxantos . haec potio expellere solet . et si de ha[n]c potione . non
exierint . bibat . alia potione . ad occidendos . ius de mora campestria teris et
exprimis . et teris folia cannapi manu plena . et si folia non fuerint semen ipsius
dabis ei potione calice pleno . et si ius more non habuerint aut cannapo inue-
nire non potuerit . lacte caprino calido bibat . mortuos uermes proiciet.
5.28.4 Item . Ad uermes de infantes eiciendos pingue de lardo porcino cocla . iii . iei-
unus bibat.
6.1.2 Item . Bete nigre radicis sucus minus quam dimidium et mellis . mixtum in
nares infundes ita ut palatum non transeat . pituita omnes . defluit et cum his
cessare oleum in os accipiat.
6.1.3 Item . caerefolium in aqua decoctum . et \e/aqua potui data . pituitas extrahis.
6.1.4 Item [R]Sinapis . ∻ i . rape seminis . ∻ i . piper . grana . xx . nasturcii semen ∻ i
. erucae origani . ∻ i . apii . seminis . ∻ i . tantumdem ex aceto et melle . colligis
. et ex ea . aqua calida . per dies vii . gargarizauit.
6.1.5 Item . origani . comam . uel ysopi herbam conelam in mellitissima mulsa triduo
macerabis . De hinc coqui facies . et sereno . celo tepidum ieiunus per triduum
gargarigaes.
6.1.6 Item . Senapis . cocleario . ii . et aque mulsa cyatum . i . miscebis . calefacias.
6.1.7 Item . malue semen . ex uino nigro . contrito . gargarizato . tepidum . pituitas .
capitis . extrahis.
6.1.8 Item . mellis . semina sape . aemina . aceti acerimi [m]. ƒƒ . i . sinapis triti . ∻ i
. ysopi . tusi et creti . ∻ i . origani tusi . et cribrati ∻ i simul omnia coquis . ita
ut pinguinem . aquatioris melli . asum<.>t . et colatum diligiter . gargarizet . ad
solem quamdiu potest.
6.1.9 Item . ysopi ∻ i . origani . ∻ i . timi . ∻ i . istafidosagrias . ∻ i . pulei . ∻ i . sape
optime ƒƒ i . aceti acerimi aemina omnia infusa tertia die coques carbonibus
lentis donec . una parte decocta dua remaneant hinc quartam . partem contra
solem hora tertia . gargarizet . postea . recentem in ore teneat ut humoris abun-
cia restringatur et ieiun<a> usque hora viii.
6.1.10 Item . ad dolorem . capitis et insaniam . quamquam plurime sint . cause .
dolorem capitis . tamen si sol acerimus . celebrum. percusserit . subito mens .
auferetur . et uelut insanus . differtur homo aliena . loquens . et nullum agnus-
cens . hoc cum uideris statim eum in obscuro loco et conlocari . et conprimi
faties . uinum autem . uel poscam nęc ipse odoretur hec . quia ei . ministrant
bibant . post hec . faties ex quo qui anetum . in aqua et ex ipsa calida capud ei
fouebis . septies in die . et iter in nocte . lumen uero nec diei . uideat . nec ignis .
ad hubi ceperit resipiscere . offeres ei lumen . lucernam postea oleum . roseum
calidum . inpones ęi in cerebrum cum lana . et ligas . hoc die . et nocte sepius
mutabis . cum iam ceperit . conualescere tunc ęum producis ad lumen et dilo-
tum . uinum bibat ante rodomeli in aqua calida . accipiat . post rosatum . et sic
uinum hoc modo quasi de morte suscitabis hominem . res est enim saluberis
na experimentata.
6.4.7 Item . iii . \a/grana alei . tundes ex quorum sucus infundes lana et utraque
aures claudis.
6.4.8 Item . ut spiritus . uel cerebri . mundas aleum et teris diligenter et facis pastillos
. ex eo et pones in cerebro siue in migranio et desuperligabis . donec ustulet .
uessicam faciet . quam decoperies ut hude currat.
6.4.9 Item bace lauris puluerem et senapis puluerem . cum aceto acro . temperabis .
et linis . partem que dolet.
6.4.10 Item agacie puluerem cum oui album . permisces et uteris.
6.4.11 Item ad emigranium . seu ad dentium dolorem croci . ℈ vi . maligran<…> cor-
tices . ∻ vi . yreos . ℈ . xi . aluminis scissi ℈ vi has omnes . spe<…> cum uino
uetere . in unum permisces . et in mel temperabis . ut colliria si de<ntes> dolent
. uel mouentur . in melle resolues . et inde gingiuas tangis si emigraneum est
. qui celestis . cesterne in cuticula . resolues et fr<on>tem linis . effectum
miraueris.
