Se ðe oðran naman wæs geciged: the Naming of Bishops and Clerics in Late Anglo-Saxon England

Abstract

In studying medieval societies, etymology can help us to understand words and their uses. Names, too, can be interpreted as having their own meanings. Moreover, between the Carolingian era and the Gregorian reform, clerics and monks belonged to increasingly distinct categories of society. As these assertions were often true in early medieval England, it is legitimate to ask whether the names of ecclesiastics were affected. Implicit norms affect the choice of their names, which seem less varied than those of the aristocrats. Their names, although belonging to the same culture as the ecclesiastics themselves, were often Latinised or accompanied by specific titles. Sometimes the name was changed when someone became a cleric (cloister name); sometimes double names were adopted; sometimes a child’s name reflected his parents’ intention for him to be an ecclesiastic (clerical name). The aim of this article is to assess the role of these practices in ninth- to eleventh-century England.

Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas, which is interpreted Peter.¹

When the apostle Peter decided to follow the teachings of Jesus, his name was changed. His conversion, and his acceptance of a role in the history of Providence, transform his identity, which leads to the reorganisation, or recoining of his name, which is a ‘bearer of identity’. ² Such an adaptation of the name to the history of the person conforms to the principle of ontology of names, ³ by which the arbitrary relationship between the signifier and the signified is erased, as the name is resemantised and naturalised through the forced alignment between the sememe contained in a name (the collective meaning of the name) and an individual’s lived history. This principle is widely attested in biblical texts and in Christian culture. ⁴ To truly understand how medieval people perceived and utilised proper names, it is crucial to set aside, at least partially, the radical (yet linguistically and logically accurate) notion that proper names are meaningless. ⁵ For a monk reading the Bible, every name holds a purposeful significance, intended by God and capable of imparting knowledge. Jerome and Isidore affirm this perspective, and even if they might be mistaken, we should consider their theory. As a consequence of this theory, the conversion ‘of the heart’ must also be conversion of the name, for instance when a pagan converts to Christianity, ⁶ but also, in some English sources, when a Jew is baptised. ⁷ In the footsteps of the ‘cornerstone’, monks and clerics also experience a conversio when they enter religious life. We therefore know that the names of popes, ⁸ bishops ⁹ or ordinary monks ¹⁰ are often affected when the conversio takes place. ¹¹

In a seminal article published in The English Historical Review in 2002, ¹² Richard Sharpe questions the name of Ithamar, bishop of Rochester (644–664), and by extension the names of clerics in the century following conversion. After a generation of Italian prelates bearing Latin names, he notes the proliferation of double names. This is the case for Berhtgils Boniface, ¹³ Biscop Benedict, ¹⁴ Hwætberht Eusebius, ¹⁵ Willibrord Clement, ¹⁶ Winfrith Boniface ¹⁷ and Æddi Stephanus. ¹⁸ The cognomen must be understood under the meaning given by Isidore of Seville, as a name ‘added to the name’, ¹⁹ during the lifetime of a person. This ‘second name’, in all these cases, is Latin, and carries a strong Christian connotation. Richard Sharpe therefore extrapolates from this situation, pointing to the existence of early English prelates with linguistically incongruous names, such as Archbishop Deusdedit of Canterbury (†664). Goscelin of Saint-Bertin, much later, indicates that ‘in his mother tongue he was called Frithona, but on account of his great merits, his English name was changed by God’s chosen ministers into an angelic name’. ²⁰ Other names are undoubtedly subject to a similar interpretation: the bishops Ithamar of Rochester (644–664), ²¹ Damian of Rochester (664–669), ²² Tobias of Rochester (699–726), ²³ Felix of East Anglia (630–648), ²⁴ Thomas of East Anglia (fl. 650), ²⁵ John of Beverley, bishop of Hexham (687–706) and York (706–714), ²⁶ Daniel of Winchester (705–744). ²⁷ The other possibility put forward by Richard Sharpe is that some of these individuals were from Wales, Ireland or Scotland, where biblical names were much more common. ²⁸ In any case, these names are not coined in Old English and most of them are borne by natives, even if this fashion comes to an abrupt end in the 660s.

The aim of this article is to provide an answer to the question asked by Richard Sharpe, but by focusing on the late Anglo-Saxon period. Do the names of the clerics and monks stand out? Does the name reflect the particular identity of monks or clerics? Do monastic vows affect the name? Does the sacrament of orders involve choosing a set of specific names, markers of a particular relationship to the sacred or to the divine? Do children destined for an ecclesiastical career benefit from particular anthroponymic choices? Are there clerical names given to children destined for divine service? Are Old Testament names customary at the time, especially among clerics? Are the names of clerics and monks likely to have a specific religious meaning? To answer these questions, I will draw on hagiographies, homilies, obituaries, libri vitae and charters dating from 954 to 1066. ²⁹ I will answer three main questions. What stock of names do bishops and clerics have, particularly in the diplomatic corpus? How do the charters distinguish their names from the names of lay people? Do the charters allow us to find names with a specific meaning or onomastic practices specific to bishops?

THE STOCK OF NAMES

Similar Stocks of Names

Relying on PASE, I counted some 2,471 individuals in the diplomatic corpus, including 564 clerics, among whom 158 bishops are identified.

While an overwhelming majority of people in this corpus have Old English names (78%), this proportion is even higher among clerics (86%) and bishops (87%). ³⁰ By comparison, calculations carried out using PASE that omit questionable charters and identifiers created to manage cases of disambiguation, bring us to a figure of 89% of Old English names among the 185 bishops identified. The contrast with the ealdormen, earls and duces is quite striking, since, in this group, this rate is 64%.

A similar calculation can be made in the name pool, disregarding homonyms. In total, the people involved in the charters have 653 different names, of which 58% are Old English. However, bishops and clerics in general have overwhelmingly Old English names (86% and 80%), especially when compared to ealdormen, earls and duces (61%). There is therefore a first specificity for the names of bishops and clerics: these names are mostly Old English. In contrast, names of Norse origin are particularly rare: they represent 27% of ealdormen and only 2% of bishops. Four bishops certainly bear a Norse name: Stigand (Archbishop of Canterbury, died 1072), Oscytel (bishop of Dorchester and archbishop of York, died 971), Grimcytel (bishop of Selsey from 1039 to 1047) and Ulf (bishop of Dorchester, died 1049). Six others have more ambiguous names: Athulf (bishop of Elmham around 960, whose name is arguably a form of the Norse Aþulfr, rather than an apocope form of the Old English Æthelwulf), Oswulf (bishop of Ramsbury until his death in 970, whose name when spelled without w in the sources probably indicates the Norse Osulfr), Sigefrith (bishop of Lindsey around 1000, whose name is still written following the Old English fashion Sigeferth) and three men named Siward, respectively a bishop in a dubious charter (S 1481), a bishop of Rochester (1058–75) and a coadjutor of Canterbury who died in 1048, with spellings closer to the Norse form (Siward), but sometimes written with Old English features (Siweard). Some are related to the Danelaw (Athulf, Oscytel, Sigefrith and Ulf), others belong to the years following Cnut’s reign (Grimcytel, Siweard, Stigand, Ulf). It is likely that Viking descendants had fewer opportunities to become members of the high clergy, including in the northern and eastern parts of the kingdom. However, when some did manage to do so, it seems that Norse names were not considered Christian enough and had to be replaced by more Christian-sounding English names. Whether it is the social group of Viking descendants that is excluded or only common names within this population, this bias appears to be specific to ecclesiastics and does not affect lay people.

