Firey Review, Part II/2: More on Hamilton 132 and ‘Collaboration’

Introduction here. 

Part I here.

Part II/1 here.

Firey advances four arguments to convince us that Hamilton 132 is the product of collaboration. First, she finds problems with the traditional explanation that Caroline scribes in Hamilton 132 are reworking a Dionysio-Hadriana to look more like a Hispana:

The Hispana has a set of Gallican councils not in the Dionysiana, and also a substantial sequence of about fifteen Spanish councils. … If the Caroline scriptorium were updating or expanding a Dionysiana to make it more like an Hispana, it would be the Caroline scriptorium that added the Gallican and Spanish councils to the manuscript. The Gallican councils, however, are in “a-b” script, and the Spanish councils are in both Caroline and “a-b” script. What the Caroline scriptorium added were the sorts of supplementary texts…that often get appended to canon law codices to enhance their intertextual value (45-46).

Three pages prior to these remarks, Firey acknowledges that the Collectio Sancti Amandi was a collection of Gallican and Spanish councils assembled to supplement the Dionysio-Hadriana, available in at least two manuscripts besides Hamilton 132.[1] When Gallican councils in a-b script or Spanish councils in a-b script occur in Hamilton 132, it turns out that they are always from the Collectio Sancti Amandi. This observation is the basis of the standard characterization of Hamilton 132 as a Collectio Dionysio-Hadriana cum Collectione Sancti Amandi that has been expanded with Hispana material. Again, just to be totally clear: Because the Collectio Sancti Amandi contains Gallican and Hispanic councils, a-b scribes sometimes copy Gallican or Hispanic conciliar texts, which they have from the Collectio Sancti Amandi. The Caroline scribes do add “supplementary texts,” but they also add a substantial amount of canonical material from the interpolated Hispana.

Firey has a second point in favor of collaboration:

The evidence that seems to controvert the possibility that the Caroline portions were inserted in an independent, later process is in the pricking and ruling of the codex. The pricking and ruling seem to reflect the existence of two, separate scriptoria. The ‘a-b’ leaves are ruled in a particular way: four pricks and lines for the center boundaries of the columns; the Caroline leaves, although ruled for the same text space and also for the same forty-two lines per column, show a much simpler form in the column boundaries (single rather than double lines). The matching text spaces and number of lines do, however, suggest co-ordination. Again, the Caroline leaves could have been planned later specifically to match the codex that was to be updated. At several points, however, the Caroline scripts are on leaves that are pricked and ruled in the ‘a-b’ style. That suggests that some parchment was passed from the ‘a-b’ scriptorium at the time of the ‘a-b’ transcription to the Caroline scriptorium for use in the same codex…. (46-7)

In a footnote that sometimes confuses which leaves in Hamilton 132 have a-b and which have Caroline text, Firey explains that the “a-b” ruling is evident on Caroline folios 31, 33 through 49, 40 through 51, and 56 through 61. After considering explanations for this phenomenon that do not involve “collaboration,” Firey concludes:

Simultaneous production in two different, co-operating scriptoria seems more likely, and fits with Bishop’s analysis of other manuscripts showing similar combinations of “a-b” and Caroline script.

As for Bishop, we have seen that he explicitly rejected collaboration between the a-b and Caroline scriptoria at Corbie. But however that may be, there is nothing inherently “a-b” about double bounding lines, beyond their association with a-b scribes in this specific codex. With that point in mind, the worst we can do to Firey’s argument is put it in simpler terms: According to Firey, the a-b scribes always write on folios with double bounding lines. Also according to Firey, the Caroline scribes generally write on more simply ruled parchment, but sometimes their parchment is also ruled with double bounding lines. You may decide for yourself whether and to what degree traditional views of Hamilton 132 are refuted by this observation.

Firey has a third argument:

Finally, as evidence for apparently simultaneous production, fol. 44r has two corrections, which appear to be made at the same moment, to judge by the system of symbols for insertion of the correction, the size and pen-angle of the scripts, and the ink. One, however, is in Caroline minuscule, and one is in ‘a-b.’ Either they were made by a person who could switch script styles readily, or by two persons who may have passed the same quill back and fort at a final phase of proof-reading’ (48).

