Paris: The Powers that Shaped the Medieval City 1032520868, 9781032520865

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Paris Paris: The Powers that Shaped the Medieval City considers the various forces – royal, monastic and secular – that shaped the art, architecture and topography of Paris between c. 1100 and c. 1500, a period in which Paris became one of the foremost metropolises in the West. The individual contributions, written by an international group of scholars, cover the subject from many different angles. They encompass wide-ranging case studies that address architecture, manuscript illumination and stained glass, as well as questions of liturgy, religion and social life. Topics include the early medieval churches that preceded the current cathedral church of Notre-Dame and cultural production in the Paris area in the late 12th and early 13th centuries, as well as Paris’s chapels and bridges. There is new evidence for the source of the c. 1240 design for a celebrated window in the Sainte-Chapelle, an evaluation of the liturgical arrangements in the new shrine-choir of Saint-Denis, built 1140–44, and a valuable assessment of the properties held by the Cistercian Order in Paris in the Middle Ages. Also, the book investigates the relationships between manuscript illuminators in the 14th century and representations of Paris in manuscripts and other media up to the late 15th century. Paris: The Powers that Shaped the Medieval City updates and enlarges our knowledge of this key city in the Middle Ages. Alexandra Gajewski is Reviews Editor of The Burlington Magazine and an Associate Fellow of the Institute of Historical Research, London. Her research focuses on Gothic architecture, especially in relation to the cult of relics, liturgy and questions of function. She has published on Cistercian architecture in medieval Europe, religious architecture in Burgundy, the historiography of regional architecture as well as medieval women as patrons, embroidery and the Castle of Love in ivory. John McNeill is Secretary of the British Archaeological Association, wherein he was instrumental in establishing the Association’s International Romanesque conference series. He has published widely on Romanesque architecture and architectural sculpture in England, France and Italy.

The British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions XXXIII. Coventry: Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology in the City and its Vicinity (2011), ed. L. Monckton and R. K. Morris XXXIV.     Limerick and South-West Ireland: Medieval Art and Architecture (2011), ed. R. Stalley XXXV.  Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology at Canterbury (2013), ed. A. Bovey XXXVI.   Newcastle and Northumberland: Roman and Medieval Architecture and Art (2013), ed. J. Ashbee and J. Luxford XXXVII.   Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology in Cracow and Lesser Poland (2014), ed. A. Roz˙nowska-Sadraei and T. We˛cławowicz XXXVIII.  Norwich: Medieval and Early Modern Art, Architecture and Archaeology (2015), ed. T. A. Heslop and H. E. Lunnon XXXIX.  Westminster: The Art, Architecture and Archaeology of the Royal Abbey and Palace (2015), ed. W. Rodwell and T. Tatton-Brown XL.       Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology in the Dioceses of Aberdeen and Moray (2016), ed. J. Geddes XLI.   Peterborough and the Soke: Art Architecture and Archaeology (2019), ed. R. Baxter, J. Hall, and C. Marx XLII.    York: Art Architecture and Archaeology (2021), ed. Sarah Brown, Sarah Rees Jones and Tim Ayers XLIII. Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology in Cambridge: College, Church and City (2021), ed. Gabriel Byng and Helen Lunnon XLIV. Paris: The Powers that shaped the Medieval City (2023), ed. Alexandra Gajewski and John McNeill

For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/archaeology/series/BAA

Paris The Powers that Shaped the Medieval City Edited by Alexandra Gajewski and John McNeill

The British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions Volume XLIV

Cover image: Vie de Saint Denis: Gilles de Pontoise donates the manuscript to King Philip V Paris: BnF, Fr2090. Fol. 4v. © Bibliothèque nationale de France The British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions XLIV First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 British Archaeological Association The right of Alexandra Gajewski and John McNeill to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-032-52087-2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-52086-5 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-40515-3 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153 Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents List of Contributors

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Prefaceix Abstractsxi Notre-Dame in Paris Before the Gothic Period dany sandron

1

Abbot Suger’s Paris lindy grant

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 he Powers of the Saints: Architecture and Liturgy in Abbot Suger’s T Shrine-Choir at Saint-Denis in the 12th and 13th Centuries alexandra gajewski

27

The King’s City: The Disciplinary ‘Sense-scape’ of Paris in the 13th Century william chester jordan

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The Great 13th-Century Chapels of Paris meredith cohen

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City of Light: Picturing the Translation of the Crown of Thorns to Paris in the Gothic Glass of the Sainte-Chapelle emily davenport guerry

105

Jean Pucelle, Mahiet and the Fauvel Master: Relationships Between Manuscript Illuminators in 14th-Century Paris anna russakoff

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Building Paris on Its Bridges jana gajdošová

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Not So Vast a Solitude: Cistercians in Medieval Paris terryl n. kinder

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Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages: The Great Monuments raphaële skupien

227

Index

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Contributors Meredith Cohen is Associate Professor of Art History at University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) and specialises in French Gothic architecture and urbanism in France, with a particular focus on Paris. Her book, The Sainte-Chapelle and the Construction of Sacral Monarchy: Royal Architecture in Thirteenth-Century Paris (2015) examined the social–historical and architectural contexts for the construction of Saint-Louis’s palatine reliquary chapel while the exhibition and co-authored catalogue (with Xavier Dectot) Paris: Ville Rayonnante (2010) brought to light many little-known, understudied fragments of lost monuments from the medieval city. Her current work extends into the theory and practice of digital reconstruction of these monuments with an aim to broaden the discourse on medieval architecture. Jana Gajdošová completed her PhD at Birkbeck, University of London in 2015 with a focus on the Charles Bridge in Prague. She has since published articles on the topic in the Journal of the British Archaeological Association (2016), Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte (2017) and Kaiser Karl IV: 1316–1378 (2016). Her wider scholarly interests, including the evolution of late Gothic design and the relationship between memory and medieval architecture,  have been published in  Decorated Revisited:  English Architectural Style in Context, 1250–1400 (2017), Lateness and Modernity in Medieval Architecture (2023) and GESTA (2022). Jana is currently a medieval art specialist at Sam Fogg, London, and she teaches on a variety of courses for the Bartlett and the Victoria and Albert Museum, both in London. Alexandra Gajewski is Reviews Editor of The Burlington Magazine and Associate Fellow of the Institute of Historical Research, London. Her research focuses on Gothic architecture, especially in relation to the cult of relics, liturgy and questions of function. She has published on Cistercian architecture in medieval Europe, religious architecture in Burgundy, the historiography of regional architecture as well as medieval women as patrons, embroidery and the Castle of Love in ivory. Lindy Grant is Professor Emeritus of Medieval History at the University of Reading and an Honorary Research Fellow at the Courtauld Institute of Art. She is the author of  Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis. Church and State in Early Twelfth-Century France (London 1998); Architecture and Society in Normandy, c. 1120–c. 1270 (London/ New Haven 2005) and  Blanche of Castile, Queen of France (London/New Haven 2016), and of numerous articles on the political, ecclesiastical and cultural history of France in the High Middle Ages. Between 2010 and 2013, she was President of the British Archaeological Association and is now a lifetime vice-president. She is a trustee of the British Academy Angevin Acta project, and was Chair of the R. Allen Brown Trust for Anglo-Norman Studies (Battle Conference) between 2016 and 2021. Emily Davenport Guerry is Co-Director of the Centre for Medieval and Early Modern Studies (MEMS) and Senior Lecturer in Medieval History at the University of Kent. Her research examines the relationship between religious devotion and artistic vii

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representation in the Middle Ages, especially in Gothic wall paintings in Capetian France and Plantagenet England. She is particularly interested in how the development of new rituals for the veneration of relics could facilitate the creation of site-specific iconographies associated with royal cults, with recent publications focusing on the Crown of Thorns at the Sainte-Chapelle and the Holy Blood at Westminster Abbey. William Chester Jordan is Dayton-Stockton Professor of History at Princeton University. His most recent books include From England to France: Felony and Exile in the High Middle Ages (2015), The Apple of His Eye: Converts From Islam in the Reign of Louis IX (2019, French translation 2020), and Servant of the Crown and Steward of the Church: The Career of Philippe of Cahors (2020). His current research focuses on rural migrant labour in north-western continental Europe in the 13th century. Terryl N. Kinder is Editor-in-Chief of Cîteaux – Commentarii cistercienses and Distinguished Visiting Professor of Fine Arts at St Michael’s College (Vermont, USA). She has published extensively on the architecture and archaeology of Pontigny Abbey, and her book Cistercian Europe has been translated into French, Italian and German. She was General Editor of Cistercian Arts, which also appeared in Italian. Her current research includes the study of St Edmund’s 13th-century liturgical vestments and (with Jennifer Alexander) a detailed examination of the construction of Pontigny’s 12th-century church and lay brothers’ building through the identification and interpretation of its masons’ marks. Anna Russakoff completed her PhD in medieval art history at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University. She is a specialist in Gothic illuminated manuscripts, especially those produced in France. She is currently Associate Professor in the Art History and Fine Arts department at the American University of Paris. She has co-edited two volumes:  Jean Pucelle: Innovation and Collaboration in Manuscript Painting  (in 2013, with Kyunghee Pyun) and Human and Animal in Medieval France, 12th to 15th century (in 2014, with Irène Fabry-Tehranchi). Her monograph, Imagining the Miraculous: Miraculous Images of the Virgin Mary in French Illuminated Manuscripts, ca. 1250 to ca. 1450, was published by the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies in 2019. Dany Sandron is Professor of Art History and Medieval Archaeology at the Sorbonne University, Paris, where he is based at the Centre André Chastel. He has published widely on French Gothic architecture, particularly that of Paris and its surroundings. Among his many wide-ranging publications are the Atlas de Paris au Moyen Âge (2006) with Philippe Lorentz, Notre Dame Cathedral: Nine Centuries of History (2020) with Andrew Tallon, and Paris Gothique (2020) with Denis Hayot and Philippe Plagnieux. Raphaële Skupien obtained her PhD from the Université de Picardie Jules Verne in Amiens, focusing on the urban environment of Paris in the late Middle Ages. She has a particular interest in the relationship between figurative and monumental arts as expressed through representations of the city of Paris, taking an approach which is both archaeological and prosopographical. She is currently researching the role of painters in the configuration of space in France at the beginning of the Renaissance. viii

Preface Paris during the Middle Ages occupies an exalted position in discussions of medieval Europe. Its monuments, topography, university, status as a centre of royal government, social make-up and rich documentation have provided generations of scholars with a wealth of material upon which to take a view – often in relation to wider European issues. The collection of papers presented here is more local in reach: Paris from an essentially Parisian perspective. Nine of the papers were first aired at the British Archaeological Association’s 2016 Paris conference – to which a much-needed and pioneering tenth paper has been generously added by Raphaële Skupien. Collectively, they further understanding of the art, architecture and archaeology of one of Europe’s most significant medieval cities. The volume has taken longer to assemble than it should, and the editors crave the indulgence of the contributors, as well as the readers, in depriving both of the opportunity to explore these articles for so long. The conference itself was held in Paris between 16 July and 20 July 2016. Focused on the theme ‘Paris: The Powers that shaped the Medieval City’, it was attended by ninety-eight members and guests, and the British Archaeological Association awarded seven scholarships to students covering the full costs of the conference and accommodation. A total of seventeen papers were read in the Auditorium Colbert at the Institut National Histoire de l’Art (INHA) in Paris, in addition to which the conference enjoyed an enthralling series of site visits. On the Sunday, all speakers and attendees visited Saint-Martin-des-Champs, after which we split into groups and enjoyed an extensive series of talks and visits to Saint-Denis, starting with the city’s Musée d’art et histoire and continuing via the archaeological excavations at the Tanneries to the Abbey. The day concluded with a buffet dinatoire and President’s Reception at the Unité Archéologique de la ville de Saint-Denis. The Monday afternoon again saw the conference split into groups, this time to facilitate a series of walking tours exploring the right bank of medieval Paris following the walls of Philip Augustus and climaxing in the early evening at Saint-Germain-des-Prés. A final round of visits on the Tuesday afternoon saw the conference once more split into groups to enable some to explore the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal while others visited the Sainte-Chapelle and yet more visited the Collège des Bernardins, Collège de Beauvais and Saint-Etienne-du-Mont. The whole mighty apparatus then finally came together for a memorable after-hours exploration of the south transept, galleries and roofs of Notre-Dame, following which the Association was honoured with a reception at the Musée de Cluny – Musée National du Moyen Âge. The Association wishes to record its gratitude to everyone who assisted in the smooth running of the conference – namely the staff of the INHA for their help both before and during the conference, Laurent Prades and his team for facilitating access to Notre-Dame, Michaël Wyss and Nicole Rodrigues for orchestrating our time in St-Denis and Alison Stones and Charlotte Denoël for their help in arranging a viewing of manuscripts. In addition to those who read papers at the formal sessions, we would also like to thank the site speakers, without whom the visits would have been much the poorer. The walks were shared by Lindy Grant, Meredith Cohen, John McNeill and Jeffrey Miller while a constellation of single-site speakers included Philippe Plagnieux, Neil ix

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Stratford and Dany Sandron at Saint-Martin-des-Champs, Michaël Wyss, Lindy Grant, Richard Plant, Alexandra Gajewski and John McNeill at Saint-Denis, Emily Davenport Guerry at the Sainte-Chapelle, Terryl N. Kinder at the Collège des Bernardins, Philippe Plagnieux and Dany Sandron at Saint-Germain-des-Prés and Philippe Villeneuve and Neil Stratford at Notre-Dame, while the manuscripts at the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal were introduced by Louisa Torres, Eve Netchine and Claire Lesage. The Association extends its thanks to all. Ultimately, there are many individuals without whom the conference and the resultant transactions would have been much the poorer, but without the industry and resourcefulness of the conference team there would have been no conference. The Association is enormously grateful to the convenors – Meredith Cohen, Lindy Grant and Dany Sandron – and to Kate Milburn, who took to the role of conference secretary with verve and assurance. The BAA owes a tremendous debt of gratitude to all four. Alexandra Gajewski and John McNeill

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Abstracts NOTRE-DAME IN PARIS BEFORE THE GOTHIC PERIOD Dany Sandron The history of the early medieval buildings of Notre-Dame in Paris that preceded the Gothic reconstruction is difficult to establish since interpretation of the archaeological remains is highly complex. This essay will present the documentary and archaeological evidence of six churches thought to have belonged to an episcopal group. ABBOT SUGER’S PARIS Lindy Grant Abbot Suger’s patronage of building and the arts at the Abbey of Saint Denis is of central importance for art historians. A great deal of Suger’s writings about his patronage survives, revealing much about his intentions and allowing his commissions to be unusually closely dated. But does the accident of survival, of the works themselves and of the documentation that dates them, make Suger’s works at Saint-Denis seem more innovative than they were at the time? Suger’s narrative of his abbacy downplays cultural production at Saint-Denis under his predecessors. In his historical works he provides a parallel narrative of a revival of Capetian authority under his contemporary, Louis VI, the Fat, after the long unsatisfactory reign of Philip I. This paper explores the context that Suger invites us to ignore: cultural production in the Paris area and at Saint-Denis itself in the later 11th and the early 12th century. It argues that there was in fact a substantial amount of new building at this time, providing Suger with a large potential workforce. Moreover, although his own works at Saint-Denis undoubtedly took cultural production there to new heights, they were not produced in the vacuum that Suger depicts. THE POWERS OF THE SAINTS: ARCHITECTURE AND LITURGY IN ABBOT SUGER’S SHRINE-CHOIR AT SAINT-DENIS IN THE TWELFTH AND THIRTEENTH CENTURIES Alexandra Gajewski In his writings, Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis (d. 1151) famously set forth his various motivations for building a new shrine-choir to the east of the old abbey. Of these, scholars have considered the key reasons to be the transfer of the shrine from the crypt to a more conspicuous location, providing space for an altar of St Denis at which visiting dignitaries could read mass and the accommodation of pilgrims. Yet Werner Jacobsen has contended that these are not in themselves sufficient to explain the unusual length of the choir. Instead, he proposed that the shrine-choir was built to house an additional altar for pilgrims and to act as a stage for the ceremony in which the king raised the royal standard, the oriflamme. In fact, there is no evidence that would support the idea of a lay altar in the shrine-choir. However, the choir may xi

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indeed have been designed with ceremonial purposes in mind; the altar-shrine of Saint Denis was built with lockable hatches that allowed for the removal of the relics from the lower part and their transposition to the upper parts, a ceremony that is known to have been performed on a number of occasions, not only during the raising of the oriflamme. Nonetheless, the exceptional number of chapels encircling the choir suggests another factor may have been even more important in determining the length of the choir. Recently discovered archaeological evidence suggests that Suger maintained as much as possible of the existing Romanesque crypt hors œuvre, including the vault and most of its three vessels. This pushed the geometrical centre of the shrine-choir eastwards and, in turn, facilitated the provision of chapels for nine of the important saints that Saint-Denis held in its possession. Bishops, martyrs and virgins, these saints were associated with the abbey’s legendary founder, King Dagobert, and its major patron, Charlemagne. They provided a holy entourage for the patron saint, Denis, as was highlighted by Abbot Suger. On the day of the dedication of the altars, 11th June 1144, in a ceremony that he envisaged would merge his material church and the heavenly kingdom into a single state, he joined these relics with those of Denis, each arriving in a separate procession at the entrance to his new upper choir, as if uniting sponsa and sponso. Far from being a quirky and personal idea of the old abbot, Suger’s programme was completed and perfected by the monastic community during the 13th-century reconsecration and restoration of the chapels. THE GREAT THIRTEENTH-CENTURY CHAPELS OF PARIS Meredith Cohen Relatively few examples of medieval architecture survive unaltered within their contemporary built environment. Because of this lack of context, extant monuments are too often understood as singular ‘great structures,’ when they might have been less isolated in their own time. Digital reconstruction of lost monuments is now beginning to afford a more concrete vision of the broader past. Using this new technology, the following article examines three independent chapels constructed in Paris over the course of the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries - the bishop’s chapel of Notre-Dame Cathedral, a digital reconstruction of the Lady Chapel at Saint-Germain des Prés, and the Lady Chapel of the College of Cluny ‑ in an effort to shed light on the architectural significance of the Sainte-Chapelle of Paris in its time. While offering new insight into these now-lost chapels, this article argues that while the Sainte‑Chapelle remains an extraordinary exemplar of royal patronage, it was also part of a working practice for chapels in the 13th century, reflective as well as generative of a ‘metropolitan architecture’ in Paris. CITY OF LIGHT: PICTURING THE TRANSLATION OF THE CROWN OF THORNS TO PARIS IN THE GOTHIC GLASS OF THE SAINTE-CHAPELLE Emily Davenport Guerry This paper presents new evidence for the source of the original c.1240s design for the glass of Window A in the Sainte-Chapelle, which represents the history of the xii

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translation of the Crown of Thorns to Paris. It will show how and why the artists employed by King Louis IX adapted the Historia Susceptionis Coronae Spinea, a widely circulated text written by Archbishop Gauthier Cornut of Sens (d. 1241) concerning the relic’s translation, to create this novel and influential visual narrative. After an examination of the restoration records of Window A, including the notes of Ferdinand de Guilhermy (d. 1878) and the ‘état actuel’ watercolours of the panels recorded by Louis Steinheil (d. 1885), it builds on previous scholarship, especially the pioneering work of Alyce Jordan, to present a new study of the relationship between text and image, as well as the intersection of sacred and civic history, in the Gothic glass. JEAN PUCELLE, MAHIET AND THE FAUVEL MASTER: RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN MANUSCRIPT ILLUMINATORS IN FOURTEENTH-CENTURY PARIS Anna Russakoff In the second quarter of the fourteenth century in central Paris, the illuminators Jean Pucelle, Mahiet and the so-called Fauvel Master worked in close proximity. Although stylistically divergent, these three artists all benefited from contact with royalty, and they occasionally illustrated the same types of vernacular texts. This article will focus on four manuscripts that all contain versions of Miracles of the Virgin Mary: two examples of Gautier de Coinci’s ‘Miracles de Nostre Dame’ and two copies of Jean de Vignay’s French translation of Vincent de Beauvais’ ‘Speculum historiale’. In particular, it will examine the iconography of the miracle of the Thief Hanged. In the miniatures of the four manuscripts, there are strikingly sympathetic representations of the thief, which may be linked to the intended royal audience. The final manuscript for comparison, the ‘Ci nous dit’, is a codex that is not associated with royalty, Mahiet depicted two thieves in an exemplum in a much less compassionate manner. BUILDING PARIS ON ITS BRIDGES Jana Gajdošová Although neither the Grand-Pont and the Petit-Pont survive today, contemporary accounts and manuscript illuminations give an idea of what the structures were like in the Middle Ages. As gates to the heart of the French capital, the two bridges were not only practical structures but were also home to a range of commercial, religious and royal activities. They were paved, enriched by commerce, and protected by large gate towers. Displaying the physical and intellectual wealth of the city, the two bridges were so iconic to visitors that Matthew Paris even used them to represent the city of Paris in his 13th century travel map. This paper attempts to contextualise and reimagine the two principal bridges in the French capital and to draw attention to the significance of these now lost structures in the development of the topography of Paris.

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NOT SO VAST A SOLITUDE: CISTERCIANS IN MEDIEVAL PARIS Terryl N. Kinder Many people think of Cistercians as living in handsome 12th-century stone abbeys in bucolic settings far from populated areas and staying there. Yet in order to sustain their independence in these remote locations—and to remain relevant in a society rapidly evolving around them—both male and female Cistercian abbeys maintained urban properties. Participation in Parisian life kept the Cistercians at the forefront of scholastic education, finance, law and commerce. Nuns were, by papal decree, not allowed to work in the fields, so they tapped into the burgeoning new financial system through investment in real estate. The rise of universities in the 13th century made clear the necessity of education; the Cistercians’ response was to establish the Collège Saint-Bernard in 1248, an immense compound in the heart of Paris, where monks lived and studied until the French Revolution. This glimpse behind the veil shows how important well-placed relationships were and how they shaped the destiny of numerous projects. Among the case studies is Saint-Antoine-des-Champs, a rural abbey founded in a swamp outside the walls, which was in time swallowed by the growing city to become a hive of activity involving kings, queens and crusaders as well as the rising Parisian bourgeoisie. IMAGES OF PARIS IN THE LATE MIDDLE AGES: THE GREAT MONUMENTS Raphaële Skupien On the basis of a corpus of around two hundred largely unpublished views of Paris, in which the city can be recognised by its monuments and sites, this essay traces the development from the earliest occurrences of such images in the 14th and early 15th centuries. It demonstrates that their popularity began as a local phenomenon and was the work of artists who knew the sites. Adopting a statistical approach, the article discusses which monuments and sites were chosen for representation and which ones were ignored. By comparing the images with the historical and archaeological facts, their mode of depiction can be better understood. The study identifies the monuments that were the landmarks of the Paris cityscape over the two hundred years as well as their principal architectural characteristics. It reveals that the patrons who first encouraged these representations were not so much the princes but the bourgeois.

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Notre-Dame in Paris Before the Gothic Period DANY SANDRON

In memory of Andrew Tallon the early cathedral complex For a long time, a legend prevailed that a cathedral was built in Paris by the first bishop of Paris, Saint Denis, who was martyred in the middle of the 3rd century. According to the monks of the abbey of Saint-Denis, this bishop was identical with another Denis, a disciple of St Paul, who lived two centuries earlier. However, the first cathedral would not have been built before the Edict of Milan in 313 (Pax ecclesiae), which ended the persecutions of the Christians. The first Parisian bishop documented in the sources is Victurinus, who lived in the mid-4th century. According to a list established in the 9th century, he was the sixth bishop and St Marcel (mid-5th century) was the ninth bishop, but the reliability of this list is uncertain.1 There is also no evidence for the suggestion that the first cathedral was built outside the city walls on the site of a Christian necropolis, in the Faubourg Saint-Marcel (now the 13th arrondissement), a few hundred metres south-west of Paris, on the road to Italy.2 In fact, it is probable that the first cathedral was built on the present site, at the eastern end of the Île de la Cité. As regards this building and the first sanctuaries, structures that housed both clerics and the faithful, there is just the one mention, in the Vita Sancti Martini by Sulpicius Severus dating from the end of the 4th century and a single mention of a baptistery in the Vita Sanctae Genovefae (6th century).3 When the first Merovingian king Clovis chose Paris as a seat of government at the end of the 5th century, the city had attained a certain importance and the cathedral seems to have benefitted from this development.4 Clovis founded the basilica of the Holy Apostles (later Sainte-Geneviève) on the left bank. After he was buried there, his son Childebertus (511–68), founder of the abbey Saint-Vincent-Sainte-Croix (later Saint-Germain-des-Prés), made generous donations to the cathedral. At the end of the 7th century, the poet Venantius Fortunatus described the cathedral in glowing terms: the basilica with marble columns was generously lit by windows adorned with stained glass; it was covered by a wooden ceiling that glittered in the sunlight and on account of its own virtues.5 A basilica dedicated to St Stephen, whose earliest mention dates from the end of the 7th century, may have been added to the existing ecclesiastical complex at an unknown date.6 We can therefore formulate the hypothesis that there existed an episcopal group, consisting of the cathedral, a baptistery (may be on the site of the later church Saint-Jean-le-Rond) and the church of Saint-Etienne. Although neither the

© 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-1

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patronage nor the function of the structures that preceded the Gothic cathedral can be determined, we can distinguish six buildings, based on documentary and archaeological evidence (Fig. 1.1). •

A great church with five vessels (not all of which necessarily date from the same time), whose façade stood about 30 metres west of the Gothic façade.7 This church was perhaps dedicated to the Virgin. • Certain foundations discovered to the north-east of the north transept arm of the Gothic cathedral by the archaeologist Théodore Vacquer in 1884 and again by Didier Busson in 2010 may be related to a church building.8 • The foundations of an apse under the Gothic choir were discovered by Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc in 1858.9 • The remains of another apse were found to the south of the present choir in 1845–46.10 • It is possible that the church of Saint-Jean-le-Rond (destroyed in 1748), which had been rebuilt many times, was founded in the early Middle Ages.11 • The church of Saint-Denis-du-Pas (destroyed in 1813), immediately to the east of the Gothic chevet, was first mentioned in the 11th century and may also have an early medieval origin.12

The great church, the west end of which was discovered in 1847 to the west of the Gothic façade (Fig. 1.2), was built on the south side of the precinct, directly above the levelled 4th-century precinct wall. This could not have been built before the precinct wall and might date from the 6th century. Its construction is possibly connected with the aforementioned generosity of King Childebert, but the fragments of marble columns (now in the Musée de Cluny, Paris)13 cannot originate from this church because they were found below its pavement level.14 It is possible that the monumental treatment of the west end of this great church, which clearly possessed towers, goes back to the Carolingian period and was connected with the canonical reform introduced in the period between the synods of Aix in 816–817 and 829, when Bishop Inchadus referred to the maintenance of the canons’ buildings.15 It must have been constructed before the Viking raids, because after the siege of Paris in 845, the canons would not have allowed any interference with their precinct wall. Two buildings are documented in the Carolingian period: a domus sancti Johannis Baptiste,16 probably the baptistery, and the church of Saint-Christophe, previously a nunnery founded in the late 7th century. The latter became an episcopal hospital, providing housing for the poor.17 As early as the beginning of the 9th century, the religious quarter, dominated by the cathedral, extended to the north with the building of the canons’ cloister and to the west with the hospital (later the Hôtel-Dieu) and thus occupied the entire eastern end of the island. the 12th century to 1160 After a long break, the next series of transformations took place at the beginning of the 12th century. In a charter of King Louis VI, dealing with the jurisdiction of the bishop in the Île de la Cité, dateable to between 1112 and 1117, three buildings are mentioned: an old church of Saint-Etienne, another old church whose dedication is not specified, and a new church.18 The unspecified ‘old church’ could refer to the church whose remains have been discovered west of the Gothic façade, and the ‘new 2

Notre-Dame Before the Gothic Period

Fig. 1.1  Paris: plan of the archaeological remains on the site of the cathedral Source: Busson in Barbier, Busson and Soulay (as note 1), redrawn by Grégory Chaumet.