6.4.12 Item fisicum . ad emigraneum . p<…> yreos et stercus columbinum in oleo et
melle decoctum fronti inposi<tum> conpescit . dolorem . fisicum est.
6.4.13 Item fisicum ad emigraneum . farina lolii cum amoniaco . equaliter . aceto
mixto . anacollema facta . emigranio in de<…>.
6.7.2 Item ad oris uulnera . uel gingiuarum . in mustum dulcem recens . mittens
malum granatum siccum plenum et alterum uiridem cum cortice . et coques
. in stagnato ad carbones ut spissitudinem mel adsumat . et leuas de foco et
addis murre et stiptiriae . scistis puluerem . tenuissimum conmisces et ex eo
uulnera linis.
9.1.4 Item ad ilii dolorem uel uesicae et difficultatem urinae nucleus pineus purg-
atus . xxx . amendolas . xx . tracant . unc . i . dactulus . xiiii . teris in mortario
quomodo medulla nucleus pineus . et amendolas extra et tracanto infundis
si mutae in mellę et in mortario teres et admisces cum illas alias et dabis de
ipsum medicamen quantum medium cocliare in careno aut in medus bibere.
9.1.5 Item ad ilii dolorem apii radices coquis cum dulce apiato aut condito qui lapi-
des habent lini semen bene tritum quantum solidus pensat et addis de condito
. et ceres ipsa farina bene et facis potione et dabis bibere.
9.1.6 Item ad ilii dolorem anetum siccum et uiridem et ruta equaliter teres et colas
cum uno et das bibere una cum oleo bono cocliarem unum prendis paritales
uiuos et mittis in ulla rudę et coperis illa ulla cum coperculo et lotas et potiones
in foco et tandiu quoquis ut perustulent illi passares toti ut cinis fiant et de ipso
puluere dabis bibere qui patitur.
9.1.7 Item ad ilii dolorem Erba c[i]\a/pilli ueneris et papauer et nitru teres omnia
equaliter pensas et cum aqua aut uino calido dabis bibere.
9.1.8 Item ad ilii dolorem Remedium bonum leporem uiuum prendis et laterem de
luto facis . unde fabricant domus siccus facis in medio fassam et ponis super
tripede ut calefiat quomodo caletilli lateris occidis leporem . et ibi fundis san-
guinem ipsius super ipso latere in ipsa fossa ita ut pedes ipsius . ad retro sursum
teneat ut sanguis illi bene decurrat super illum lateris fossam . et cum bene
colauerit leuas illum laterem de foco et ponis usque quę refrigerit bene et sic
tollis illum sanguinem coagolatum.
9.1.9 Item pellem illius decorias et ustulas super latere usque bene ustulet ut fiat
puluer et de ambas res ęquali pensas et teres diligenter et das ad illum qui lab-
orat cocliare pleno cum uino calido bona . et si uis expermenta rem . istam rem
mittis in calice de ipsas pulueres cocliarium unum . et petra . i . aut duas in
modum fabę aut cicer et mittis aqua tepida ut copenas bene et alia die requires
et inuenias solutum lapidem.
9.1.10 Item ad ilii dolorem Saxifrage radicęs petrosileno radices . isparagi radices elene
radices . libistici radices [isparagi radices] fenugreco apii radices aneto cento
capitis radices bacas lauri . unc . iii . orticę semen unc . iii . trita da bibere in uino.
9.1.11 Item ad ilii dolorem origano hoc est illaris saxifragia poleio apio petrosileno
tere cum uino bono da bibere.
9.5 Qui facit ad tibias putridas et ad omnes plagas sanandas, pp. 367–8
In christi nomine qu<i m... c….. et p…> qui facit ad tibias putridas et ad omnes plagas
sanandas . Picae carsetane<a> lib . iiii . amoniaco lib . i . sinopido unc . iii . uitro uirgine
. s iii . cera uirgine . lib . i litio bonum . i . croco . unc . i . tus masculi . s . iiii . masticae . s .
vi . aloę . s . ii . rasina molle . lib . ii . smirra . s . iii . spuma argentea . s . iii . sabo orientale
. vi . haec omnia mittis in buccola requoquis et postea maceras et omnes plagas sanat.
6 It looks like a dr abbreviation for denarius was misinterpreted as dicitur at some stage in the
transmission of this recipe.
