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^Why would a group of medievalists meet? The main answer seems to be an easy one: to learn from each other, to be aware of the different research subjects, methodologies, and ideas we come up with in the solitude of our respective grottos we call ‘studios’. We all are here, I suppose, for this reason, very close to an always unquenchable intellectual curiosity. That's why today we count with researchers, colleagues, and students from very different departments, and with very different methodological and theoretical approaches to the Middle Ages.

I wish to thank Teo Ruiz, from UCLA, Valerie Wilhite, from MTSU, Marisa Galvez, from Stanford, and Vincent Barletta, very recently hired as an associate professor at Stanford. We will also have the active participation of some of our colleagues at UCB, to whom I would also like to express my gratitude for having accepted the invitation: Alberto Montaner, now visiting from the Universidad de Zaragoza, Spain, Steven Botterill, from Italian Studies, Steve Justice, from the English Department and our brand new director of the Program of Medieval Studies, Jennifer Miller, English Department, and last, but not least, Maureen Miller, from the History Department. We also wanted to get our graduate students involved in this meeting; I wish to thank, therefore, Seth Kimmel, Heather Bamford, Matthew Sergi, and Daniel Melleno for their willingness to participate in this colloquium. I would like to thank you all, those who are here now and those who will come and go throughout the day, for sharing time and ideas with us.

There is also a second reason. Maybe this is only my own personal reason, but I sincerely doubt it. In any case, it haunts me, and every time I start a new project, attend to a conference or a colloquium, I feel the same growing anxiety provoked by this question. What is the role medievalists play in the intellectual, cultural, and even social and political space of our contemporary world? It’s not that the Middle Ages lacks a poignant presence in our contemporary world. It does have it. It is used every single day as an instrument, or, as one of my friends would say, as a bag of tricks, for something social, cultural, or political. I still have nightmares when I recall how the Spanish ex-prime minister, José María Aznar, was trying to presuade his audience at Georgetown Univeristy that the 9/11 had started in 711 with the troops of Tarik crossing the Gibraltar straight. Some of my friends know, also, how I admire the creation of a marvelous theme park in Southern France called Le pays cathare. In this new Cathar Country, some places have even adopted the name of books by well-known medievalists: you can no longer go to Montaillou, you now travel to “Montaillou, village Occitan”, just like Le Roy-Ladurie re-named it. But let me tell you yet another story.

Several months ago, the Autonomous Government of Castile & León –my motherland- spent 1.6 million euros in buying one of the swords supposedly brandished by Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, aka, El Cid Campeador. The owner is the Marquis de Falces, a Grande de España whose antecessor had received the sword as a gift from the King Ferdinand the Catholic. The Spanish Ministry of Culture had previously rejected to buy it, for, according to several technical reports, it was “a fake”. All this in spite of the faith we should grant to the sword itself, for, on one of its sides, one can read “I am the Cid’s Tizona”. Who better than the sword itself would know whose it was? “Nonsense!”, should have thought the Castilian authorities, “this is, without the shadow of a doubt, the Cid’s Tizona.” And so they paid big money for it. The technical reports brandished by the Ministry of Culture stated very clearly that it was a “Fifteenth century forgery, with some elements from the sixteenth century, and some other additions from the 19th Century”. The liar piece of steel couldn’t hide its real origin, at least three hundred years younger than the Cid himself, who flew from this valley of tears on 1099.

For some reason, neither Spanish nor Castilian-Leonese authorities mentioned a non-completely neglectful fact: all we know about Tizona is based upon the Cantar de Mio Cid, a chanson de geste datable on or around 1207. Some are still laughing out loud, engaging in conversations around some tapas and Rioja wine about our credulous politicians, who seem to be convinced that once upon a time there actually existed a sword called Tizona owned by the burgalese hero.

But in fact, the buyers and the non-buyers, both have a point. They are not debating if this is the real sword or not. They are debating about the cultural presence of this sword as a metonymy of a set of political problems. The sword is the Cid’s hand, his body, his power, and, thus, the role this hero has played in different moments of history. By stating that the sword is “a fake”, they are stating a thesis, according to which “we are now irreconcilably different not only from the Cid, but also from the king who gave this sword to the first Marquis of Falces, and from the Grandes de España altogether”. They have a point, also, those traditionalist politicians who, by spending a big chunk of the public budget, link themselves with a particular piece of memory, and, right after it, exhibit it, of all places, in the Cathedral of Burgos.

Some of the technical reports indicate that the sword has an undeniable historical value. It is, after all, a 15th Century sword, and there are not many of those. They think that the State could pay 200.000 to 300.000 euros. But paying 1.6 million euros for a weapon that has never been in the Cid’s hands, this is a no-no. The “historical value” is not a fixed one. The historical value holds, as well, on the metonymy: even if the object were the contemporary of the Cid, its value would be smaller than if it had been the property of the hero. Any other hero not having deserved a chanson de geste or an equivalent cultural artifact would have bequeathed a much less valuable object. The frontier between historical value and the lack thereof is extremely narrow, and there is a real problem on how to deal with it.

On the other hand, the example above can be socially amusing, to say the least. The investment undertaken by the Autonomous Government can raise some voices against our authorities in a region in which one can find some of the poorest areas of the country. Others will criticize the coalition among the most traditional powers: the government, some well-known businessmen, and the Church. Yet others will hit the tabletop wondering why the heck would a public power be interested in buying a piece of old junk; and even some will praise the brilliant farsightedness of the governors who understand the eternal value of the historical objects. Most will simply ignore everything about it.

We, medievalists, normally do not care very much about these kinds of things. We tend to think that this is a non-historical problem that does not actually change the way we represent the Middle Ages. But then, again, there seems to be a gap between historical research and impact and value of history.

We are probably thinking, already, of many other historical objects used daily by public authorities as spots of time, as elements of presence independent of their historical representation. What is the role medievalists play in these types of public problems? Does all our research mean anything to our contemporaries? Should it? These are some of the questions and answers I always look for. This is also one of the reasons I am interested in this colloquium.

This colloquium would not have been possible without its sponsors. I would like to thank them all. The Department of Spanish & Portuguese, the Program of Medieval Studies, the Catalan & Occitan Studies Program of the Institute of European Studies, and the Townsend Center for the Humanities.

This event, on the other hand, is the result of what my colleague and friend Joan Ramon Resina, head of the Spanish & Portuguese Department at Stanford, would call the Dumbarton Bridge Connection. This has also been made possible by Vincent Barletta and Hans-Ulrich Gumbrecht. Yesterday, some of us attended a first encounter at Stanford. This connection is, I believe, completely essential, and I wish we can continue with more shared projects like this one.

Now, I shan’t consume more of our time. Thank you for your attention.