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Fig. 1.2  Paris: Parvis Notre-Dame, showing foundations of older structures Source: Centre André Chastel.

church’ could be related to the apse discovered by Viollet-le-Duc under the choir. Josiane Barbier has connected the mention of a portal in a charter of 1120 with this new church.19 It is difficult to be certain, however, because the geographical position of this building is not precisely known. All that is known is that two houses belonging to the canons Hubertus of Senlis and Algrinus of Etampes (de Stampiis) and located close to the ‘door’ were ‘outside the cloister’.20 In 1124, some repairs were made to the roof of one of the churches.21 The king, Louis VI, at the request of Dean Bernier and the chapter, approved the expenditure of 10 livres on laths, nails and tiles. It was noted that beams, joists and all other necessary materials should be paid for by the bishop. The church of Notre-Dame was restored by the archdeacon, Stephen de Garlande (d. before 1148),22 and Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis gave it a wonderful stained glass window.23 The 12th-century remains that form part of the St Anne portal, 4

Notre-Dame Before the Gothic Period

Fig. 1.3  Paris: Notre-Dame, Sainte-Anne Portal Source: Andrew Tallon.

Fig. 1.4  Paris: Notre-Dame, Sainte-Anne Portal with colour coding to indicate the chronology of the sculptures Source: Grégory Chaumet.

the south portal of the western façade of the Gothic cathedral, are most likely to originate from this church (Figs 1.3 and 1.4).24 The portal could have been executed at the request of either Bishop Etienne de Senlis (1123–44) or his successor Thibaud (1144–58). The tympanum preserves the original lintel, adorned with scenes of the life of the Virgin and the Infancy of Christ; above it depicts at the centre a monumental figure of a Sedes Sapientiae, the Virgin enthroned between a dextra a standing bishop accompanied by a seated scribe and a sinistra a kneeling king. The respective positions of these two lateral figures and their posture demonstrate the pre-eminence of the prelate. The political significance of this imagery, rare at this scale, surely explains why the portal was reused more than half a century later for the newly designed Gothic façade. This great portal of the mid-12th century was dedicated to the Virgin, patroness of the church, and to the bishop-saint Marcel, whose figure adorned the trumeau (Fig. 1.5) and whose body was preserved in a shrine in the cathedral, where it had been since the 9th century, when it was transferred from a cemetery outside the city. The portal rivalled the 12th-century western portals (portail royal) of Chartres Cathedral but, above all, the western portals of Saint-Denis and of Saint-Germaindes-Prés, each showing on the trumeau a figure of a Parisian bishop, Denis and Germain, whose bodies were preserved in the sanctuaries of the respective churches.25 5

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Fig. 1.6  Paris: Notre-Dame, Central Portal, Christ of the Last Judgment (c. 1240) with reused nimbus from the mid-12th century Source: Dany Sandron.

Fig. 1.5  Paris: Notre-Dame, Sainte-Anne Portal, Saint Marcel Source: Musée de Cluny, Paris, RMN.

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Notre-Dame Before the Gothic Period

In the context of this first Gothic portal, the nimbus of Christ in the Last Judgment of the central portal should be mentioned (Fig. 1.6). This refined sculpture, made from a single stone, was in fact reused and originated from an older portal, perhaps from the third quarter of the 12th century.26 It was probably a portal focused on a great figure of Christ, and we can link it to Viollet-le-Duc’s mention of the discovery of fragments of such a sculpture during repair work in front of the Gothic façade.27 Unfortunately, we have no drawing of this important discovery. Other fragments of a 12th-century portal were discovered in 1981 and reused in the foundation under the third south pillar of the main vessel of the nave.28 All these elements testify to the importance of the decorative programme, which was elaborated in the second quarter of the 12th century but was condemned to be replaced by an even more ambitious programme inaugurated by Bishop Maurice de Sully in the early 1160s.29 acknowledgement I wish to thank Anne-Julie Lafaye for her translation of this text from French.

notes 1 N. Duval, P. Périn and J.-C. Picard, ‘Paris’, in Topographie chrétienne des cités de la Gaule des origines au milieu du viiie siècle, VIII. Province ecclésiastique de Sens, ed. Jean-Charles Picard et al. (Paris 1992), 97–129, at 108. The analysis in this essay is based on J. Barbier, D. Busson and V. Soulay, ‘Avant la cathédrale gothique IVe–XIIe siècle’, in Notre-Dame de Paris, ed. André Vingt-Trois (Paris 2012), 17–27. 2 As demonstrated by J. Dubois, ‘L’emplacement des premiers sanctuaires de Paris’, Journal des Savants, 41 (1968), 5–44. For Saint-Marcel, see M. Vieillard-Troïekouroff et  al., ‘Les anciennes églises surburbaines de Paris (IVe-Xe siècles)’, Paris et Ile-de-France, Mémoires, 11 (1960), 122–34. 3 Sulpice Sévère, Vie de saint Martin, 1: Introduction (Sources chrétiennes, 133), ed. and trans. J. Fontaine (Paris 1967), 292; M. Heinzelmann and J.-C. Poulin, Les vies anciennes de sainte Geneviève de Paris. Études critiques (Bibliothèque de l’École pratique des hautes études, IV, 329) (Paris 1986), 3–111. 4 J. Barbier, ‘Le système palatial franc: genèse et fonctionnement dans le nord-ouest du regnum’, Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes, 148 (1990), 245–99, esp. 255–80. 5 ‘Splendida marmoreis attollitur aula columnis, / Et quia pura manet, gratia maior inest. / Prima capit radios vitreis oculata fenestris, / Artificisque manu clausit in arce diem; / Cursibus aurorae vaga lux laquearia conplet, / atque suis radiis et sine sole micat. / Haec pius egregio rex Childebercthus amore, / Dona suo populo non moritura dedit’, Venantius Fortunatus, Opera poetica, Friedrich Leo ed., Monumenta Germaniae historica. Scriptores. Auctores antiquissimi, 4.1 (Berlin 1881), I. II, X (De ecclesia Parisiaca), 39–40, at 40, vers 11–16; see also J. Dérens and M. Fleury, ‘La construction de la cathédrale de Paris par Childebert 1er d’après le “De ecclesia Parisiaca” de Fortunat’, Journal des Savants (1977), 247–56. 6 Chartae Latinae antiquiores. Part  XIII: France  I, ed.  H. Atsma and J. Vezin (Dietikon-Zurich 1981), no. 571, [12 septembre–11 décembre] 691; for the date see M. Weidemann, ‘Zur Chronologie der Merowinger im 7. und 8. Jahrhundert’, Francia: Moyen Âge, 25, no. 1 (1998), 177–230. More recently: J. Barbier, ‘Saint Etienne ou sainte Marie? Un vieux débat à refermer: “le vocable de la cathédrale de Paris à l’époque franque” ’, Revue Mabillon, 32 (2021), 5–20. 7 D. Busson, Carte archéologique de la Gaule, Paris 75 (Paris 1998), 465–71. 8 Barbier, Busson and Soulay, ‘Avant la cathédrale gothique’ (as n. 1), 23. 9 P. Batiffol, ‘Les fouilles du chevet de Notre-Dame de Paris en 1858 d’après le registre du chanoine Ravinet’, Mémoires de la Société des Antiquaires de France, 35 (1918), 247–66. 10 Barbier, Busson and Soulay, ‘Avant la cathédrale gothique’ (as n. 1), 22.

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dany sandron 11 Duval, Périn and Picard, ‘Paris’ (as n. 1), 113. 12 C. B. Dumouchel, ‘L’église Saint-Denis-du-Pas’, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France, 119–22 (1992–94), 95–115; J. Guérout, ‘Les trois Saint-Denis de l’Île de la Cité à Paris’, Bulletin de la Société de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France, 131 (1994), 127–96. 13 Musée de Cluny, musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris, inv. no. 18833. See J.-P. Caillet, L’antiquité classique, le haut moyen Âge et Byzance au musée de Cluny (Paris 1985), 62, no. 12. 14 Barbier, Busson and Soulay, ‘Avant la cathédrale gothique’ (as n. 1), 19. 15 Cartulaire général de Paris. Recueil de documents relatifs à l’histoire et à la topographie de Paris, ed. R. de Lasteyrie (Paris 1887), I, 49–51, no. 35 [June 829]. 16 J. Guerout, ‘Les sanctuaires de la cité autres que la cathédrale’, Dossiers de l’archéologie, 218 (1996), 50–77, at 64. 17 Cartulaire général de Paris (as n. 16), 49–51, no. 35 [June 829]. 18 ‘Usque ad caput ęcclesię Sancti Cristofori, et a capite illo usque ad muros veteris ęcclesię Sancti Stephani, tota, inquam, terra illa cum edificiis suis, quemadmodum a predicta circumcingitur et clauditur via undique usque ad muros claustri Beatę Marię . . . sub potestate Parisiensis episcopi et in viatura tantummodo illius jure antiquitatis existit . . . Sciendum autem est quia spatium illud, quod est infra portas veteris ęcclesię, sicut totus interior murorum ambitus continet, sub jure est episcopi, quemadmodum nova ęcclesia, regis potestate omnino exclusa. Spatium vero illud, quod est a capite fracti muri veteris ęcclesię usque ad Sequanam, transeundo scilicet ante curiam episcopi, hinc et inde, sub viatura est ejusdem episcopi’, in Recueil des actes de Louis VI, roi de France (1108–1137) (Chartes et diplômes relatifs à l’Histoire de France), ed. J. Dufour (Paris 1992), I, 247–52, no. 121 19 Barbier, Busson and Soulay, ‘Avant la cathédrale gothique’ (as n. 1), 25; after Recueil des Actes de Louis VI (as n. 18), no. 157 (end of March–17th April 1120, new style). 20 Ibid. 21 Recueil des actes de Louis VI (as n. 18), no. 213 (25th January–5th April 1124, new style). 22 Obiit Stephanus archidiaconus qui ecclesiam beate Marie decenter reparavit, Obituaires de la province de Sens. Diocèses de Sens et de Paris, éd. A. Molinier (Paris 1902), 133. 23 Nonne indicium evidens est liberalitatis ejus eximie in ecclesia Parisiensi illud ex vitro opus insigne?, ‘Vie de Suger’, in Suger, Œuvres, II, ed. F. Gasparri (Paris 2008), 316–17. 24 W. Cahn, ‘The Tympanum of the Portal of Saint-Anne at Notre-Dame-de-Paris and the Iconography of the Division of the Powers in the Early Middle Ages’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 32 (1969), 55–72; J. Thirion, ‘Les plus anciennes sculptures de Notre-Dame de Paris’, Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 114 (1970), 85–112; W. Clark and F. Ludden, ‘Notes on the Archivolts of the Saint-Anne Portal of Notre-Dame de Paris’, Gesta, 25 (1986), 109–18; D. Sandron, ‘Observations sur la structure et la sculpture des portails de la façade’, Monumental (2000), 10–19. 25 For Saint-Denis, see S. McKnight Crosby, The Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis from Its Beginnings to the Death of Suger, 475–1151 (New Haven and London 1987), 194–95; M. Kramp, Kirche, Kunst und Königsbild: Zum Zusammenhang von Politik und Kirchenbau im capetingischen Frankreich des 12. Jahrhunderts am Beispiel der drei Abteien Saint-Denis, Saint-Germain-des-Prés und Saint-Remi/Reims (Weimar 1995), 11–34; see also Saint-Denis, trumeau figure of the central Portal of Saint-Denis, Antoine Benoist del., Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, MS Fr. 15634, fol. 33. For Saint-Germain-des Prés, see P. Plagnieux, ‘L’abbatiale de Saint-Germain-des-Prés et les débuts de l’architecture gothique’, Bull. Mon., 158 (2000), 6–85; J. Bouillart, Histoire de l’abbaye royale de Saint Germain des Prez (Paris 1724), 308 (plate showing western portal). 26 Sandron, ‘Observations’ (as n. 24), 10–19. 27 E. Viollet-le-Duc, Dictionnaire raisonné de l’architecture française du XIe au XVIe siècle (Paris 1866), VIII, 260. 28 M. Fleury, ‘Découvertes à Notre-Dame de Paris’, Archéologia, 183 (1983), 14–15; D. Sandron, ‘Eléments d’ébrasements d’un portail’, in Cent ans d’histoire de Paris. L’œuvre de la Commission du Vieux Paris 1898–1998, ed. M. Fleury and G.-M. Leproux (Paris 1999), 112–13. 29 D. Sandron, ‘Le projet du XIIe siècle’, in Notre-Dame de Paris (as n. 1), 67–93; D. Sandron and A. Tallon, Notre-Dame de Paris, neuf siècles d’histoire (Paris 2013), with literature.

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Abbot Suger’s Paris LINDY GRANT

Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis was one of the foremost patrons of architecture and the arts in the Middle Ages. He became abbot of the venerable abbey, burial house of St Denis, apostle to Gaul, and many kings of the Franks, in 1122. He instituted a programme of construction work at Saint-Denis almost as soon as he obtained the abbacy and was still planning building projects at his death in 1151. In 1125, he commuted a death tax for 200 pounds from the inhabitants of the bourg of Saint-Denis and assigned the money to the renewal and redecoration of the entrance to the monastery or the abbey church.1 In June 1137, Suger issued his testament, which states that he had begun works on the west end of the abbey church and implies that he had completed rebuilding the abbey refectory and the dormitory (thus, presumably the entire east range) and had also provided a new domus hospitium, alongside many other works that he is too modest to mention.2 On the same day, he issued an act to provide revenues for the office of the treasurer and to fund the treasury of the abbey.3 Between them, these acts reveal that Suger had undertaken major building projects not only at the abbey of Saint Denis itself but also at several abbey properties and priories, including Berneval in Normandy, Corbeil and Carrières, the main quarry for the abbey, where he had built an entire new town. Suger listed these works as he was about to leave to accompany the future Louis VII to Aquitaine to take possession of the duchy and its heiress – a potentially perilous journey in the summer heat for a man in his fifties. Fortunately, he returned safely to his abbey to oversee the completion of the new west end and its dedication in 1140.4 Between 1140 and 1143, the east end of the abbey church was rebuilt to provide a new upper shrine-choir for the relics of St Denis and his companions. It was consecrated in 1144.5 Around 1150, Suger started works to replace the Carolingian church between his new west and east ends, but these works were abandoned after his death.6 Much of Suger’s work at Saint-Denis still survives, including the west end, the eastern ambulatory and the crypt of the church, together with several stained glass windows and some liturgical objects that he was given or that he commissioned. Historians have always regarded Suger’s works at Saint-Denis as key to the emergence of Gothic arts and architecture. Suger left accounts of his patronage in two works, the De Administratione (which also records Suger’s reorganisation and development of the abbey’s properties to enhance the abbey’s revenues – the revenues spent on artistic commissions) and the De Consecratione.7 As a result, historians are unusually well informed as to what Suger commissioned, when he commissioned it and why he commissioned it. Among surviving 12th-century building projects, probably only the choir of Canterbury Cathedral and Château Gaillard are as firmly dated and well documented. This brings its own problems. Suger’s works at Saint-Denis are not the only architectural commissions to survive from early 12th-century Capetian France. But most other survivals, for instance works at the cathedral of Chartres and the abbey © 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-2

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of Saint-Martin-des-Champs, are not securely dated by irrefutable documentary evidence. Recently, Philippe Plagnieux has argued cogently, although on largely stylistic grounds, that the new Gothic arts emerged at Chartres under Suger’s close friend, Bishop Geoffrey of Lèves, to be developed at Saint-Martin-des-Champs before being deployed by Suger at Saint-Denis.8 Has the accident of survival, of the works themselves, and of the documentation that dates them, made Suger’s works at Saint-Denis seem more innovative and thus more significant than they were at the time? In this chapter, I will explore the monumental landscape of Paris and its immediate hinterland during the lifetime of Abbot Suger. A full contextualisation of Suger’s works must also, of course, take account of the centres around Paris, in the ‘zone of sanction’, where the Capetians had some measure of effective rule, and within surrounding areas linked into the river systems of the Seine and its tributaries: the Capetian centres of Senlis, Pontoise, Poissy, Etampes, Château-Landon, Melun, Orléans and surrounding cities, such as Chartres, Beauvais, Laon, Soissons and Meaux.9 This was an area of increasing economic development in the late 11th and early 12th centuries, well provided with good stone. There is evidence, some of it monumental, much documentary, for many major building projects within this area during this period, although what survives is usually not securely dated. But in this instance, I will concentrate on Paris and its immediate hinterland. Suger’s family came from just north of Paris. He was given as a child oblate to the abbey of Saint-Denis, probably in 1091.10 Suger’s qualities as a potential leader of the community were recognised early by his predecessor and mentor, Abbot Adam, and Suger did not stay enclosed in the cloister at the abbey. He was sent to the schools of the Loire for his education.11 As a member of Abbot Adam’s entourage, he attended the church council at Poitiers in 1106; witnessed Pope Pascal II’s visit to La Charitésur-Loire in 1107 and was occasionally present at the royal court during the reign of Philip I (1060–1108). He was put in charge of important properties of the abbey in Normandy and the Beauce in 1108 and 1109. In the latter he worked closely with Louis VI (1108–37).12 In 1122, Suger was elected abbot of Saint-Denis in succession to Abbot Adam. As abbot he developed his already well-established connections with the Capetian court and became a trusted advisor to Louis VI. He was less close to Louis VII (1137–79); nevertheless, when Louis VII went on Crusade in 1147–49, he left Suger as the most important member of a regency council in charge of the kingdom.13 Suger, then, had not lived a cloistered life. He knew late 11th- and early 12th-century Paris well. Indeed, he observed that he was in the city on royal business so often that he bought a house near the church of Saint-Merri close to the gate on the road to Saint-Denis.14 In 1981, the great historian Robert-Henri Bautier published an evocative article on the Paris of Peter Abelard – the Paris to which Abelard came in 1100 and in which he spent much of his teaching career. Abelard was more or less Suger’s contemporary, although slightly older. Bautier focused on the political, ecclesiastical and economic topography of Paris rather than the built environment as such.15 In the recent past, the focus has shifted to the Paris of the long 13th century. Here the work of John Baldwin on the Paris of Philip Augustus has been instrumental.16 Baldwin, like Bautier, was a historian. Like Bautier, he explored the political, ecclesiastical and economic topography of Paris rather than discussing the buildings and monuments that shaped and dominated the city’s spaces. More recently, two important exhibitions at the Musée 10

Abbot Suger’s Paris

de Cluny, Paris, have brought a stronger focus on the material culture and the built environment of the city: Naissance de la sculpture gothique, in 2018, and Paris ville rayonnante, in 2010.17 The Atlas de Paris au Moyen Age edited by Dany Sandron and Philippe Lorentz provides a rich overview of the development of the medieval city, magnificently illustrated.18 paris in suger’s lifetime How big a city was Suger’s Paris? Bautier argued that around 1100, most of the population of the city was concentrated on the Île de la Cité. He estimated that population at 3,000 but made no attempt to guess the population already inhabiting the centres on the right bank of the Seine.19 We know that the great expansion of the city’s population took place in the 12th and the early 13th centuries, so that by 1250 Paris had become the most populous city in northern Europe. Estimates have put the population of Paris at 25,000 around 1180, rising to 50,000 by around 1220 and 200,000 by the end of the 13th century.20 Most of this vastly expanded population occupied what was effectively a 12th-century new town on the right bank of the Seine. Who was migrating into the city? Many of the emigrants must have come from the city’s hinterland, perhaps especially from towns and villages along the river systems of the Seine, Oise, Marne and their tributaries. For the later 13th century, we have some evidence in census and taxation records. By then, the great city was attracting migrants, especially merchants, traders and specialist artisans, from much further afield, for example from Spain, Italy and the Crusader States.21 During Suger’s lifetime, such long-distance emigration is unlikely, except in the case of such specialised artisans as the metalworkers from Lotharingia that Suger invited to work on his great cross at Saint Denis.22 Bautier made a convincing case for the key role played in the expansion of Paris by Louis VI, the Fat.23 He argued that Louis was motivated by the fact that, in 1111, Paris was all but captured by the Norman magnate, Robert of Beaumont, a close associate of Henry I of England. Robert had acquired lands in the Grève area of the right bank of Paris through his marriage to Isabelle of Vermandois, a cousin of Louis VI. From here he launched an invasion of the Île de la Cité and attacked the royal palace. Robert was repulsed by the citizens. Louis VI took steps to ensure this would not happen again. He shifted the site of the main bridge linking the north bank and the Île de la Cité closer to the palace on the Île and protected the north end of the bridge with the fortification that became known as the Châtelet.24 Louis also saw to the economic welfare of the city. He developed a market in the fields (the Champeaux) on the north bank of the Seine, near the cemetery of the Innocents, and organised some of the most powerful merchants – the butchers, the moneychangers and the traders on the Seine – bringing them under as much royal control as possible and as close physically to the royal palace as practical or desirable.25 The development of the market area of the Champeaux in Paris coincided with Louis’s encouragement of the Lendit fair at Saint-Denis. In 1124, in celebration of his victory over the Emperor, Louis gave the whole of the fair to the monks of Saint-Denis.26 During the reign of Louis VII the economic wealth of the city increased but perhaps without such focused royal guidance.27 Whether following the policies of his father or, more likely, his grandfather, Philip Augustus (1179–1223) certainly ensured the economic growth of the city, separating the market from the cemetery of the Innocents, 11

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building the first permanent market halls, insisting on paving (Philip was horrified by mud) and finally surrounding the economically flourishing township emerging on the north bank with a magnificent protective wall.28 If the city increased dramatically in population and prosperity over the 12th century, it also benefitted from more intangible advantages. During the 12th century, the schools of Paris established a clear lead over the other cathedral schools.29 Abelard claimed that Paris was the best place to study dialectic when he himself was a student, at the very start of the 12th century.30 Other cathedral schools maintained more intellectual vibrancy than is often claimed. The glossa ordinaria was developed at Laon in the early 12th century, and Orléans retained a primacy in canon law well into the 13th century. But by the mid-12th century, almost anyone who hoped for a career in the Church (and thus in the administrations of royal and episcopal households) would expect to study the liberal arts and theology at Paris, as the careers of the German Otto of Freising and the English John of Salisbury demonstrate. In the early 13th century, the schools were amalgamated and institutionalised into the nascent University of Paris. The schools brought the city prestige as ‘the new Athens’ and an influx of students, which swelled the already expanding population and contributed to the economy, if the frequent student complaints about the costs of studying in the city are to be taken seriously. Further prestige came from strengthening ties between the king and the city. Although the kings remained itinerant, Louis the Fat undertook substantial building works at the palace on the Île de la Cité, including building, in the 1130s, a huge round tower in which he stored his treasure – a tower which must have inspired Philip Augustus’s great central tower of the Louvre some sixty years later.31 It was Philip Augustus who made the palace on the Île de la Cité the real centre of his administration. In his account of the deeds of Philip Augustus, William the Breton described Paris as the ‘caput regni’.32 Suger’s adult life is thus coeval with the emergence of Paris from the obscurity of the 11th century. By the time Suger died in 1151, the city was well on its way to becoming the economic, political and cultural capital of the Capetian kings. Indeed, Suger played an important role in this development.33 But how underdeveloped was Paris in the 11th century? Here we face a problem partly generated by Suger himself. In his writings, Suger set out to demonstrate that fortune shone on Capetian France and on the abbey of Saint-Denis, when the kingdom was under the governance of Louis the Fat and the abbey under the governance of Abbot Suger. King Philip I had fallen foul of the reformist wing of the north French Church on account of his bigamous marriage with Bertrade de Montfort. At his death in 1108, he chose burial in the abbey of Fleury (St-Benoît-sur-Loire), not, like all his Capetian predecessors, at Saint-Denis. In consequence, in his Deeds of Louis the Fat, Suger dismisses Philip as a king who had lost control of himself and of his realm, a king who knew he was not worthy to be buried alongside his royal predecessors at Saint-Denis.34 Philip’s moral and political weakness is set up as a foil to Suger’s highly sympathetic portrait of Louis the Fat. Louis is shown to work closely with Saint-Denis, protecting the abbey’s possessions, fighting under the protection and the banner of the saint, acting as a generous patron of the abbey, intending to become a monk of the abbey on his deathbed and intending burial in the abbey church. Protected by St Denis, Louis is able to bring peace and prosperity to the heartlands of the French kingdom in a way impossible to his father. Just as Suger dismisses Louis the Fat’s predecessor as ruler of the kingdom, so Suger plays down the successes of his own predecessor as abbot of Saint-Denis, 12

Abbot Suger’s Paris

Abbot Adam. Notoriously, Suger tells us that Louis returned the royal crown to the abbey, which held the royal regalia, during his own abbacy in 1124, in thanks for the protection of the saint in the face of imperial invasion. But a surviving charter shows that Louis returned the crown in 1120, during the abbacy of Adam.35 Suger’s account of his own administration of the abbey is an implicit criticism of the administration of his predecessor: Suger lets us know that when he took over in 1122, the abbey was indebted, its church was crumbling, its liturgical objects were in pawn, and its lands were undeveloped and under constant attack.36 It is a striking picture of the revival of a kingdom mirroring the revival of its greatest abbey under the guidance of Louis and Suger. It is difficult to resist, partly because no other writer offers us so coherent a narrative of the state of the kingdom, and there is no modern study of the long reign of Philip I. It plays into a neat overall narrative scheme of the transformation of the hapless Capetian usurpers, mere primi inter pares, of the 11th century, into rulers so powerful and prestigious that St Louis would be called ‘the king of terrestrial kings’ by the English monk Matthew Paris.37 It is certainly true that from around 1120 one can trace a consistent trajectory of expansion – economic, cultural and political – of the Capetian kings, their kingdom and their city of Paris, through to the reign of St Louis. But there are indications that we should not take Suger’s presentation at face value, and some nuancing is required. It is certainly true that Robert II the Pious (996–1031) concentrated on the city of Orléans more than on the old Merovingian ‘capital’ of Paris.38 There were good reasons for this. At the start of the 11th century, the Loire river formed a major communication route, and the alluvial soils of its valley made it an easy place to cultivate. Moreover, the political threats to Capetian rule came from Loire-based magnates, Fulk Nerra of Anjou and Theobald the Trickster and his successors as counts of Blois-Chartres. The links between the personnel of the churches of Orléans, particularly the cathedral, and the royal court were very close and exploded in the scandal of accusations of heresy in 1022. Orléans was the site of Robert’s major building projects.39 Nevertheless, in the royal palace on the Île de la Cité, Robert built a great hall, a new palace chapel of St Nicholas and made important donations to the abbey of Saint-Magloire, which lay within the palace adjacent to the great hall. He rebuilt the monastery of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois on the right bank and founded a new abbey by the royal house just to the west of Paris at Saint-Germain-en-Laye.40 Henry I (1031–60) probably based himself more firmly in the northern part of the Capetian heartlands, favouring Senlis as a residence. In Paris itself, Henry I founded an important new college of canons at Saint-Martin-des-Champs shortly before his death. The collegiate church, which Henry had commissioned, was dedicated in 1067. It must have been considered impressive, for a verse chronicle of the abbey, produced in the 1070s, includes a miniature that shows Henry sitting alongside his church delivering his foundation charter to the canons (Fig. 2.1).41 Although royal interests might be focused elsewhere, the venerable religious institutions of Paris were not devoid of religious and cultural life in the early 11th century, in particular, the abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Près. A succession of impressive abbots, including William of Volpiano, guided the monastery in the early 11th century. Between 990 and 1014, the abbey was rebuilt. Some of this rebuilding survives in situ beneath a heavy 19th-century restoration, and the monumental nave arcade capitals are preserved in the Musée de Cluny. By Suger’s day, it must have looked old fashioned but not unimpressive. Although the choir of the abbey was rebuilt from around 1145, 13

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Fig. 2.1  Saint-Martin-des-Champs verse chronicle, London, British Library, MS Add 11662, fol. 4r, showing Henry I and his foundation Source: © British Library, London.