9.37.5 Item ad exasperationem gengiuarum . folia de rosa tritum cum mel diligenter
et inde gengiuas tanges adsta uero gengiuarum exasperationem alium crudum
non expedit manducare nec alia agraminas et salsidumen debet usare.
9.37.6 Item ad gengiuas si ipsa carnes super dentes creuerit anguistia paciuntur ut
cibum glutire non possunt adsiduę ruptantur dolore in dorso uel in scabolas et
renibus patiuntur his uirtus non de est fleotomandi sunt et post hoc fomento ei
sunt talem facis oleo in quo infusum est mellilotum . et absentio masticę et cas-
toreo dequoquis et ut super diximus stomacum foues aut mellido stomacum
ungues et aspargis desuper pu[c]\l/uerem talem masticae trito ale<m> . et
piper uetella et desuper pagella inponis calida aut lane sucidum floaum et fecit
desuper et epitemacium post expoliarcion aut diespermatum aut [a]sapaptae-
nos aut milion . absentio pontico in calda infuso.
10.2 Ad paralisin, p. 5
Ad paralis<in> . sucum erbę salu<[u]\i/>e . đ vi . sucum <sauine> . đ . iiii . mel dispu-
matum đ . ii . uino ∻ i . ieiunus bibat <mirifice> sanat.
10.6 Quibus cibis abstinere debeant quem paralysin tangit, pp. 158–9
Quibus cibis abstinere debeant . quem paralysin tangit A pane hordeatio et omni
pane azimo . A carne boum et porcina et caprina . Ab omni aue aquatili . Ab omni
pisce squammam non habente . Ab omni legumine pręter lentem . et foenumgrecum
. Ab omni olere crudo . Ab omni fungo . Ab omni potione quae inebriat pręter uinum
album tenue . et medum tenue et ceruisam tenuam ac leuem . Utatur autem in cibis
. panem de speltu . et frumento bene leuato . Carnem birbicinam . ceruinam . edat et
omne genus uenationis . omnem auem domesticam . et agrestem . et siluestrem . prae-
ter aquatiles . Omnes pisces squamam habentes excepto sal[o]mone . De legumine
lenticulam et foenumgręcum . De oleribus porrum coctum . et omnia olera cocta . et
oua sorbilia . Bibat uinum album et tenue . Medum leue . et ceruisam leuem . Crebro
sanguinem minuet . In stuba non lauet . et saluiam assidue bibat gagarismum sumat .
Piretrum masticet . et saliuam proiciat . sternutamentum sibi moueat.
11.10 Puluis qui facit ad implire placas etiam et si ossa minuta habuerit
excutit, p. 61
Pul7 qui facit ad implire placas etiam et si ossa minuta habuerit excutit yrius ∻ i . aris-
tolotia longa ∻ i . panacus rigius ∻ i . mannis ∻ iiii . omnia in puluere redacta sic uteris.
7 There is no mark of abbreviation around pul, but it can be assumed that puluis was meant,
hence the edited title I have used.
11.23 Ad yctericus, p. 93
11.23.1 Ad yctericus collegis atriplicis satis et in enio mittis ut . diutissime bulliant
postea in tina mittis et quomodo refrigerat ibidem balneare debit et antequam
ibidem intret de ipsa aqua pleno staupo bibere debit facis hoc per triduum et
in quarto die bibat garo staupo dimedio et postea fleotomas.
11.23.2 Item add ictericus ut inter triduum sanus sit croco ∻ i s . nardo ∻ x . cassia
fistola ∻ x . scinuantus ∻ v . amomum ∻ v . piper longo ∻ viii . interionis ∻ viii
. cucumeris similis ∻ i s . murra ∻ xii . ex melle actico conficis et das cum aqua
mulsa in modum auellane maioris.
12.1.8 Item olei nardi . lib . i . terbentina . lib . i . cera ∻ viii . piper ∻ i . aut si piper
nolueris . nitri . ∻ ii . mittis et facto cerotario uteris supra pectinem quamdiu
sentias beneficium.
splenis soluit et sanat . facit artriticis . facit ad percussuras uel cironia quae in genibus
uel in pedibus et meliceridas rumpit et sanat . facit autem ad reumam quecumque
cum dolore et tumore ad coxas ad genua uel ad talos discendit ut cataplasma inposita .
facit etiam ad fistolas . litargirum . lib i s . galbano ∠ viiii . gutta moniaci ∠ xxvi . cera ∠
vi . colofonia ∠ lvi . myrra ∠ viii . eruginis campane ∠ viii . bidellui ∠ xii . manna turis ∠
xii . opopanace ∠ viii . iii ∻ i . aristolocia ∠ viii . oleo uetere lib ii . quae tundendas uel
cribellas . et deinde colofoniam ceram et oleum soluis in foco . et miscis lytargirum et
postea miscis residuas species . et tamdiu coquis quamdiu mittitur colorem.