We can observe some other differences between the clerics and the laymen, even when their names are Old English. In order to consider this, I will use technical tools developed by Pascal Chareille for the analysis of names. ³¹ Condensation is the number of names per 100 people. The figure is lower for bishops (91 names for 158 bishops, i.e. 58 names for 100 people) than for ealdormen (87 names for 127 ealdormen, i.e. 69 names for 100 people); their name stock is therefore more condensed. The short-list of the most common names is as follows: Ælfric (7), Godwine (6), Æthelstan (6), Æthelric (5), Beorhthelm (5) for the bishops, against Æthelmær (5), Ælfric (5), Leofwine, Æthelweard, Æthelwold, Eadwin, Thorth, Thorstan, Ælfgar, Sigeweard (3) for ealdormen. As we can see, these lists are slightly different. A similar observation can be made by looking at the most common names among clerics and laymen in other lists. ³² Two of the five top names overlap across the two categories in royal charters ³³ and at Ely, ³⁴ one of the five overlaps at Worcester, ³⁵ Canterbury ³⁶ and Winchester. ³⁷ There is no match with those at Thorney, but this is due to the limited number of clerics, which does not make it possible to propose a proper short-list. The concentration refers to the proportion that these popular names appear in the population. For bishops, the stock of names is slightly more concentrated (the five most common names include twenty-nine bishops, or 18% of the population) than among the ealdormen (the five most common names include twenty-two ealdormen, i.e., 17% of the population). Finally, dispersion concerns the proportion of individuals with a name used only once. The figure for bishops is much lower (sixty-one names used only once, i.e., 38% of the population) than for ealdormen (fifty-nine names used only once, i.e., 46% of the population); their stock of names is therefore less dispersed. In short, the names of the bishops are more condensed, more concentrated and less dispersed than those of the ealdormen. In other words, they have fewer names and their choice is more constrained than that of the laity. We must deduce that there were implicit norms for choosing them.

The same work can be done by breaking down the names of clerics and laity into nominal themes. This may be done for most Germanic names. As an example, the name Edward can be broken down etymologically as ‘ead’ meaning ‘rich’ (which is the first theme, or prototheme) and ‘weard’, meaning ‘guardian’ (which is the second theme, or deuterotheme). We can then note a rather strong resemblance between the names of clerics and laymen. In the royal charters, eight out of ten themes appear in the most common names of each category. ³⁸ In leases, the total is six out of nine; ³⁹ seven out of ten in Ely; ⁴⁰ four of eight in Canterbury; ⁴¹ three out of six in Thorney; ⁴² and eight out of ten in Winchester. ⁴³ A great congruity between the nominal themes of bishops and ealdormen is also evident, but there is again a stronger condensation among bishops. ⁴⁴ The lists are very similar: two of the three most common protothemes appear for bishops and ealdormen, ⁴⁵ and the same goes for deuterothemes. ⁴⁶ From this point of view, even if some differences exist, the stocks are based on the same foundation and there is therefore no notable difference between the two corpora of nominal themes.

It is difficult to know if these slight differences were considered sufficient means to distinguish between clerics and lay people, but they do exist. We can imagine that, locally, small differences in the choice of names (or of their themes) could be associated with one state or another, but it is impossible to prove this, and the boundaries between the stocks used by clerics and laypeople are characterised above all by their extreme similarity. ⁴⁷

Scarcity of Biblical and Classical Names

In the context of Christianisation, since Late Antiquity, the choice of theophoric names (Theophilus), names linked to liturgical time (Natalis), or given in reference to biblical characters or saints (in particular early Christian martyrs) became more and more common. ⁴⁸ Around the Mediterranean Sea, these names represent about 15% of the stock at the beginning of the Middle Ages. ⁴⁹ The names of some of these saints quickly became known in England. With the growing influence of the Merovingians, especially in Kent, the cult of Martin de Tours thus experienced rapid growth from the end of the sixth century. ⁵⁰ This knowledge of the universal saints of Christianity is also reflected in the dedication of the main churches and monasteries in England. ⁵¹

Nevertheless, and contrary to what has been observed near the Mediterranean, these names only take root with difficulty in the island’s anthroponymic stock before the Norman Conquest. Thus, out of more than 2,500 obituary and libri vitae notices that I have collated, less than 0.4% refer to names of biblical or early Christian inspiration. ⁵² The names of some emblematic saints receive a more marked reception. Thus, six monks of Ely and Thorney are called Peter. ⁵³ On more than 30,000 coins collated between 871 and 1066, we find around a hundred instances of coins bearing Hebrew, Greek or Roman names referring to a biblical character or a saint (0.4%), even though we are aware that moneyers constitute a highly specific social group and that many of them originated from the Continent. ⁵⁴ Among them, we must count Martin at Chester and Shrewsbury, Paul at Chester, John at Exeter, Christian at Thetford, but also Benedict and Dominic at an unknown place. Finally, forty-five occurrences are preserved in the Domesday Book, among which John and Augustine appear on several occasions. ⁵⁵ In Anglo-Saxon charters, biblical and Latin names are also rare. They represent less than 1% of people; they are over-represented among clerics (a little less than 2% of individuals), but among bishops they are consistent with the rest of the population (less than 1%). The social origin of the prelates may explain why they were less inclined to abandon the onomastic stock of the early English elite in favour of foreign names than ordinary monks, even if monks were mostly aristocrats and even if most of the bishops after the so-called Benedictine reform of the tenth century were also monks. However, as demonstrated by Sharpe, the situation was rather different at the time of conversion, and as we will see later, this implies a change in status for Old English names. Whatever the case, the calculations carried out from PASE deliver a similar result, since these ‘Christian’ names are only borne by 0.5% of the bishops listed in it. If we consider all the documentation cited above (obituaries, charters, coins and Domesday Book), the names of the apostles are mostly used (John, Andrew, Bartholomew, Simon, Thomas). Jacob/James marks a transition between Old and New Testament; and other Old Testament names appear as well, with reference to kings or prophets (Samuel, Saul, Solomon, David, Elias). It is nevertheless the early Christian saints who are the most visible (Stephen, Sebastian, Honorius, George, Clement, Benedict, Anthony, Augustine, Agnes). Finally, there are the emblematic saints of the Frankish world and in particular those who are closest to royal power (Hilary, Denis, Remi, Martin, Nicholas).