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the nave was retained.42 In the mid-11th century, Saint-Germain-des-Près became an important centre of highly sophisticated manuscript production under the leadership of the artist-scribe Ingelrand.43 There are indications that the later 11th-century Capetians were reverting to focusing on Paris, which had, after all, been the major city, the capital, of the early Merovingians.44 Again, the geopolitics of the Frankish kingdom played a role. Threats from the great princes of the Loire were less overwhelming; but by 1066, the ambitious and energetic duke of the Normans had Normandy under tight ducal control and had become a consecrated king in his own right. William the Conqueror flagged up his wealth and prestige by building a great tower at the Capetians’ own pantheon, the abbey of Saint-Denis, although it fell down during construction.45 After the death of Count Ralph of Valois in 1074, and the retirement of his successor, Count Simon, into a monastery, Philip I inherited the Vexin. Thenceforth, the kings of France had a direct border with the duchy of Normandy, and that border was not so very far from Paris – and from Saint-Denis.46 Philip did not use one of the established Capetian family names when his son and heir was born in the 1070s; instead, he named him Louis – a name that had not been used for over a century and which must have been intended to recall not the last ‘useless’ Carolingians but the Merovingian King Clovis the Great, the first Christian king of France and the first to rule an extended Frankish kingdom, the king who saw Paris as his capital and who was buried in the city in the church of Sainte-Geneviève.47 It is a shame, and surprising, that there is no modern study of the long reign of Philip I. Suger was determined to distance Saint-Denis as far as possible from a king who had fallen foul of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. But Philip was by no means persona non grata at the abbey in the earlier years of his reign. In the 1060s, the monks of Saint-Denis put together a collection of acts, many of them ingenious forgeries, to demonstrate their immunity from the control of the bishop of Paris. Despite the forgeries, the collection had the desired effect in the form of a papal bull from Pope Alexander II. Philip supported the monks’ cause, although he probably had no idea how much forgery was involved. Later, Philip sent his heir, the future Louis VI, to Saint-Denis for his education.48 Philip’s record as a patron of monasticism was also more positive than Suger suggested. In 1094, Philip gave the palatine abbey of Saint-Magloire to Marmoutier, probably with the intention of monastic reform.49 Philip was also responsible for one of the most important monastic foundations in Paris: in 1079, he re-founded his father’s collegiate church of Saint- Martin-des-Champs as a new, much more substantial house of Cluniac monks.50 By the early 12th century, the community numbered 300 monks.51 Philip established an associated almonry for pilgrims and the poor.52 The replacement of canons by Cluniac monks was certainly consistent with contemporary ideals of monastic reform. The new abbey had very close connections with the king’s entourage, especially the families of Montmorency, Montlheri, the Butlers of Senlis and Garlande.53 It had a strong influence over the northern Cluniacs, including those in England. Indeed, Saint-Martin-des-Champs attracted patronage from the Anglo-Norman kings and several of their magnates.54 There was, almost certainly, a complete rebuilding of the abbey church under Philip’s patronage, and the construction of the attached monastery – a very different configuration from the buildings required for the college of canons founded by Henry I. The new abbey church was dedicated in either 1111 or 1116 (Fig. 2.2). Between 1093 and 1109, five carpenters are named in abbey acta, along with William the cementarius and his 15

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Fig. 2.2  Saint-Martin-des-Champs verse chronicle, London, British Library, MS Add 11662, fol. 5v, showing Philip I and his Cluniac foundation Source: © British Library, London.

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son Robert.55 Royal and courtly patronage of Saint-Martin-des-Champs, under both Henry I and Philip I, meant substantial architectural construction projects in this area just to the north of the city area. At the abbey itself, there were two successive churches, a complete, new monastery and an associated pilgrim hospice. The new abbey almost certainly instigated new housing and new economic development at its gates, for in 1122, Louis VI forbade the construction of more housing around the abbey.56 Even if we accept that it was Louis VI who really revitalised Paris as the principal city of the realm, a large number of building projects were underway or complete before Suger became abbot in 1122 and certainly before his major works on the abbey church from c. 1135. A group of hermits gathered around a chapel on the banks of the river Bièvre, to the south west of the city, had been institutionalised – as was so often the lot of hermits – into the Augustinian house of Saint-Victor by 1113. The house grew quickly, especially under the guidance of William of Champeaux. It attracted lavish funding from Louis the Fat, to the extent that the abbey regarded him as its founder. By 1130, Saint-Victor must have been provided with suitable abbey buildings and a church. Excavations show the first church with a simple apse flanked by two smaller chapels, although there were of course later rebuildings. The single west tower – an arrangement reminiscent of Saint-Germain- des-Près – from the first church survived to be recorded in the 17th century.57 Another early 12th-century building is represented by the house built by the chancellor, Stephen de Garlande, within the precinct of Notre Dame, of which he was an archdeacon. Charters make it clear that this house, with a chapel, was complete by 1121. The chapel survives. It is elegant and well-constructed with en-delit shafting. The capitals are remarkably classical in design, and it seems likely that Stephen used his strong familial connection with the Cluniac order to invite masons from Burgundy to work on his chapel (Fig. 2.3).58 Stephen de Garlande was dean of the collegiate church of Sainte-Geneviève, which was one of the most venerable institutions in Paris and the burial house of King Clovis. There too a major construction project took place, possibly to provide a newly elaborate surrounding for the shrine of St Eloi, after the saint was seen to have provided protection against an outbreak of ergotism in 1130.59 The surviving sculpture from this project is more richly elaborate, more based around vegetal rinceau patterns, than the sculpture for Stephen’s chapel. And at just the time when Suger launched his new works at the west end of the abbey church, two other major building projects got under way. The monks of Saint-Martin-des-Champs decided to rebuild their still-recent abbey choir – although there is no documentary evidence to provide dates for this campaign (Fig. 2.4).60 The abbey church of Saint-Pierre at Montmartre is more securely dated. In 1133, Louis the Fat and his queen, Adela of Savoy, established a new nunnery at Montmartre. Louis’s foundation charter of the following year mentions the church ‘that we have constructed’ (‘construximus’), although probably only the east end was complete, and suggests that the nuns were already established at the site. The church was built speedily. Both nave and choir altars were consecrated in 1148, and Adela was buried before the high altar in 1154.61

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Fig. 2.3  Paris: Chapel of Saint-Aignan, the chapel of Stephen de Garlande’s house in the precinct of Notre-Dame Source: The Conway Library, Courtauld Institute of Art.

Fig. 2.4  Paris: Saint-Martin-desChamps, choir Source: Lindy Grant.

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Fig. 2.5 and 2.6  Paris: Saint-Pierre at Montmartre, general view (left) choir, north wall, with reused marble spolia (right) Source: Lindy Grant.

Merovingian marble shafts and capitals were used to bring the prestige of the past to the new choir (Figs 2.5 and 2.6). saint-denis What about Saint-Denis itself before Suger? Suger benefitted from Abbot Adam’s projects far more than he cared to admit. The full development of the economic potential of the bourg of Saint-Denis and the Lendit fair may have occurred under Suger’s abbacy, but the process, including speculative house building to attract inhabitants, was already underway as early as 1112, long before Suger became abbot.62 Some of the development of the abbey’s wider properties, for which Suger takes credit in the De Administratione, had been instigated or implemented by Adam, who had worked to build a close relation with Philip I and the young Louis the Fat.63 It was undoubtedly a shock when, in 1108, Philip chose burial at Fleury. Abbot Adam responded by inventing a liturgical feast to commemorate Dagobert, the putative royal founder of the abbey and the first king to be buried there. During the ceremony, crowns, presumably those held by the abbey as part of the royal regalia, were to be displayed around and upon the altars. Adam’s commemoration of Dagobert is as inventive, as evocative of the relationship between the abbey and the kings, as anything concocted by Suger.64 19

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How much cultural production took place at Saint-Denis before Suger took office as abbot? This is a vexed question. Abbot Ivo (1072–93/94) commissioned a series of poetic epitaphs from the renowned poet Fulk of Beauvais. The subjects included Dagobert, Charles the Bald, King Henry I of France and Queen Matilda I of England, the wife of William the Conqueror. The commission suggests that Abbot Ivo had connections with sophisticated intellectual circles.65 Suger has often been seen as the initiator of the tradition of history writing at the abbey. Rolf Grosse has argued that it began under Adam, with the compilation of a series of texts in the miscellany Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine (Bib. Maz. 2013), which stressed the continuities between the Capetians and their Merovingian and Carolingian predecessors. It must be said, however, that Elizabeth A. R. Brown’s forensic but as yet unpublished close studies of Bib. Maz. 2013 demonstrate a new level of sophistication in the selection of the historical texts copied into it from around the time of Suger’s accession to the abbacy.66 That the abbey had a highly sophisticated scriptorium in the 1060s is evident from the production of the collection of acts, with its manifold false charters, confected to gain immunity from the bishop of Paris. But all historians have noted the almost complete absence of illuminators at the abbey. In fact, that was also true of Suger’s abbacy, when the principal illuminated manuscript acquired by the abbey, the Bible of Saint-Denis (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS Lat 55 and 116), seems to have been produced at Chartres, probably with the help of Suger’s close friend, Geoffrey of Lèves, Bishop of Chartres.67 In his survey of manuscript production at Saint-Denis in the early 12th century, Stahl singled out an image of Christ showing his wounds for its elegance, its slightly experimental iconography and its position in one of the abbey’s treasured Greek manuscripts (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, MS Gr. 375, fol.1r). Stahl dated this image to the early 12th century, probably to Adam’s abbacy rather than to Suger’s.68 The commemora­ tions of Dagobert, established in 1108, showed a command of elaborate liturgical theatre. The abbey of Abbots Ivo and Adam was not, it seems, devoid of cultural and intellectual capital. Suger emphasised the run-down state of the abbey church and abbey buildings, but there were certainly some construction and renovation before 1122. It is possible that Fulk of Beauvais’s poetic epitaphs for Dagobert, Charles the Bald and Henry I were inscribed in stone or metal on or near their tombs: the texts would certainly have been suitable.69 Suger reused a bronze door for the north portal of his west front. Its inscription was recorded in the 17th century, showing that it was given by ‘Airardus’. The Airardus has never been identified, and it is often assumed that the door was Carolingian. In fact, the form of the inscription suggests that it was made in the late 11th or early 12th century.70 William the Conqueror’s new tower adjacent to the choir of the abbey church was imposing, although it collapsed before it was completed.71 The church of the canons of Saint-Paul (the canons were members of the community of the abbey), set along the north perimeter of the abbey enclosure, was rebuilt under Abbot Adam, and the new church was dedicated in 1115.72 A set of capitals was found in the excavations at the abbey, reused in the foundations of the church of Saint-Michel-du Charnier, which abutted the church of Saint-Paul. The church of Saint-Michel appears to have been rebuilt around 1140, presumably during Suger’s extensive works. A single, probably related capital, was found reused in the foundations of Suger’s west front.73 The capitals, all now in the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Paul Eluard, Saint-Denis, are rustic in execution but replete 20

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Fig. 2.7  Saint-Denis: capital with Saints Peter and Paul, now in Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Paul Eluard, Saint-Denis

Fig. 2.8  Saint-Denis: capital with Dives and Lazarus, Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Paul Eluard, Saint-Denis Source: Lindy Grant.

Source: Lindy Grant.

with lively figure sculpture of some iconographical sophistication, with imagery representing Saints Peter and Paul and the story of Dives and Lazarus (Figs 2.7 and 2.8). They appear to be unfinished, and there is no evidence that they were ever painted. The capitals bear witness to a substantial building and decorative programme at the abbey. But what date are they? Michaël Wyss, whose understanding of the material development of the abbey is unrivalled, has associated them with Abbot Suger’s expensive works on the ‘introitum monasterii’ in 1125. He argues that Suger used the substantial money from the commuted death tax to fund a major rebuilding of the north entrance to the abbey church and that, ten years later, Suger dismantled these works, using sculpted stone from them as filler for foundations for the new west end and the church of Saint-Michel-duCharnier.74 But there are several problems with this argument. It is unclear what Suger means by the introitum monasterii. The Latin suggests the entrance into the monastery rather than the entrance to the abbey church. However, 200 pounds certainly seems a lot to spend on the abbey entrance. It is undoubtedly tempting to see this huge sum spent on the entrance to the abbey church. The stumbling block here is that it does not fit with Suger’s own account of his deconstruction of the old west front in the 1130s, which specifies that he had to start by tearing down the additional, Carolingian forebuilding made to cover the grave of Pepin the Short.75 One could argue that Suger preferred to forget an expensive building programme that he himself took down less than ten years later. Suger’s memory, as we have seen, was very selective. In fact, 200 pounds also seems too high a price to pay for works that included these unfinished, unpolished and rejected capitals. It is possible that by ‘introitum monasterii’ Suger meant an entire monastic entry complex, which would usually incorporate an almonry, chambers that could be used for judgement and a gatehouse chapel alongside the gatehouse itself. It is also possible that Suger set the 200 pounds aside until his major works on the west 21

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front from the 1130s. Indeed, that the 200 pounds will be given for future works on the entrance to the abbey is implicit in the text of the charter.76 Moreover, there is no prima facie case for linking this set of capitals with Suger’s works in 1125. Rather the contrary. The capitals would look old-fashioned in England or Normandy in 1125 and even more so in relation to other known works within Paris, its hinterland and the Île-de-France. It is difficult to believe that they postdate the sculpture produced for Stephen de Garlande’s chapel, which was completed by 1121, or that they are almost coeval with the accomplished and sophisticated sculpture produced for Sainte-Geneviève in 1130. Indeed, it is difficult to believe that they predate the sculpture on Suger’s west front, dating from around 1135, by a mere ten years. Comparisons might suggest that they are works of the late 11th century or the very early 12th century. They are reminiscent of Norman works, particularly the crossing sculpture at the cathedral of Bayeux of pre-1077 and the related capitals from Rucqueville, although they look later. Might they have been intended for William the Conqueror’s tower, which collapsed during construction? This would explain the fact that they were left unfinished. Perhaps, they were intended for the church or associated canonical buildings of Saint-Paul constructed under abbot Adam and dedicated in 1115. Certainly, the impression given by Suger that no building or other cultural production took place at Saint-Denis before he himself became abbot is demonstrably untrue. There are implications here for an understanding of Suger’s great building projects at Saint-Denis. Suger’s own architectural achievements are not undermined by the observation that he was not building in an architectural vacuum. One major new monastic building project in Paris, Saint-Martin-des-Champs, was virtually complete by the time Suger had reached early manhood. Historians have tended to concentrate on the surviving 12th-century choir at Saint-Martin-des-Champs and have ignored the half-century of construction work there between 1060 and c. 1115. The new abbey of Saint-Victor was under construction well before Suger became abbot; and the surviving chapel from Stephen de Garlande’s house represents the quality of stone masons available in Paris before 1121. Documentary evidence shows that, apart from these major architectural projects, there was also considerably more basic construction in Paris and Saint-Denis from the late 11th century: Stephen de Garlande, Abbot Adam of Saint-Denis and, probably, the early priors of Saint-Martin-des-Champs were all involved in speculative house building.77 As for Saint-Denis itself, Suger’s continual downplaying, or appropriation, of his predecessor’s achievements to bolster his own has led to the assumption that there was no cultural production or activity at the abbey until Suger became abbot. This was not the case. By the time Suger started his own building projects, there was a local workforce with considerable expertise in construction in the city and its immediate environs, and Suger was not the first to attract large and impressive teams from elsewhere for major projects. Suger tells us that he brought in specialist workers from far and wide. But these were almost certainly for very specific aspects of the new abbey requiring very specialist skills – the goldsmiths from Lotharingia, perhaps glass makers for the windows and sculptors for some of the finer figure sculpture. There was no reason why he could not have found much of his workforce from Paris and the immediate Paris area. The city of Paris had a more developed monumental landscape in the 11th and early 12th centuries than is often appreciated or that Abbot Suger cared to acknowledge.

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notes 1 ‘Ad introitum monasterii Beati Dionysii renovandum et decorandum, ducentas libras nostra dispositione et providentia ad idem opus expendendas nobis contulerunt’; A. Lecoy de la Marche, Œuvres complètes de Suger, recueillies, annotées et publiées d’après les manuscrits (Paris 1865), 319–22, Charters, no. i. 2 Lecoy de la Marche, Œuvres complètes (as n. 1), 333–41, no. vii. 3 Ibid., 342–43, no. viii. 4 L. Grant, Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis: Church and State in Early Twelfth-Century France (London 1998), 245–47. 5 Ibid., 247–50. 6 Ibid., 250–52. 7 ‘De Rebus in Administratione sua Gestis’, in Œuvres complètes (as n. 1), 151–209; the parts concerning Suger’s artistic projects are in E. Panofsky ed. and trans., Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St-Denis and Its Art Treasures, 2nd edn, ed. G. Panofsky-Soergel (Princeton 1976), 40–81; ‘Libellus Alter de Consecratione Ecclesiae Sancti Dionysii’, in Œuvres complètes (as n. 1), 211–38; Panofsky, Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St-Denis (as this note), 82–121. 8 P. Plagnieux, ‘Les portails occidentaux de Suger sous influence’, and idem, ‘Les chapiteaux du chevet de Saint-Martin-des-Champs’, in Naissance de la sculpture Gothique: Saint-Denis, Paris, Chartres, ed. D. Berné and P. Plagnieux (Paris 2018), 78 and 84–86. For Geoffrey of Lèves, see L. Grant, ‘Geoffrey of Lèves, Bishop of Chartres: “Famous Wheeler and Dealer in Secular Business” ’, in Suger en question: regards croisés sur Saint-Denis, ed. R. Grosse (Munich 2004), 45–56; L. Grant, ‘Arnulf’s Mentor: Geoffrey of Lèves, Bishop of Chartres’, in Writing Medieval Biography, 750–1250: Essays in Honour of Professor Frank Barlow, ed. David Bates, Julia Crick and Sarah Hamilton (Woodbridge 2006), 173–84. 9 For the useful concept of the ‘zone of sanction’, where the Capetians had some measure of effective rule during the 11th and 12th centuries, as opposed to the ‘zone of acknowledgement’, where their authority as king was acknowledged, but where they had no real power, see B. Schneidmüller, ‘Constructing Identities in Medieval France’, in France in the Central Middle Ages, 900–1200, ed. M. Bull (Oxford 2002), 15–42. For the sculpture from this area, see now Plagnieux, Naissance de la sculpture Gothique (as n. 8), esp. 21–27 and 90–178. 10 Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 75–77. 11 Ibid., 80–83. 12 For Suger’s career before 1122, ibid., 85–107. 13 Ibid., 142–43 and 156–78. 14 ‘Domum quae superest portae Parisiensi versus Sanctum Medericum emimus mille solidis, quoniam, cum frequenter interessemus negociis regni, nos et equos nostros, sed et successores nostros ibidem honestius hospitari dignum duximus’; ‘De Administratione’, Œuvres complètes (as n. 1), 158. 15 R.-H. Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’, in Abélard en son Temps, ed. J. Jolivet (Paris 1981), 21–77. 16 J. W. Baldwin, Masters Princes and Merchants: The Social Views of Peter the Chanter and His Circle, 2 vols (Princeton 1970); idem, The Government of Philip Augustus: Foundations of French Royal Power in the Middle Ages (Berkeley 1986), 342–51; idem Paris 1200 (Stanford 2010). 17 Plagnieux, Naissance de la sculpture Gothique (as n. 8); Paris Ville Rayonnante, ed. Meredith Cohen and Xavier Dectot (Paris 2010). 18 D. Sandron and P. Lorentz, Atlas de Paris au Moyen Age: espace urbain, habitat, société, religion, lieux de pouvoirs (Paris 2006). 19 Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 39–40. 20 Sandron and Lorentz, Atlas de Paris (as n. 18), 68; Paris Ville Rayonnante (as n. 17), 9–10; S. Farmer, The Silk Industries of Medieval Paris (Philadelphia 2017), 11. 21 Farmer, Silk Industries (as n. 20), 11–37. 22 ‘De Administratione’, Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St-Denis (as n. 7), 58; and see Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 252–55.

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lindy grant 23 Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 23; see also R.-H. Bautier, ‘Quand et comment Paris devient capitale’, Bulletin de la Société historique de Paris et de l’Île de France, 105 (1979), esp. 36–39. 24 Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 41–42. 25 Ibid., 42–51. 26 Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 228. 27 S. Isaac, ‘All Citizens High and Low: Louis VII and the Towns’, in Louis VII and His World, ed. M. L. Bardot and L. W. Marvin (Leiden 2018), 78–79; Bautier, ‘Quand et comment’ (as n. 23), 39–42. 28 Baldwin, Government (as n. 16), esp. 345–47. See Rigord, Histoire de Philippe Auguste (Sources d’Histoire Médiévale, 33), ed. E. Carpentier, G. Pon and Y. Chauvin (Paris 2006), 192–93 (for paving), 160–01 (for Les Halles), 222–23 (for the cemetery of the Innocents) and 284–85 (for the building of the northern wall). See also D. Hayot, Paris en 1200: Histoire et archéologie d’une capitale fortifiée par Philippe Auguste (Paris 2018). 29 There is a huge bibliography on Paris as an intellectual centre, including: Baldwin, Masters, Princes and Merchants (as n. 16); S. C. Ferruolo, The Origins of the University: The Schools of Paris and Their Critics, 1100–1215 (Stanford 1985); I. P. Wei, Intellectual Culture in Medieval Paris, c. 1100–1330 (Cambridge 2012). For the early 12th century, see, Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15); M. Clanchy, Abelard: A  Medieval Life (Oxford 1997); C. J. Mews, Peter Abelard (Aldershot 1995); The Letters of Abelard and Heloise, trans. B. Radice, revised edn, ed. M. Clanchy (London and New York 2003). 30 Letters of Abelard and Heloise (as n. 29), 3–4. 31 For Louis’s tower, Sandron and Lorentz, Atlas de Paris (as n. 18), 81. 32 Bautier, ‘Quand et comment’ (as n. 23), 42–45; Baldwin, Government (as n. 16), 39–40 and 343. 33 For Suger’s development of the economy of Saint-Denis and abbey properties in Paris, see Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 226–30. 34 ‘Rex Philippus in diem deficiebat: neque enim post superductam Andegavensem comitissam quicquam regia majestate dignum agebat . . . Unde nec reipublice providebat nec proceri et elegantis corporis sanitati, plus equo remissus, parcebat’; Suger, Vie de Louis le Gros, 2nd edn, ed. H. Waquet (Paris 1964), esp. 80–85. 35 Suger, Vie de Louis le Gros (as n. 34), 226–28; Recueil des actes de Louis VI, roi de France (1108– 1137), 3 vols, ed. J. Dufour (Paris 1992–93), I, 377–83, no. 182; Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 104–05 and 114. 36 For Suger’s dismissal of Adam’s abbacy, see Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), esp. 182–85; R. Grosse, ‘L’Abbé Adam, prédecesseur de Suger’, in Suger en question (as n. 8); R. Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König: Die Zeit vor Suger 1053–1122 (Stuttgart 2002), esp. 131–230. 37 ‘Dominus rex Francorum, qui terrestrium rex regum est, tum propter ejus caelestem inunctionem, tum propter sui potestatem et militia eminentiam’, M. Paris, Chronica Majora, 7 vols, Rolls Series, ed. H. R. Luard (London 1872–83), V, 480. 38 Bautier, ‘Quand et comment’ (as n. 23), 33–34. 39 Helgaud, Vie de Robert le Pieux, Epitoma vitae regis Rotberti pii, ed. R.-H. Bautier and G. Laboury (Paris 1965), esp. 87, 107–09 and 131. 40 Ibid., 76–77, 131 and 133. See Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 22–23 and 22 with n. 5, where he points out that Helgaud is referring to Saint-Germain-en-Laye rather than, as so often supposed, Saint-Germain-de-Près. For Robert’s gifts to Saint-Magloire, see R. de Lasteyrie, Cartulaire générale de Paris, ou Recueil de documents relatifs à l’histoire et la topographie de Paris, 528–1180 (Paris 1887), 98–101, nos 72 and 73, and 106–07, no. 77; see also ibid., 114–16, nos 86 and 87 for an act of Henry I for Saint-Magloire ‘juxta aulam nostri palatii’. 41 Recueil de chartes et documents de Saint-Martin-des-Champs: monastère parisien, 5 vols, ed. J. Depoin (Paris 1912–21) I, 14–18, no. 6 (for the foundation charter); ibid., I, 28–31, no. 12 (for the act of Philip I given at the dedication of the church in 1067: ‘pater meus supradictus renovare et reaedificare studuerat, et multis beneficiis et donariis ditaverat atque ornaverat . . . post mortem ipsius dedicari feci, et opus quod pater meus . . . complere non potuit, ego pro ipso supplevi’). The image of Henry I in the verse chronicle is in London, British Library, MS Add 11662, fol. 4r. A second image, on fol. 5v shows Philip and the abbey church.

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Abbot Suger’s Paris 42 Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 22; P. Plagnieux, ‘L’abbatiale de Saint-Germain-desPrès et les débuts de l’architecture gothique’, Bulletin Monumental, 158 (2000), 6–86, esp. 14–18 for the 11th-century campaigns. 43 C. Denoël, ‘L’enluminure romane en Île de France au tournant du XIIe siècle (v. 1080–1140)’, in Naissance de la sculpture Gothique (as n. 8), 33. 44 For Paris as the ‘sedes regni’ of Clovis, see Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 21–22; Bautier, ‘Quand et comment’ (as n. 23), 20–23. For the early Capetians and Paris, ibid., 34. 45 J. F. Benton, Self and Society in Medieval France: The Memoirs of Abbot Guibert of Nogent, Medieval Academy Reprints (Toronto 1984), 228. 46 Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König (as n. 36), 85. See also L. Grant, ‘Suger and the Anglo-Norman World’, Anglo-Norman Stud. 1996, 19 (1997), 51–68. 47 For Clovis’s burial, see A. Erlande-Brandenburg, Le roi est mort: étude sur les funérailles, les sépultures et les tombeaux des rois de France jusqu’à la fin du XIIIe siècle (Geneva 1975), 133–34; Bautier, ‘Quand et comment’ (as n. 23), 20–23. For Capetian perceptions of the last Carolingians as ‘reges inutiles’, the useless kings, around 1200 and probably earlier, see A. W. Lewis, ‘Dynastic Structures and Capetian Throne-Right: The Views of Giles of Paris’, Traditio, 33 (1977), 245–47. 48 Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König (as n. 36), 61–67 (for the collection of acts), 126–30 (for discussion of relations between Philip I and Saint-Denis). 49 Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 34; A. Sohn, ‘Die Kapetinger und das Pariser Priorat Saint-Martin-des-Champs im 11. und 12. Jahrhundert. Mit Ausblicken auf die Beziehungen zwischen dem Konvent und den englischen Königen’, Francia, 25 (1998), 83; de Lasteyrie, Cartulaire générale (as n. 40), 135–36, no. 109. 50 Liber testamentorum Sancti Martini de Campis: reproduction annotée du manuscript de la Bibliothèque nationale, ed. E. Coüard, J. Depoin, M. Dutilleux et al. (Paris 1905), viii. For a discussion of Philip and Saint-Martin-des-Champs, see Sohn, ‘Die Kapetinger und das Pariser Priorat Saint-Martin-desChamps’ (as n. 49), 81–85; for Philip’s act of 1079 giving Saint-Martin-des-Champs to Cluny, see Recueil de Chartes et documents de Saint-Martin-des-Champs (as n. 41), I, 39–39, no 18. 51 Sohn, ‘Die Kapetinger und das Pariser Priorat Saint-Martin-des-Champs’ (as n. 49), 118. 52 Liber testamentorum (as n. 50), vii. 53 Sohn, ‘Die Kapetinger und das Pariser Priorat Saint-Martin-des-Champs’ (as n. 49), 86–87; and see Recueil de Chartes et documents de Saint-Martin-des-Champs (as n. 41), I, 49–54, nos 25–29; 63–64, no. 35; 96–98, no. 60; 100–01, no. 62; and 176–77, no. 111. 54 Sohn, ‘Die Kapetinger und das Pariser Priorat Saint-Martin-des-Champs’ (as n. 49), esp. 108–10. 55 Liber testamentorum (as n. 50), viii–ix. 56 Bautier, ‘Paris au Temps d’Abélard’ (as n. 15), 27. 57 J.-P. Willesme, ‘Saint-Victor au temps d’Abélard’, in Abélard en son Temps (as n. 15), esp. 101 and 104. 58 L. Grant, F. Heber-Suffrin and D. Johnson, ‘La Chapelle Saint-Aignan à Paris’, Bulletin Monumental, 157 (1999), esp. 284–85. 59 D. Berné, ‘Le décor du chevet de Sainte-Geneviève’, in Naissance de la sculpture Gothique (as n. 8), 87–89. 60 For the choir rebuilding, P. Plagnieux, ‘Les chapiteaux du chevet de Saint-Martin-des-Champs’ (as n. 8), 84–86. 61 Recueil des chartes de l’abbaye royale de Montmartre, ed. E. de Barthélémy, 5–6, 60–63 (for the foundation charter), 78–83 (Paris, 1883). 62 Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 228–29. 63 Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König (as n. 36), 131–32 and 135–37; Grosse, ‘L’Abbé Adam’ (as n. 36), 35–37 and 40–41; Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 182–84. 64 R. Barroux, ‘L’anniversaire de la mort de Dagobert à Saint-Denis au XIIe siècle: charte inédite de l’abbé Adam’, Bulletin philologique et historique, 1942–43 (Paris 1945); Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König (as n. 36), 131–16; Grosse, ‘L’Abbé Adam’ (as n. 36), 34–35; Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 90.