12.5 Thimiama, p. 66
Thimiama . cozzunbar ∻ iii . aloa arbor den iii . confitum . cafora den . i . musico den . i.
8 Inserted, italicised words are interlinear glosses in Old High German that were added by a
later scribe.
9 These recipes are recorded as lists with each ingredient on a new line, so I have replicated
this structure in my transcriptions.
14.5.2 Item ad tumores liuores . contusiones lenticula cum aceto et mel coquis . et sic
cataplasma.
14.5.3 Item ad liuorem tollendum absinthium tere cum mel et fac cataplasma in lin-
teo inducis et inponis.
10 The inserted, italicised word in 16.2.5 is an interlinear gloss in Old High German that was
added by a later scribe.
11 The inserted, italicised word in 16.4.1 is an interlinear gloss in Old High German that was
added by a later scribe.
16.10 Ad alia uulnera uel plagas ubicumque a ferro aut quolibet, f. 44v
16.10.1 Ad alia uulnera uel plagas ubicumque a ferro aut quolibet facta menta per se
inposita uulnera recentia glutinat.
16.10.2 Item herba plantago tunsa cum axungia uetere sine sale inponitur.
16.10.3 Item herba millefolium cum axungia pistata inponis.
16.10.4 Item ad plaga recente porri folia in quantum super terra esse uidetur . pista et
exprimis sucum . et iterum pistas coque usque non habeat sucum et ponis ipso
pistato super plagam et die tertio soluis et inuenies eum sanum probatum est.
16.10.5 Item potiones ad ipsas plagas sanandas uel fistulas uel quecumque uulnera ubi-
cumque uittonica . agrimonia fragisfolia consoldas minores . ii . maiores . iii .
ptron\i/ola siue fastidiosa tribulos . ii . haec omnia manipulos xxii mel coclearia
. ii . et si uelis addis grano mastice . facis potionem dabis bibere cum necesse
fuerit probatum est.
dolentibus in pusca ciatis . iii . Eis qui de fluxu uentris laborant id est . eis qui
de fluxu corporis laborant in frigida ciatis . iii . Ad renum dolorem cum calida
. cauculosis id est ad morbum regium cum ydromelli ydropicis cum mulsa eis
qui perfrictionem patiuntur ieiunis periodicis . typicis ante a\cc/essionem . Ad
dentium dolorem in gargarismo uel modice exinde in ipsum dentem adposi-
tum . et orem apertum habeat ut omnis umor de capite in terram decurrat .
Eis qui sanguinem uoment in pusca . disintericis cum pusca . s[.]ciatis cum
mulsa speneticis cum pusca paraliticis cum mulsa . Eis qui precordia in feruore
habent uel inflantur . aut ex dolore conpunguntur . et ad secundas mulierum
cum ydromelli uel cum sucum fenigreci purgat uero apostoma in interiora lab-
orantibus Tisicis ad noctem in ydromelli . eis qui tussem patiuntur addito mel
cum idromelli . Eis qui a serpente mordentur cum mel eis \qui/a spallangione
mordentur id est qui a mure cecum mordentur cum pusca . Eis qui uenenum
acceperint cum suco tipsane uel oleo cuius antidoti uirtutem si cognosceris
includis gallum et serpentem uenenosum serpis uero occidet gallum postea
ponis de antido\to/huius granum in ore uel in aure galli et mox reuiuescet de
quo antidoto nihil dubites quia ex ultima morte reducit homines [d]ad pris-
tinam sanitatem . quia frequenter probatus est in omnibus passionibus Recipit
hęc calamum arromaticum . ʒ . vi costu . ʒ vi daucu . \id est semen pastinace/
ʒ ii . castoreu . ʒ . ii . siseleos ʒ xii . cardamomum . ʒ . iii . ameos . ʒ iii . carpo-
balsamu . ʒ vi . sagapinu . ʒ iii . piper albu ʒ iii piretru . ʒ iii . crocu . ʒ xliiii .
ciperu \id est iunco triangolo radix ./. ʒ vi . e\u/forbiu . ʒ. iii . amomum . ʒ iii .
spica nardi . ʒ . iii . rute ag\r/este semen . ʒ . iii . mirra . ʒ . viii . opiu . ʒ xxx . cas-
sia . ʒ viii . appii semen . ʒ iii . y[o]\u/squiami semen \id est canilata/. ʒ xxxiii
. rosa sicca . ʒ . iii . petrosilinu . ʒ vi opobalsamo . ʒ viii . gentiane radices . ʒ iiii
. gamedreos . ʒ ii . aristolotia ʒ ii . bacas lauri . ʒ ii . mel acticum sufficienter .
uteris ad omnes causas supra scripta nihil dubites.