In any case, we are a long way from the period studied by Richard Sharpe, when bishops still overwhelmingly bore Biblical or Latin names, either because of their origins or because of fashion. Only one bishop bears a biblical name in the late Anglo-Saxon era: Daniel, Bishop of Cornwall in the 960s. He is well known from the charters and the spelling of his name seems assured. Out of forty-nine charters, his subscription is generally Daniel episcopus. ⁵⁶ A prophet during the deportation to Babylon, Daniel gains Nebuchadnezzar’s trust and becomes his advisor. It is a suitable name for a member of the witan attesting fifty or so royal charters. Considering Eadwig’s reputation among the so-called ecclesiastical reformers, one can imagine that the presence of a Daniel at his court would have evoked ironic parallels with biblical history.

Among the other clerics, eight bear a Biblical or Latin name. However, this small sample poses a challenge. Three abbots and a chaplain are cited in false or spurious documents and partly refer to foreigners. ⁵⁷ One priest is missing from an original, but added in a late copy. ⁵⁸ There remains, therefore, an abbot, a cleric and a priest. ⁵⁹ Two of them are linked to Worcester and the last one to Wilton. This seems to point to a Welsh influence or origin, as suggested by Richard Sharpe. This hypothesis is all the more plausible since one of the few laymen with a biblical name is the Welsh king Iago ab Idwal. ⁶⁰ Moreover, biblical and classical names are very numerous in the lists of manumissions attached to the Bodmin Gospels. ⁶¹ A Celtic identity is then quite possible for Bishop Daniel. ⁶² But, apart from him, biblical and Latin names are out of fashion among the bishops and clerics at that time.

On the whole, however, clerics and monks figure prominently among the bearers of biblical or testamentary names. This is especially true in obituaries. ⁶³ Conversely, in numismatic and fiscal documents, men bearing such names are probably not clerics, but most of them came from the west of the kingdom, which points to a Welsh influence. ⁶⁴ Geographic trends may also suggest that some were cloister names. For example, in documents from Abingdon and Winchester, we have two instances of the name Leo, which is a name of popes, including the pope who wrote a confirmation of privilege for Abingdon (Leo III), ⁶⁵ and the one who confirmed King Alfred in 853 (Leo IV). ⁶⁶ Westminster and York, where Peter is honoured, logically welcome an individual of that name. ⁶⁷ The Johns are mostly in the west, near the Welsh border, and the Peter in the south-east, around the Roman foundation of Canterbury.

In conclusion, the impact of the cult of universal saints appears to have been too small to prompt the massive adoption of names alien to the local stock in England. ⁶⁸ These names seldom take root and are probably limited to specific social groups, among which clerics and monks stand out, ⁶⁹ but also continental, Welsh or Irish migrants, such as moneyers or merchants. ⁷⁰

CREATING A DISTINCTION BETWEEN CLERICS AND LAYMEN

The Superiority of Clerics

Why are the names of bishops distinct from those of ealdormen? At the end of the early English period, the difference between clerics and laymen becomes almost ontological. It manifests itself in the model of the tripartite society, ⁷¹ the first traces of which appear in England at the end of the ninth century. King Alfred, in his vernacular version of Boethius’ Consolatio Philosophiae, ⁷² and Ælfric of Eynsham, after his vernacular translation of the Book of the Maccabees, in the three-page tract Qui sunt oratores, laboratores et bellatores, ⁷³ do not hesitate to take up this vision of society. Described by Ælfric as ‘they who intercede with God for us’, ⁷⁴ the clerics ‘must always pray for us and fight spiritually against invisible enemies’. ⁷⁵ ‘Greater therefore is now the struggle of the monks against the invisible devils’, ⁷⁶ and ‘it will profit them more that the invisible enemies may be overcome than the visible ones’. ⁷⁷ The superiority of ecclesiastics is maintained directly from Ælfric’s pen and his respect goes particularly to ‘monks that submit to Benedict’s rule, and leave all worldly things’. ⁷⁸ Although this tripartition and the superiority of the spiritual class are classical, going back to Plato, and largely concern the ideal, ⁷⁹ particularly when a philosopher or a monk uses the concept, it deserves to be questioned, insofar as it supports and justifies the concrete structures of society. ⁸⁰

Without Family

In the tenth century, due to the Benedictine Reform, many bishops and priests came from the monastic world. ⁸¹ A model of holiness is set up as an example to all. The topos of the holy monk leaving his family to devote himself to prayer is a particularly common exemplum on the Continent. ⁸² Not surprisingly, it is also found in England in the second part of the tenth century, during the monastic reform. ⁸³ So, according to the homilist, one must ‘abandon [one’s] kinship’ in order to follow Christ’. ⁸⁴ Hagiographies, in the same way, show saints following these precepts. Thus, Oda of Canterbury, who had ‘rejected his parents and his parents’ wealth, ran away, naked and deprived of any worldly station’. ⁸⁵ Likewise, Ælfheah of Canterbury ‘neglects the paternal heritage and forgets the maternal pain’. ⁸⁶

It is therefore logical that we do not find many traces of the kinship groups to which these clerics belong. ⁸⁷ Indeed, much more is known about continental aristocratic groups than early English ones. When one can draw genealogies for these groups, the heads of the early English Church do not seem to belong to them. That is obviously the case in the families of Ælfhere and Ælfheah, ⁸⁸ of Byrhtnoth of Essex ⁸⁹ or Æthelstan Half-King, ⁹⁰ or later for the Godwinsons, ⁹¹ Leofwinsons, ⁹² Uhtredssons ⁹³ and the kinship of Odda of Deerhurst. ⁹⁴ In all these cases and even among the Cerdicings, it is very rare to see laymen and clerics side by side. These genealogies therefore give the feeling that the ecclesiastical dignitaries were not chosen from these great families.

Isabelle Réal nevertheless showed that the aforementioned stereotypical injunction did not work systematically in the Frankish world. ⁹⁵ Some counter-examples can also be observed in the early English context. This is the case for Edith, abbess of Wilton. The saint is presented by Goscelin of Saint-Bertin for what she is: King Edgar’s daughter. However, the hagiographer claims that her parents abandoned her and that she was adopted by God, following Psalm 26. ⁹⁶ In this way, the bond of consanguineal kinship dissolves, in favour of a ritual kinship more in line with hagiographic expectations. Other links between bishops and aristocrats come to light, such as the connection of Ealdhun bishop of Durham with the Uhtredsons through the marriage of his daughter, Ecgfrida, to Uhtred. ⁹⁷ Likewise, B. makes Archbishop Dunstan a relative of Æthelflæd, herself a niece of King Æthelstan. ⁹⁸ John of Worcester makes Æthelnoth archbishop of Canterbury (1020–1038) the son of one Æthelmær. ⁹⁹ Based on this late mention, some make him the grandson of Æthelweard the chronicler. ¹⁰⁰ At the same time, among the relatives of Odda of Deerhurst were bishops of Worcester, including Ealdred and Beorhtheah. ¹⁰¹ The connection between bishops or abbots and major aristocratic groups is therefore not nonexistent, but remains very difficult to assess.