From Firey’s own reproduction of fol. 44r (fig. 1 at page 76), we can see that a Caroline scribe has supplied one omission in the upper margin, while an a-b scribe has supplied another in the lower margin. The tie signs are different, the module is different, and the pen-angle is different. As for the ink, the relative colors are hard to judge in black-and-white. Even if all these things were the same, though, would we be compelled to imagine script switching or quill passing? What has become of Firey’s skepticism in the face of other scholars’ argumentation? Here, it seems that the only thing we can say with certainty is that the Caroline corrector and the a-b corrector worked after the main text  on fol. 44r had been written.

Firey has an ultimate point:

Furthermore, in several instances, the Caroline hands transcribe material from the Dionysiana that is not in the HGA as represented in Vat. lat. 1341: at some point, the ‘a-b’ exemplar would seem to have been passed to the Caroline scriptorium for final revisions to Hamilton 132.

This is another observation that does not compel anybody to posit collaboration in the production of Hamilton 132. Otherwise, the phenomenon Firey notices has an explanation, but it does not lie in the putative circulation of exemplars between scriptoria. We will look at one instance in which Caroline scribes copy Dionysio-Hadriana text, highlighted by Firey in support of this final point, to explain how it came to be that Caroline scribes, adding Hispana material to a Dionysio-Hadriana manuscript, found themselves in the position, occasionally, of recopying Dionysio-Hadriana material. Here I am dependent upon Paul Hinschius’s study.[2]

At fol. 106, Caroline scribes copy J3 1182, a decretal of Simplicius from the Dionysio-Hadriana that is not present in the Hispana. Why do they do so? We must begin by recognizing, along with Firey, that Hamilton 132 is badly misbound. The folios that ought to precede 106 are therefore not the folios that actually precede it in the present binding; rather, the immediate sequence begins at fol. 96 and continues through fols. 97, 104, 105 and then finally 106. All but fol. 106 are a-b folios. On fol. 96 we have the beginning of the Hilarius decretals from the Dionysio-Hadriana (though these letters recur in the Hispana as well), and this sequence continues through fols. 97, 104 and 105. Yet the Hispana has more Hilarius letters than the Dionysio-Hadriana, and so at fol. 105 our Caroline redactors erase the beginning of the Simplicius dossier that originally followed Hilarius in their Dionysio-Hadriana, in order to create more room for Hispana supplements. These supplements have to go here if the chronological order is to be maintained and the Hilarius material is to be kept together, all in one block. The Caroline scribes then continue to add two pieces of Simplicius correspondence from the Hispana, directly after their Hispana supplements to the Hilarius decretals. Then, finally, they recopy the Simplicius decretal from the Dionysio-Hadriana, J3 1182, that they obliterated to make way for their expansions to Hilarius. They do this on fol. 106, which is tipped in.

The process of supplementing chronologically arranged canonical collections, in other words, occasionally required both cutting and pasting to maintain the pope-by-pope sequence of decretals. This implies nothing about collaboration, though in this case it does show that the Caroline scribes wished to retain Dionysio-Hadriana material alongside their supplementary Hispana texts.

[1] See Kéry, Canonical Collections of the Early Middle Ages (Washington DC, 1999), 84.

[2] Die kanonistischen Handschriften der Hamilton’schen Sammlung im Kupferstich-Kabinett des königlichen Museums zu Berlin, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 6 (1884), 193-246, at 228.

Firey Review, Part II/1: The Production of Berlin, Hamilton 132

Introduction here.

Part I of this review here.

The connection between Firey’s argument about the origins of Pseudo-Isidore and her analysis of Hamilton 132 is unclear. She writes only that “…[A] more complex model of production, transmission, interpretation or use, and further transmission than was proposed by Zechiel-Eckes may be advisable” (36). Hamilton 132 is presumably adduced to illustrate this point. After pages of analysis, Firey concludes that

Hamilton 132 parallels other [Corbie manuscripts discussed by T.A.M. Bishop] that show collaboration between a team of ‘a-b’ and a team of Caroline minuscule scribes for the book trade. … These pieces of evidence all add up to a reasonable probability that Hamilton 132 was compiled from the work of two segregated teams of scribes working simultaneously, or nearly so, to produce rapidly a comprehensive collection of conciliar canons and papal decretals (49).