16.19.2 Item adrianum ad eadem quod supra . Recipit haec . opiu . ʒ x . piper album ʒ
xx . crocu . ʒ v . amomum . ʒ . i . piretru . ʒ . i . foliu . ʒ . i daucu . ʒ . i . cassia . ʒ .
i . petrosilenum . ʒ . ii . sagapinu . ʒ ii . ciperu . ʒ ii costu . ʒ ii . yosquiamu . ʒ xx
eu\for/biu . ʒ . i . spica nardi . ʒ . i . \ruta/piganu . ʒ i . apii semen . ʒ i . castoreu
. ʒ i rosa sicca ʒ ii . anissu . ʒ i . ci\n/namomu . ∠ . xilobalsamu \lignum ipsum/ .
ʒ ii . nitru . opobalsam[o]\u/ana . ʒ ii . mel dispumatu quod sufficiat.
caraxatis de ferro exinde fricentur et aperto ore umor decurrat . sanguinem excrean-
tibus cum pusca frigida ipsa mensura desintericis catapotias per nocte accipiant cum
uino aut cum calda aqua aut cum cond<it>o detur . Tortiones iuxta uires cum aqua
calida detur inflationes habentur ut supra datur menstrua mulieribus prouoca\n/
t\tes/ cum idromelle aut cum suco fenigrece et cum omni celeritate parebunt . Ad
morsum serpentis cum melle bibatur et de ipso medicamine in plaga inponis . et ad
uenenum mirifice prodest . cum suco gentiane . Recipit haec calamu aromatico car-
damomum costu . ana . ʒ v . castoreu ae\u/forbiu amomu piretrum spica nardi . dauci
cretici semen . rute agresti\s/semen . cassia rosa sicca fenuculi semen . ana . ʒ iiii .
siseleos . ʒ xii . opiu . ʒ xxx crocu . ʒ . xv . zimziber ʒ iiii . apii semen yosquiamu ana .
ʒ iiii petroselinum dragmas . v . opobalsamo ʒ vii carpobalsamo . ʒ v . sagapinu . ʒ iiii .
meu piper albu . ana . ʒ iiii . mel acticum quantum opus fuerit misces haec omnia simul
tritas diligentissime et sic ammiscis postea mel.
etiam de pulmone umectationem flegmam uel saliuam pinguem cito reiactare facit si
cum mulsa detur . et emoptoicis cum suco poligoni et aceto datur . uel arnoglosse suco
uirtutem aegrotanti praestat non delectantibus cibos manducare facit . uomitum strin-
git hictericos sanat melancolia et qui multum cogitant . et uigilias in somnum reuocat
. pulmonis grauitudinem sanat . colorem bonum facit . flecma de corpore per intestina
deponit . urina prouocat et poros ureticos perducit conscriptiones uel trobos renum
et uesice purgat . dissinteria sanat . paraliticis medetur . maxime si in ueretrum fuerit .
ciliacos firmiter curat . spa\s/mos sanat . paralisin omnibus curat . illis autem qui non
possunt per os accipere per clistere iniciatur . Adiecto suco fenigreci . matricis impetus
soluit . sanguinis fluxum . uel humorum uicia constringit . enconpilmauis ad artriticis .
podagricis . sciati\ci/s in doloribus magnam uirtutem ostendit . non solum per os saluat
. sed in illis locis inunctus lixoperitu autem est . In maioribus febribus dabis ad omnem
tipus quartanis plus dabis . me uero de quartana febre in tres potiones liberauit . Recipit
hec murra ∻ ii . ∠ . i . anissum ∻ i . ∠ i castoreu ∻ i . ∠ i . opiu . ∻ ii . ∠ . ii . cassia . fistula ş .
petrosilini . ∻ ii . apii semen ∻ ii ∠ ii . piper longum . ş . piper nigru ∻ ii sinonu suriac<ci>
∻ i ş . cinnamomum ş . storace ∠ . vi . siseleos . ş . idiocrocomagmatos . ∠ . vi . amomum
ş . squinantu ∻ i . ş . costu . ∠ . vi asaru . ∠ . vi spica indica ∻ i . ∠ . v . crocu . ∻ ii . mel
dispumatum quod sufficit . datis . ut supra dictum est . et miraberis.