On the contrary, on the continent, this is sometimes expressed in the names of the clergy. ¹⁰² Some families always pass on a recognisable name to a younger brother, linked to an ecclesiastical office. ¹⁰³ The case of the Adalberos is well known, with regard to the counts of Lotharingia and the bishops of the area: Adalbero I (d. 962), younger brother of Gislebert, count of Ardenne, was bishop of Metz; his nephew, Adalbero (d. 988/9), younger brother of Henry, count of Arlon, and Geoffrey, count of Verdun, was archbishop of Rheims; another nephew, Adalbero II (d. 1005), brother of Thierri, duke of Upper Lorraine, was bishop of Verdun, and then of Metz; a nephew of Adalbero of Rheims was Adalbero (d. 1030), bishop of Laon, whereas his cousin, Adalbero (d. 1037/8) was archbishop of Trier; this archbishop’s nephew, Adalbero III (d. 1072) was in turn bishop of Metz. As such, we have several bishops named Adalbero for each generation of this family across more than a century. The name Adalbero is a clerical name: a name specifically chosen by the parents for their son’s episcopal career. Likewise, the Counts of Anjou often give the name Guy to the youngest son, destined for an episcopal career. Unfortunately, in England most family groups are not well enough known: they are too shallow or too thin, and often both at the same time. As a result, it is not possible to identify their strategies with certainty. If they exist, historians are compelled to postulate them, without being able to verify them, since there is not enough documentation or because the groups become extinct too quickly. On this basis, it is impossible to completely reject the hypothesis that certain groups have transmitted specific names to some of their heirs, with the aim of making them ecclesiastical dignitaries. But it is also impossible to prove the existence of these strategies or to show their force.

Clerical Nepotism

At the same time, the Capitular of Theodulf of Orleans, known in England, urges priests to support their nephews and relatives, at least to promote access to learning in a monastery or a church. ¹⁰⁴ In this sense, the role of worldly relatives cannot be totally ignored. It is in this context, undoubtedly, that we must think about the relationship between episcopal elite and kinship at the end of the early English period. Indeed, several bishops are known to have supported their parents, in particular their nephews, during their ecclesiastical career. The best known example is that of Oda and his nephew, Oswald, both archbishops at the end of their careers. ¹⁰⁵ After Oda’s death, Oswald was greeted by another relative, Oscytel, archbishop of York. ¹⁰⁶ Capgrave considers him belatedly as Oswald’s uncle, ¹⁰⁷ but there is no earlier source that makes this formal identification. At the same time, B. quotes a link between Dunstan and Ælfheah, bishop of Winchester (934–951) and Cynesige, bishop of Lichfield (946–963). ¹⁰⁸ William of Malmesbury goes further, citing a link with Æthelhelm, archbishop of Canterbury (923–926). ¹⁰⁹ The fact that two Wulfstans from two successive generations were bishops in the city of Worcester has also prompted some historians to identify Wulfstan I of York and Wulfstan II of Worcester as uncle and nephew, presumably because of their homonymy. ¹¹⁰ However, no authentic early English or Anglo-Norman document allows us to say so with certainty. Only Bishop Beorhtheah is known to be Archbishop Wulfstan’s nephew. ¹¹¹ In this context, it is almost impossible to identify families of more than three bishops in tenth- and eleventh-century England. Moreover, in cases where several bishops can be linked to each other, a joint transmission of a name and an episcopal office is never observed. ¹¹² Only the two Wulfstans, if the link is proven, could bring to mind those episcopal dynasties known on the Continent. There is clearly no monopoly on church functions by identifiable family groups in England. Even when examples of nepotism are cited by sources, they can sometimes be analysed as narrative fictions, developed afterwards by hagiographers in order to give their saints a glorious predecessor and a renowned relative. ¹¹³

Sometimes laymen, whose role is essentially regional (sheriffs or thegns, and not ealdormen or earls), revolve around these prelates. So, apart from Oda’s brother, called Æthelstan, ¹¹⁴ we know Oswald’s brother. Oswulf is the beneficiary of several leases in Worcester, including two where his relationship to the bishop is mentioned. ¹¹⁵ A nephew of Oswald, also named Oswald, is cited in the Ramsey Chronicle. ¹¹⁶ In S 1308 and S 1340, another brother of Oswald, Æthelstan, is mentioned. We also know Gardulf, consanguineus of the bishop, thanks to the charter S 1345 of 983. Another nephew of Oswald, Ælfwine, is also cited in 988 as beneficiary of the charter S 1355. The charter S 1348 names another consanguineus of Oswald, Eadwig, whose wife, Wulfgifu, is also cited. In 966, in the charter S 1309, Oswald finally gives a lease at Hindlip to a certain Ælfhild, ‘because of their family tie’. ¹¹⁷ Regarding the next generation, in the year 1017, Wulfstan of York conceded, an estate and a salt oven to his brother, Ælfwig, with reversion to the church of Worcester. ¹¹⁸ A contemporary document keeps the trace of an agreement for the marriage between a certain Wulfric and the unnamed sister of the archbishop. ¹¹⁹ However, in another charter from the beginning of the eleventh century, Wulfstan grants the estate of Perry Wood to a matrona named Wulfgifu, possibly his sister. ¹²⁰ Another bishop of Worcester was Beorhtheah (1033–1038), previously abbot of Pershore. Beorhtheah takes advantage of his episcopal election to endow his parents in the area, as well as his brother, Æthelric, ¹²¹ or other relatives, such as Beorhtwine or Atsere. ¹²² Finally, thanks to two obituaries, we can identify the parents of Wulfstan, bishop of Worcester. The first one indicates the names of Wulfstan, ¹²³ but also of Æthelstan, his father, ¹²⁴ Wulfgifu, his mother, ¹²⁵ and Beorhtstan, his brother. ¹²⁶ In the second one, another brother of the bishop is mentioned: Ælfstan. ¹²⁷ Important as this information is, it does not give the impression of a prestigious family background for three major bishops of the early English era.