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lindy grant 65 H. Omont, ‘Epitaphes métriques en l’honneur de différents personnages du XIe siècle composées par Foulcoie de Beauvais, archidiacre de Meaux’, in Mélanges Julien Havet. Recueil de travaux d’érudition dédiés à la mémoire de Julien Havet, 1853–1893 (Paris 1895), 218–19, as well as 219–35 (for the text of the epitaphs); see also the discussion in Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König (as n. 36), 88–89. 66 Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König (as n. 36), 137–47; Grosse, ‘L’Abbé Adam’ (as n. 36), 38–39. I would like to thank Peggy Brown for sharing some of her unpublished work on the Saint-­Denis manuscripts and scriptorium with me, especially the following paper: E. A. R. Brown, ‘Lire et écrire l’histoire à Saint-Denis à l’epoque de l’abbé Suger: les manuscrits Mazarine 2013 et BnF, latin 12710’, delivered to the Société Nationale des Antiquaires on 22 March 2017. 67 H. Stahl, ‘The Problem of Manuscript Painting at Saint-Denis’, in Abbot Suger and Saint-Denis, ed. Paula Gerson (New York 1986), 174; for the Bible of Saint-Denis, see Denoël, ‘L’enluminure romane’ (as n. 43), 36–37; for Geoffrey of Lèves, see note 8. 68 Stahl, ‘The Problem’ (as n. 67), 165–67 and fig. 1. 69 Omont, ‘Epitaphes métriques’ (as n. 65), 220; for example for Dagobert: ‘Rex Dagobertus obit, Francorum Gloria regum/Indicat iste locus dignam gestasse coronam/indicat ista domus condignum tollere sceptrum . . . Te paries, reditus, lapis, aurum, predia, fundus/interior, res exterior, Dagoberte, locuntur’. 70 M. Wyss ed., Atlas historique de Saint-Denis: des origines au XVIII siècle (Paris 1996), 58–59. 71 Benton, Self and Society in Medieval France (as n. 45), 228. 72 Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König (as n. 36), 201. 73 R. Favreau, ‘L’inscription d’Airard à la porte nord de l’abbatiale’, in Wyss, Atlas (as n. 70), 58–59. 74 Wyss, Atlas (as n. 70), 51; M. Wyss, ‘Des chapiteaux romans témoins des premiers travaux de Suger à Saint-Denis’, in Naissance de la Sculpture Gothique (as n. 8), 28–39. 75 ‘De Administratione’, Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St-Denis (as n. 7), 44–45; ‘De Consecratione’, ibid., 88–91. 76 Text as note 1; note the use of the future tense (‘contulerunt’) and the heavy phrasing, which implies intention and provision for the future. Since this was written, there has been new debate, as yet unpublished, on the west front of Saint-Denis. John James has questioned whether the west front could have been built in the five years between 1135 and 1140, and suggested that the campaign started before 1135. Major new excavations are currently (April 2023) taking place beneath the west tower and have raised new questions about the design and the date of the start of work on the west front. I would like to thank John James and Michäel Wyss for their stimulating discussions of these issues. 77 For Stephen’s speculative house building, see Grant, Heber-Suffrin and Johnson, ‘La Chapelle Saint-Aignan’ (as n. 58), 285.

26

The Powers of the Saints Architecture and Liturgy in Abbot Suger’s Shrine-Choir at Saint-Denis in the 12th and 13th Centuries ALEXANDRA GAJEWSKI

introduction ‘Suger’s new ambulatory choir remained strangely empty’ observed Werner Jacobsen in a key article from 2002 on the liturgical dispositions of Saint-Denis’s abbey church through the ages.1 Having remained largely in place until the refurbishment of 1626– 28, the liturgical fittings installed by Abbot Suger in his new east end, built between c. 1140 and 1144, included a golden crucifix, the combined altar and shrine of Denis and his companions Eleutherius and Rusticus, and ‘behind a large and empty inner choir’.2 Why, Jacobsen further enquired, was the tomb of Denis separated from the high altar. ‘The disposition is strange’, he insisted.3 To solve the enigma he proposed, first, that there was a lay altar situated at the crown of the apse and, second, that Suger’s new east end must have been built for reasons other than those spelled out by the abbot in his writings. Jacobson lists these making the shrine of Denis and his companions more visible than they had been in the crypt, providing space for an altar of Denis at which visiting dignitaries could celebrate mass and the accommodation of pilgrims.4 According to Jacobson, Suger intended the space behind the shrine monument to provide a location for an important new ritual, the king’s reception of the oriflamme, the royal standard, prior to the departure to war.5 The problem Jacobsen identified and the solution he proposed deserve renewed attention in the light of recent studies of Saint-Denis and of the two important abbey and pilgrimage churches that offer close comparisons with Saint-Denis, Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire and Saint-Martin at Tours.6 Moreover, Jacobsen’s study neglected two aspects of the shrine-choir: first, the lost shrine itself, which is known from a variety of sources, and second, the role played by the crypt and the radiating chapels in the architecture and liturgy of the east end. Finally, Jacobsen’s proposal that the new east end was built for a royal ritual is relevant in relation to a long-standing debate on whose authority weighed heavier at Saint-Denis, that of the king or of the community? The debate has seen a recent shift in scholarly opinion away from the traditional perception of Saint-Denis as a royal abbey, the primary focus of which was its role as a royal burial place, towards a greater awareness of and interest in the diverse other imperatives of the monastic institution, in particular the importance of its cult of saints.7 Ultimately, the evidence suggests that, although Suger’s choir did serve as a place for ceremonies – albeit not just royal ones – its length was determined by other factors, © 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-3

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Fig. 3.1  Saint-Denis Abbey: view towards the shrine-choir from the south transept Source: Alexandra Gajewski.

in particular one that is rarely associated with the design of the new choir: Suger’s ambition to magnify the abbey’s cult of saints by providing St Denis and his companions with a holy entourage of martyrs and virgins whose bodies rested at Saint-Denis. the shrine-choir Consisting of a vast platform to the east of the high altar, Suger’s new sanctuary stood about 3.60 metres above the floor level of the Carolingian nave (Figs 3.1 and 3.2).8 Although the upper stories were reconstructed after 1231 and the main arcade and hemicycle piers were replaced en sous œuvre, the ambulatory of Suger’s choir survives (Fig. 3.3).9 It consists of two straight bays and a seven-sided apse (Fig. 3.4), forming the long inner choir that concerned Jacobsen. The ambulatory opens onto nine chapels – seven apsidal and two square – located in the easternmost bays of the outer aisles. Owing to the ingenious and daring decision to separate the rib-vaulted chapels by slender monolithic columns, the ambulatory and chapels merge into a single unobstructed space and, at least for today’s visitor, present a spatial unity for which the choir is justly celebrated. This upper choir is supported by a crypt, also built by Suger (Fig. 3.5). The number of apsidal chapels in the crypt is therefore the same as in the upper choir, but here they are separated by solid walls. The crypt incorporates the remains of an 8th-century annular crypt of the Carolingian church and 28

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Fig. 3.2  View of Saint-Denis in 1794–95, Charles Percier

Fig. 3.3  Saint-Denis Abbey: ambulatory of the shrine-choir, north side

Source: Christian Schryve/Musée Antoine Vivenel, Compiègne.

Source: John McNeill.

an additional crypt (crypte hors œuvre), projecting to the east of the church, added in c. 832 under Abbot Hilduin and rebuilt in the 11th and early 12th centuries.10 Although reconstructed several times in the post-medieval period, some evidence survives of this crypt’s appearance in its last stage before Suger’s rebuilding: it was a single-storey structure, consisting of three vessels, the central axis of which was not aligned with the Carolingian church but deviated to the north. The lateral aisles had straight terminations, and the projecting apse of central vessel probably also had a flat east end.11 Suger’s reconstruction did not affect the liturgical choir in the old Carolingian church, and the high altar remained in the same position as before, although, as Jacobsen notes, it would have needed to have been rebuilt as a result of the demolition of the Carolingian choir apse.12 The new elevated ‘shrine-choir’, effectively a retro choir, provided a grand setting for a monument that combined an altar with a shrine, intended for the remains of St Denis and his companions.13 On 11 June 1144, the day of the consecration of this new choir, Suger extracted three silver shrine chests (called scrinia or urnae by Suger) from the old confessio in the crypt below the high altar and ceremoniously transferred them to the spectacular new stage, on which they were now to be permanently displayed.14 The multiplicity of levels in the new east end reproduced a traditional spatial arrangement in which crypt, sanctuary and nave were 29

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Fig. 3.4  Saint-Denis Abbey: ground plan with altar dedications as in the third quarter of the 13th century Source: Matilde Grimaldi.

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all located at different heights. It was first used in the Carolingian period, notably at St Peter’s in Rome, and became widespread afterwards. In the Carolingian church of Saint-Denis, the eastern apse had probably been elevated to about 1.50 metres above the floor level of the nave, with the high altar located centrally above the tomb of the three saints in the crypt (Fig. 3.6).15 The difference between these early medieval east ends and Suger’s new choir is that the elevated structure was not reserved for the high altar. This remained in the bay to the east of the crossing while the new altar-shrine of the martyrs became the focus of a distinct liturgical space on the upper level.16 Thus, as Lindy Grant has observed, Suger’s new east end was a spectacular reinterpretation of Saint-Denis’s Carolingian church.17 The exact number of altars in the upper choir and their dedications has been a matter of speculation, mainly because Suger, in his De Consecratione, reported that at the time of the dedication of the altars in the upper choir, immediately following the consecration of the altar-shrine to Denis and his companions by Archbishop Samson of Reims, Theobald of Canterbury dedicated an altar located ‘in medio’ to ‘Our Saviour, the Host of Holy Angels and the Holy Cross’.18 Jacobsen, like Erwin Panofsky before him, concluded that this was a separate, new altar, but whereas Panofsky thought it was positioned on the west side of the new east end, Jacobsen argued that it was located in the hemicycle, at the crown of the apse, and suggested it served as a lay altar.19 The problem, as Edward Foley has highlighted, is that the earlier of two ordinaries from Saint-Denis (Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine; MS 526), which he dated to c. 1234, refers to just three altars on the east–west axis of the church: a matutinal altar in the nave, the high altar in the monastic choir and the altar of the martyrs in the shrine-choir.20 These three altars can still be seen on a woodcut showing a view of the church published in La Cosmographie universelle de tout le monde by Sebastian Münster and François de Belleforest in 1575 (Fig. 3.7) and on a ground plan drawn by Vincenzo Scamozzi and published in Taccuino di viaggio da Parigi a Venezia (1600; Fig. 3.8). Considering it unlikely that an altar had been eliminated between 1144 and the 1230s, Foley concurred with Jules Formigé and other scholars, who had previously suggested that Suger’s altar of the Saviour was identical with the high altar.21 The c. 1234 ordinary gives the dedication of the high altar as St Peter and St Paul. Celebrated on 28 July, its consecration was thought to have been performed by Pope Stephen II (752–57).22 Suger’s use of an alternative title was probably based on the equally strong tradition at the abbey that held that the church – and, thus, the high altar – was dedicated by Christ. Thus, it is likely that there was only one altar, the altar-shrine dedicated to the martyrs, in the upper choir and the idea of a lay altar that would help explain the length of the shrine-choir should be abandoned. As Jacobsen remarked, by placing the bodies of Denis and his companions in the new upper choir, Suger severed the vertical link between the patron saints and the high altar. Although still located on the same longitudinal axis, the bodies were now removed to the east, placed on a higher level and provided with a separate altar. None of these features were new to churches that housed important relics: the display of the relics of major saints behind the high altar had a tradition going back to Merovingian times.23 At Saint-Martin at Tours, for example, the body of Martin was elevated in the 460s, that is to say it was exhumed from its original burial site and placed on the pavement behind the high altar, which was probably dedicated to St Peter and St Paul.24 Equally, at Saint-Denis, before the construction of the crypt in the 8th century, the shrine of the martyrs had been situated behind the high altar.25 31

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Fig. 3.5 Reconstruction of Abbot Suger’s shrine-choir at Saint-Denis Source: M. Wyss and J.-P. Marie, UASD.

Fig. 3.6 Reconstruction of the Carolingian choir of Saint-Denis Source: M. Wyss and J.-P. Marie, UASD.

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Shrines could also be located at some distance from the high altar; at Saint-Martin, in the church dedicated in 1014–18, the high altar was located within the liturgical choir in the nave while the shrine of Martin was situated further east, in the hemicycle of the apse, on approximately the same level as the high altar, an arrangement that survived into the 12th century.26 In contrast to the Merovingian shrines that were placed behind altars, Suger’s new shrine had its own altar attached. Yet such ‘integrated monuments’, combining shrine and altar, were not a recent invention either.27 In the 11th century at Saint-Martin, for example, the shrine of Martin also served as an altar.28 In fact, it seems that there was only one aspect in which Suger’s shrine was exceptional, and that was in being positioned both behind the high altar and elevated on the platform of an upper retro choir. Nonetheless, analogies exist with the layout of Saint-Benoît, where an elevated retro choir with crypt not unlike that at Saint-Denis was constructed to the east of the high altar in 1108 (Fig. 3.9). It appears that the relics were initially placed in the crypt while above, in the upper choir, an altar dedicated to Benedict served as the matutinal altar. The shrine was transferred from the crypt to the upper sanctuary only in 1207, to be installed – as at Saint-Denis – above and behind the high altar.29 Jacobsen was, of course, aware of the similarities between Saint-Denis, the Merovingian setting of shrines and its various survivals. He was, nonetheless, puzzled that Suger should have chosen to return to an old-fashioned type of installation.30 the altar-shrine In fact, Suger’s new shrine looked to older models not only in its setting but also in its construction. In the past, Eugène-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc and, more recently, Erwin Panofsky have attempted to reconstruct the appearance of the shrine (Figs 3.10 and 3.11), but, as Blaise de Montesquiou-Fezensac has highlighted, both designs suffer from inaccuracies.31 Apart from Suger’s writings, the textual source that Viollet-le-Duc and Panofsky used was a description by Jacques Doublet (1560–1648), a dean of SaintDenis.32 However, despite being an eyewitness, Doublet’s texts are unreliable; his descriptions were based on a lost 1534 inventory, which he often wrongly and misleadingly transcribed.33 As of today, only Montesquiou-Fezensac has considered the evidence in the light of two other important post-medieval sources: first, the inventory of 1634 (although this was written after the destruction of the shrine, it copied the 1534 inventory more faithfully than Doublet and added additional comments);34 and, second, a description and annotated drawing by the antiquary Nicolas-Claude Fabri de Peiresc (1580–1637), who studied the treasures of Saint-Denis on his visits to Paris in 1605–06 and 1616–23.35 As these documents are often contradictory and leave information gaps, Montesquiou-Fezensac refrained from proposing another reconstruction.36 Indeed, the evidence is in places so obscure that the original appearance of the altar-shrine may never be known. One central problem is the relationship between the altar and the shrine. Both the 1534 inventory (as transcribed in the 1634 inventory) and Doublet describe the shrine as almost square, with slightly shorter eastern and western sides (6 pieds, about 2.3 m) and marginally longer sides (7 pieds, about 2.6 m) facing north and south.37 Built from black polished stone, the lower part, the ‘tomb’ (cercueil), was about 1.78 metres in height. Both sources agree that it consisted of a socle, on which were placed eight stout, square piers, decorated with gold, between which eight gilded lattice panels 33

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Fig. 3.7  View of Saint-Denis Source: Sebastian Münster and François de Belleforest, La Cosmographie universelle de tout le monde (Paris 1575).

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Fig. 3.8  Ground plan of Saint-Denis Source: Vincenzo Scamozzi, Taccuino di viaggio da Parigi a Venezia (Venice 1600).

35

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Fig. 3.9  Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire: view towards east Source: John McNeill.

Fig. 3.10  Reconstruction of the shrine of St Denis Source: Erwin Panofsky.

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Fig. 3.11  Reconstruction of the shrine of St Denis Source: Viollet-le-Duc.

made from cast copper and adorned with foliage were inserted. The lattice panels recorded in the inventory (‘panneaux de treillis de fonte de cuivre’) are probably identical with Suger’s ‘gilded panels of cast copper’ (‘tabulis etiam cupreis fusilibus et deauratis’) and therefore likely to have been part of the original design.38 The presence of eight piers and eight panels together with the fact that Doublet referred to ‘the central pier’ of the short side facing east39 suggests that there must have been four piers placed at the corners and one in the centre of each side, even if that means Doublet simplified his account when he gives a generic width for each panel and each pier of 2.5 pieds. This ‘tomb’ was surmounted by a ‘tabernacle’, whose form and function will be discussed later, but as far the relationship between the altar and the shrine is concerned, it is significant that the ‘tabernacle’ was of the same dimensions as the ‘tomb’. It therefore must have covered its entire surface, and the black marble slab that covered the tomb could not have served as the altar. Indeed, in the 16th century, there was an altar attached to this monument, and the 1634 inventory, composed after the altar-shrine’s destruction, describes it as a grey porphyry altar table and emphasised that altar and shrine were ‘united, incorporated and attached in such a way that, in demolishing the altar, what was behind could not be preserved’.40 The only kind of altar that would have left the western side of the shrine with its piers and lattice panels visible would have been an altar table attached to the shrine and supported by colonnettes. This evidence is complicated, however, by the fact that Suger commissioned a gold antependium for the altar, which is not mentioned in the 1534 inventory, suggesting it was already lost by then.41 There is one additional piece of evidence that thwarts any attempt at making sense of the information: according to Doublet, the vaults in the lower part of the tomb extended into the body of the altar.42 If true, the altar must have been of the sarcophagus type and open at the back to form a single unit with the ‘tomb’, and there could have been no piers and lattice panels visible on the western side of the ‘tomb’. 37

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Despite this confusion, one piece of evidence concerning the altar-shrine emerges very clearly from the sources. When Suger brought the chests of Denis and his companions out of the crypt and placed them on his new liturgical stage, it was not to raise the martyrs’ bodies above the altar on a feretory, as in many subsequent shrine displays, such as the shrines of Thomas Becket at Canterbury, Alban at St Albans and, ultimately, the Crown of Thorns and other relics in the Grande Châsse in the Sainte-Chapelle, Paris.43 Instead, at Saint-Denis the silver chests (called châsses in the inventory), which Suger had extracted from the crypt, themselves probably dating to the Carolingian period, were tucked away in the lower ‘tomb’ of the monument.44 The lattice panel to the left of the central pier on the east side functioned as a small hatch (called guichet in the inventory). It granted access to a gilded vault (called voute or caveau in the inventory), which extended westwards, possibly underneath the altar, where it separated into three chambers.45 Here, suspended on silver chains, were the chests. Contained deep in the ‘tomb’ within individual vaults, the chests were difficult to access – Doublet reported that it needed a small novice to extract them – and, despite being surrounded by bronze lattices set between piers, they would not have been normally visible.46 Indeed, it is possible that visitors were uncertain where exactly, within the monument, the relics were kept.47 Located above the ‘tomb’, the ‘tabernacle’ was a structure made from gilded wood. The attached colonnettes at the front are said to have been about 2.10 metres tall and the entire tabernacle must therefore have been about 300 mm taller than the ‘tomb’, yet not as tall in comparison as the reconstructions by Viollet-le-Duc and Panofsky suggest. The tabernacle enclosed what Suger called his ‘sanctissimus sarcofagus’.48 Panofsky first identified this as the receptacle in which the three silver chests had been preserved when they were still in the old crypt.49 Although in the crypt it must have been in one piece, the receptacle was now divided into three separate units, which the inventory calls the ‘forms of the tomb’ (‘formes de cercueil’). Like the chests, they were gabled, with the central one, once reserved for Denis’s chest, being the tallest. The ‘tabernacle’, which housed these empty containers, mimicked those shapes. Both Viollet-le-Duc and Panofsky interpreted Doublet’s description of the tabernacle as ‘like the nave of a church’ and his mention of a ‘lean-to roof’ (un appentil) on either side to suggest it had a basilican structure.50 However, the Münster woodcut clearly shows three separate gables of the shrine, and Gaborit-Chopin concluded that the tabernacle must have been in the shape of three chests.51 On the west side, above the altar table, the ‘tabernacle’ had three large arches under its gables, revealing the empty ‘forms of the tomb’, each of which had a small hatch that could be locked with a key. For the central hatch, Suger reused an older piece. The annotated drawing by Peiresc of the central hatch records a surrounding inscription, which identifies it as a gift from one Bertrada, potentially either the widow of Pepin (d. 783) or his granddaughter (d. 824).52 It was decorated with a Greek cross and a multitude of gems and enamels, recorded by Peiresc, including the great amethyst depicting Apollo (Bibliothèque nationale de France, département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Paris), which survives without its mount. Unaware of Peiresc’s drawing, Panofsky misunderstood the role of the Bertrada panel, interpreting it as a ‘kind of retable’ and overlooked the fact that hatches made the three empty containers accessible.53 As Montesquiou-Fezensac concluded, it is difficult to think of a better use for the empty ‘forms of the tomb’ within the ‘tabernacle’ than as an occasional repository for the silver chests.54

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If this is correct, steps must have led up to the altar, to make the ‘tabernacle’, at about 1.78 metres height, accessible. Montesquiou-Fezensac remarked that the ‘tabernacle’ was a traditional type of decoration for a tomb,55 presumably referring to shrine-like constructions known from texts to have existed above Merovingian saints’ tombs, such as the repa over the 7th-century tomb of the patron saint at Saint-Ouen at Rouen or the tugurium at sixthand 7th-century Saint-Denis. Although the exact meaning of these terms is uncertain, it seems that they should be distinguished from baldachins or ciboria and, instead, functioned as a cenotaph placed above the tomb.56 A close comparison for the tomb monument at Saint-Denis seems to be the lost 7th-century altar-shrine at Saint-Martin at Tours. According to Richard Gem’s recent analysis of the texts, the silver chest containing the remains of Martin was placed in a sealed stone chamber in the lower part of the shrine. As Gem describes, ‘the top of the stone chamber was formed by a single stone slab, which also served as an altar, and on this rested a jewelled gold shrine’, called arca in the documents. Gem admits that what was contained in the gold shrine above the tomb remains a mystery and suggests that may have included other relics of Martin.57 Clearly, Suger’s shrine resembled that at Saint-Martin in several important aspects: the location of the relics in the lower part of the shrine, the fact that the shrine incorporated an altar and the mysterious, empty structure placed on top of the shrine. But there are also significant differences between the two shrines: the stone slab above the tomb of Suger’s shrine did not also serve as the altar, which was instead made from a separate slab of grey porphyry. But more importantly, the relic chests of the martyrs were not sealed in their chambers but could be accessed via lockable hatches and the tabernacle above appears to have been intended for housing the relics at least occasionally.58 Finally, in his description of the fittings, Suger mentions grilles or screens with doors (ianuis continuis) surrounding the shrine to hold off the crowds; none of the inventories mention such grilles, and they must have been removed or destroyed by the 16th century.59 Suger did not indicate where in the new upper choir the altar-shrine was positioned, but he specified the location of another object in the shrine-choir (Fig. 3.4).60 This is the great cross, a tall golden crucifix on a pedestal, which the abbot had made. He says it was located over the original tomb of the martyrs in the crypt, which would place it on the western edge of the shrine-choir. According to the 1534 inventory, it was still in place at that time.61 The c. 1234 ordinary lists regular liturgical activities that took place in the upper choir, in particular in the space ‘ante martyres’, in front of the shrine of the martyrs.62 According to Foley, the ordinary may have had a memorial function, commemorating how worship was executed before the construction campaign that started in 1231, perhaps going back to the time of Suger.63 On feast days, this was where a soloist would intone an antiphon sung before the gospel.64 The abbot and certain ministers performed the adoration of the cross and purifications rites on Holy Saturday here, and processions were made each day after lauds.65 Processions would have also led to the altar on the feasts of the dedication of the church and of Denis, and on that day the principal mass would have been celebrated there.66 Moreover, in his writings, Suger envisaged visiting dignitaries reading mass on the new altar-shrine without being disturbed by the crowds, undoubtedly recalling the visits of Popes Calixtus II, who came to the abbey twice in 1119, and Innocent II in 1130 and 1143. After the completion of the new shrine-choir, Eugenius III visited on 20 April 1147.67

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Since all these activities mean that sufficient space was needed between the cross and the altar, Foley – like Panofsky – located the altar-shrine in the eastern part of the 12th-century shrine-choir, within the hemicycle, where it was placed after 1624 and where an altar is currently located.68 However, a position so far to the east would have severely reduced the visibility of the shrine-altar, which Suger claimed to be so important. The earliest graphic evidence for the altar’s position is from the 16th century; on the woodcut in La Cosmographie universelle and on Scamozzi’s plan (Figs 3.7 and 3.8), the altar shrine is situated between the first and the second straight bay. Most scholars and archaeologists, including Formigé, Wyss, Jacobsen and Montesquiou-Fezensac, therefore consider that this was the original location of the altar-shrine (as in Fig. 3.4).69 Indeed, moving the shrine would have necessitated a reconsecration and translation of the relics, and no such ceremony is mentioned in the sources. Assuming, therefore, that the 16th-century location was the original one, the western straight bay alone would have served the rituals recorded in the ordinary. This leaves the reason for such a substantial area to the east of the shrine unresolved. Indeed, Foley noted that no provisions are made in the ordinary for the use of this space.70 display behind the altar-shrine Although no specific liturgical uses can be linked to the space behind the shrine-altar, it was not empty. Stephan Albrecht has observed that in the 12th and 13th centuries, the space behind the altar was used for the display of objects that had no liturgical function but represented memorials (Denkmale) from the earlier history of the abbey, in particular, the royal standard called the oriflamme, a bronze chair known as the throne of Dagobert (Bibliothèque nationale de France, département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques) and a porphyry bath (Musée du Louvre, Paris).71 The porphyry bath, which was not mentioned by Suger in his writings, was recorded behind the shrine of St Denis in the 1534 inventory, and it may have been in that position since the 13th century.72 The bath is probably identical with the ‘marble font’ (fontes marmoreos), said to have been brought to Saint-Denis from Saint-Hilaire in Poitiers by King Dagobert, the abbey’s legendary founder, according to the Vita et actus beati Dionysii, a history devoted to the life and cult of St Denis, written in 1233 or just after. Although the original of the text is lost, there are copies from as early as the second half of the 13th century (BnF, MS Lat. 2447 and NAL 1509); the text locates the ‘font’ in the upper shrine choir.73 This evidence suggests that the bath is also identical with an object described as a tomb (quoddam sepulcrum) that was seen behind the shrine in 1223 by the chronicler Richer of Senones, who reported that it had once been used as the tomb of Charles the Bald and that the monks contemplated burying Philip-Augustus in it.74 According to Montesquiou-Fezensac, the bath may well have served as the tomb of Charles the Bald, who was buried in the monks’ choir and could have been moved to the shrine-choir in the early 13th century, after Charles was reburied under a new bronze effigy.75 In contrast to the bath, the ‘famous throne of the glorious King Dagobert’ figures prominently in Suger’s account. The abbot noted that he restored the piece ‘worn with age’ because of its value and because ‘the kings of France, after having taken the reins of government, used to sit on it in order to receive, for the first time, the homage of their nobles’.76 Suger gave no precise indication as to its location, although the fact that he inserted his description of the throne between those of the pulpit and the eagle 40