For the purposes of her secondary argument, Firey is able to forget her concerns about the vagaries of manuscript provenance. Here her analysis assumes the origins of Hamilton 132 at Corbie or an immediately affiliated center, even though we have just had to read a great deal about traveling codices and the underestimated currency of a-b minuscule in Carolingian Gaul.

Otherwise, Firey’s deeper point is less apparent than it could be. At Cologne in 2013, she argued openly that the nuns at Notre-Dame de Soissons, a Corbie daughter house, may have been responsible for the a-b minuscule in Hamilton 132. By insisting on collaboration between the Caroline and a-b scribes, Firey could therefore associate the nuns at Soissons with the propagation of Pseudo-Isidorian material, and perhaps even implicate the nuns in the forgery. Here that point is very much played down, indeed almost elided, except for some summary remarks at page 53.

Two weaknesses undermine Firey’s argument from the outset:

1) The a-b hands at work in Hamilton 132 never copy any Pseudo-Isidorian materials, or even any materials associated with the interpolated Hispana. These hands only ever copy texts from the Collectio Dionysio-Hadriana and the associated Collectio Sancti Amandi. The only hands copying Pseudo-Isidorian texts in Hamilton 132 are Caroline. This is a simple matter of observation and utterly beyond dispute.

2) The Caroline scribes in Hamilton 132 work secondary to the a-b scribes. The Caroline scribes correct a-b scribes, for example, while the a-b scribes never correct their supposedly Caroline collaborators. Caroline scribes write on tipped-in folios and extra bifolios that have been added to Hamilton 132, while in every instance that the original form of the codex is intact enough to permit a determination, it is plain to see that the a-b scribes write on what were once regularly constructed gatherings. Caroline scribes frequently write over erasure, and sometimes traces of an underlying palimpsest a-b script are still visible; in other instances the Caroline scribes have erased only part of a folio, and their corrected text occurs alongside the earlier a-b script. In no case do a-b scribes write over palimpsest Caroline script. Finally, Caroline scribes write with an awareness of a-b material, sometimes altering module or layout to fit their text into the space remaining before the next a-b unit picks up. The a-b scribes, meanwhile, never exhibit any awareness of the Caroline folios.

Firey is aware of this evidence. Thus she writes that “The Caroline portions of the codex were clearly written to mesh with the ‘a-b’ portions” (46), and elsewhere she remarks in a passing characterization of her posited collaborative process that “the Caroline scriptorium…seems to have often been a bit behind!” By this she means that Caroline scribes alter a-b material but never the reverse, and might thus be conceived of as tardy collaborators. At a few other telling moments, she writes that the a-b and Caroline portions were copied “almost simultaneously” (44), or that they worked “simultaneously, or nearly so” (49). At root, then, Firey seems not to dispute that the Caroline scribes worked after the a-b scribes. She merely wants to shrink the amount of time that intervened between the products of these scriptoria to a small enough period that “collaboration” would seem a fair characterization of the process.

This is as appropriate a point as any to note that Bernhard Bischoff dates the a-b minuscule in Hamilton 132 to the beginning of the ninth century, and the Carolingian additions (which he characterizes as subsequent to and a reworking of the original a-b codex) to the second third of the ninth century.[1] Firey cites this very passage from Bischoff but appears to misunderstand its import, arbitrarily assigning his s. IX 2/3 date to the concluding folios of Hamilton 132 only (37 with note 66). Bischoff’s description, though, clearly states that the Caroline scribes who rework the a-b folios date to “s. IX1” and “s. IX2,” or the first and second halves of the ninth century. Elsewhere, when he summarizes the date of the Caroline scribal activity to “saec. IX 2/3,” he is simply splitting the difference.

Firey appears to misrepresent the arguments of at least one other scholar as well. The point of departure for much of her analysis of Hamilton 132 is, as we saw in Part I of this review, T.A.M. Bishop’s essay on “The Scribes of Corbie a-b.” She therefore writes that “Hamilton 132 parallels other manuscripts studied by Bishop that show collaboration between a team of ‘a-b’ and a team of Caroline minuscule scribes for the book trade” (49). I confess that I cannot find any passage wherein Bishop discusses the ninth-century book-trade. He does discuss the unusually frequent hand-changes in a-b manuscripts, but he draws radically different conclusions: “Holograph quires and sequences of quires, the familiar effects of apportionment, are less common in the a-b than passages of collaboration between expert and less competent scribes” (528). Many of the scribal shifts in a-b manuscripts, he goes on to argue, are essentially pedagogical.