Royal Charters and the Obliteration of Family Ties

We know of links, real or imagined, but it is not the royal charters that provide us with the information. In charters and wills, I find traces of 1,083 family ties in the broad sense. Bishops are only affected by thirty-seven of these links. In most cases, we are provided with a vague link (consanguineus, propinquus, mægon) ¹²⁸ or an adelphic link. ¹²⁹ These adelphic links seldom concern bishops. S 796 is difficult to interpret due to a sentence mentioning Beorhthelm and gemini Ælwoldi episcopi, which can be understood as ‘Beorhthelm and his twin Æthelwold’ or as ‘Beorhthelm and the two bishops Æthelwold’. In both cases, the information is incompatible with the other documents and this charter itself is spurious. On the other hand, the link of consanguinity between Archbishop Stigand and Æthelmær of Elmham, quoted in S 1468, is authentic and confirmed by William of Malmesbury. ¹³⁰ The other links concern a very small number of bishops, such as Oswald of York ¹³¹ or Ælfwald of Crediton. ¹³² Most of these links come from very specific documents: wills and leases from Worcester. ¹³³ In short, the more formal the document, the less information it gives about the family background of the bishops. Royal charters thus provide 406 family ties in general, but only eight for bishops, including three for Beorhthelm of Winchester with kings Eadwig and Edgar and two for Ælfric of Canterbury with Leofric, abbot of Saint Albans. ¹³⁴ In short, charters, especially royal charters, ensure that the bishops’ family membership is erased. Only leases and wills, which are more informal, provide information. There is therefore a propensity to sanctify the bishops by making them apparently respect what their office commits them to do, particularly in the most formal and official royal charters. This is an important element of distinction, which illustrates the vows of the prelates after the reform of the tenth century. It is also a way to stress the fact that bishops owe their see to their merits and to the king, and not to their kinship.

Latinising Clerical Names

Another element of distinction can be observed in the charters. The names of ecclesiastics sometimes take a Latin ending (see Table 1).¹³⁵ To study this, the analysis should be limited to charters written in Latin and deemed to be original. This represents forty-six documents and more than 1,300 subscriptions.¹³⁶

Table 1: The endings of names in the ‘apparent original’ charters.

Among them, twenty charters provide at least one Latin ending, and only 142 Latin endings are preserved. ¹³⁷ While such endings are imposed on only 11% of names, this rate rises to 17% among clerics and 20% among bishops, and collapses to 7% among laymen. At the same time, while clerics represent a little less than 39% of the individuals listed, almost 66% of Latin endings are attributed to them. From this dual point of view, it is clear that clerics are largely privileged when it comes to Latinising names. Sometimes only one name receives a Latin ending, such as that of Ælfsige, bishop of Winchester in the 950s, or that of Germanus abbot of Ramsey in the 1000s. ¹³⁸ Conversely, in some charters, almost all the names are Latinised. In some cases, only the names of clergymen are affected by this change, as in S 1019, an apparent original of Edward the Confessor given in 1049. In this charter, the names of the first column of subscriptions, occupied by the king and his bishops and abbots, receive a Latin ending, which is not the case in the following two columns, where stand the earls and the thegns. Finally, in certain charters, it happens that clerics and laity are homonyms, and that only the names of the clerics receive the Latin ending. Thus in S 1008, an apparent original of 1045, given by Edward the Confessor to Ælfwine bishop of Winchester, the names of Ælfric Puttoc, archbishop of York, and Siweard, coadjutor at Canterbury, are given a final -us, which is not the case for their namesakes, Siward of Northumbria and the thegn Ælfric. Of course, this distinction often corresponds to the disposition of the lists in columns. However, the propensity of the prelates to appear in the first column, where names are often Latinised, induces a cohesion between all the aspects of the problem: membership of the Church results in inscription in the first column of the lists of subscribers, in an eminent position, therefore, and in the subsequent Latinisation of names. This double logic makes it possible to visibly distinguish the clerics from the laity in diplomatic writings. ¹³⁹ The sacred dimension of Latinised names is emblematic in the Life of Godric of Throckenholt, when the fisherman turned hermit ‘who at first was simply called “Godric”, ever after and to this day is called “Brother Godricus”’. ¹⁴⁰ In this life, written in the twelfth century about a local saint born before 1066, we can see that entering the eremitic life involves a conventional Latinisation of the name, which suggests a form of sacredness.

Titles

This sacredness is also indicated by the adoption of a title. It is true in the charters, where the names of the bishops are, most often, accompanied by their title. In the 132 charters they have written, they conventionally describe themselves as episcopus (twenty-one occurrences), presul (eighteen occurrences) or biscop (nineteen occurrences) and, if they are metropolitan, as archipresul (twenty-two occurrences), archiepiscopus (seventeen occurrences) and arcebiscop (fourteen occurrences). Oswald of York, in particular, seems to appreciate presul and archipresul. In the ninety-four charters addressed to bishops by kings, they are described simply as biscop (fifty-five occurrences), episcopus (twelve occurrences), arcebiscop (fourteen occurrences) or archiepiscopus (three occurrences).

Thus, bishops and clerics most often have their family background erased by our documentation, so that it is often impossible to link them with aristocratic groups or episcopal dynasties. These family ties are particularly rare in royal charters, which also display a certain tendency to sanctify their person by Latinising their names and giving them a title referring to their function. However, it would be presumptuous, as the exceptions exist in the diplomatic corpus itself, to generalise such a statement by applying it to other interactions.

HIDDEN MEANINGS AND SPECIAL ONOMASTIC PRACTICES

Do the charters allow us to find names with a specific meaning or onomastic practices specific to ecclesiastics? We can first highlight the cases in which a name change is described in normative, liturgical or narrative texts. Therefore, consideration should be given to cases where two juxtaposed names suggest that there was a change and an alternative use of one of the names. Finally, the use of certain names, by their connotation or their etymology, seems so unusual in the sociolinguistic context of the island that we are tempted to interpret them as cloister names, even when the documentation does not specify it. This remark is largely valid for the Latin and Biblical names studied above, particularly when the person in question originally bore a name of Norse origin.

The Taste for Translation and Etymologies

Before getting to the heart of the matter, it is important to understand how one can simultaneously assign particular importance to the names of clerics (sacralisation by the titles, the Latinisation and the erasure of the family links), when more meaningful choices were not made, for instance from the massive selection of Latin and Biblical names available. For me, an important part of this situation has to do with the important place that the English language plays in early English history. In the famous Preface to Gregory’s Pastoral Care, ¹⁴¹ Alfred states that in his time few people ‘could translate a letter from Latin into English’ and nor could they ‘understand anything in [books], because they were not written in their own language’. Relying on the absolute necessity for clerics to transmit knowledge, he enjoins them to abandon ‘worldly affairs’ in order to translate texts ‘needful for all men to know’, as did the ‘Greeks’, the ‘Romans’ and ‘other Christian peoples’, ‘into that language that we all can understand’. He himself claims to have set an example by starting to ‘translate into English the book that is called in Latin Pastoralis’. Subsequently, other texts were translated, during his reign, soon after or during the tenth century. ¹⁴² In sum, there is a strong tradition of translation, including sacred texts, in ninth- to eleventh-century England.