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lectern in the monks’ choir suggests that it was also there.77 Nonetheless, at some later stage, the throne must have been taken up to the shrine-choir. A 17th-century text by André Duchesne, who said he copied a manuscript from the time of Charles VII, mentions the presence of ‘une chaire’ next to the shrine, which may have been the throne.78 Certainly, in 1634, the throne was behind the altar-shrine according to the inventory, and Doublet reported that priests who celebrated mass sat on it.79 Evidence for the location of the oriflamme can be found in the 1534 inventory. By then known to be a copy of the original, the banner was attached to the pillar on the right side of the altar-shrine, whereas the staff of St Denis was on the left.80 Nonetheless, this was probably not the permanent location of the oriflamme in earlier centuries, since it is known that at certain times the banner was kept in the treasury.81 The inventory of 1534 mentions several other objects in the upper choir, in particular two wooden chests to the left and the right of the shrine, containing a head reliquary of St Denis, an arm reliquary of St Simeon, a reliquary with a nail of Christ, the ‘sainte couronne’, which held a thorn of the crown of thorns, and a silver chain from which these relics in their reliquaries could be suspended, together with the ‘rafle du ladre’, the skin of the face of a leper, who had been healed by Christ when the latter consecrated the original abbey church.82 Whether the Passion relics were gifts of Charles the Bald, offered to Saint-Denis together with a part of the arm of Simeon, as Suger claimed, remains uncertain. The text, known as the Descriptio or Iter Hierosolymitani, which reports Charles’s donation, is thought not to date before the mid-11th century.83 Another text, the testimony of a monk Haymon, who said he witnessed the opening of the shrines of the martyrs in the crypt in 1053, asserts that, at that time, the Passion relics were kept in Abbot Hilduin’s crypt hors œuvre, dedicated to the Virgin, the Apostles, John the Baptist, the martyrs and other saints. Yet Haymon’s text was probably written only in the late 12th century.84 Nonetheless, it is likely that by around 1100 the abbey was in possession of the relics, as from that time on they are regularly mentioned in charters.85 Suger refers to them several times, in particular in his vivid evocation of pilgrims thronging into the old and overcrowded church to kiss the Passion relics, a story he had heard when he was still a schoolboy.86 Although he remains unspecific about their location at that time, his description does not exclude the possibility that they were preserved in Hilduin’s crypt. Suger’s insistence on the fame and importance of these relics, which transpires from the dramatic tales with which he justifies the necessity for reconstruction, such as that of people having to flee through the windows to avoid the crush to see the relics held up by monks, is collaborated by other evidence.87 For example a charter from 1183–85 reports that Jean le Bœuf concluded a dispute with Saint-Denis by swearing an oath ‘super clavum et coronam domini’.88 In the 13th century, their popularity reached frenzied levels, at least according to the hagiographical history Vita et actus beati Dionysii, mentioned earlier, which includes a description of the loss of the holy nail during a procession in 1233 and its subsequent recovery. Safely returned to Saint-Denis, the nail was deposited in a reliquary in the shrine-choir.89 Since before the construction of the shrine-choir, the Passion relics were probably preserved in the crypt, close to the shrines of the martyrs, they may have been transferred to the upper shrine-choir as early as 1144 to remain in the vicinity of the patron saint. As the inventory demonstrates, in the later Middle Ages, the abbey’s most important relics – not only those of the martyrs but also the Passion relics – were preserved 41

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in the shrine-choir. In addition, the choir functioned as a space to display what could be called the abbey’s spolia – the bath, the throne and the oriflamme – objects that emphasised Saint-Denis’s special relationship with the royal house. However, this evidence still fails to aid Jacobsen’s search for an explanation for the length of the shrine-choir. Among the objects located in the upper choir in later centuries, only the Passion relics are likely to have been moved there by Suger. The bath may have arrived in the early 13th century, the throne was probably located in the monks’ choir, and the original position of the oriflamme remains uncertain. It is therefore unclear whether Suger conceived the space for this purpose and perhaps more likely that its very emptiness commended such a use over time. The Oriflamme It was the presence of the oriflamme in the shrine-choir at Saint-Denis that suggested to Jacobsen that the choir was built to accommodate a special ceremony, first staged by Suger and Louis VI in August 1124 and thus before the reconstruction of the east end. As reported in a charter issued by Louis VI that year, before he went to war against the king of England and the German emperor, the French king took from the altar of Saint-Denis the vexillum, the banner of the Vexin.90 Lending weight to the occasion, Suger brought the three silver chests of Denis and his companions out of the crypt and placed them on the high altar. There they remained, according to Suger’s Life of Louis the Fat, until the king returned from the war to carry them on his shoulders back into the crypt.91 Although the abbot cloaked the ceremony in an aura of tradition, calling it a privilege (prerogativam) that the French had received from Denis to use at times when the kingdom was invaded, Grant detects ‘the moving spirit of Suger’ behind the creation of the ritual.92 A reduced version of the ceremony was restaged in 1147, when Louis VII left on crusade, this time in the new shrine-choir. In the presence of Pope Eugenius, the hatch of the ‘tomb’ of the shrine was opened, but the silver reliquary with Denis’s remains was taken out only a little way, according to Odo of Deuil.93 A more elaborate ceremony took place in the shrine-choir in 1190, when Philippe Augustus, ‘leaving to fight the enemies of the Cross of God, . . . took with his own hands, on the bodies of the saints, [two silken flags and two banners] in memory of the holy martyrs’.94 By c. 1200, the vexillum had become identified with the banner that Charlemagne was said to have received from Pope Leo III, which, in the Chanson de Roland, carries the name orie flambe.95 At Saint-Denis, it became the oriflamme, and the ceremony developed into a ritualised performance that Philippe Contamine has dubbed ‘la liturgie de l’oriflamme’.96 Having arrived in procession at the altar-shrine of the martyrs, the king and the abbot would take the silver chests out of their vaults in the lower ‘tomb’ and place them on the altar table, where the relics were taken out of the chests and covered with gold cloth.97 Michel Pintoin, describing how the ritual was performed by Charles VI on 18 August 1382, before the battle of Roosebeke, is even more specific. He reported that the chests did not remain on the altar but were placed in ‘an upper place, facing the altar’, which must have been the empty containers, the ‘forms of the tomb’, in the upper ‘tabernacle’.98 The tradition was still known in the 16th century. By that time the oriflamme had ceased to be the royal ensign, but the kings continued to come to Saint-Denis to elevate the chests of the martyrs.99

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Although the ritual may have been conceived by Suger, the fact that the identification of the vexillum with Charlemagne’s oriflamme is known to have been firmly established at Saint-Denis only around 1200 and the increasing frequency with which the ritual was performed after 1200 suggest that the symbolism attached to the object and the development of the ceremony were part of a longer process.100 And yet the evidence of the altar-shrine with its system of hatches, which made it possible to transfer the relics from the lower to the upper part, suggests that Suger envisaged ceremonies that involved the handling and movement of the relics. One could imagine that extracting the chests from the narrow lower vault of the new shrine retained something of the mystique and spectacle of their retrieval from the old crypt and maintained the act of elevating the bodies from a lower to a higher, more visible place. Nonetheless, in the new choir, this was combined with the convenience of having a large space for bystanders, adding to the magnificence of the occasion. It was not only on the occasion of the raising of the oriflamme that the relics were taken out. This was also done when possible danger attended the kingdom, for example, while the king was on crusade in 1191, when the ceremony was assisted by the Archbishop of Reims and Queen Adela, or in 1386, when Charles VI visited Saint-Denis before departing for a tour of Picardy.101 It is probably no coincidence that, when in 1191 Prince Louis, the son of Philip-Augustus, fell mortally ill with dysentery and, for the first time, the monks carried relics from Saint-Denis to Paris, it was the relics of the Passion and the arm of Simeon they brought to heal the prince.102 This may be a reflection of the fact that the Passion relics were perceived to be the most effective, but it also demonstrates that the improved transportability of the chests was exploited only for rituals that took place in the shrine-choir. Thus, although Jacobsen may have been mistaken to think that the shrine-choir was specifically designed for the raising of the oriflamme, he nonetheless raised an important point: Suger’s directions to his architect may well have included a demand for the provision of space in the new upper choir for the setting of ceremonies that included the elevation of martyrs’ shrines. scale and geometry However, another factor was probably more important in determining the size of the inner vessel of the upper choir. It is concerned with the overall layout of the east end. Unlike most of the architectural followers of Saint-Denis, such as Noyon Cathedral or the abbey of Vézelay, which have only five radiating chapels, Saint-Denis has seven, with two additional altars located in the easternmost chapels of the outer aisles of the straight bays. As Peter Kidson observed in his essay on the geometry of the choir, ‘the starting point [for the choir’s design] was a list of altars’.103 The chapels are not only numerous, but they also include an unusual feature that further increases the length of the choir as a whole. As Kidson astutely recognised, the unknown architect mustered all his knowledge of geometry to push the three easternmost chapels even further eastwards. Based on calculations made by Sumner McKnight Crosby, Kidson argued that the architect accomplished this by using different arcs in the design of the chapels; two with the same centre, from which the western chapels on either side were struck and another, the centre of which was located further to the east, from which the three eastern chapels were struck.104

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Robert Bork has recently confirmed the evidence for this calculated distortion of the choir’s geometry, although he argues that the means by which the geometrical centres of the three eastern chapels were shifted eastwards did not involve a separate arc as Kidson thought.105 As Crosby’s former assistant Richard Nash Gould discovered, the chapels were extended with the help of a geometrical construction based on the golden section (Fig. 3.12).106 Bork’s analysis includes another important observation: the design of the chapels and the choir as a whole started in the crypt, which in turn informed the geometry of the upper choir. This ties in with Michaël Wyss’s most recent interpretation of the archaeological evidence of the crypt (Fig. 3.13). Whereas in 1996 Wyss declared that of Hilduin’s crypt only the deviation of the axis survives, his ongoing investigations have revealed that despite the 19th-century reconstruction, there are a few bases and capitals in situ, as well as parts of walls and of the vaulting in the state just prior to the reconstruction.107 This suggests that rather than rebuilding or reconditioning the old crypt, in fact, Suger wanted to maintain as much as possible of its structure. The main geometrical centre of the shrine-choir was established in the eastern parts of Hilduin’s crypt, so that most of its three vessels, except the central apse, could be preserved. The width of the crypt allowed the seven radiating chapels (and two square chapels) to fit snugly around the old structure, whose outer vessels could now merge with the new crypt ambulatory, camouflaging the fact that the latter was aligned with the axis of the Carolingian nave and not with Hilduin’s crypt. The vaults of the crypt determined the floorlevel of the upper choir.108 One could say that most aspects of the shrine-choir result from the double objective of maintaining the old crypt and fitting nine chapels around the new choir. Although the eastwards shift of the three eastern chapels was first implemented in the crypt, it is hardly noticeable there, since the three eastern chapels are divided by walls. It thus seems likely that the exercise was intended to take on its full effect in the upper choir, giving it an even more expansive and fluid aspect. Yet this geometrical masterstroke was not only about adding more space; as Crosby observed, the shifting geometric centres of the chapels also lend the choir a dynamic vitality.109 Converging onto distinct centres, the chapels seem mobile and untethered from the logic that governs the structure as a whole. Kidson briefly considered whether the reason for the deepening of the three eastern chapels was related to the saints to whom these chapels were dedicated but rejected the idea, for although the central chapel was dedicated to the Virgin, he thought that the two adjacent chapels, dedicated to St Cucuphas and St Peregrinus, ‘hardly seemed to qualify for special emphasis’. For Kidson, the chapels were pushed eastwards out of a ‘desire not to interrupt and disturb the even sequence of the chapel windows’.110 Identifying the windows as the crux of the whole design, Kidson, like Panofsky earlier, interpreted Suger’s jubilant affirmation that his choir ‘would shine with the wonderful and uninterrupted light of the most luminous windows, pervading the interior beauty’ as evidence for the abbot’s aesthetic mindset.111 But Kidson, who went on to describe Suger as a proto-Jesuit, was aware that the abbot’s aim was to seduce ‘souls for God’s beauty’.112 Emphasising that Suger would have been motivated not by aesthetics but also by his belief in the efficacy of the relics, Christopher Norton went even further, arguing that ‘for Suger [the windows] were only significant insofar as they provided an appropriate setting for . . . the liturgy’.113 If, as Kidson himself recognised, the starting point for the design was a list of altars, then the seemingly obscure dedications of the 44

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Fig. 3.12  The geometry of the crypt of the shrine-choir at Saint-Denis Source: Robert Bork https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10032698v [accessed 4th June 2021].

chapels in the upper choir may have been more significant than he thought. Among the motivations Suger gives for building his new choir is the transfer to the new upper choir not only of the patron saints but also of ‘the other saints who, scattered about the church, were worshipped in different chapels’.114 Apart from the bodies of the martyrs, the relics that were the longest in possession of the abbey were probably those of Cucuphas and Hippolytus, which may have arrived at Saint-Denis under Abbot Hilduin (814–41).115 But it was in the 11th century that the cult of saints really started to prosper at the abbey. Two documents, a fragment of a mass in honour of the saints at Saint-Denis (Bibliothèque nationale de France; MS Lat 2185, f. 88) and a fragment of a sacramentary (Bibliothèque municpale, Rouen; MS 275 [A.566]) list the saints ‘whose bodies now rest in this church’ (‘quorum corpora in presenti requiescunt ecclesia’).116 They are Denis, Eleutherius and Rusticus, as well as Eugene, Peregrinus, Hippolytus, Cucuphas, Innocent, Eustace, Patroclus, Firmin, Hilary [of Poitiers], Hilary [of Mende], Romanus and Osmanna. By the time the construction of the east end started, Suger had already dedicated altars to two of these saints, Hippolytus and Romanus, in his new western entrance 45

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Fig. 3.13  Ground plan of the three crypts under the shrine-choir of Saint-Denis Source: M. Wyss and J.-P. Marie, UASD.

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block, where he also dedicated altars to Michael and to Sixtus, Felicissimus and Agapinus. In the upper choir of his new east end, the central chapel was dedicated to the Virgin followed to the north by Saints Peregrinus, Eustace, Osmana and Innocent and to the south by Saints Cucuphas, Eugene, Hilary of Mende and John the Baptist and John the Evangelist. Suger recorded the dedications in his De consecratione together with the bishops who had dedicated the altars;117 the dedications were also inscribed on the corbels under the fifth rib of the vault of each chapel, between the windows, four of which have survived.118 Suger equally noted the dedications in the crypt, where the central chapel was again given to the Virgin and the chapels to the north Saints Sixtus, Felicissimus and Agapinus (possibly translated from the west end), Barnabas, George and Walburga and Luke and the ones to the south to Saints Christopher, Stephen, Edmund and Benedict.119 It is striking that what appear to be the altars of the more important saints – the founder of the Benedictine order, the proto-martyr, an evangelist and an apostle – were located in the crypt, whereas those in the upper choir, apart from John the Baptist and John the Evangelist, included such lesser-known saints as Cucuphas and Peregrinus, as well as an obscure female saint, Osmanna. Yet the saints whose bodies rested at Saint-Denis held a special place at the monastery. According to the Vita et actus beati Dionysii, which includes a treatise on the origins of the relics preserved at the abbey, many of them were brought by either its legendary founder, Dagobert or by Charlemagne.120 As the c. 1234 ordinary shows, among the 112 feasts celebrated at SaintDenis six were duplex feasts, and among them were those of Hilary of Poitiers, Eustace and Eugene, together with the feasts of Dagobert, the Dedication of the church and the Invention of the bodies of Denis and his companions. Osmanna, Peregrinus and Hilary of Mende were celebrated with the next highest celebration, twelve lessons with special rubrics that give the feasts a distinctive character.121 In the new choir, processions led to the altars of these saints on their feast days after Vespers and Lauds, and the principal mass was celebrated there. These traditions might well go back to Suger.122 As Foley concludes, the most important feasts were ‘those revolving around people whose relics are held in the church of St.-Denis’.123 The role of these saints as evangelising bishops, martyrs and virgins echoed the ministry of Denis, Eleutherius and Rusticus and made them the perfect companions for the patron saints in the shrine.124 The martyr and bishop Eugene was even considered a disciple of Denis.125 Suger’s intentions were made clear in the consecration ceremony.126 On the day of the dedication, 11 June 1144, the procession carrying the relics started as two separate groups, one led by Suger and Louis VII carrying the bodies of Denis, Eleutherius and Rusticus, which they had extracted from the old confessio, and a second consisting of the bishops and nobles carrying the other saints, which had been placed in tents at the exit of the monks’ choir overnight. Moving towards each other, they met at the ‘ivory door’, which probably connected the church and the cloister.127 Holding candles and crosses, they then jointly processed together through the cloister, back into the church and into the upper choir, where the bishops proceeded with the dedications. As if joining sponsa and sponso, Suger thus united the three martyrs with the other saints, henceforth to be together in the upper choir. The light from the windows illuminated these altars and by flooding the interpenetrating spaces, it allowed communion between the patron saint with his entourage of martyrs, saints and virgins in the chapels. At the same time, the dynamic created by the shifting geometric centres of the chapels gives the chapels – and the saints to whom they are dedicated – a mobility of 47

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their own, as if, in the words of Revelation 4:8, they ‘rested not day and night, saying: holy, holy, holy’. saints and chapels The importance of the saints did not wane in the 13th century. Roughly coinciding with the reconstruction of the upper parts of the choir, which began in 1231, all nine chapels of the upper choir were reconsecrated.128 Already on 19 July 1218, the westernmost chapel on the north side had been re-dedicated from St Innocent to St Firmin, the martyred first bishop of Amiens.129 Probably in 1245, on the north side of the choir, one soldier saint made way for another as Eustace was moved from the third chapel on the north side into the transept and the chapel was re-dedicated to Maurice.130 Maurice held an important place in the hagiography of Saint-Denis. According to the Gesta Dagoberti, Maurice, together with Denis and Martin, the protector saints of France, saved King Dagobert’s soul, an event depicted on a new tomb monument for the king to the right of the high altar in the monk’s choir, probably from the second half of the 13th century, replacing an earlier one in the same location.131 On the south side of the upper choir, at an unknown date before 1259, the dedication of the westernmost chapel was changed from John the Baptist and John the Evangelist to St Romanus of Blaye, whose altar had been dedicated in the narthex by Suger.132 Romanus was thought to be a priest, evangeliser and companion of St Martin of Tours, and since Blaye was the legendary burial ground of Roland, Charlemagne’s supposed nephew, the saint also had a connection with the famous patron of the abbey.133 The changes to the dedications of the chapels were clearly part of a plan intended to reinforce the impression that the saints venerated in the upper choir had a special connection with the abbey, that they were buried in the abbey and that their ministry mirrored the saintly œuvre of Denis, Eleutherius and Rusticus. As Damien Berné has recently demonstrated, in the late Middle Ages, each of the chapels had a claustral officer assigned to them, an arrangement that may go back to Abbot Suger. It was as much a practical arrangement as a metaphor for the guardianship of Denis and the other saints that belonged to the monastic community.134 In a new ordinary (Bibliothèque nationale de France; MS Lat 976), copied between 1241 and 1259, probably in 1258, the feast of five of the saints buried in the choir chapels were raised to duplex feasts, increasing the number of processions from the monks’ choir into the upper choir.135 In 1250, the Vita et actus beati Dionysii, including the treatise of the relics, was translated into vernacular. A version of this text exists in a richly decorated manuscript from Saint-Denis (Bibliothèque nationale de France; MS NAF 1098), which may have been intended for presentation to noble pilgrims.136 On the ground plan of the church engraved by Inselin in 1705, the dedications of the altars in the radiating chapels are still annotated ‘ou est son corps’ or ‘ou repose son corps’ (sic).137 An important role in this orchestration of the saints was played by the 13th-century fittings of these chapels, some of which survive, whereas others are known from descriptions, from the drawings made by Charles Percier (1764–1838) in 1794–95 and from excavations, especially those under Viollet-le-Duc in 1848–49 and Formigé in the 1960s.138 The refurbished chapels had a number of features in common: the altars were either box-shaped or were mounted on columns, and retables were set on a plinth at the back of the altar.139 In the two westernmost chapels, those 48

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Fig. 3.14  Altar of Saint Firmin at Saint-Denis, Charles Percier Source: Christian Schryve/Musée Antoine Vivenel, Compiègne.

of Firmin and Romanus, the shrine was placed on a pedestal supported by four columns, set behind the altar (Fig. 3.14). In other chapels, the shrine was placed on a shelf carried by two brackets above and behind the altar. Behind this overall homogeneity of the fittings, however, there was a great variety in the decorations of the chapels.140 Although of roughly the same shape, the retables varied in size and design. Many of the chapels also integrated different elements of the 12th-­century decorations. Suger’s windows were retained but repaired and, in some cases, complemented.141 The Chapel of St Firmin had a figurative mosaic floor, and in the chapels of the Virgin, Cucuphas and Hilary, the 12th-century tiles were reused and partly renewed.142 The other chapel floors were decorated with engraved stone tiles that showed a variety of figurative scenes. Even today, as most of these fittings are lost, Viollet-le-Duc’s reconstruction of the furnishings of the chapels and the more recent re-installation of the retables give some sense of the variety that reigned within a generally consistent setting. The impression that each chapel was a discrete space would have been further strengthened by the images. Whereas, as far as we know, Suger had not included decorative features that related specifically to the tutelary saints of the chapels, the 13th-century scheme added narrative scenes from the lives of the saints, as, for example, on the retables of Romanus and Peregrinus and, according to descriptions, in the glass of the chapels of Firmin and Maurice. Behind the altar, on the floor of the St Peregrinus chapel was a depiction of the beheading of Peregrinus, a scene also shown on the retable of the chapel.143 The chapel of St Cucuphas was embellished with a medallion showing David and Goliath on the step up to the altar, clearly providing an analogy to the saint as an athleta Christi. As Fabienne Joubert has highlighted, even in the 13th century, the abbey’s role as a royal necropolis did not mean that all attention was focused on the royal tombs; the redecoration of the chapels ‘magnified the cult of the saints, which was contingent on and valorised the tomb of St Denis’.144 49

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Little is known about access for pilgrims – such an important part of Suger’s justification for the rebuilding – either before or after the reconsecration of the chapels. Scraps of evidence are provided by the text that relates the loss and recovery of the holy nail in 1233. After the relic was returned to the church it was first deposited on the high altar and from there taken into the shrine-choir and safely locked in its reliquary. Then ‘the sanctuary was opened for the kissing of the people’. The sanctuary may have been the shrine choir, to which perhaps a chosen group of pilgrims was allowed access. Some days later, young Louis IX arrived and was allowed to inspect the nail. Thereafter, barons, archbishops and bishops of the realm assisted mass being celebrated in the shrine-choir.145 But the recovery of the holy nail was an exceptional event. Berné has questioned how regularly, if at all, the laity had access to the shrine-choir, highlighting the fact that no chaplaincies are recorded there in the Middle Ages and arguing that the shrine-choir’s small, diaphanous and open structure militate against the presence of screens, which would have been necessary had pilgrims been permitted.146 It seems likely, at any rate, that here as elsewhere pilgrim’s access would have been carefully choreographed in the later Middle Ages.147 A new focus for the pilgrims seems to have been created in the central vessel of Hilduin’s former crypt hors œuvre. Suger had closed this space with an eastern apse, just to the west of the choir hemicycle piers. An altar in this crypt was dedicated to St Demeter in the early 13th century, and in the 15th century, the cult seems to have centred on a well in the chapel, where pilgrims could draw water ‘that heals fevers’.148 conclusion In conclusion, Jacobsen’s question as to why the shrine-choir at Saint-Denis is so long has several answers. His explanation, that the space behind the altar-shrine was needed for the royal ritual of the raising of the oriflamme, is supported by the evidence of the shrine itself, although this may not have been the only ceremony in which the space was used as a stage for the elevation of the relics, which were taken out of the base and transferred to the upper ‘tabernacle’. But there are other, perhaps even more important, reasons for the length of the choir. On the one hand, Suger and his architect wanted to maintain as much of Hilduin’s old chapel as they could and, on the other, have as many as nine altars surrounding the shrine. The association of the relics of the three martyrs with those of the other saints established the shrine-choir as the abbey’s powerhouse, protecting the institution, the king and the nation. Trying to distinguish between royal interests and monastic interests at Saint-Denis is, thus, entirely misleading. The reliance of the kings and queens on Saint-Denis was predicated on their faith in the efficacy of these saints. Suger and his architect designed a space that reflected the central importance of the relics in its openness, its breadth and length and its windows, not hesitating to enhance the effect by using a complex geometrical construction with distinct geometric centres that propelled the three eastern chapels further eastwards, thereby complicating the underlying spatial homogeneity. In the 13th century, the refurbishment of the chapels integrated new and old elements, creating variety against a backdrop of homogeneity by distinguishing each chapel as a discrete space and bolstering the cult by drawing attention to the chapels’ saints. What determined the design of the shrine-choir of Saint-Denis was, ultimately, the power of the saints. 50

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acknowledgements I owe thanks to a number of colleagues who have generously offered their time, assistance and expertise in the preparation of this essay. The idea for the article emerged during a visit to Saint-Denis in the stimulating company of Amanda Dotseth. Robert Bork, John McNeill, Lesley Milner, Richard Gem, Lindy Grant, Rosemary Hill, Clare Hornsby, Richard Plant, Stefanie Seeberg and Hiltrud Westermann-Angerhausen helped in various ways, by reading drafts or discussing specific points of the argument. They provided essential insights and saved me from various mistakes. Jana Gajdosova went to Saint-Denis to take photos for me. Caroline Bruzelius and Michael Hall helped with the literature. Robert Bork and Michaël Wyss allowed me to publish their plans of the abbey, which are essential for the comprehension of the building. With Sarah Guérin’s kind permission, Matilde Grimaldi used a plan she had drawn for Sarah as the basis for the one she contributed to this article. Tzortzis Rallis’s image editing improved the illustrations. Finally, in the late stages of writing, Damien Berné generously shared a PDF of his PhD dissertation with me. Its publication, hopefully in the near future, will raise our understanding of Saint-Denis to a new level.

notes 1 W. Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen im Kirchenraum. Sugers Neubau von Saint-Denis: Voraus­ setzungen und Folgen’, in Art, cérémonial et liturgie au Moyen Âge, ed. N. Bock and P. Kurmann (Rome 2002), 191–221, at 201–02 and 208. 2 However, the furnishings were damaged when the church was pillaged by the Huguenots in 1575; see M. Félibien, Histoire de l’abbaye royale de Saint-Denys en France (Paris 1706), 398; for Félibien’s Histoire and its agenda, see recently K. P. Boeye, ‘Reframing Saint-Denis for the Sun King: A Spectacular History’, in Medieval Art and Architecture after the Middle Ages, ed. J. T. Marquardt and A. A. Jordan (Newcastle upon Tyne 2009), 36–66. 3 Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 208; in his essay, Jacobsen also examined the chapel of St Louis, which will not be discussed here. 4 Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 201–02; Suger explains his motivations on several occasions in his writings, especially in the texts known as Ordinatio, De consecratione and De administratione. See the editions and partial editions by E. Panofsky ed., Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St.-Denis and Its Art Treasures (Princeton 1946); ibid., 2nd edn, G. Panofsky-Soergel (Princeton 1979); F. Gasparri ed., Suger: Œuvres, 1: Écrit sur la consecration de Saint-Denis, L’Œuvre administrative, Histoire de Louis VII (Paris 1996); A. Speer and G. Binding eds., Abt Suger von Saint-Denis. Ausgewählte Schriften: Ordinatio, De consecratione, De administratione, revised edn (Darmstadt 2005). Examples for Suger explaining his motives can be found in De consecratione, Panofsky-Soergel, 86–88 (lack of space), 104–06 (visibility of the shrine and providing an altar for dignitaries). Hereafter, all passages quoted in English are from Panofsky-Soergel. 5 Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 210; on the functions and size of the choir, see also E. Leschot, ‘The Abbey of Saint-Denis and the Coronation of the King of France’, Arts, 9, no. 4 (2020), available at www.mdpi.com/2076-0752/9/4/111, [accessed 20 March 2022]. 6 See M. Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes sous le chevet de la basilique’, in Cryptes médiévales et culte des saints en Île-de-France, ed. P. Gillon and C. Sapin (Villeneuve-d’Ascq 2019), 241–57; R. Gem, ‘The Pilgrimage Church of St Martin at Tours: The Building Project of the Treasurer Hervé (c. 1001–1022) and Its Context’, in Romanesque Saints, Shrines and Pilgrimage, ed. J. McNeill and R. Plant (Milton Park 2020), 89–107; E. Vergnolle: Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire: l’abbatiale romane (Paris 2018); for Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire, see also M. Vaccaro, ‘De la Romania à Fleury: Le pavement de marbre en opus sectile du chœur de SaintBenoît-sur-Loire’, Bulletin Monumental, 178 (2020), 211–43.