16.24.3 Item unguentum . ius ueruenę . et oleo roseo ana mensura misces . et quamli-
bet febrem inunges expertum est.
16.24.4 Item unguentum rasura de \cu/curbita exprimis sucum eius . cum oleo roseo
admisces ana mensura frigidum totum corpus perungues . et si hiems fuerit
calidum appones certum est.
16.24.5 Item unguentum iusquiami radices tritis lib . i . nepte suco bibat . ii . oleo lib i .
medulla ceruina unc . iii . cęra unc . i . mittes in ollam rude[s]m . coques lento
igne semper agitando donec ad medium ueniat . et sic calidum per linte[o]\u/
m excolabis . et cum refrigerauerit . quod super est induratum mitte in mor-
tario cum modico aceto . bene conteres et repones in buxta et uteris.
16.24.6 Item artemisię suco cum oleo perungues mirum est.
faba egiptiaga . uel abellane qui uult ante <acciper.. rarum> quae egrotant nec dolores
patiuntur accipiant semel in septimana aut in quindecim dies semel . si enim uolueris
ut purget adauges in una dolose hoc est grana fabae aegiptiace aut abellane diacridius
siliquas . viii . et purgat quomodo catharricus si enim uolueris in tota confectionem
anthethiti . adicies dicridiu ∻ una que est habet scrip . xxiiii . ita est accipiendum ueris
semel si necessitas non ex\i/gerit sin uero quod absit causa poposcerit sepe accipies
sicut scriptura continet autumno . frequenter usque ad initium hyemis.
foras exeat de ulla et posthaec mittis galuana . et cum fuerit resoluta et cum lentum fit
supermittis crocum effundis in mortario miscis bene et uteris.
18.8.2 Item oxyra qui facit podacricis artriticis et ad omnem dolorem et luxatis pice
brutia £ . ii . cera £ . i . amoniaco ∻ iii . tereuentina ∻ ii aceto . s . i . i s.
18.8.3 Item aliuo oxyra afrodesi . amoniaco ∻ iiii . colofonia ∻ ii . boellius ∻ vi .
medulla ceruina ∻ ii . tereuentina ∻ iii senopedem . s ii . resina pitoina pensante ŏ ii .
mannis ∻ i . confecis et uteris.
List of Manuscripts
Note: the following is a list of all manuscripts mentioned in the text; see Appendix 1 for
more information on the primary manuscripts involved in this study.
Bamberg
Staatsbibliothek
Msc. Med. 1
Digital facsimile: http://digital.bib-bvb.de/view/bvb_mets/viewer.0.6.5.jsp?-
folder_id=0&dvs=1708862996938~573&pid=4685473&locale=en_US&usePid1=
true&usePid2=true.
Bern
Burgerbibliothek
Cod. A 91.7
Digital facsimile: http://www.e-codices.ch/en/list/one/bbb/A0091-07.
Cambridge
Corpus Christi College
ms 223
Digital facsimile: https://parker.stanford.edu/parker/catalog/th953kw1763.
Glasgow
University Library (ul)
Hunter 96 (olim T.4.13)
A digital facsimile is not currently available online.
Karlsruhe
Badische Landesbibliothek
Aug. perg. 120
Digital facsimile: https://digital.blb-karlsruhe.de/blbhs/Handschriften/content
/titleinfo/64141.
Laon
Bibliothèque Municipale
ms 199
Digital facsimile: https://initiale.irht.cnrs.fr/codex/12831.
London
British Library (bl)
Harley ms 585
A digital facsimile is not currently available due to the cyber attack; previously,
it was accessible at: http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Harley
_MS_585&index=1.
Modena
Archivio Capitolare
O.I.11
Digital facsimile: https://archiviodiocesano.mo.it/opere-digitalizzate/cat/15-o-i
-11-sancti-isidori-episcopi-chronicon.
Paris
Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF)
lat. 2849A
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b9067647m/f4.image.
lat. 2858
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10318625w.r=%22Latin
%202858%22?rk=21459;2.
lat. 5543
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10502052p/f5.image.r
=calendarium.
lat. 6882A
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b90767579/f1.image.
lat. 7021
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b100352360/f1.image.
lat. 9332
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b60004321/f2.image.
lat. 11218
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b9066936j/f1.image.
lat. 11219
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b8438662j.r=lat.%2011219
%20lat.%2011219?rk=21459;2.
lat. 13955
Digital facsimile: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b9066978w?rk=21459;2.