To these translations must be added a second strong tendency, which is the taste for etymology. ¹⁴³ The names carry a meaning and are almost definitions of their bearer’s character, ¹⁴⁴ through what Claude Buridant calls an ‘ontological etymology’. ¹⁴⁵ This process includes the fate of the bearer in his name. At the same time, the exegetical meaning that can be given to the story in which they are inserted is carried by these names, ¹⁴⁶ as suggested by the parallel desire of Isidore (and of Jerome before him) to make the biblical names explicit. ¹⁴⁷ Knowing the etymology, Isidore teaches us the ‘causes’ which are at the basis of things. ¹⁴⁸ To do this, he does not hesitate to distort the words so that the names may coincide with the meaning he wants to give them.

Playing with the Names and their Meanings

Such a tradition exists in England, as Bede makes explicit with Felix of Dunwich († c. 648): ‘as his name signified, he freed the whole of this kingdom from long-lasting evil and unhappiness, brought it to the faith and to the works of righteousness and bestowed on it the gift of everlasting felicity’. ¹⁴⁹ Therefore, writers sometimes play with their names, adopting Latin pseudonyms that are outright translations from Old English. This is the case for two clerics: Heahstan, a late eighth-century cleric, is called Alta Petra by Alcuin, ¹⁵⁰ and Wulfstan, an eleventh-century archbishop, legislator and homilist, called himself Lupus. ¹⁵¹ This is also the case for the secular chronicler Æthelweard at the end of the tenth century, who signs his text Patricius Quaestor. ¹⁵² The use of etymologies is also very common in the writings of his protégé, Ælfric of Eynsham. ¹⁵³

In late Anglo-Saxon England, hagiographers are used to explaining the saints’ lives through qualities contained in their names. In the Narratio metrica S. Swithuni, Wulfstan of Winchester states that Bishop Æthelwold was a ‘renowned bishop – worthy in merit and name’. ¹⁵⁴ A few years later, the same author, in his Vita Æthelwoldi, takes up the same idea, stressing that he was ‘well-intentioned in name, mind, and deed’. ¹⁵⁵ Obviously, this assertion has a meaning and it is an etymological pun on the name of the holy bishop: æthel, ‘noble’, and wold, probably an echo of wolde, the past form of willan, ‘to want’. In his Vita Dunstani, William of Malmesbury also characterises Dunstan, archbishop of Canterbury, as ‘firm as his name suggested’, ¹⁵⁶ which he explains at the beginning of his text:

He was given the name Dunstan, which means both ‘mountain’ and ‘rock’: a fitting omen of what was to come, because in both respects he followed the footsteps of our Saviour, showing himself a mountain by the grandeur of his virtues and a rock by the firmness of his faith. ¹⁵⁷

This idea is not his own, however, since he takes it from Adelard of Gand, who also emphasises that Dunstan ‘lived up to his name “Mountain Stone”: immovable as a mountain, like a stone joined to the cornerstone, he could not be shifted’, ¹⁵⁸ while Eadmer of Canterbury report this etymology without inferring anything from it. ¹⁵⁹

By playing on words, even if it changes their meaning, particularly through paronomasias, most authors attribute to Oda of Canterbury in the mid-tenth century, the nickname ‘bonus’, which makes sense in Old English: Oda se goda, Oda ‘the good’. If this nickname belongs to other bishops ¹⁶⁰ or archbishops, ¹⁶¹ the nickname is all the more official as Oda bears it in most sources, especially from the eleventh century, in an episcopal list ¹⁶² and in the bilingual epitome of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. ¹⁶³ Byrhtferth of Ramsey points out that Oda was rightly named, that ‘his life brilliantly reflected the correctness of his nickname’, ¹⁶⁴ as Eadmer of Canterbury and William of Malmesbury confirm. ¹⁶⁵ Finally, in a very similar way, Edith [Eadgyth] of Wilton benefits from a similar comment from Goscelin of Saint-Bertin. The hagiographer attributes to her the popular nickname of Bona, that is to say Goda, in Old English, whose proximity to the second theme of her name will be noted: Gytha se goda. ¹⁶⁶ Here too, paronomasia justifies a nickname by bringing it closer to its name and by emphasising the unanimity of the public about this quality.

It is by building on this proven tradition that Michael Lapidge proposes a solution to a riddle posed by the Liber Eliensis, with the ‘Sigedwoldus (sic) episcopus natione Grecus’. ¹⁶⁷ This bishop, otherwise unknown, is described as Greek, but has an Old English name. Lapidge identifies him with Nikephoros, bishop of Heraclea, driven out by Emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus in 956, explaining this name as a term-for-term translation of Nike-phoros, ‘the carrier of victory’, in Old English. ¹⁶⁸ The fact that a late source mentions an otherwise unknown bishop from an exotic region with a local name is sufficient to consider Sigewold as a product of the scribe’s imagination. However, the taste for translation and etymology make Lapidge’s hypothesis plausible.

If we accept it, we can imagine other puns, which would then have the merit of explaining the relative popularity among clerics of name-elements such as sige, ‘victory’ (equivalent of the Latin Victor and of the Greek Nike-), god and os, ‘God’ (equivalent of Hebrew -iel and Greek Theo-), stan, ‘stone’ (equivalent of the Latin Petrus), or wine, ‘friend’ (equivalent to the Greek -philos). In this case, a name like Oswald, ‘God-power’, becomes an almost term-to-term translation of the Hebrew Gabriel, ‘God is powerful’. ¹⁶⁹ This is quite unlikely, as it would imply a good level of Latin, Greek or Hebrew, which was by no means guaranteed at the time. Nonetheless, such equivalence is attested in the Wessex Gospels: ‘ðu eart Petrus, and ofer þysne stan ic getimbrige mine cyricean’. ¹⁷⁰ The biblical citation is based on the equivalence between a personal name and a lexeme with its own specific meaning, which resembles both wordplay and a resemantisation of the Apostle’s name, whether in Aramaic, Greek, or Latin: ‘tu es Petrus et super hanc petram’, etc. This equivalence does not exist in Old English, but the maintenance of the syntactic structure establishes the equivalence between the Latin name and the Old English common noun. Likewise, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Sigeric, who is not a saint, receives similar attention from Wulfstan, who designates him ‘through his pleasing name [as] a “victor mighty” in honour, a victor resplendent in his authority’, ¹⁷¹ thus skilfully interpreting his name as sige, ‘victory’, ric, ‘powerful’. The possibilities offered by the ability of certain authors to navigate fluently between vernacular names and their Greek or Latin equivalents are endless, but above all impossible to prove.