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alexandra gajewski 7 The bibliography on this subject is large and diverse; for example the characterisation of Suger as a royal propagandist was first challenged by L. Grant, Abbot Suger of St-Denis: Church and State in Early Twelfth-Century France (London and New York 1998), 10–21. The importance of the cult of saints at Saint-Denis was emphasised by E. B. Foley, The First Ordinary of the Royal Abbey of St.-Denis in France (Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine 526) (Fribourg, Switzerland 1990); at least for the later 13th century this evidence was contradicted by A. Walters Robinson, The Service-Books of the Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis: Images of Ritual and Music in the Middle Ages (Oxford 1991), 100–01 with note 40; but see E. Foley’s response ‘Saint-Denis Revisited: The Liturgical Evidence’, Revue Benedictine, 100 (1990), 534 with note 8 and 548; for the shift away from the scholarly focus on the royal tombs, see D. Berné, ‘Architecture et liturgie: étude d’une interaction spatiale et mémorielle à Saint-Denis à l’époque gothique’ (unpublished thèse diplôme d’archiviste-paléographe, École des chartes, Paris 2008), a summary is available at http://theses. enc.sorbonne.fr/2008/berne, [accessed 14 November 2021]; F. Joubert, ‘Un recours aux retables sculptés en pierre, à l’abbatiale de Saint-Denis (XIIIe siècle)’, in The Altar and its Environment 1150–1400, ed. J. E. A. Kroesen and V. M. Schmidt (Turnhout 2009), 109–23; D. Berné, ‘Saint-Denis: L’espace et la mémoire du XIIème au début du XVIème siècle’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Université Paris-Sorbonne, Paris 2016); D. Berné, ‘Saint-Denis: L’espace et la mémoire du XIIe au début du XIVe siècle’, Bulletin du Centre d’études médiévales d’Auxerre (2016), 12–31. 8 J. Formigé, L’abbaye royale de Saint-Denis: recherches nouvelles (Paris 1960), 36 and figure 27; S. M. Crosby, The Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis from Its Beginnings to the Death of Suger, 475–1151, ed. and completed by P. Blum (New Haven and London 1987), 215–65; M. Wyss ed., Atlas historique de Saint-Denis: Des origines au XVIIIe siècle (Paris 1996), 56; Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes’ (as n.  6). A useful summary with good images, although outdated for the crypt, is provided by J.-M. Leniaud and P. Plagnieux, La basilique de Saint-Denis (Paris 2012). 9 For the 1231 campaign, see C. Bruzelius, The 13th-Century Church at Saint-Denis (New Haven and London 1985); for a recent assessment, see Y. Gallet, ‘Le chantier gothique rayonnant’, in Saint-Denis, dans l’éternité des rois et reines de France, ed. P. Delannoy et al. (Paris 2015), 72–93. 10 Crosby, Royal Abbey (as n. 8), 87–94; Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 44; C. Sapin, Les cryptes en France: Pour une approche archéologique, IVe – XIIe siècle (Paris 2014), 39, 74 and 266–67; Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes’ (as n. 6), 252–55 and 256. 11 Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes’ (as n. 6), plan at 248. 12 Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 201. 13 The term ‘shrine-choir’ for Suger’s extension was coined by Grant, Abbot Suger of St-Denis (as n. 7), 250 and passim. 14 Suger, De Consecratione in Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 110–21. 15 Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), figure 27; Crosby, Royal Abbey (as n. 8), 61; Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes’ (as n. 6), 255. 16 J. Bony, ‘What Possible Sources for the Chevet of Saint-Denis’, in Abbot Suger and Saint-Denis: A Symposium, ed. P. L. Gerson (New York 1986), 131–43; A. Erlande-Brandenburg, ‘La sanctuarisation du chevet’, in L’architecture gothique au service de la liturgie, ed. A. Bos and X. Dectot (Turnhout 2003), 17–40. I would like to thank Damien Berné for drawing my attention to this article. 17 Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 7), 255. For Suger’s reinterpretation of older features, see also E. Fernie, ‘Suger’s Completion of Saint-Denis’, 84–91; W. Clark, ‘ “The Recollection of the Past is the Promise of the Future.” Continuity and Contextuality: Saint-Denis, Merovingians, Capetians, and Paris’, in Artistic Integration in Gothic Buildings, ed. V. Chieffo Raguin (Toronto, Buffalo and London 1995), 92–113; S. Albrecht, Die Inszenierung der Vergangenheit im Mittelalter: die Klöster von Glastonbury und Saint-Denis (Munich 2003), 233–44 and 257–64; P. Crossley, ‘The Integrated Cathedral: Thoughts on ‘Holism’ and Gothic Architecture’, in The Four Modes of Seeing: Approaches to Medieval Imagery in Honor of Madeline Harrison Caviness, ed. E. Staudinger Lane, E. Carson Pastan and E. M. Shortell (Farnham 2009), 157–73. 18 Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 118–19, translates ‘in medio’ as ‘in the central nave’, by which he understands the central nave of the choir; see also F. Oswald, ‘In Medio Ecclesiae’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien, 3 (1969), 313–26, who argues that this much-used description indicates nothing

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The Powers of the Saints more specific than the central axis of the church. An additional problem with this passage is that, following the dedication of the altar-shrine, Suger notes that they dedicated ‘aliis . . . aris viginti’, but goes on to describe 19 further dedications; both Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 230–31; Gasparri, Suger: Œuvres, 1 (as n. 4), 193, consider that Suger must have been mistaken when he mentioned 20 altars. With 18 altars in the crypt and choir chapels, the 19th altar was for Panofsky an additional altar in the shrine-choir but, as argued here, it is likely that it was the high altar. 19 Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 228 and the fold-out sketch-map; Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 202. 20 Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 185 note 6; Foley, ‘Saint-Denis Revisited’ (as n. 7), 532–49. 21 Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), 100; see also Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 80. 22 Scholars agree that the reliability of a letter copied by J. Doublet, Histoire de l’abbaye de Saint-Denys en France, contenant les antiquités d’icelle, les fondations, prerogatives et privileges (Paris 1625), 182–84, purportedly from Pope Stephen is doubtful. See Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 179; but as Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 185 note 3, highlights, what matters is that the monks believed in the dedication. A dedication took place on 24 February 775 in the presence of Charlemagne, see Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 33. 23 W. Jacobsen, ‘Saints’ Tombs in Frankish Church Architecture’, Speculum, 72 (1997), 1107–43; J. Crook, The Architectural Setting of the Cult of Saints in the Early Christian West, c. 300–1200 (Oxford 2000), 245 and 250–51. 24 M. Vieillard-Troiekouroff, Les Monuments religieux de la Gaule d’après les œuvres de Grégoire de Tours (Paris 1976), 313–14. 25 Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 30–32; Jacobsen, ‘Saints’ Tombs’ (as n. 23), 1109–10; Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 205–06. 26 M. Vieillard-Troiekouroff, ‘Le tombeau de saint Martin retrouvé en 1860’, Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France (1961), 153–83; C. Lelong: ‘Le tombeau de saint Martin’, Bulletin de la Société archéologique de Touraine 42 (1988), 91–138; Gem, ‘St Martin at Tours’ (as n. 6), 95–103. For other examples of relics being ‘elevated’ and placed into the church, see Sapin, Les cryptes (as n. 10), 119. 27 The term was coined by Crook, Architectural Setting (as n. 23), 274–75, who argues that this type went back perhaps to the 6th century. 28 Lelong, ‘Le tombeau’ (as n. 26), 103; Gem, ‘St Martin at Tours’ (as n. 6), 102–03. 29 Vergnolle, Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire (as n. 6), 51–55 and 67–77; Vaccaro, ‘Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire’ (as n. 6), 211–43, esp. 211–20; R. Gem, ‘The Tomb, Crypt and Shrine of St Benedict at Fleury, 7th to 11th Centuries: A Re-Evaluation’ (in preparation). 30 Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 209. See also P. Verdier, ‘Peut-on restituer l’aspect du tombeau des corps saints à Saint-Denis?’ in Clio et son regard: mélanges d’histoire, d’histoire de l’art et d’archéologie offerts à Jacques Stiennon à l’occasion de ses vingt-cinq ans d’enseignement à l’université de Liège, ed. R. Lejeune and J. Deckers (Liège 1982), 653–61. 31 See B. de Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” de l’abbaye de Saint-Denis’, Cahiers archéologiques, 23 (1974), 81–95; for the reconstructions, see E. Viollet-le-Duc, Dictionnaire raisonné de l’architecture française du XIe au XVIe siècle (Paris 1854–68), II, 23–25; Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 169–76. For the tomb, see also L. Levillain, ‘L’autel des Saints-Martyrs de la basilique de St.-Denis’, Bulletin Monumental, 75 (1911), 212–25; Verdier, ‘Peut-on restituer’ (as n. 30); D. Gaborit-Chopin, Le trésor de Saint-Denis (Paris 1991), 124; Albrecht, Inszenierung der Vergangenheit (as n. 17), 157–61; Gasparri, Suger: Œuvres, 1 (as n. 4), 215–16. 32 Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 289–91. 33 Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31), 82; E. Inglis, ‘Expertise, Artifacts, and Time in the 1534 Inventory of the St-Denis Treasury’, The Art Bulletin, 98 (2016), 14–42. 34 For the inventory, see B. de Montesquiou-Fezensac and D. Gaborit-Chopin, Le trésor de Saint-Denis: inventaire de 1634, 3 vols (Paris 1973). The earliest surviving inventory of Saint-Denis dates to 1505; see the edition by H. Omont, ‘Inventaire du trésor de l’abbaye de Saint-Denis en 1505 et 1739’, Mémoires de la société de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Île de France, 28 (1901), 163–212. 35 N.-C. Fabri de Peiresc, Antiquitez françoises ou extraits de divers antiens historiens concernans l’histoire antienne de France, Carpentras (Bibliothèque Inguimbertine) (MS 1791), fols. 511 and 511bis;

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alexandra gajewski transcribed by Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n.  31), 81–95; M. Van der Meulen, ‘Nicolas-Claude Fabri de Peiresc and Antique Glyptic’, in Engraved Gems: Survivals and Revivals, ed. C. M. Brown (Washington 1997), 194–227, esp. 206–07 and 225. The drawing with its annotations was first published by L. Levillain, ‘L’autel des Saints-Martyrs de la basilique de St-Denis’, Bull. Mon., 71 (1911), 212–25. 36 Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31); see also Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 124. 37 Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 292; Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n.  34), I,  220–28; see also Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31), 82–83. 38 Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31), 83; see Suger, De administratione, in Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 54, and 106: ‘cupreis tabulis fusilibus et deauratis’; for the inventory, see Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 221; see also Speer and Binding, Abt Suger (as n. 4), 413, on the meaning of ‘fusor’. Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 202 and Figs 6 and 13, reconstructs the altar and the shrine as separate furnishings but does not explain his reasoning. 39 ‘le pilier du milieu de derriere’, Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 292. 40 ‘et ont lesdicts anciens relligieux dict que le tabernacle, l’autel et la couverture des cercueilz .  .  . estoient unis, incorporez et attachez en telle sorte, que l’autel se demolissant, ce qui y estoict attaché ne se pouvoict conserver’, Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 231. 41 For the antependium at Saint-Denis, see Suger, De administratione in Panofsky-Soergel (as n. 4), 60–63. If, originally, the antependium was combined with an altar table on colonnettes, the arrangement could have resembled that of the high altar of St Tecla, Tarragona, where the altar stipes with a carved antependium is set underneath the altar table. Many thanks to John McNeill for drawing my attention to this case. See also, J. Braun, Der christliche Altar in seiner geschichtlichen Entwicklung. Vol. 1: Arten, Bestandteile, Altargrab, Weihe, Symbolik (Munich 1924), 354–55. 42 ‘Une voulte de pierre, revestue au dedans de cuivre doré qui prends jusques soubs l’autel’, Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 289. 43 For the translation of relics from the crypt and their display on and behind altars in this period, see R. Kroos, Der Schrein des Heiligen Servatius in Maastricht und die vier zugehörigen Reliquiare in Brüssel (Munich 1985), esp. 304–09; S. Komm, Heiligengrabmäler des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts in Frankreich: Untersuchung zu Typologie und Grabverehrung (Worms 1990), esp. 117; Crook, Architectural Setting (as n. 23), 275–81; W. Sauerländer, ‘Architecture gothique et mise en scène des reliques. L’exemple de la Sainte-Chapelle’, in La Sainte-Chapelle de Paris, ed. C. Hediger (Turnhout 2007), 113–36, at 114–15; for Canterbury Cathedral, see most recently J. I. Jenkins, ‘Modelling the cult of Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral’, JBAA, 173 (2020), 100–23; for St Alban’s, see M. Biddle, ‘Remembering St Alban: the Site of the Shrine and the Discovery of the Twelfth-Century Purbeck Marble Shrine’, BAA Trans, XXIV (2001), 124–61; for the Sainte-Chapelle, see J. Durand, ‘La Grande Châsse aux reliques’, in Le trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle, ed. J. Durand and M.-P. Laffitte (Paris 2001), 117–22. 44 Suger, De Consecratione, in Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 116, stated that the shrines dated from the time of Dagobert, but the inscriptions ‘archiepiscopus’, ‘archipresbyter’ and ‘archidiaconus’ suggest a Carolingian origin, see L. Levillain, ‘Les plus anciennes églises abbatiales de St.-Denis’, Paris et Île-de-France, 36 (1909), 201–02. 45 Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 289; this fact is not mentioned in the 1634 inventory; Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31), note 24, argues that the passage goes back to the 1534 inventory and was missed by the copyist in 1634. 46 See Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31),  87–88, who explains that Peiresc’s comment “fenestre d’où l’on voit le corps” concerning the panel reused by Suger as a hatch for the gilded wooden tabernacle relates to the function of the door when the shrine was still situated in the crypt and not to a function it fulfilled on Suger’s shrine. 47 As was the case at Saint-Martin at Tours, see Gem, ‘St Martin at Tours’ (as n. 6), 103.

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The Powers of the Saints 48 ‘De collateralibus tabulis sanctissimi eorum sarcofagi .  .  . erepta’, Suger, De administratione, in Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 54. 49 Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 171–74. 50 ‘En maniere d’une nef d’Eglise’, ‘de chacun costé un appentil en maniere de basses Chapelles’, Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 293; see also Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 171. 51 ‘le tombeau et le cénotaphe en forme de trois châsses qui le surmontait’, Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 124. 52 Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31), 86–87 and 95. 53 Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 175. 54 Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), III, 101. 55 Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31), 84. 56 Lelong, ‘Le tombeau’ (as n. 26), 105; Jacobsen, ‘Saints’ Tombs’ (as n. 23), 1129 with note 21, and 1110 with notes 17 and 18; Crook, Architectural Setting (as n. 23), 68–76; see also A. de Rohan Chabot, Marquise de Maillé, Les cryptes de Jouarre (Paris 1971), 221 with note 3, who argues that the tombs in the crypt at Jouarre are the only surviving early medieval example of this type; however, the construction of the crypt is now thought to date to the 12th century, and the exact date when the tombs were put in place is open to question, see C. de Mecquenem and P. Gillon, ‘Jouarre. Les “cryptes de Jouarre” ’, in Cryptes médiévales, ed. Gillon and Sapin (as n. 6), 143–58. 57 Gem, ‘St Martin at Tours’ (as n. 6), 102–03; see also Lelong, ‘Le tombeau’ (as n. 26), 104–05. 58 Around 1400, it seems that some relics of St Louis were preserved in the tabernacle, see M. Pintoin (also called Le Religieux de Saint-Denis), Chronique du religieux de Saint-Denys: contenant le règne de Charles VI, de 1380 à 1422, ed. M. L. Bellaguet (Paris 1839), I, 176. Two boxes with relics found in the tabernacle were also mentioned in the inventory, see Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 231. 59 Suger, De administratione, in Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 54; Speer and Binding, Abt Suger (as n. 4), 332; Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), 202 note 46, who thinks they may have been positioned between the hemicycle piers and perhaps removed in 1231. 60 Suger, De aministratione, in Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 56–58. 61 Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 219–20. After 1610, the pedestal was lost and by that date the crucifix had been moved to the high altar, see B. de Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Les dernier jours du crucifix d’or de Suger’, Nouvelles Archives de l’art français, New Series, 22 (1959), 150–58; P. Verdier, ‘What Do We Know of the Great Cross of Suger in Saint-Denis?’ Gesta, 9 (1970), 12–15; P. Verdier, ‘La grande croix de l’abbé Suger à Saint-Denis’, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, 13 (1970), 1–31; Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 29 and 124–25; Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 7), 250; Gasparri, Suger: Œuvres, 1 (as n. 4), 217–18. 62 Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 197–99. 63 Ibid., 59–60. 64 A. Walters, ‘The Reconstruction of the Abbey Church of Saint-Denis (1231–81): The Interplay of Music and Ceremony with Architecture and Politics’, Early Music Hist., 5 (1985), 187–238, at 234. 65 Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 538. 66 Ibid., 196–97, remarks that the Ordinary does not mention these masses specifically but argues that this was because they fell under the general rubrics that concern altars dedicated to saints at Saint-Denis. 67 Gasparri, Suger: Œuvres, 1 (as n. 4), 219. 68 See Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 184–97; Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), sketch-map of St-Denis. 69 Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), 108–09, figure 86; Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 80 and 78 with figure 72; Jacobsen, ‘Liturgische Kollisionen’ (as n. 1), figs 8 and 13, who reconstructs the shrine as separate from the altar and located further east without further explanation; Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le “tombeau des corps-saints” ’ (as n. 31), 81 with figure 1, who argues that the plan in Vincenzo Scamozzi: Taccuino di viaggio da Parigi a Venezia, 1600, shows the original arrangement; for a discussion of the divergent opinions on the original location of the altar-shrine, see Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 193–97. 70 Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 197.

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alexandra gajewski 71 Albrecht, Inszenierung der Vergangenheit (as n. 17), 161–66; For the objects in the choir in 1524, see Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 29. 72 According to 1534 inventory, recorded in 1634: ‘Item au derriere du dudict tabernacle desdicts Corps Saincts sur le pavé de l’eglise, une cuve de pierre de porphère’, Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 245, no. 22, see also III, 105; see also B. de Montesquiou-Fezenac, ‘Le tombeau de Charles le Chauve à Saint-Denis’, Bulletin de la société nationale des antiquaires de France (1963), 84–88, at 86; Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 69; Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 170. At least by the 15th century, it was thought that Clovis had been baptised in it, see W. M. Hinkle, ‘The Iconography of the Four Panels by the Master of Saint Giles’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 28 (1965), 110–44. 73 ‘Attulit preterea fontes marmoreos, qui superius in medio capitii consistunt’, C. Liebman, Étude sur la vie en prose de Saint Denis (Geneva and New York 1942), 202; see also ibid., xxiv–xxvi (for the date of the text), xxi – xxiii (for the manuscripts); G. M. Spiegel, ‘The Cult of Saint Denis and Capetian Kingship’, in The Past as Text: The Theory and Practice of Medieval Historiography (Baltimore and London 1977), 138–62, esp. 147–48; Albrecht, Inszenierung der Vergangenheit (as n. 17), 164 note 525. For the two manuscript versions of the text in the BnF, see P. Gandit, ‘Les études grecques à l’abbaye de Saint-Denis au XIIe siècle’ (unpublished thèse diplôme d’archiviste-paléographe, École des chartes, Paris 2003), a summary is available at http://theses.enc.sorbonne.fr/2003/gandil, [accessed 7 August 2021]. 74 ‘est enim a tergo altaris martyrum beati Dionysii et sociorum ejus quoddam sepulcrum’, Richeri Gesta Senoniensis ecclesiae, ed. G. Waitz, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores, 25 (Hannover 1880), 249–345, at 296. The chronicle was written in the 1250s. 75 Montesquiou-Fezensac, ‘Le tombeau de Charles le Chauve’ (as n. 72). For the bath, see, recently, Isabelle Bardiès-Fronty’s entry in I. Bardiès-Fronty, C. Denoël and I. Villela-Petit ed., Les Temps mérovingiens (Paris 2016), 60–61; for the bronze effigy of Charles the Bald, see in particular A. Erlande-Brandenburg, Le roi est mort: étude sur les funérailles, les sépultures et les tombeaux des rois de France jusqu’à la fin du XIIIe siècle (Geneva 1975), 153; G. S. Wright, ‘A Royal Tomb Program in the Reign of St. Louis’, Art Bull., 56 (1974), 224–43. 76 ‘Nec minus nobilem gloriosi regis Dagoberti cathedram, in qua, ut perhibere solet antiquitas, reges Francorum, suscepto regni imperio, ad suscipienda optimatum suorum hominia primum sedere consueverant, tum pro tanti excellentia officii, tum etiam pro operis ipsius precio, antiquatam et disruptam refici fecimus’, Suger, De administratione, Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 72 and 73. 77 Suger, De administratione, Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 72 and 73. 78 See C. J. Liebman, ‘Un sermon de Philippe de Villette, abbé de Saint-Denis, pour la levée de l’oriflamme (1414)’, Romania, 68 (1944), 444–70, at 445 note 2 and 469; P. Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme de Saint-Denis aux XIVe et XVe siècles: étude de symbolique religieuse et royale’, Annales de l’est, 5th series, 25 (1975), 179–244, at 207. 79 Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 29; see also III, 116–18; Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 246, 288 and 360; Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 63–68; Albrecht, Inszenierung der Vergangenheit (as n. 17), 161–64; and, recently, Mathilde Avisseau-Broustet’s entry in Bardiès-Fronty, Denoël and Villela-Petit, Les Temps mérovingiens (as n. 75), 60. 80 Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 229, no. 201 (Étendard), 208, no. 202 (Bâton pastoral dit de Saint-Denis); see also Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 29. 81 Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme’ (as n. 78), 213, 239–40 (on the oriflamme being a copy); for the oriflamme being housed in the treasury, see Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 20. 82 Montesquiou-Fezensac and Gaborit-Chopin, Inventaire de 1634 (as n. 34), I, 231–44. 83 Suger, Ordinatio, Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 132–33; for the Descriptio, see R. Grosse, Saint-Denis zwischen Adel und König: die Zeit vor Suger (1053–1122) (Stuttgart 2002), 42–55 (for the dating) and 42 note 173 (for the different editions of the text); see also E. A. R. Brown, ‘The Twelfth-Century Crusading Window of the Abbey of Saint-Denis’, JWCI, 49 (1986), 1–40, esp. 14–15; for the Passion relics at Saint-Denis, see A. Frowlow, La relique de la Vraie Croix: recherches sur le développement d’un culte (Paris 1961), 200; Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 18 and 122. 84 Haymon, De detectione, see Félibien, Histoire de l’abbaye royale (as n. 2), 72; clxv–clxxii; for the date and interpretation of the text, see L. Levillain, ‘L’église carolingienne de Saint-Denis: essai de

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The Powers of the Saints reconstitution’, Bull. Mon., 71 (1907), 211–62, esp. 227 and 239–41; Liebman, Étude sur la vie en prose (as n. 73), xiv with note 2; Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 18; Grosse, Adel und König (as n. 83), 19 with note 3 and 50 with note 221. 85 Grosse, Adel und König (as n. 83), 50. 86 Suger, De consecratione, Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 86–89. 87 Ibid. 88 R. Grosse, Papsturkunden in Frankreich, new series, 9: Diözese Paris, II, Abtei Saint-Denis (Göttingen 1998), 234, no. 90. 89 For an edition of the text after BnF, MS NAL 1509, see P. Aubry ed., ‘Comment fut perdu et retrouvé le saint Clou de l’abbaye de Saint-Denis (1233)’, Revue Mabillon, II (1906), 185–92 and 286–300; and III (1907), 43–50 and 147–82, at 178; see also Liebman, Étude sur la vie en prose (as n. 73), xx–xi. 90 Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 7), 112–17. For the charter, see F. Gasparri, Suger, Œuvres II (Paris 2008), 271, no. 5. For the oriflamme, see Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme’ (as n. 78); A. Lombard-Jourdan, Fleur de lis et oriflamme (Paris 1991), 131–76; Gaborit-Chopin, Trésor de Saint-Denis (as n. 31), 21; F. Collard, ‘Ranimer l’oriflamme: Les relations des rois de France avec l’abbaye de Saint-Denis à la fin du XVe siècle’, in Saint-Denis et la royauté: Études offertes à Bernard Guenée, ed. F. Autrand, C. Gauvard and J.-M. Moeglin (Paris 2019), 563–81. 91 Suger, Life of Louis the Fat, F. Gasparri, ed. and trans., Vie de Louis VI le Gros (Paris 2007), 220–21 and 228–29. 92 Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 7), 115. 93 ‘Papa vero et abbas auream portulam reserant et argenteam thecam paululum extrahunt’, Odo of Deuil, De profectione Ludovici VII in Orientem / The Journey of Louis VII to the East, ed. and trans. V. G. Berry (New York 1948), 16–17; see also Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme’ (as n. 78), 188. 94 Rigord, Histoire de Philippe Auguste, ed. and trans. É. Carpentier, G. Pon and Y. Chauvin (Paris 2006), 272–75. 95 J. Bédier, La chanson de Roland (Paris 1960), 258, laisse ccxxv. 96 Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme’ (as n. 78), 187–94. 97 See Liebman, ‘Un sermon de Philippe de Villette’ (as n. 78), 469; Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme’ (as n. 78), 207. 98 Accedens inde ad cryptam .  .  . pignora in scriniis electrinis contenta .  .  . super eorumdem altare detulit . . . ac postmodum in eminenciori loco in altaris facie collocavit’, Pintoin, Chronique du religieux de Saint-Denys (as n. 58), I, 176; Pintoin used the word ‘crypta’ to designate the lower part of the shrine, which contained the relics. 99 The details of the ceremony clearly varied over time. Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 298, asserts that, while the kings went to war, the relics were placed on the altar ‘dedans d’aucunes voûtes’, from where only the king could move them back into the shrine after he returned from battle, perhaps suggesting that, at that time, the shrines were no longer placed in the containers of the upper tabernacle. Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme’ (as n. 78), 212 note 1, points out that nothing suggests that the kings would always have returned the chests personally to the vaults of the shrine in the Middle Ages, and sometimes, as in 1382, the chests were put back into the lower vaults immediately at the end of the ceremony, see Pintoin, Chronique du religieux de Saint-Denys (as n. 58), I, 178. 100 Both Contamine, ‘L’oriflamme’ (as n. 78), 192; Grant, Abbot Suger (as n. 7), 117, consider that the association of the vexillum with the oriflamme may have already been made by Suger, but as Contamine highlights, there would have been a danger to this, as it made of Saint-Denis a simple depository of an object that referenced Charlemagne and ultimately St Peter’s in Rome, which is maybe why Suger was less insistent. 101 For 1191, see Rigord, Histoire de Philippe-Auguste (as n. 94), 300–03; for 1386, Pintoin, Chronique du religieux de Saint-Denys (as n. 58), I, 450; for history writing at Saint-Denis, see Spiegel, ‘The Cult of Saint Denis’ (as n. 73); B. Guenée, Comment on écrit l’histoire au XIIIe siècle: Primat et le Roman des roys (Paris 2016). 102 Rigord, Histoire de Philippe-Auguste (as n. 94), 294–99, the relics of the Passion were carried in procession also, for example, in 1196 and 1206, see ibid., 338–39 and 398–99; see also, B. Guenée, ‘Le vœu de Charles IV: Essai sur la dévotion des rois de France aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles’, Journal des savants (1966), 67–135, esp. 73.