St Gall
Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen
cod. sang. 44
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0044.
cod. sang. 217
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0217.
cod. sang. 397
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/list/one/csg/0397.
cod. sang. 550
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/list/one/csg/0550.
cod. sang. 751
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0751.
cod. sang. 752
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0752.
cod. sang. 759
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0759.
cod. sang. 761
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0761.
cod. sang. 878
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0878.
cod. sang. 899
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/list/one/csg/0899.
cod. sang. 1092
Digital facsimile: https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/1092.
cod. sang. 1396
A digital facsimile is not currently available online.
Vatican City
Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (bav)
pal. lat. 187
Digital facsimile: https://digi.vatlib.it/view/bav_pal_lat_187.
pal. lat. 1088
Digital facsimile: https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Pal.lat.1088.
reg. lat. 421
Digital facsimile: https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Reg.lat.421.
reg. lat. 598
Digital facsimile: https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Reg.lat.598.
reg. lat. 1143
Digital facsimile: https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Reg.lat.1143.
vat. lat. 5951
Digital facsimile: https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Vat.lat.5951.
Vienna
Österreichische Nationalbibliothek (önb)
Med. gr. 1
A digital facsimile is not currently available online.
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Aachen 45, 155, 295 Antiquity 14–15, 27, 87, 92–94, 101, 108–113,
Abbasid Caliphate 74–75, 103 123–124, 139–142, 154–156, 179, 205
Abbey of Fontenelle 75, 77, 100 classical learning 47
abortion 111 classical medicine 6–9, 12, 14–15, 18, 27,
abscess 133–135, 138, 244. See also dental 42–44, 56–65, 65, 71, 79–80, 83–85,
health, abscess 93, 107, 109–121, 123, 127–128, 139–141,
Abul Abbas 74 145–148, 154–156, 202–203, 205, 221, 242,
Acqui Terme 169, 184, 187, 200, 216, 218, 258 244, 250, 269, 277, 289–302
Adalbero of Laon 50 classical vocabulary 139–141
Aeschylus 109 medical education 49
Aetius of Amida 81n38 Roman Empire 77n22, 108, 114, 267
age 205 applicability 7–8, 26–29, 33–34, 56, 69,
aging process 177, 214–215, 235, 238 153–154, 158, 163, 174–175, 190, 199–203,
infancy and childhood 158, 173, 179, 183, 207, 233–240, 243, 265–272, 275–277,
200–201 279–283
adulthood 173 Arabic
old age/senility 200–201, 219, 239 terminology 82, 103
youth/adolescence 251 medical texts 15
Albuin 251 arms and armour. See Trauma, weapons;
alcohol. See individual entries under warfare
materia medica Asia, southeast 71, 78, 80, 103
Alcuin 51 astronomy 290
Alexander of Tralles 61, 291, 302 Ausonius 299
Therapeutica 291, 302 Mosella 299
Alexandria Auxerre 289
curriculum of 48
diet 109 Baldwin iv 156
Alphabet of Galen 65, 300 balsam 73–74. See also materia
Alphita 83–84 medica, balsam
Alps 37–38, 67, 78, 91, 94, 96–98, 104, 171 bathing 45
Angelbert 268 Battle of Fontenoy 268
annals 156, 267 Bede 290
Annals of St. Bertin 251, 255 bee-keeping 125
Royal Frankish Annals 74–75 beer. See materia medica, beer
Ansegisus 75 Benedict of Aniane 45
Antebalumina. See Pseudo-Galen, De Bern 182
succedaneis liber bestiary 58–59
Anthimus 123–124, 127, 298 Biel 169, 182–183
De observatione ciborum 123–124, 127, 298 biocodicology 284
antidotes 3–5, 50, 58, 62n99, 64, 69–71, 86, birthing girdle 285