More seriously, Bishop does not merely fail to support Firey’s theory of collaboration. He specifically rejects that the two scriptoria ever worked in this way, calling the two operations “autonomous” and “segregated” (533). He goes on:

Lowe and others have reported instances of apparently immediate partnerships between individual a-b and Caroline scribes. They are all deceptive. During the mutations of [two distinct Latin glossaries] and their lost prototype the a-b scribes left spaces, pending adjustments by the editor, and these were filled by Caroline scribes. An undefined interval may separate glosses and supplementary corrections from the text. In BN 12217…the Caroline supervenes on the work of the a-b scribes. … The a-b scribes were segregated…. (532)

Firey adopts Bishop’s characterization of the scriptoria as “segregated,” while otherwise arguing that they worked in tandem with one another, a conclusion for which Bishop’s entire thesis leaves no room.

Ahead to Part II/2 here.

[1] Katalog der festländischen Handschriften. Teil 1: Aachen – Lambach (Wiesbaden, 1998), 74.

Firey Review, Part I: On the St. Petersburg Historia Tripartita

Introduction here.

Firey believes that the origins of the St. Petersburg Historia Tripartita (F.v.I.11) are less than certain.

“Paleographers,” she writes, “have always…reminded us that the ‘a-b’ script seems to have been written at houses other than Corbie. Leslie Webber Jones suggested Amiens, Beauvais, St. Hubert in the Ardennes, St. Vaast at Arras, Compiègne, perhaps Fleury, St. Thierry…and other houses in the Paris region. In other words, ‘Corbie’ provenance may not be as certain as the short notations that often accompany shelfmarks would suggest” (31-2). Moreover, she observes that “…[B]ooks moved. Manuscripts written in ‘Corbie a-b’ ended up in libraries other than Corbie, and manuscripts written in other scripts ended up in the Corbie library” (32). The mere presence of Corbie scribes in a manuscript does not mean that we can draw conclusions about prevailing interests or concerns at the abbey: “There is…the possibility that law books could have Corbie provenance, but not really be rooted in particular legal needs at Corbie. That is, the manuscripts should perhaps be seen as part of a book trade, attested in records showing the production of books at Corbie for money” (33). Therefore, “The identification of Corbie as the locus of the Pseudo-Isidorian atelier (if an atelier there was) should probably not be asserted on the basis of the St. Petersburg Cassiodorus (Ms. F.v.I.11), or even on the basis that a number of ‘Corbie’ manuscripts can be associated with transcriptions of Pseudo-Isidorian materials” (54).

Nobody will doubt that early medieval monasteries copied codices for many different reasons, that codices were valuable objects subject to theft, and that they could be traded, borrowed or lent for favors falling on a spectrum from the spiritual to the temporal. Many, however, will find it hard to believe that anything that might fairly be called a book trade existed in Carolingian-era Europe, or that the monastery of Corbie produced very many books for sale. Nowhere in her essay does Firey cite evidence for either point, and indeed one of the secondary authors upon whom she relies seems to contradict her assumptions entirely.[1] And how widespread was a-b minuscule, anyway? According to Jones, it might have been all over northern France, but Jones was writing in 1947. At footnote 46 (32), Firey quietly cites the more recent work of Bernhard Bischoff, who observes that a-b was “restricted to a very few centres.”[2]

But these are quibbles, because we could grant Firey all of these points and they would be of no moment for our estimation of the St. Petersburg Historia Tripartita, which enjoys Corbie provenance beyond any cavil. The codex is in St. Petersburg because Dubrowsky took it from the library at Saint-Germain-de-Prés in 1791, and it came to Saint-Germain-de-Prés in 1638 along with 400 other manuscripts from Corbie.[3] In the eleventh century, Corbie scribes added a colophon recording a local tradition that the codex had been copied at Noirmoutiers at the behest of the exiled Abbot Adalhard. And we also know that the St. Petersburg codex was at Corbie during the era of Pseudo-Isidore, thanks to the “capital N-annotator” identified by David Ganz. This annotator’s activity can be dated to the first half of the ninth century, and it occurs across a variety of Corbie codices, including the St. Petersburg volume. In fact, Klaus Zechiel-Eckes cites this annotator’s activity precisely to forestall the argument that Firey makes here.[4]