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alexandra gajewski 103 P. Kidson, ‘Panofsky, Suger and Saint-Denis’, JWCI, 50 (1987), 1–17, at 13. 104 Ibid., 11–13; see also S. M. Crosby, ‘Crypt and Choir Plan at Saint-Denis’, Gesta, 5 (1966), 4–8; Crosby, Royal Abbey (as n. 8), 235–36. 105 R. Bork, ‘Ground Plan Geometries in Suger’s St-Denis: A  Prototype for Altenberg’, in Aufmaß und Diskurs, ed. A. Lang and J. Jachmann (Berlin 2013), 57–70; see also R. Bork, ‘The Geometry of the Choir Plan on Suger’s Saint-Denis’, on the website Geometries of Creation, available at https://geometriesofcreation.lib. uiowa.edu/architecture/the-geometry-of-the-choir-plan-in-sugers-saint-denis/, [accessed 11 July 2021]. 106 R. N. Gould, ‘The Crypt Plan at Saint Denis’ (unpublished manuscript 1974). My thanks to Robert Bork for drawing my attention to this paper and for offering me a copy. 107 Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 44; Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes’ (as n. 6), 252–55. 108 Crosby, Royal Abbey (as n. 8), 234; Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes’ (as n. 6), 257. 109 Crosby, Royal Abbey (as n. 8), 235. 110 Kidson, ‘Panofsky, Suger and Saint-Denis’ (as n. 103), 13. See also Crosby, Royal Abbey (as n. 8), 237–38; M. Trachtenberg, ‘Suger’s Miracles, Branner’s Bourges: Reflections on “Gothic Architecture” as Medieval Modernism’, Gesta, 39 (2000), 183–205, esp. 195–99, who have identified a spot within the hemicycle from where all the chapel windows can be seen, as the outer columns of the ambulatory are concealed behind the hemicycle columns. On the website ‘Geometry’ (as n. 105), Borg has shown that this spot is not, as could be expected, the geometrical centre of the apse but a point just to the west of it because the hemicycle piers do not align with the columns at the entrances to the chapels, both in the crypt and in the choir. He concludes that this spot was specifically designed for a priest who could thus see the windows while standing at the altar of St Denis. However, as argued here, the altar was located between the first and second straight bay, not in the hemicyle, and if it had been there, its massive structure would probably have obscured much of the windows. 111 Panofsky, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 100–01; for Panofsky’s view of Suger, see Grant, Abbot Suger of St-Denis (as n. 7), 5–6. 112 Kidson, ‘Panofsky, Suger and Saint-Denis’ (as n. 103), 7–8. 113 C. Norton, ‘Bernard, Suger, and Henry I’s Crown Jewels’, Gesta, 45 (2006), 1–14, at 9. 114 ‘et aliorum sanctorum, qui per ecclesiam sparsi diversis colebantur oratoriis’, Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 104. 115 Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 30–31. 116 A. Dietl, ‘Das sogennante “Benediktretabel” aus St.-Denis’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 58 (1995), 116–26, esp. 124; Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 30–31 and 62–67. BnF Latin 2185 is available at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10032698v, [accessed 4 June  2021]; for the Rouen manuscript, see Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 405–06. 117 Suger, De consecratione, Panofsky-Sorgel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 118; Speer and Binding, Abt Suger (as n. 4), 246. 118 See Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), 122–23; Crosby, Royal Abbey (as n. 8), 220–21; those in the chapels of Saints Innocent (later St Maurice), Cucuphas, Eugenius and Hilary survive but a recent restoration (April 2013) has raised doubts about their authenticity. I would like to thank Michäel Wyss for the information. 119 For the order of the dedications of the chapels in the crypts, see A. Speer, ‘Abt Sugers Schriften zur fränkischen Königsabtei Saint-Denis’, in Abt Suger, ed. Speer and Binding (as n. 4), 58 note 124, who discusses the evidence in relation to earlier literature. 120 Liebman, Étude sur la vie en prose (as n. 73), xviii–xx and 202–10; see also Spiegel, ‘The Cult of Saint Denis’ (as n. 73), 147–48; Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 23–24. 121 Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 169–78 and 258–59. 122 Ibid., 258–59 (processions); Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), for Suger, De consecratione, Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 242. 123 Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 178. 124 See Joubert, ‘Un recours aux retables sculptés’ (as n. 7), 122. 125 Doublet, Saint-Denys en France (as n. 22), 34–35; Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 161 note 66. 126 Suger, De consecration, Panofsky-Soergel, Abbot Suger (as n. 4), 112–20; for the importance of the liturgy for Suger, see Speer, ‘Abt Sugers Schriften’ (as n. 119); Crossley, ‘The Integrated Cathedral’ (as n. 17).

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The Powers of the Saints 127 The location of the ivory doors is disputed, see Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 220–22; Gasparri, Suger: Œuvres, 1 (as n. 4), 193; Speer and Binding, Abt Suger (as n. 4), 247 note 56. 128 The inscriptions of the re-dedications were recorded by Félibien, Histoire de l’abbaye royale (as n. 2), 535–36; see also Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), 121–23; Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 237–41 with table 4.1, which lists the secondary dedications of these altars. For the 1231 reconstruction, see Bruzelius, The 13th-Century Church (as n. 9). It is open to question to what degree the reconstructions necessitated the re-dedication of the chapels. Walters, ‘The Reconstruction’ (as n. 64), 192, argues that ‘the ceremonial modifications mirror the different phases of the renovation of the building, in particular in relation to the altar of St Firmin’, ibid., 200–2; but see Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 208 note 117; as some of the re-dedications may predate 1231, and the process of re-dedicating the chapels was long and drawn out, the reconstruction was clearly not the only incentive; see also Berné, ‘Saint-Denis’ (as n. 7), 206–07. 129 For the dedication of this chapel under Suger and the identity of St Innocent (as opposed to Saints Innocents), see Foley, First Ordinary (as n. 7), 210–14; for the re-dedications of the altar, see Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 237, table 4.1. 130 Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), 121; Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 238, table 4.1, who notes that the c. 1258 ordinary records the date of 1218 for this reconsecration. For the chapel of the Virgin in the transept, later known as Notre-Dame-la-Blanche but probably founded before 1241, see Berné, ‘Saint-Denis’ (as n. 7), 373–75. 131 Erlande-Brandenburg, Le roi est mort (as n. 75), 126–27 and 142–44; P. Williamson, Gothic Sculpture, 1140–1300 (New Haven and London 1995), 154–55. 132 Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 240, table 4.1. 133 Dietl, ‘Das sogennante “Benediktretabel” ’ (as n. 116), 116–26, esp. 123–24; Joubert, ‘Un recours aux retables sculptés’ (as n. 7), 120–21; for Saint-Denis, Romanus and Charlemagne, see E. A. R. Brown, ‘Saint-Denis and the Turpin Legend’, in The Codex Calixtinus and the Shrine of St James, ed. J. Williams and A. Stones (Tübingen 1992), 51–88, esp. 54 note 9. 134 Berné, ‘Saint-Denis’ (as n. 7), 208–30. 135 Walters, ‘The Reconstruction’ (as n. 64), 195–97; Walters Robinson, The Service-Books (as n. 7), 78–83; in the shrine-choir this concerned the feasts of Patroclus (celebrated in the Virgin chapel), Peregrinus, Firmin, Hilary of Mende and Romanus. 136 Liebman, Étude sur la vie en prose (as n. 73), iii–iv and lxxxix–cxi. 137 Illustrated, for example, in Wyss, Atlas (as n. 8), 90–91 figure 84. 138 Viollet-le-Duc, Dictionnaire raisonné (as n. 31), II, 40–48 Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), 120–48; see also Wyss, Atlas (as n.  8), 70–78; for Percier, see G. Huard, ‘The Abbey of Saint-Denis, 1936’, in Charles Percier: Architecture and Design in an Age of Revolutions, ed. J.-P. Garric (New Haven and London 2016), 99–102. 139 For the artistic programme of the chapels, see notably Formigé, L’abbaye royale (as n. 8), 124–48; F. Joubert, ‘Les retables du milieu du XIIIe siècle à l’abbatiale de Saint-Denis’, Bull. Mon., 131 (1973), 17–27; C. Norton: ‘Les carreaux du pavage du Moyen Age de l’abbaye de Saint-Denis’, Bull. Mon., 139 (1981), 69–100; Joubert, ‘Un recours aux retables sculptés’ (as n. 7); S. M. Guérin, ‘Activation et Glorification à Saint-Denis: la Vierge, l’ivoire et la liturgie de l’Assomption’, in L’église, lieu de performances, ed. S.-D. Daussy (Paris 2016), 119–36; S. M. Guérin, French Gothic Ivories: Material Theologies and the Sculptor’s Craft (Cambridge 2022), 134–50. 140 Joubert, ‘Un recours aux retables sculptés’ (as n. 7), 114. 141 L. Grodecki, Etudes sur les vitreaux de Suger à Saint-Denis (XIIe siècle), Corpus Vitrearum, ed. C. Grodecki, C. Bouchon and Y. Zaluska (Paris 1995), 19–20. 142 Norton, ‘Les carreaux du pavage’ (as n. 139); for the St Firmin chapel, see X. Barral y Altet, ‘The Mosaic Pavement of the Saint Firmin Chapel at Saint-Denis: Alberic and Suger’, in Abbot Suger and Saint-Denis: A Symposium, ed. P. L. Gerson (New York 1986), 245–55. 143 Norton, ‘Les carreaux du pavage’ (as n. 139), 92; V. Fuchß, Das Altarensemble: eine Analyse des Kompositcharakters früh- und hochmittelalterlicher Altarausstattung (Weimar 1999), 182. 144 Joubert, ‘Un recours au retables sculptés’ (as n. 7), 122.

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alexandra gajewski 145 ‘et sanctuario ad osculandum populis exposito’, Aubry, ‘Le saint Clou’ (as n. 89), 178–79. 146 Berné, ‘Saint-Denis’ (as n. 7), 336–43 and 358–68. 147 See A. Köstler, Die Ausstattung der Marburger Elisabethkirche: Zur Ästhetisierung des Kultraums im Mittelalter (Berlin 1995). 148 ‘qui guérist des fièvres’, H.-F. Delaborde, ‘Le procès du chef de saint Denis en 1410’, Mémoires de la Société de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France, 11 (1884), 207–409, at 320; Albrecht, Inszenierung der Vergangenheit (as n. 17), 145–46; Wyss, ‘Saint-Denis: Les cryptes’ (as n. 6), 242, although Wyss, ibid., 257, argues that after Suger’s reconstruction the chapel was accessible only from a door behind the altar.

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The King’s City The Disciplinary ‘Sense-scape’ of Paris in the 13th Century WILLIAM CHESTER JORDAN

In June 2016, severe storms led to widespread flooding in northern France. The Seine reached extremely high levels, prompting the museum administration of the Louvre and the Orsay in Paris to mobilize plans to move and indeed to execute the relocation of many precious artworks from the ground floor and lower levels to the upper stories of the building complexes.1 We live in the present, but the present relentlessly evokes the past, and for me, in preparing this chapter, the flood waters of early June brought to mind in general the high water table of the Île de la Cité, even during more typical weather. This in turn led me to think about the cluster of prisons situated in the old Châtelet on the Île de la Cité in the long 13th century, from the reign of Philip II Augustus to the advent of the Hundred Years War. The Châtelet was the great edificial complex that served as the medieval headquarters of the prévôt or royal governor of Paris.2 It was in the Châtelet that the prévôt had his administrative offices, staffed by his personal clerk, legal personnel, notaries and other record keepers.3 It was here that the police force (the sergeants of the prévôté) had their quarters away from home, where they gathered to receive their assignments and from which, specially arrayed, they spread out to help police the great city, usually on foot.4 sights i use the phrase ‘specially arrayed’, for it is hard to believe that the sergeants’ clothing, rob(a)e, references to which one finds over and over again in royal records detailing expenditures for employees, were plain and undifferentiated from the apparel of other men in the city.5 Indeed, they had to have been distinctively and obviously royal to signify that the person wearing them had the right to exercise police power. This could have been accomplished either by the distinctive design or cut of the robe, by its color, by the wearing of a sign like the fleur-de-lys sewn onto it, by having a sash or livery of office as part of the garb or perhaps by some combination of all four. Whether each and every sergeant distinctly within each and every rank always bore the same such insignia is moot. Only if they did would their robes properly be termed uniforms in the modern sense, that is, in the sense of identical (uniform) garb for men of the same dignity. Usually, this is regarded as a modern or at most an early modern innovation, and surely its nearly universal adoption is modern. But evidence now suggests that southern Europeans were familiar with – and, of course, northerners like French crusaders to Tunis in 1270 would have been aware of – genuine uniforms © 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-4

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already being worn by Christian mercenary troops in 13th-century Islamic North Africa.6 Typically, northerners who returned home from Mediterranean expeditions denigrated and refrained from the imitation of Islamic styles,7 but the idea of uniform livery, also influenced from observation of the differences in ecclesiastical vestments according to office and order, was well established in the mental world of Frenchmen, as lexicographers long ago established.8 Moreover, embedded in the idea of the uniform, as the recent exhibition ‘What (Not) to Wear: Fashion and the Law’ at Harvard University Law School puts it emphatically is that ‘uniforms demonstrate power’.9 To make the point more emphatic the men who wore the sergeants’ robes also carried standard cudgels (OF bastons, ModF bâtons) to help them enforce the law. Bâtons were also standard issue for royal guards at the law courts.10 The stables were nearby for those occasions when it was necessary or expedient for sergeants to patrol on horseback or mobilize cartage, which is why we read of mounted sergeants (servientes equites, sergents à cheval), better riders presumably and certainly better paid men than the other class of sergeants we encounter in the sources, the servientes pedites or sergents à pied, sergeants who walked their beat.11 It was to the Châtelet that the sergeants (mounted or foot) returned periodically from patrolling to report on their activities and to which they also brought their prisoners, men and women, apprehended in flagrante or strongly suspected of crimes.12 The building complex housed the prévôt’s court and, as I intimated, an ‘extraordinary number’ of prisons (les prisons en merveilleux nombre, as a later observer would remark), where the accused were incarcerated until such time as they were adjudicated or removed, either after acquittal or after conviction, to be subjected to various kinds of punishments.13 Access to the best vented upper-story carceri or carceres (carcer was sometimes declined masculine, sometimes feminine) was usually reserved for those accused of lesser crimes, if the prisoners’ families or friends could muster the fees for payment.14 The most extraordinary of the ‘numerous prisons’ for which the Châtelet was ‘notorious’,15 the one for men (women prisoners were segregated)16 suspected of the most heinous crimes, had several distinctive features. Most significant, the high water table of the Île de la Cité referenced at the beginning of this chapter is relevant here: this hardest prison of the prévôté was underground.17 There were many structures, like the great walls and gates, with their guard houses, by which Philip II Augustus delimited the city of Paris as a protected and allegedly defensible space, which bespoke the immanence of royal authority.18 Philip’s expansion of the walls engirded or partly engirded so much space that the classical features of a fortress town were lost,19 possibly and, if so, ironically making Paris less not more defensible. Nonetheless, the pretense of defensibility and the impression of royal power remained, and the new walls became a reference point in literature for making that claim, as Jeanette Beer’s study of the early 13th-century Li fet des Romains, also known as Li Livre de Julius Cesar, recalls.20 Together with the two monumental bridges (either of which could serve as a similar reference point) and other edifices, like the king’s palace, they evoked royal authority unproblematically – and they evoked the enormous wealth the crown could mobilize.21 At least, I hold that this would have been the case for most people residing in or visiting the city from Philip Augustus’s time onward, the period when the crown’s heft really began to be felt there, later than one might think (une tutelle royale tardive, in the words of Boris Bove and Claude Gauvard).22 62

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These structures and many others, more narrowly artistic in nature, may have had multiple meanings at the time of their construction, meanings informed by the scholastic culture in which they were created, as Wolfgang Brückle has demonstrated in great detail and with precision23 – and the multiplicity of meanings could change over time, depending on the different groups observing them. One thinks of the montjoies, for example, which were constructed along the route from Paris to Saint-Denis.24 These monuments, destroyed in the revolutionary fervor of 1793, might not have evoked what their intent seems to have been in the reign of Philip III (1270–1285) when they were erected, namely the sacred and common purpose of the crown and the church, instantiated in the Abbey of Saint-Denis, for they marked the route of Louis IX’s burial cortege from the city to the royal monastery. Presumably, pilgrims could have known the story of the montjoie monuments long after the cortege, its composition and its purpose had ceased to be an eye- and ear-witness memory. But these monuments, now known principally from a few pre-revolutionary sketches, had several distinctive characteristics which are pertinent to this discussion. Most importantly each had a cross with a fleur-de-lysée transverse arm surmounting a set of three statues of kings.25 An unreflective or, perhaps better, a casual observer a generation after their erection would likely have regarded these ‘stone sentinels’ (my former student Anne Lester’s phrase) as a freighted but still relatively straightforward statement of royal authority over the city under the risen Christ.26 If he or she learned more, all to the good, but the first impression on this road would, I think, have been simply that one was entering or leaving the royal city of France par excellence. Or to take another monument, the cathedral of Notre-Dame: the kings’ (Philip II’s and Louis VIII’s) admiration of the cathedral and presumably of the cathedral chapter which effected its construction is well known,27 but ordinary visitors had little access to information that suggests that the relationship between the crown and the cathedral chapter soured in the mid-13th century.28 Moreover, visitors to the cathedral could easily mistake the sculptural representation of the kings on the façade as the representation, direct and unmediated, of the authority of the French kings and as part of the discourse of church–state cooperation (if one excuses the anachronistic dichotomy of the phrase). The misapprehension that these statues were the kings of France is attested as early as 1284.29 Scholars, however, know that the façade sculptures were designed to represent the Old Testament kings, even if their display had an indirect intention to also celebrate French kingship.30 The revolutionary enthusiasm of the 1790s is useful once again in reminding us that ordinary people may not have known anything of the precise intent of the original patrons. Those revolutionaries who expended what must have been considerable labour in bringing down these monumental statues thought that they were simply destroying and thus dishonoring unambiguous effigies of the dynasts in a kind of latter-day re-enactment of the classical damnatio memoriae. The royalists, on the contrary, who managed to take the vandalized remnants (at least 143 huge fragments) of the heads and reverentially interred them thought they were honouring the same. The heads went undiscovered until 1977.31 Those who buried them must have thought that they were doing God’s work by their labours, interring the effigies of the royal line. Some buildings and other markers of power which had deliberately complex messages encoded in them could also be understood in otherwise straightforward and quite uncomplex ways as reminders of the heavy weight of royal authority in the city, sweetened at times no doubt by the very beauty of the monuments, like the 63

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Sainte-Chapelle, which we know, thanks to the work of antiquaries and scholars stretching from Michel Félibien at the turn of the 17th/18th century to Meredith Cohen today, had a somewhat more public character than most scholars hitherto have conventionally attributed to it. A vision of power and authority manifested itself when Louis IX, Saint Louis, stood crowned and in his regalia exhibiting the True Cross for the veneration of the people on Good Friday.32 Fleurs-de-lys, even carved in crude wooden form served as official markers (for example to signify jurisdictional boundaries) and could have a certain beauty about them, if only a beauty by association with the symbol’s representation in so many other pictorial contexts in the city, like the seal of the prévôté, on which the flower appears to be sheltering a little castle, a châtelet, under its right petal.33 The fleurde-lys was a cherished and beautiful Marian and royal symbol, as Laurent Hablot has shown.34 But it had a particularly fierce beauty in certain disciplinary contexts, if one can call righteous anger beautiful. It expressed royal authority and the aspiration for moral purity on the branded lips and cheeks of convicted felons and blasphemers.35 Gallows and other structures of public punishment, often though not always located in the liminal zone between the city proper and the countryside, were powerful visual insignia of royal authority and the disciplinary aspects of it.36 Gallows so located were boundary markers, expressing visually the clear message that entering the city and disrupting it in criminal ways would lead to symbolic expulsion to the site of the gibbet and to death, exile from the world of the living.37 Of course, this was not just a Parisian or French phenomenon. Axmen stood beside a great tree stump placed at the entrance to, not in the heart of, the Orsanmichele market in Florence during periods of dearth and high prices, their task being to chop off the hands of thieves who had been caught in the act and expelled from the clustered stalls to the periphery.38 The spectacle of such punishments, perhaps particularly capital punishments, became increasingly more dramatic in the long 13th century. For the crowds in attendance, there was to some degree a carnivalesque aspect to them, which may have operated as a kind of collective coping mechanism. These themes have been well treated recently by Paul Friedland.39 The 18th century, for a complex and interlocking set of reasons, would bring such spectacles, along with other shaming punishments, to an end, as Foucault and others have chronicled.40 But for our period, to quote John Decker, The death of a notorious criminal, especially if it was well staged, could elicit broad social approval. Righteous satisfaction at seeing justice (or perceiving justice) carried out, and order restored authorized the bodily destruction associated with legal and political processes.41

All of which brings us back to the prévôt’s subterranean prison, a move that will take us away from the monumental visual symbols of royal authority to issues of sound and smell. The Châtelet was an impressive visual representation of royal authority.42 But to stop there may be to overly privilege sight. For the Châtelet was far more, as any 13th-century Parisian hearing the trumpeters blaring the arrival of dawn and of dusk from its tower daily would know.43 We cannot sufficiently appreciate the power of the royal presence in Paris if we neglect to take into account the sounds and smells of the exercise of authority – or the tales people told of these sounds and smells to neighbours and other Parisians or visitors who had never experienced them personally. The remainder of this chapter is a partial exploration of the way 64

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certain senses were basically assaulted in 13th-century Paris by visual, sonant, olfactory, tactile and gustatory reminders that the city belonged to the king, that it was his special city and that he did not take kindly to transgressions or transgressors within it. The chapter thus contributes to a current interest, across eras, in the sensory aspects of experience.44 I concentrate here, because of space constraints, on the sounds and smells of the city of Paris, sounds and smells that were intended to make residents and visitors alike wary, indeed frightened, of defying the king rather than on the sounds and smells (and sights, feel and tastes) that evoked the king’s beneficence. Less the Lord giveth than the Lord taketh away: sense perceptions as disciplinary triggers. Let us begin with the soundscape. sounds Many of those who claimed authority in the city of Paris and in the medieval Catholic world writ large deliberately used sounds to enhance their claim and to force those whom they wished to dominate to perceive it. One could shut one’s eyes to the visual monuments but only for a time. If one were sighted, one had to perceive them regularly. Similarly, one could stop one’s ears or hold one’s nose but not everywhere and at all times. One could not avoid hearing or smelling unless one suffered from total deafness or from anosmia, the incapacity to perceive smells. Churchmen constitute the most obvious example of a diverse group of men who had developed an elaborate array of sounds in particular to awe, inform and delight those whom they sought to control – for the purpose of salvation, surely, but in tandem with the benefits that would accrue to the clergy’s own material advantage. The church’s bells, often named (‘baptized’), rang out to announce the liturgical times, to celebrate festivities, to report deaths, to signal warnings, to ask for saintly and divine intervention in times of natural and man-made distress and to proclaim miracles; and they had different tones instantly recognizable to long-term residents of the city, women and men who could tell visitors what the peals they were hearing signified.45 Civic bells rivaled, complemented or supplemented church bells.46 But the clergy expressed their specialness in many other sonant manners to the public, both residents and visitors, in the liturgical music sung within the buildings, in the banns announcing from the church porches marriages to come and in the exterior processional chants around the city and the ecstatic responses of pilgrims, as when the relics of Saint Geneviève came out of the abbey in procession to stem the Seine floods.47 However, my interest is in the royal or secular counterpart, especially the disciplinary counterpart, to this ecclesiastical soundscape. A Parisian church’s proclamation of the marriage banns, for example, had its parallel in the royal public announcements – information, an ad hoc command, a new ordinance (ordinacionem ipsius domini Regis . . . publicatam) – that were cried by criers.48 Most of the best work on the Parisian royal criers, like Yvonne-Hélène Le Maresquier-Kesteloot’s study, has concentrated on the very late Middle Ages because of the accident of surviving sources.49 These sources, used carefully and put into dialogue with the 13th-century evidence, can say much about the criers’ contribution to Paris’s soundscape in the High Middle Ages. All these men, some of whom were sergeants of the Châtelet who specialized in this kind of service on their rounds, had strong, probably tenor voices that by nature project better than baritone and bass voices.50 Along with the criers employed by the merchants’ association and private criers, the king’s men announced the arrival of the 65

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new wines and details about prices and provided information on funerals, deaths, interments and captivity like the king’s own.51 It was part of the routine, as Guillaume de La Villeneuve, the author of a 13th-century poem on the criers of Paris, makes clear, for these men to announce the king’s proclama­ tions. He mentions Louis [IX] by name: ‘Aucune foiz, ce m’est avis,/Crie-on le ban roi Loys’.52 Among the ordonnances that the royal criers cried in the reign of Philip IV, the Fair would have been those that forbade interfering with the import of staples to Paris in 1299 and 1305.53 Indeed, cries regarding aliments were the most frequent, judging in part from Guillaume de La Villeneuve’s poem.54 Parisians would have heard similar prohibitions cried in 1299 and in 1307 on interfering with the import of wood, which was necessary, among other purposes, for fuel, making barrels, supporting growing vines and, of course, construction.55 In 1306, criers cried the ordonnances on changes to the royal coinage.56 All these cries communicated information, yes. They evidenced royal concern with maintaining the functioning of the city, yes. The crying of ordonnances also instantiated an assertive ideal of royal authority, as Didier Lett and Nicolas Offenstadt have rightly insisted57 – and of the king’s peace, the protected space of the king’s city for productive work and exchange, in a word for prosperity. The cries served as public verbal threats to those who were tempted to transgress, as English observers, like Matthew Paris, noted in their often admiring comments on French social order.58 Sound was, of course, policed. Not even royal criers could cry routine information on the solemn day of the king’s, queen’s or a prince’s or princess’s death.59 Church bells were silent for nine months in the year 1200 because of the interdict laid on the kingdom – an assertion of papal and ecclesiastical authority, a reproach and challenge to royal authority in the king’s city.60 Jews who chanted too loudly in their synagogues were subject to official reprimand.61 Monks who sang inappropriate – rowdy, snarky, raunchy – songs were confined to monastic prisons, had their rations cut and were scourged.62 Louis IX tried to dissuade his courtiers from singing frivolous ditties.63 And judges had little use for stupid chatter, bad language, slander or blather in general (stultiloquium, turpiloquium, maliloquium and multiloquium), whose disruptive qualities explain why so many courts, including the Parlement of Paris, in their judgments imposed eternal silence on the parties at the conclusion of their proceedings – silencium imposuimus.64 This formula, borrowed from canonistic usage, was originally a judicial command issued to convicted heretics and blasphemers, men and women who were the quintessential misusers of words as far as the guardians of the religion of the Word (Christ) were concerned.65 In the same spirit, Louis IX not only discouraged frivolous songs but also severely punished blasphemy by branding the miscreants on their lips.66 The formula also underlay Louis IX’s reactions to the rebellious English barons whose attempts to bridle their king – to temper his regality – were repellent to him. His arbitration judgment, the Mise of Amiens, in 1264, rejected the rebels’ demands out of hand and evoked the formula. Or at least this was how the late 13th- and early 14th-century chronicler Walter of Guisborough (alias Hemingburgh) saw it: imponens aliis [baronibus] silentium quantum ad jura regalia ordinanda.67 The account of one prévôt of Paris in 1318 records the expenditure of funds to mobilize royal sergeants to stop boisterous violations of the Lenten fast – ­undoubtedly the noisy misbehavior, pranks and gluttonous defiance of young ruffians.68 A late medieval poem found on the first folio of a register from the communal archives of 66

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Merville in the département of the Nord gnomically expresses the official sentiment, which is to say, disdain for youthful, morally suspect speech, implied in this mobilization of the police power: ‘Silence est mère d’innocence,/Clefz de discrétion,/Compaignie de chasteté,/Gardienne de dévotion,/Ornement de la jeunesse’ (‘Silence is the mother of innocence, the key of discretion, the companion of chastity, the guardian of devotion, the ornament of youth’).69 But police, not just youths, generated cacophonous sound, albeit to a different end. Haro!, the shout that raised the hue and cry for theft (including the theft of virtue, rape), brought the prévôt’s sergeants into the streets, with their equally vocal expressions of power.70 This, as my colleague Helmut Reimitz has expressed it to me, was cacophony upon cacophony in the service of justice.71 Yet I suspect that the message was ambivalent to onlookers and victims: the fact of theft or rape, let alone numerous thefts and rapes, and the shouting of the Haro! might also be construed as a failure of order and the agents of order and implicitly a critique of them, even if their loud response asserted the residual authority of the police and even of the crown. Prisoners at the Châtelet screamed the screams of their punishments – cropped ears, branding, and amputated feet, hands and sex organs – and in the latter part of our period, screams accompanied the judicial torture which was administered there.72 Some royal processions were joyously accompanied by laughter and song; others like those organized by the police and associated with justice’s execution, in both meanings of the word, were far less so.73 Yet in all of these ways, the crown communicated its claim to authority and its right to discipline transgressors. smells What of smells? Let us return to the church. The fragrance of candles aflame and of smouldering incense was intended to evoke the sweetness of heaven and the auctoritas of the church to smooth the way, by the means of its sacraments, for the believer to enter the presence of the enthroned God.74 Incense was widely used in many devotional traditions; its employment had been a part of organized Christian worship almost since its beginning; and its growing use, culminating in its ubiquity, has been nicely traced by Béatrice Caseau from antiquity to the millennium in an unpublished Princeton dissertation and by Mary Thurlkill in her study of Sacred Scents in Early Christianity and Islam, which appeared in July 2016.75 The use of incense has also been well situated among historians of the High Middle Ages in the general history of and fascination with spices, exotic fragrances and their multiple symbolic meanings in the years after 1000. One may think in particular of the work of Paul Freedman.76 It is hard to know whether the extraordinary discussions of the symbolism of these smells (the hermeneutics of fragrance) resonated with laypeople who attended worship services. I would conjecture that much of the elaborate and learned exegesis was lost on layfolk, indeed never even imparted to them. But what they must have sensed – sensed literally – was that entering a church each and every time was to move from one olfactory key to another. It was an olfactory universe that left behind all the smells of decay, spoilage, burnt comestibles and bodily evacuation by human beings and animals. This olfactory universe with its visual wisps of smoke surely had the potential to enrapt susceptible worshippers, though of course one has to acknowledge that not all attendees would necessarily have been vulnerable to this form of propaganda fidei or have translated the aesthetic pleasures of scented 67