Double Names

It is then preferable to return to clear-cut situations. The use of double names, especially among clerics and monks, suggests that one of these two names may in fact be a cloister name. ¹⁷² Among the eleventh-century bishops, two cases seem particularly favourable to this analysis: the archbishops of Canterbury Ælfheah (1006–1012) and Ælfstan (1013–1020). As in the examples from the archaic period cited above, these ecclesiastical dignitaries bear a nomen proprium in the vernacular. But Ælfheah ‘had been given another name, Godwine’, ¹⁷³ while Ælfstan was also called Lyfing. In the second case, the narrative and diplomatic witnesses are numerous; ¹⁷⁴ in both cases, they are genuine. However, unlike the examples cited by Bede, the second name is vernacular. The first, Godwine, is very popular; the second, Lyfing, is much rarer. Nevertheless, both of them may have obvious religious connotations: Godwine can mean ‘friend of God’, that is to say Theophilus in Greek, and Lyfing may be ‘the one who believes’, ¹⁷⁵ that is to say Pius in Latin, two common names for popes and monks respectively. The coincidence is too great: two archbishops opt for double names with Christian connotations at the same moment. However, the seat of Canterbury was created on the initiative of Gregory the Great and occupied in the first place by Roman prelates: Augustine, Laurence, Mellitus, Justus, Honorius. Perhaps their successors sought to imitate them, customarily adopting second names with similar connotations, first in Latin, and then, as the vernacular comes to play a pastoral role, in Old English. Perhaps they are simply receiving these names from the Pope, when they collect their pallium. ¹⁷⁶ In this we may perhaps identify another aspect of the cultural influence of Rome in England. ¹⁷⁷ These double names are, in any case, interwoven witnesses to the weight of tradition in Canterbury, to the existence of a possible name change for archbishops, and to the role of the vernacular in this process.

Similar situations exist for clerics in late sources. John of Worcester cites a monk from Evesham, named Wulfmær, or Manni, ¹⁷⁸ while the Liber Eliensis mentions the abbot of Ely, Oscytel, by his other name, Leofwine. ¹⁷⁹ Because these people are late examples that no early English source supports, I just cite them here for the record, prefer to focus on other, unmistakably Old English examples. In the Liber Vitae of the New Minster, a priest and monk is called Wulfstan Jacob. ¹⁸⁰ The name Jacob is never used as a nomen proprium in the PASE, except in the dubious case of a Kent subregulus, which appears in a spurious charter. ¹⁸¹ Wulfstan Jacob appears among the monks of the Old Minster, with a rank (II), some ninety entries after Wulfstan I Cantor. ¹⁸² We are dealing with a double name: the first is Old English and quite common, the second is the Latin form of a Hebrew name, with a strong religious connotation. A reference to Patriarch Jacob in Genesis, or most probably to the Jacob (i.e. James) of the New Testament is very probable. Adopting such a nickname/second name naturally brings him closer to the early saints of Christianity.

Likewise, in Canterbury, the epitaph of a certain Eadsige/Gerald was found: ‘Here is interred Eadzie or Ge[r]ald, son of Edward, who died in Christ on the 13th calends of June [May 19]’. ¹⁸³ The phenomenon of variation which associates the name Eadsige with the name of the father, Eadward, suggests that this name is the nomen proprium of the person buried. As a result, Gerald is his second name. The name Gerald is vernacular, but Continental Germanic. ¹⁸⁴ It is, like most of the examples cited above, very rare in the late Anglo-Saxon era. ¹⁸⁵ The religious connotation of this name is plausible. Three saints might be referred to by this choice: Gerald of Mayo, an eighth-century Northumbrian saint, close to Colman of Lindisfarne, who migrated to Ireland following the Synod of Whitby in order to become abbot there; Gerald of Aurillac is an aristocratic Auvergne saint, celebrated on 13 October and well-known since the writing of his Vita by Odo of Cluny, around 930–931 (BHL 3411); ¹⁸⁶ Gerald (or rather Gerard) of Toul was bishop of Toul in the middle of the tenth century, but was not canonised until 1050, to be celebrated on 23 April. ¹⁸⁷ In the early medieval liturgical calendars, only that of the Leofric Missal celebrates Girald c., on 13 October, which suggests that the revered saint is that of Aurillac, especially since he is designated as confessor (and not as abbot or bishop). ¹⁸⁸ As such, of course, Gerald is more Christian than Eadsige ¹⁸⁹ and a rather appropriate and conventional name for a layman entering the religious state. The Leofric Missal calendar originates from Glastonbury ¹⁹⁰ or Canterbury. ¹⁹¹ It was written in the second part of the tenth century. In this sense, he can arguably be associated with Dunstan, who was Abbot of Glastonbury, and then Archbishop of Canterbury. The movement of ecclesiastical reform to which Dunstan belongs is, moreover, close to what Odo of Cluny undertook at the same time on the Continent. ¹⁹² From this point of view, the reference to Gerald of Aurillac in England is neither absurd nor surprising. It remains to be seen what the identity of this Eadsige was. Several obituaries from the early English period retain the memory of an Eadsige, Gerard or Geldward. ¹⁹³ Among these namesakes is an Archbishop of Canterbury: Eadsige (1038–1050). We do not know a second name for this archbishop and he died on the 5th of the calends of November (28 October). ¹⁹⁴ Nevertheless, a brother of this Archbishop is known, Eadwine; ¹⁹⁵ the variation around the prototheme Ead- would then validate the identification with Eadsige and Eadwine, sons of Eadward. However the discrepancy between the two dates may indicate either that the documents refer to different men, or that the dates refer to different facts. In this case, there would be a death in Christ (obiit in Christo) on the one hand, that is, entry into the monastery, and a physical death on the other. It is unlikely, however, that an entry into a monastery resulted in the erection of a memorial, unless the person commemorated was particularly important. This would indicate our archbishop of Canterbury, but it is then curious that this rank is not recorded in the inscription itself, that the archbishop did not bear this second name during his reign ¹⁹⁶ and that he took a name particularly suited to a late conversion. At a minimum, we have here a double name, totally vernacular, with the second again bearing a religious connotation.

Cloister Names and Episcopal Names

These cognomina suggest cases in which the cloister name or the regnal name completely obliterates the baptismal name. As before, the first difficulty lies in the silence of the sources. Only one example addresses this problem: a gold ring found in Bossington, Hampshire. The inscription affixed to it indicates such a name change: ‘In Christ my name was changed to Culla’. ¹⁹⁷ The date of the artefact is uncertain, but Elisabeth Okasha fixes it between the ninth and tenth centuries. ¹⁹⁸ In the Liber Vitae of the New Minster, ¹⁹⁹ one of the local priests and monks is named Ælfweard culla. As this man is listed among the monks living during the period 964–1030, both mentions may refer to the same person. We have again a double name, the first of which is common and the second bears religious connotations. Indeed, culla (or cuculla) designates the monastic cowl and, by derivation, the monk himself. ²⁰⁰ The idea of a change of name when entering a religious life is then confirmed.