Firey’s hand waving might matter for almost any other codex ascribed to any other monastery, but not for St. Petersburg Ms. F.v.I.11. An archetypal product of the Corbie scriptorium, this codex was used as a central data point for the study of a-b minuscule during Adalhard’s abbacy by none other than T.A.M. Bishop. It is therefore strange to find that Firey otherwise cites Bishop as an eminent authority throughout her essay, and even casts her own arguments as a confirmation and extension of his speculations about scribal activity at Corbie. Ultimately, Firey writes of “…a number of ‘Corbie’ manuscripts” that “can be associated with transcriptions of Pseudo-Isidorian materials.” For her, even this is not enough to establish Corbie origins for the forgery atelier, “if an atelier there was” (!).

She seems to be writing of Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France Ms. lat. 11611, a copy of the Rusticus version of the acta of Chalcedon that was copied at Saint-Denis, but that has Corbie provenance from perhaps the 830s (“Corbie-owned,” according to Ganz, Corbie in the Carolingian Renaissance, 67). It has received the same series of excerpt marks as the St. Petersburg codex of the Historia Tripartita. Excerpted passages in Ms. 11611, as in F.v.I.11, recur throughout the Pseudo-Isidorian forgeries.

If two excerpted Corbie codices are not enough to associate Pseudo-Isidore with Corbie, well, there is more. The only complete early medieval manuscript witness of Pseudo-Isidore’s interpolated Hispana, Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vat. lat. 1341, is a Corbie codex. Two of three ninth-century manuscripts of the important A/B recension of the False Decretals are from Corbie. The forgers used the Liber contra Varimadum, very likely from Paris, BnF Ms. lat. 12217, an eighth-century Corbie manuscript. And as if all of that were not enough, in the few years since Firey’s essay was published, another Corbie codex (Vat. lat. 3803) has emerged with Pseudo-Isidorian annotations in its margins–the subject of a future blog post.

In fact Pseudo-Isidore’s Corbie associations emerge from so many separate strands of evidence that they tend to banish all doubts as to the origins of St. Petersburg F.v.I.11, if indeed there ever were any. A lot about our forger is uncertain, but Pseudo-Isidore and Corbie is a decided matter. The origins of the St. Petersburg Historia Tripartita rest on equally firm ground.

Ahead to Part II/1.

[1] See David Ganz, Corbie in the Carolingian Renaissance (Sigmaringen, 1990), 67: “The landscape of Carolingian learning was very different from that of Late Antiquity or of the high middle ages, when it is possible to speak of a book trade. The interests of abbots and librarians were the main factor behind the growth of the Corbie library.”

[2] Latin Palaeography (Cambridge, 1990), 106.

[3] This is a history that Firey herself relates (31).

[4] Ganz, Corbie in the Carolingian Renaissance, 73; Zechiel-Eckes, “Ein Blick in Pseudoisidors Werkstatt,” Francia 28 (2001), for example at 39-40 and 44-5.

Abigail Firey on the Corbie Origins of Pseudo-Isidore and Berlin, Hamilton 132

Abigail Firey, “Canon Law Studies at Corbie,” in Fälschung als Mittel der Politik? Pseudoisidor im Licht der neuen Forschung, ed. Karl Ubl and Daniel Ziemann, MGH Studien und Texte 57 (Wiesbaden, 2015), 19-79.

Abigail Firey, professor of medieval history at the University of Kentucky and founder of the Carolingian Canon Law Project, published in 2015 a long reconsideration of the origins of Pseudo-Isidore, the nature of an early witness to the interpolated Hispana, and ancillary matters. Across sixty pages of discussion, Firey subjects current views of Pseudo-Isidore and an important early witness to the interpolated Hispana to extended questioning and skepticism.