94, 144–145, 171–172, 190–192, 196–197, bites 245–246
206, 208–210, 230, 233, 236–238, 246, dogs 197
253, 275, 291, 299 rabid dogs 196–197, 228
antidotaria 50, 59–60, 62n99 humans 196
Antiphanes 109 snakes 172, 196, 228, 237, 246
bladder problems 121, 222. See also medical practice 6, 20–24, 29, 34, 41,
incontinence and urination problems 51–52, 132–134, 142–143, 148, 201, 241–
blindness 3 244, 249, 256–257, 262–267, 271, 278,
bloodletting. See surgery, phlebotomy 280–283
Bobbio 67 networks 31, 40, 52, 67, 73–74, 77, 91, 94,
body modification 243 96–100, 103–104, 126, 160, 171, 283
Boethius 289 movement of manuscripts 5, 31, 44,
Bolgare 169, 185, 212, 218, 261–262 67, 91, 94, 126, 295, 301
Boniface 72–74, 76, 84, 91, 94, 96–97 reception of classical learning 47
bread 106–107, 113, 136. See also materia reforms 14, 30–32, 98–100
medica, bread territorial expansion 171
brewing 107–109, 124–126 See also Francia
Brittany 5, 67, 94, 297 Cassiodorus 43–44, 46, 48, 54, 62
Bronze Age 109 Institutiones 43–44
Burchard 40, 72 cautery 241–242, 244, 264
Burgundy 96–97, 291, 302 Celsus 302
Byzantium 43, 78, 104, 123–124 De medicina 302
central Middle Ages 14–15, 28, 50
Caelius Aurelianus 44, 60–61 cereals 108–110, 112–113
Cairate 169, 183–184, 186, 200, 212, 217– barley 110, 112
219, 260 milling 126
calabash 73 production of 108–109, 124
calendrical writing 55, 122, 257, 290–291, wheat 110, 112
293, 296–298 Charlemagne 14, 30, 51, 74–75, 171, 268–
Cambrai 75–77, 84, 97, 99–101 269, 271
Campione d’Italia 169, 185, 212, 216, 218 Charles the Child 251
capitularies 124–128, 137, 267, 269–271 charters 25, 52, 64, 270
Admonitio generalis 269 Chartres 31, 49–50
Capitulare de villis 124–128, 137 Cherbourg 169, 171, 183
Capitulary of Herstal 269 chestnuts 26
Cappadocians 79 chills. See fever
Caravate 169, 259 China 80, 104
Carolingian world Christianity 42–48
education, training 23, 48–52, 134, 281 bible 48, 93–94, 98, 293
medical 48–52 Ecclesiasticus 48
elites 31, 33, 40, 49, 51, 73–4, 100, 160, 184, Exodus 93
201–203, 205–6, 212, 238–239, 260, 262, charity 42, 44
271, 276, 279–280, 282–283 Christian elements in recipes 61
aristocratic 53, 70, 73–74, 77–78, Church fathers 42
201–203, 205–206, 239, 269–271, medical metaphors 43, 48
278, 282–283 Christus medicus 43
ecclesiastical 31, 49–50, 67, 72–75, 77, negative attitudes towards medicine 42
99, 160, 201–203, 205–206, 208, 239, chronicles 156
269–271, 279, 282 codicology 4–5, 275, 289–302
royal 53, 73, 77, 125, 160, 201–203, Collectio sangallensis 74
205–206, 208, 239–40, 269–271, collyrium 60
282–283 comb 74
manuscript production 30–31, 53 computus 23, 31, 290, 298
Walahfrid Strabo 21, 49–51, 67, 70, 90, 137, obolus 139–141
254, 270, 298–299 scrupulum/scruple 105, 139–141, 145
Hortulus 50–51, 137 semuncia 139–141
Versus Strabi de beati Blaithmaic vita et sextarius 139–142
fine 299 sicilicus 139–141
Walter 268 siliqua 139–141
Waltharius 268 solidus 139–141
warfare 156, 241, 267–272, 280–281 staupus 106, 129–143, 145,
wax 75. See also materia medica, wax 148–149, 278
weeds 26, 137 treatises on 139–141
weights and measures 48, 62, 77, 131, 133, uncia/ounce 69, 73, 76, 82, 129, 139–
284, 290, 296–297 141, 241
acetabulum 139–142 Wessex 39
amphora 139–141 Willibald 72–73
calyx 105, 133–135, 138 Winchester 39, 72
congius 139–141 Wintar 25
cotyla 139–142 women’s health and medicine 200–202
cyathus 131, 139–142 abortion 111
denarius 82, 105, 139–141 childbirth 245
drachma 69, 139–141 gynaecology 53–54, 62n99, 200, 208
eggshell-ful 132, 138 uterine pain and problems 113, 197
fistful 138 working conditions 26, 155, 214, 216–
handful 129, 132, 136, 138 217, 238
hemina 131, 139–142 worms 115, 117, 121, 135
libra/pound 73, 76, 82, 100, 105, 139–
141, 241 Zedechias 25