The epigraph to Lucy Grig’s introduction comes from that magisterial scholar of post-classical Roman society, Samuel Dill, lamenting the difficulty of the enterprise that G. has now undertaken with renewed vigour a century later, namely writing about the life of the common people at the very end of antiquity. ‘The most penetrating imagination, with the fullest learning, could never wake to life that dim, sunken mass who dragged out their lives in indigence, with no hope, and probably no desire, of any change.’ For his part, Dill attempted to glean what he could from incidental details in Venantius Fortunatus, Gregory of Tours and assorted saints’ lives, in which the common people are indeed no more than grey extras, there to menace or applaud the protagonist alternately, as required. Drawing inspiration from scholars of popular culture in other periods such as Peter Burke and Robert Orsi, G. seeks to add contours and colour to this amorphous mass, to give us a sense of what culture may have enriched the seemingly drab existence of the serfs and coloni in this period, or, as she puts it, ‘to restore visibility and agency to the individuals, societies and communities who made up the congregations (or indeed, did not) of Caesarius and his colleagues’ (2). Her source material differs from Dill’s in two key respects, giving a sense of just how much scholarship has advanced in the intervening century. Firstly, as a result of excavations carried out and published within the last 30 years, material culture and archaeological evidence are included. Secondly, reflecting recent trends in scholarship, G. emphasises pastoral texts, including but not limited to the sermons of Caesarius of Arles, in which the spiritual well-being of the flock was the primary concern. Although these still provide a top-down perspective, sources in which the commoner is a central rather than peripheral figure can serve as a basis from which a penetrating and learned imagination could, if not wake to life, then at least summon and interrogate the shades of popular culture.
Excepting the introduction and conclusion, the book is divided into five substantive chapters, one on urban life, one on the countryside, one on ‘the view from the pulpit’, one on ‘lived religion’ and finally a case study of the festival of the Kalends of January, which, despite being an overhaul of earlier work, neatly ties together the earlier strands. Although the chapters inform each other to some extent, with ample cross-references, they are largely independent studies, each drawing on its own source material and utilising different methodology, and can fruitfully be read separately. The chronological and geographical scope is Southern Gaul, especially Provence, in the years 400–550, but G. often ranges beyond these boundaries in search of continuities and comparanda.
Ch. 3 opens with a page and a half about the vexed case of the Bagaudae, who have been seen as everything from a revolutionary throng roaming through the countryside to a localised and marginal band of brigands (73–4). After this aporetic introduction, G. transitions to a group which reputedly was associated with the Bagaudae, the pastores, whose livelihood has now been illustrated by the archaeological record and documentary evidence. This is illustrative of G.’s approach, a shift away from named figures, groups and movements who have received disproportionate scholarly attention.
G.’s work reflects a change in sympathies and perspectives in modern academia, shifting from the hectoring cleric to his congregation. For all that Salvian presents himself as pauper, we are reminded that he does not offer a truly subaltern perspective (81), to say nothing of the difficulties involved in relying on a blue-blooded author writing in an intra-elite context, such as Sidonius Apollinaris (64). G.’s emphasis on the marginalised naturally presents evidentiary challenges, so variants of the phrase ‘we cannot know’ sometimes occur multiple times in a single paragraph. This demonstrates the difficulties inherent in applying the anthropological frameworks of Bourdieu or Orsi, created for periods where the evidence is much less fragmentary. The ancient historian is often reduced to relying on the comparative method — with its myriad pitfalls — and inferences based on a handful of data points. That being the case, one might have wished that the restrictions on the period, area and class of people under investigation were loosened somewhat. Martin of Braga’s De Correctione Rusticorum and Gregory of Tours’s shrine miracles would have benefited from fuller consideration, as would the limited but extant epigraphic material from the period, which is primarily noted for its relative absence compared to earlier periods (49–51).
Ch. 5 contains an account of the practice of bathing on the Feast of St John the Baptist. We know it was widespread because it was widely condemned by churchmen. Their perspective is rejected: ‘William Klingshirn’s interpretation, which views the participants as active agents constructing their own form of communal, local religion, purposively, in their adaptation of a traditional bathing activity, in a new blending of the church and agricultural calendars, is the right one’ (158). While the term ‘syncretism’ might here have suggested itself to the student of religious history, it is relegated to a footnote in favour of ‘creolisation’ and ‘bricolage’, with their post-colonial and post-structuralist connotations (159). This represents a significant revalorisation of the available evidence, although it is not always clear what new insight the adoption of a new label confers. Ultimately, that practices such as this one reflect agency and purposeful challenges to norms imposed top-down, as opposed to passive cultural inertia, must be posited rather than demonstrated (171–2), a natural limitation when working exclusively from external and material evidence.
Such quibbles notwithstanding, G.’s work is immensely learned, showing a broad mastery of the relevant literature and available evidence. It demonstrates a real knack for weaving together the disparate strands of ancient scholarship — philology, history and archaeology — into an impressive if at times somewhat tattered tapestry. The attentive reader will obtain a clearer and more sympathetic image of the life of an ordinary Gallo-Roman.