What exactly does Firey argue? Well, she is uncertain that Zechiel-Eckes’s discovery of excerptors in St. Petersburg, F.v.I.11 proves that the forger worked at the monastery of Corbie. She thinks that things might be more complicated. For some insight into how complicated things might be, Firey descends upon Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Preußische Kulturbesitz Hamilton 132, a ninth-century that originated at Corbie. The standard view, which Paul Hinschius established in 1884, is that Hamilton 132 originally carried the Collectio Dionysio-Hadriana with an appendix of conciliar supplements known as the Collectio Sancti Amandi, both of them in Corbie a-b minuscule produced sometime around 800. Hinschius argued that a team of later scribes, writing standard Carolingian minuscule nearer the middle of the ninth century, supplemented and reworked the original manuscript to approximate the contents and arrangement of Pseudo-Isidore’s interpolated Hispana. Firey attacks this view. She prefers to see the interactions of a-b and Caroline scribes as contemporary collaboration. Specifically, she draws on the arguments of T.A.M. Bishop to propose, however tentatively, that Hamilton 132 might be a joint product of nuns and monks combining Dionysio-Hadriana and Hispana texts. These conclusions encourage her, in conclusion, to explore connections between Hamilton 132 and the great Carolingian reform council held at Paris in 829.

Firey, therefore, presents three arguments. The first questions what has recently become conventional wisdom about Zechiel-Eckes’s revolution, while the second aims to overturn older arguments about an important early manuscript witness to Pseudo-Isidorian materials first aired by Hinschius. The third, finally, asks that we think more flexibly about Hamilton 132 and its relationship to Carolingian-era conciliar legislation.

We will address these over the next week the next five months in a series of three or four posts.

Part I: On the St. Petersburg Historia Tripartita

Part II/1: On Hamilton 132

Part II/2: More on Hamilton 132

Part III: On Hamilton 132 and Paris 829

And more interpolations

In my ongoing single-manuscript edition from V630, I’ve skipped ahead to the Spanish councils. The idea is to see what things look like when there’s no parallel tradition for Pseudo-Isidore to correct against in the Dionysio-Hadriana.

Right away, the Council of Elivra (Ilíberis), an early pre-Nicene synod, yields a clutch of interpolations. We will index these as I99.16, I99.32, I99.58, and I99.68.

Pseudo-Isidore’s alterations to c. 32 (I99.32) are the most significant. In the unmolested Hispana Gallica the text looks like this:

XXXII. De excommunicatis presbyteris, ut in necessitate communionem dent.

Apud presbyterem, si quis gravi lapsu in ruinam mortis inciderit, placuit agere paenitentiam non debere, sed potius apud episcopum. Cogente tamen infirmitate si necesse est presbyterem communionem praestare debere, et diaconum si ei iusserit sacerdos.

The title is mistaken–I don’t think this capitulum is about excommunicated priests at all, but rather about faithful who are guilty of serious sins. These need to go to their bishop and not any old priest for penance. In cases where the penitent is seriously ill, though, the priest may extend communion to them, or the deacon may do so on the priest’s instruction.

Pseudo-Isidore leaves the titulus unmolested in the capitulatio, but otherwise he implements serious revisions:

Si quis gravi lapsu in ruinam mortis inciderit, placuit agere paenitentiam non debere sine episcopi consultu, sed potius apud episcopum agat. Cogente tamen infirmitate nec est presbyterorum aut diaconorum communionem talibus prestare debere, nisi eis iusserit episcopus.

The whole thing is reoriented around episcopal prerogatives, as we might expect. The penitent is directed to consult the bishop explicitly, and even in cases of deathly illness, neither priests nor deacons are to extend communion unless ordered by the bishop.

Also worth mentioning, for rather different reasons, is c. l68 (I99.68). Here’s the Gallican Hispana:

LXVIII. De catecumina adultera quae filium necat

Catecumina, si per adulterium conceperit et praevocaverit, placuit eam in finem baptizari.

For praevocaverit, which is the reading of our best Gallican Hispana witness (ÖNB 411 or W411), read praefocaverit. Female catechumens who smother their children conceived in adultery are to be granted baptism only upon death. Now Pseudo-Isidore:

Caticumina, si per adulterium conceperit et conceptum necaverit, placuit eam in fine baptizari.

Should this be indexed as an interpolation at all?

Underlying uncertainty about the exact nature of Pseudo-Isidore’s Hispana text–which was certainly better than the often gruesomely corrupt W411–yields a lot of edge cases like this. If we assume that his text, too, had praevocaverit, then it looks like he implemented a rather free correctio ex ingenio, borrowing his verb (necare) from the titulus. That selfsame titulus, though, also makes it plain that the canon deals with women who have killed their sons. Pseudo-Isidore’s version is slightly different, addressing abortion (killing the fetus) rather than infanticide. So it gets a number.