Unfortunately, apart from this example, whether the document is liturgical, conciliar or homiletic, there is, to my knowledge, no mention of any custom, no ritual, let alone any obligation to effect such a change in tenth- and eleventh-century England. When the documents tell us about the precise moment of the conversio – entry into a monastery or clerical order – there is never any mention of such a change. Among the best-informed examples, we can cite the case of the three canons of Winchester, driven out by Bishop Æthelwold when he replaced the secular clerics of his cathedral with monks. Following the relocation of the relics of Holy Bishop Swithun, these three men, Eadsige, Wulfsige and Wilstan, undergo a conversion and are subsequently reinstated in the Old Minster. They then agree to wear the monastic habit. Now, in hagiographical texts devoted to Swithun, ²⁰¹ as in the list of the brothers of the Old Minster which was copied in 1031 in the Liber Vitae of the New Minster, these three names appear as they are, without any change and close to each other, in accordance with the probable order of their entry into the community. ²⁰²

In some cases, hagiographic sources even specify that the name we know was given by the parents:

After the birth of the child, his parents called him Æthelwold, while he was purified by the most holy baptism. ²⁰³

The future bishop of God was born; he was called by his parents Æthelwold. ²⁰⁴

Of course, Ælfric’s text, the source of the first quotation, is a short version of the life written by Wulfstan, that of the second. However, the two authors agree on the association of the events, while granting to the parents of Æthelwold the full choice of the name. The texts from the Anglo-Norman period agree on this point. ²⁰⁵ Based on these occurrences, it seems difficult to question the hagiographic texts which claim that the names of bishops were given by their parents, ²⁰⁶ even if the hypothesis of a name change is attractive.

We may therefore assume that these changes occurred sporadically. Some scholars evoke the incongruity of the name of another archbishop of Canterbury in the tenth century: Theodred. This name, unusual in England, but common on the Continent, could be a name adopted late, upon entering into orders, by a Dane converted to Christianity; ²⁰⁷ to defend this hypothesis, Hart also emphasises his connection to Athulf of Elmham and Oda of Canterbury. A similar name change was identified in a completely different context, but with the same effect. Wulfsige bishop of Cornwall, during King Edgar’s time, is known by that name in Charters S 830 and S 832. Nevertheless, in a gloss inserted in the Manumissions of Bodmin, his name is glossed by the Cornish name Comoere. ²⁰⁸ The existence of this dual name was recently confirmed by David Pelteret through spectrographic analysis of other documents. ²⁰⁹ This case confirms the importance of such a name change, including within a cultural group that converted to Christianity a long time ago, as well as the obliteration of the original ‘foreign’ name.

Another case, slightly later, withstands a similar analysis, but with arguably better arguments than Theodred: this is Oda, Archbishop of Canterbury (941–958). It is known from Byrhtferth that Oda left his family, because it was Danish, arguably pagan, and had come to England with Ubbe and Ivarr. ²¹⁰ The name Oda is extremely rare in England: PASE, excluding coins and Domesday Book, has only three examples, all named after the Archbishop. Michael Lapidge therefore analyses this name as a sign of his Danish heritage: Oddr or Oddi; ²¹¹ but no charter attests to such a spelling. During the same period, Byrhtferth tells us that Oda had been a monk in Fleury-sur-Loire. ²¹² It is impossible to date Oda’s presence in this monastery, or even to prove it. Oda appears in charters in 927, but many documents in the 920s are questionable and poorly dated. ²¹³ Based on the most solid sources, we can determine his absences and therefore the dates when he could have been on the Continent: before 928, around 929, around 934 or around 936. Catherine Cubitt and Marios Costambeys consider 929 as the most plausible solution, with an end marked by S 403, in April 930, since it is the first absolutely impeccable charter we have about Oda. ²¹⁴ We know that Fleury was reformed by the Cluniacs and Odo of Cluny himself was abbot of Fleury in the year 930. ²¹⁵ The fact that Odo and Oda could have crossed paths in Fleury, and their similar adherence to the monastic reform party, implicitly raises the question of the name of Oda himself: perhaps he entered religion in the presence of Odo or took the name for himself when he became bishop, in memory of the great Cluniac reformer. In this sense, the name Oda could be a second name, with a strong religious connotation, that indicates that he belongs to the monastic world. The fact that the name is attested in 928, in S 400, seems to oppose this solution, but this is the only serious obstacle. Indeed, the spelling of his name in the ‘apparent original charters’ always conforms to the continental form of the name, with a single d, while the Old English form more usual at the time, Odda, appears only once, in S 527. Better still, in most charters, it is the Continental-Germanic Odo form that appears in witness-lists. Nevertheless, this spelling can also be analysed as a Latinisation of the name, whereas, in the ‘apparent originals’, the spelling is always Oda. ²¹⁶ In this case, it may be Oda’s nomen proprium that has been forgotten, perhaps because it marked too visibly his links with a Danish and pagan family. Name-change would then have really made it possible to break away from the family context. Name given at birth, cloister name or episcopal name, it is impossible to say, but the hypothesis of a name change is not entirely absurd.

Thus, among the archbishops of Canterbury, as among the monks, from the time of Bede to the Norman Conquest, there seems to have been a tradition of adopting a second name, at the time of the enthronement or at the time of entry into religion. In these cases, the first name is supplemented, or even replaced, by a name whose meaning testifies to the religious virtues of the person. Inevitably, we only know of cases in which the two names are cited jointly by one source. But it is very likely that in other situations only one name has been preserved. As a result, it is very difficult to judge the extent of this phenomenon. If several traces, from various documents, attest to it, they remain very marginal for the monks. As for the archbishops, the hypothesis seems very plausible and would then mirror what Richard Sharpe suggests for the period of the conversion.

CONCLUSIONS

Clergymen have a set of names that are mostly based on the same themes as the names of the laity. From this point of view, there is no real distinction between the two. Nevertheless, the lists of names and the grammatical form that these names receive, at least in the royal charters (Latin case inflection) give a specific character to the names of ecclesiastics. So there could be a distinction that subtly associates the status of some people and the type of names they bear. However, our calculations are fragile, insofar as they are based on the silence of the sources as to the names used by the majority of the population (who are anonymous to us). In addition, such a concentration, if not the result of chance, would mean that such names were given willingly by parents as names for the clergy. On the Continent, aristocratic groups often selected names specific to the children who were destined for divine service, because they already controlled the most important ecclesiastical offices. It is impossible to say that the situation was the same in early medieval England, because we cannot find that kind of name in the aristocratic family trees, and probably because the kings always retained a form of control over the choice of incumbents for the most important ecclesiastical offices. ²¹⁷ The other solution is that there were among them some cloister names. Changes of name seem well attested, particularly for the monks and for the archbishops, if not for bishops in the broader sense. By entering into orders, or at the time of being elected, it is quite likely that one could change his name in order to mark a break with the world or in order to best embody an eminent function within the Church. The adoption of names with religious connotations, in Latin or in the vernacular, the existence of double names, the choice of New Testament or early Christian names are all convincing clues. Nevertheless, it remains very difficult to highlight the extent of these phenomena, which sometimes give the impression of being marginal. ²¹⁸