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ecclesiastical interiors into a recognition and conscious acceptance of the earthly authority of the church. What of the rather more disciplinary smells projecting royal authority? They were nightmarish in comparison to the aesthetic fragrances and olfactory exuberance of Catholic worship. The account of the prévôt of Paris in 1318 records the payment of 10 shillings for the purchase of rope to be used to lower prisoners into the puits (well) or the fosse, as the dank windowless upside-down ‘funnel-shaped’ and apparently inescapable lowest prison of the Châtelet was commonly known.77 The less freighted meaning of fosse was sodden or water-filled gutter or ditch, like an irrigation channel, but as in the First World War, even relatively short periods of time spent in a damp trench put one at risk of disease and especially made one susceptible to trench mouth, trench foot and trench fever (the vector for the last being the body louse), all of which, besides the pain, produce stench emanating from the affected parts.78 The Châtelet prison was not unique in construction.79 The description of an earlier prison in Poland by Cosmas of Prague in his Chronicle of the Czechs is uncannily similar. The man who claimed to have been incarcerated in it called it ‘a subterranean prison in the burg of Cracow’, which he occupied ‘for three years – spending (his) life in those narrow confines, where there was only one small [hole] up high, through which they offered bread or water’.80 Except for ecclesiastical incarceration, most imprisonment in northern France in the 13th century was custodial, as Claude Gauvard argued for the Châtelet for a somewhat later period.81 Even so, her figures show that 25% of prisoners spent a week or more incarcerated, and at times there were petitions for release, no doubt stimulated by friends or family members, when these inmates were compelled to stay longer.82 Of course, many prisoners, immigrants to the city in particular, had no friends in the vicinity or, even if they did, had no family members who particularly cared or had sufficient money to intervene. No one visited one prisoner, an Englishman by birth, for a year and a half,83 not quite the three years of the prisoner in Poland but long enough. In Gauvard’s article, she does not address the fact that what protests there were must have had a great deal to do with the material conditions of imprisonment. Rather she concludes on the basis of a sample of 112 cases that few prisoners even got sick.84 I do not believe the evidence is sufficient to support this generalization. Moreover, for atrocious cases, that is, for enormities, as they were known,85 cases which often required considerable investigation, prisoners were routinely held a long time until trial: custody became punishment. One such unfortunate toward the end of our period was incarcerated for three months in the Châtelet fosse on a diet, similar to that of the Krakow prisoner’s bread and water, his being one of bread, beans and water, though simply bread and water were more common.86 And this kind of lengthy stay, as I implied, was far from unique.87 There is a reason why the threat to make one ‘rot in prison’ (pourrir en prison) struck terror in the 13th century.88 Bronisław Geremek, looking at a slightly later period, remarks a case where two men got into a violent quarrel. They were already covered with sores, and their clothing reeked, but their main fear was being put into the dank Châtelet prison.89 The stench of the fosse was compounded by those emanating from concentrated damp human waste. It is possible that there was a toilet opening or openings, holes, in the stone substratum for evacuation of body wastes to the Seine, as there were to river courses in some less secure jails,90 but as the presence of such conduits might have been an inducement for prisoners to try to expand the passages for escape, it was 68

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more likely that the authorities at the Châtelet always mandated the use of buckets. Labourer-jailers on the staff lowered ropes to tie to and pull up the full buckets in which the more careful and able-bodied inmates did their business, before letting them back down emptied, but hardly clean, to the prisoners. But evacuation in the buckets could not have been wholly free from the accidental spilling of waste, overfilling or just missing the intended receptacles, especially given the likely prevalence of diarrhea and vomiting. While jailers were not averse to cleaning jails when there was no danger of prisoners escaping, late medieval evidence describes the fosse as ‘filled with ordure and teeming with vermin’.91 Combined with the reek from the diseases of dampness, the emanations from the fosse were not the normal foul odors of a smelly pre-modern city with its open sewage, street muck, tanneries, butcheries and other industries on which Alain Corbin wrote expertly and which all scholars acknowledge and which authorities like King Philip II Augustus tried to contain (he targeted street muck in particular).92 But the emanations of the Châtelet fosse constituted a higher register of malodor that suffused the prison’s cool dank hell in winter (though at least without the biting wind of a tower cell),93 its tepid purgatory in spring and fall and its swarming viscous warm-wet foulness in high summer. Overcrowding, a common problem in many prisons in the 13th century, only compounded the misery and the smell. A later medieval prévôt of Paris wanted to expand the prison into more salubrious ‘well-­ventilated’ rooms (his word), ‘where’, he wrote, ‘men can live without disease or death’.94 Unusually pungent stenches were always singled out for special notice, as Daniel Barnes demonstrated in his now classic study of the great stink of Paris in the 19th century, a reeking stink (a ‘miasma’) from a sewage treatment facility, a stink far exceeding that of the tons of horse manure evacuated daily on the city streets of the time.95 People who passed near enough to the Châtelet’s lower prison in the 13th century, let alone the prisoners in nearby above-ground cells, the jailers, the delivery boys and men who purveyed the daily bread to the prisoners (pro pane prisonum Casteleti) and the labourer who retrieved, discharged and returned the empty waste buckets, would have talked about the smell.96 It may be remarked that the bread which prisoners received with their water was none too good. Loaves for those incarcerated (Aus povres prisons enserrez) seem to have been cried separately from those announced as ready for sale, say, to respectable contemporary Parisian institutions, including the Dominican, Franciscan and Carmelite friaries, among many others.97 Perhaps, the bread and water offered the prisoners instantiated the metaphors of the contemporary formula condemning those convicted in ecclesiastical courts to the bread of sorrow and the water of sadness, au pain de douleur et à l’eau de tristesse.98 The lowest prison, as remarked before, was known as the fosse, an intriguing word.99 Fosse d’aisances meant a sewer for excrement or a privy, comparable to the English vernacular’s now obsolete house or room of ease.100 Fossete (little fosse) in Old French meant ulcerous lesion; and, of course, one associates such lesions, untreated, with suppuration (the discharge of pus) and profound stench. The multiple appropriateness of the word fosse for the Châtelet’s lowest prison as a pit and a stench hole may have been lost on the many immigrants in the city, whose French was halting or nonexistent,101 but it would not have been lost on francophone Parisians. Death on the gallows, if we now turn to that subject, was agonizing for the victims and generated its own loathsome assault on the olfactory sense. Robert Bartlett has written memorably about the practice of execution by hanging in some of his work.102 69

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Recall that medieval executions by hanging meant that the ropes were looped around the bound convicts’ necks and then the victims were hoisted with pulleys or by main strength. Lethal suffocation could take a significant amount of time, and the likelihood of gag-like groans and muscular spasms as the men were hauled up was high. This form of execution was anything but like the usually quick trapdoor modern judicial hangings on scaffolds, which was itself not a perfect engine for a quick death if the drop was insufficient to break the neck cleanly. At Montfaucon, on the northeast of Paris, there was a multi-serve structure which could be used to hang several convicts at a time or at different times. Thus, those entering or leaving the city at the gate nearest the execution site would see multiple cadavers, literally dozens (up to sixty), hanging from the gibbet. It became the principal gallows in the late 13th century,103 but this did not preclude hangings (or burnings, for that matter) elsewhere, indeed, in the very heart of the city: choosing the site was contingent on the crown’s wishes, which was itself an exercise of royal authority. But cleaning up afterwards in the heart of the city could never be so successful as to wipe away all traces of the brutal punishments, possibly another reason to favour liminal sites, despite the evocation of chastening memories that an imperfectly purged and much passed central site could provoke. In principle, the victims stayed on the gibbets long after they died, indeed, until disarticulation caused the corpses to fall from the structure and become food for carrion scavengers.104 I say ‘in principle’ because there were times when places on the structure had to be freed up for new convicts, and the cadavers were cut down before they fell off naturally.105 The sounds – the groans – of the recent victims were impressive. The sights – the hangings, the unpredictable descent of the long-suspended bodies, the feeding of the carrion birds, pigs, rodents and maggots – were impressive. And the smell afflicted the crowds, both onlookers and passers-by. For decomposing flesh reeked. Eric Jager has argued that the wind could carry the smells from the cadavers lying at the base of the great gibbet of Paris on the Montfaucon heights half a mile into the city proper.106 Execution by burning had rather distinctive features of sound, spectacle and odor as well. Many men and women, though not all, screamed wildly on the way to the pyres.107 The sergeants presumably could have stifled the screams of those condemned to die by gagging the condemned. But doing so, which had the advantage of stopping victims from denouncing their sentences (as the Grand Master of the Templars, burned on 18 March 1314, is supposed to have done), also had the disadvantage that it muffled what would from most other prisoners have been the barely articulate yet exceedingly loud and pathetic verbal ejaculations, the consequence of sheer fear, which might accentuate listeners’ sense of the power of the requisite authorities over the unfortunates’ and potentially over their own bodies. Presumably, hearing these screams might even increase, in the crowds, the sense of majesty and awe – sometimes with respect only to royal power, that is, in cases in which the victim was a common felon; sometimes, however, with respect to the joint power of the church and the crown. With regard to the latter, of course, I refer to those instances in which the burnings were the consequence of churchmen’s relaxation of the victims, the so-called heretics, to the secular arm, as occurred, for example, with the Templars. But it happened as well to near contemporaries of the Templar victims, the famous Marguerite Porete and also one Guillaume le Convers (William the Convert), who had renounced his baptism and apostatized to his natal Judaism.108 (These were centre-city executions.) It also happened to the so-called Amalricians, scholarly deviants who were incinerated 70

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in Paris ‘at the marketplace of Les Champeaux outside the Saint-Honoré gate’ – in a liminal space – in 1210, about 100 years earlier than the foregoing examples.109 These deliberately terrorizing panoramas took a good deal of time. It is estimated that it required about half an hour for a well-fed fire to consume a human being in a medieval execution.110 And it was costly. The surviving account of the prévôt of Paris of 1318 records the payment of nine shillings for wood (faggots) for the burning of Aliz la Grise for a man’s murder.111 At this time, nine shillings would pay the wages of a foot sergeant of the Châtelet for a period of service of a week to two weeks, depending on his rank.112 But the cost was apparently perceived to be worth it in expectation of the awe and majesty that the combination of screams, pyre, bright flames and glowing embers, pungent smoke snaking its way heavenward and the searing of human flesh evoked in the crowds. Spectacular punishments, Hannah Skoda reminds us in her book on medieval brutality, were communicative: they were meant to haunt the memory with the visualization of authority.113 conclusion The king’s rule manifested itself through what we know were the great monuments and other less lofty and less grand visual tokens that signified the topography of power along roads, pathways and gardens. Is it significant that the alleged depravities of the Templars were first made public in the royal palace garden on Sunday, 15 October 1307?114 Garden: viridarium is the Latin word used by Jean de St Victor, simultaneously an oddly inappropriate and strikingly appropriate venue to denounce the unfathomable unrighteousness attributed to the crusader Knights.115 Whether there was some deliberately intended meaning in the choice (Evil in Eden), I do not know for sure. But in general it does not seem to me to be improbable that choices of specific spaces were marshaled, for their symbolic value, in well-choreographed unity with other choices that were perceived through the other senses to celebrate the majesty of royal authority in the king’s city. I have concentrated on sound and smell as baleful vectors – disciplinary vectors – for the crown’s claims in an attempt to show how the sonant and olfactory could work in tandem with the visual manifestations of majesty and of the exercise of sometimes brutal power to evoke awe, honour and appropriate kinds of fear, the fear to disrupt the harmonies of life in the king’s city. I do not say that this extraordinary cluster of visual, sonant and olfactory sensations always made for successful publicistics or propaganda. People pick and choose what they wish to respect and to serve, and even if, out of fear or cunning, they opt to contain their distaste behind gestures of obedience, even subservience, they may maintain their mental reservations. The weight of these various impressions in sight, sound and smell was nonetheless hard to resist. Or at least those claiming authority, those who made them happen, certainly believed that this would be the case. I have not even spoken of the two other senses, touch and taste. Yet in a realm where the king’s touch was to be revered as thaumaturgic, miracle-working and where, as Paul Friedland has noted, the executioner’s touch was regarded with virtually mystical loathing (something I never knew before I read his book), the tactile must also have played a role in, if one may use the word, the intimidating sense-scape of claims to power in medieval Paris.116 And taste mattered, too. Prisoners’ bread was cheap, presumably the cheapest cried. It would have been made from lesser grains and 71

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with less care than ordinary bread. It would have tasted different even to poor people used to fairly inexpensive loaves. Different would have been construed as bad in these circumstances. The memory of a stay in the Châtelet prisons for those spared execution either by the failure of prosecution or by pardon was of an unmitigated assault on the five senses, all in the name of royal authority in the king’s city. The recovery of freedom by these people and their reintegration into the body of the city were on the contrary a feast for all the senses, from the touch of a child’s loving hand to the fragrance of a street hawker’s warm pies. Or, to project another scenario, the king, as he traveled through the streets was regularly accompanied by officials who gave small gifts, charity, to dinning beggars afflicted by poverty, physical disability and mental infirmity: pro minutis elemosinis in itinere pro Rege.117 Or to recall a third instantiation of the benevolent sense-scape, let us remember the very special cry that King Louis IX authorized when he learned that the passion nail in the possession of the royal abbey of Saint-Denis had been lost (or stolen). Guillaume de Nangis tells us that the king promised through his criers 100 pounds to anyone who could give information that led to the nail’s recovery.118 Believers in the authenticity of the nail were presumably upset and feared the misfortunes that must come from the disappearance of a relic of the crucifixion of Christ, but they were also reassured that their king was assiduous in attempting to recover it and would pay so much. One hundred pounds was approximately one-third the annual salary of the prévôt of Paris and about four times the annual salary of the most highly remunerated of the Châtelet’s sergents à pied.119 As Edina Bozóky reminds us, this was a story that at least in part was a narrative defense of the legitimation of royal authority,120 although whether the king’s reward was ever paid or whether the promise of a reward contributed to the recovery of the nail (it was recovered) is, I think, unknown. Or, to call to mind one last scene, though there are many more that might be marshaled, destitute women and men must have been impressed in 1316: the vision, the smells, the sounds of prayers and contentment, the feel of good plates and cups and the pleasant tastes (especially the good bread and fish) at the royal table – all these accompanied the king’s servitors’ provision of free food and drink at the royal table in Paris to more than 300 people daily in the most dire year in the Great Famine, which afflicted the whole of northern Europe from 1315 to 1322.121 These sorts of affective scenes, their repetition and the comments they generated also played critical roles in the representation and less disciplinary sensual affirmation of royal authority but are subjects, important as they are, that must wait for another time and perhaps another historian.

notes 1 For one of a large number of informative news reports of these events, see www.europe1.fr/societe/ inondations-a-paris-le-musee-dorsay-ferme-jusqua-mardi-2762500. This and the other websites referenced in the notes were accessed for accuracy most recently in May 2017. 2 C. Gauvard in B. Bove and C. Gauvard, Le Paris du moyen âge (Paris 2014), 217–18; Raymond Cazelles, Nouvelle histoire de Paris de la fin du règne de Philippe Auguste à la mort de Charles V (Paris 1994), 183; W. Jordan, Men at the Center: Redemptive Governance Under Louis IX (Budapest 2012), 60. There is also a good deal of additional and related information elsewhere in Jordan, Men at the Center (as this note), 37–70; idem, Louis IX and the Challenge of the Crusade: A Study in Rulership (Princeton 1979), 171–81. For the Châtelet in the later medieval period and for the work that most general histories of medieval Paris, prisons and crime draw on, see the four-part

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The King’s City article of L. Batiffol, ‘Le Châtelet de Paris vers 1400’, Revue historique, 61 and 63 (1896–1897); C. Gauvard et al., ‘Le Châtelet de Paris au début du XVe siècle d’après les fragments d’un registre d’écrous de 1412’, Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 157 (1999), 565–606. 3 M. Félibien, Histoire de la ville de Paris, 5 vols (Paris 1725), I, 543; Cazelles, Nouvelle histoire de Paris (as n. 2), 184–86; Jordan, Men at the Center (as n. 2), 61 and 63. See also the French Ministry of Justice’s ‘official’ history of the Châtelet; available at www.justice.gouv.fr/histoire-et-patrimoine-10050/ la-justice-dans-lhistoire-10288/le-chatelet-de-paris-24777.html. 4 L. Batiffol, ‘Le Châtelet de Paris vers 1400’, part 1, Revue historique, 61 (1896), 258–61. 5 The All Saints Accounts of 1285, published in the Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France [HF], 24 vols, eds. M. Bouquet et al. (Paris 1840–1904), XXIII, 623, have multiple references to rob(a)e as part of the disbursements to employees and also as gifts. The gifts to courtiers were probably more stylish than the apparel for employees. 6 H. Fancy, The Mercenary Mediterranean: Sovereignty, Religion, and Violence in the Medieval Crown of Aragon (Chicago and London 2016), 60. 7 The argument, derived from popular dislike of the Carmelites’ allegedly Islamic-inspired striped habit when they first arrived in northern France from the Holy Land, is summarized in M. Pastoureau, The Devil’s Cloth: A History of Stripes and Striped Cloth, trans. Jody Gladding (New York 2001), 12. 8 F. Godefroy, Lexique de l’Ancien Français (Paris and Leipzig 1901), s.v. ‘livraison’; Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. ‘livery’ (etymology), available at www.oed.com/view/Entry/109344?rskey= tyk0OS&result=1&isAdvanced=false#eid. 9 The online portion of the exhibition is available at http://exhibits.law.harvard.edu/ceremonyand-significance. 10 Compare E. Jager, The Last Duel: A True Story of Crime, Scandal, and Trial by Combat in Medieval France (New York 2004), 99. 11 Batiffol, ‘Le Châtelet de Paris vers 1400’ (as n. 4), 258–61. 12 Compare B. Geremek, The Margins of Society in Late Medieval Paris, trans. J. Birrell (Cambridge 1987), 34. 13 Guillebert de Mets, Description de la ville de Paris 1434, ed. and trans. with notes by E. Mullaly (Turnhout 2015), 94–95. It is worth pointing out that ‘marvellous’, as Mullaly notes elsewhere, is consistently used by the author as a ‘mere’ intensive; it is not a backhanded way to express doubt; E. Mullaly, ‘The Methodical and the Marvellous in the Description of Paris by Guillebert de Mets (1434)’, in The Medieval Imagination Mirabile dictu: Essays in Honour of Yolande de Pontfarcy Sexton, ed. P. Gaffney and J.-M. Picard (Dublin 2012), 156. See also R. Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots . . . : lieux carcéreaux et conditions matérielles de l’imprisonment en France à la fin du moyen âge’, in Enfermements: le cloître et la prison (VIe-XVIIIe siècle), ed. I. Heullant-Donat, J. Claustre and É. Lusset (Paris 2011), 170. 14 Le Grand coutumier de France, ed. É. Laboulaye and R. Dareste (Paris 1868), 183–84 cap. XIII. 15 See Mullaly’s editorial comment in de Mets, Description de la ville de Paris (as n. 13), 145. 16 Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 81. Compare P. Turning, ‘Competition for the Prisoner’s Body: Wardens and Jailers in Fourteenth-Century Southern France’, in Crime and Punishment in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age, ed. A. Classen and C. Scarborough (Berlin and Boston 2012), 289. 17 Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 177; G. Ducoudray, Les origines du Parlement de Paris et la justice aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles (Paris 1902), 904–06. 18 H. Noizet in Bove and Gauvard, Le Paris du moyen âge (as n. 2), 103–08. 19 See Y. Potin in Bove and Gauvard, Le Paris du moyen âge (as n. 2), 82–83. 20 J. Beer, In Their Own Words: Practices of Quotation in Early Medieval History-Writing (Toronto, Buffalo, NY and London 2014), 69–70. 21 Ibid. 22 Bove and Gauvard, Le Paris du moyen âge (as n. 2), 19–21. See also D. Rivaud, Les villes au moyen âge dans l’espace français XIIe-XVI siècle (Paris 2012), 125–30. 23 W. Brückle, Civitas terrena: Staatsrepräsentation und politischer Aristotelismus in der französischen Kunst 1270–1380 (Munich and Berlin 2005).

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william chester jordan 24 For the most comprehensive study of the montjoies and the long textual prehistory of the slogan that gave its name to the monuments, see A. Lombard-Jourdain, ‘Montjoie et saint Denis’: le centre de la Gaule aux origines de Paris et de Saint-Denis (Paris 1989). 25 Ibid., 328. 26 I wish to express my thanks to Professor Lester for commenting in detail on an early draft of this chapter. 27 V. Mortet, Maurice de Sully, évêque de Paris (1160–1196): étude sur l’administration épiscopale pendant la seconde moitié du XIIe siècle (Paris 1890), 105; C. Bruzelius, ‘The Construction of Notre-Dame in Paris’, Art Bulletin, 69 (1987), 567. 28 Jordan, Men at the Center (as n. 2), 57 and 68. 29 J. Blanc, Un regard sur les rois de Notre-Dame (Paris 2009), 15, available at www.notredamedeparis. fr/The-west-facade. 30 J. Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (Stanford 2010), 160. 31 Blanc, Un regard sur les rois de Notre-Dame (as n. 29), passim; Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (as n. 30), 160. 32 Félibien’s description of the king’s behaviour is put in context in E. Bozóky, La politique des reliques de Constantin à saint Louis: protection collective et légitimation du pouvoir (Paris 2006), 245; M. Cohen, ‘An Indulgence for the Visitor: The Public at the Sainte-Chapelle of Paris’, Speculum, 83 (2008), 840–83. 33 Cazelles, Nouvelle histoire de Paris (as n. 2), 195; see also, www.justice.gouv.fr/histoire-et-patri moine-10050/la-justice-dans-lhistoire-10288/le-chatelet-de-paris-24777.html. 34 L. Hablot, ‘Sous les fleurs de lis, l’utilisation des armoiries royales comme outil de gouvernement de Philippe Auguste aux derniers Capétiens directs’, in Convaincre et persuader: communication et propaganda aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles, ed. M. Aurell (Poitiers 2007), 615–48. See also Jordan, Men at the Center (as n. 2), 92–94; W. Hinkle, The Fleurs de Lis of the Kings of France, 1285–1488 (Carbondale and Edwardsville 1991); S. Hindman and G. Spiegel, ‘The Fleur-de-Lis Frontispieces to Guillaume de Nagis’s Chronique Abrégée: Political Iconography in Late Fifteenth-Century France’, Viator, 12 (1981), 381–407. 35 1318. Cest le Compte Henry de Caperel, prevost de Paris, in Collections des meilleurs dissertations, notices et traités particuliers relatifs à l’histoire de France, ed. C. Leber (Paris 1838), XIX, 52–57 at 57. 36 Gauvard in Bove and Gauvard, Le Paris du moyen âge (as n. 2), 232; Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 181. 37 Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 84; Compare idem, Blood Royal: A True Tale of Crime and Detection in Medieval Paris (New York 2014), 21. 38 See M. D’Aguanno Ito, ‘The Florentine Grain Carestia of 1329–1330: Famine or Dearth? – The Anatomy of a Market Break’, paper presented at the International Medieval Congress at the University of Leeds on July 4, 2016, a copy of which she kindly shared with me. 39 P. Friedland, Seeing Justice Done: The Age of Spectacular Capital Punishment in France (Oxford 2012). See also W. Jordan, ‘Expenses Related to Corporal Punishment in France’, in Prowess, Piety, and Public Order in Medieval Society: Studies in Honor of Richard W. Kaeuper, ed. C. Nakashian and D. Franke (Leiden 2017). 40 M. Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York 1977), 11; J. Wettlaufer and Y. Nishimura, ‘The History of Shaming Punishments and Public Exposure in Penal Law (1200–1800): A  Comparative Perspective (Western Europe and East Asia)’, in Shame Between Punishment and Penance / La honte entre peine et pénitence, ed. B. Sère and J. Wettlaufer (Florence 2013), 223. 41 J. Decker, ‘Introduction: Spectacular Unmasking: Creative Destruction, Destructive Creativity’, in Death, Torture and the Broken Body in European Art, 1300–1650, ed. idem and M. Kirkland-Ives (Farnham and Burlington 2015), 2. See also B. Denis-Morel, ‘Passing Sentence: Variations on the Figure of the Judge in French Political, Legal, and Historical Texts from the Thirteenth to the Fifteenth Century’, in Textual and Visual Representations of Power and Justice in Medieval France: Manuscripts and Early Printed Books, ed. R. Brown-Grant, A. Hedeman and B. Ribémont (Farnham and Burlington 2015), 170.

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The King’s City 42 Jager, Blood Royal (as n. 37), 21. 43 P. Price, Bells and Man (Oxford 1983), 146–47. 44 A number of works dealing with France will be cited here. In the historiography of the United States, this scholarly turn is represented, for example, by M. Smith, The Smell of Battle, the Taste of Siege: A Sensory History of the Civil War (New York 2015); idem, ‘The Senses in American History: A Round Table’, Journal of American History, 95 (2008), 378–451. These works were brought to my attention by my colleague, Professor Matthew Karp. 45 For the information in this paragraph, see T. Gonon, Les cloches en France au moyen âge (Paris 2010), 155 and 159; Price, Bells and Man (as n. 43), 107–28. The classic study of French bells by A.  Corbin focuses on 19th-century villages: Village Bells: Sound and Meaning in the Nineteenth-­ Century French Countryside, trans. M. Thom (New York 1998). The more recent study of J. Arnold and C. Goodson, ‘Resounding Community: The History and Meaning of Medieval Church Bells’, Viator, 43 (2012), 99–130, spans the Middle Ages, crisscrosses Christendom and is full of useful information, but in cutting such a broad swath the authors find space for only one reference to the use of bells in 13th-century Paris and that (123) to the ringing at the elevation of the host in the mass. 46 H. Skoda, Medieval Violence: Physical Brutality in Northern France, 1270–1330 (Oxford 2013), 176. 47 On these various points, see C. Donahue, Jr., Law, Marriage, and Society in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge 2007), 33, on Parisian synodal authorization of the banns; C. Wright, Music and Ceremony at Notre Dame of Paris, 500–1550 (Cambridge 1989), and S. Boynton’s contribution to the forum, ‘Sound Matters’, Speculum, 91 (2016), 998–1002, on liturgical music; E. Dillon, The Sense of Sound: Musical Meaning in France, 1260–1330 (Oxford 2012), 52–90; Murielle Gaude-Ferragu, ‘Le cri dans le paysage sonore de la mort à la fin du moyen âge’, in Haro! Noël! Oyé: pratiques du cri au moyen âge, ed. D. Lett and N. Offenstadt (Paris 2003), on processional music and cries; M. Sluhovsky, Patroness of Paris: Rituals of Devotion in Early Modern France (Leiden 1998), 32–36, on the anti-flooding processions of Geneviève’s relics; and D. Webb, Medieval European Pilgrimage, c. 700–c. 1500 (Basingstoke and New York 2002), 116–17, on Parisian pilgrims. 48 For the quotation, see Les Olim, ou, Registres des arrêts rendus par la Cour du roi, 3 vols, ed. A. Beugnot (Paris 1839–1848), II, 513 (iii). On the general point, see D. Lett and N. Offenstadt, ‘Les pratiques du cri au moyen âge’, in Haro! Noël! Oyé: pratiques du cri au moyen âge (as n. 47), 22. 49 Y.-H. Le Maresquier-Kesteloot, Le commerce fluvial dans la région parisienne au XVe siècle, three volumes (2 volumes, I and III, to date), III: Les officiers municipaux de la ville de Paris au XVe siècle: étude et édition du registre KK 1009 des Archives nationales (Paris 1975). 50 Lett and Offenstadt, ‘Les pratiques du cri’ (as n. 47), 5 and 20; Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 150. For the physiology of voice projection (the higher the range [among male voices, typically tenor], the greater the projection by nature, though training can overcome nature), see J. Smith, ‘Why Can an Opera Singer Be Heard Over the Much Louder Orchestra?’ Scientific American (June  18, 2007), available at www.scientificamerican.com/article/expert-opera-singer/. 51 Cazelles, Nouvelle histoire de Paris (as n. 2), 196; Lett and Offenstadt, ‘Les pratiques du cri’ (as n. 47), 20–21; Gaude-Ferragu, ‘Le cri dans le paysage sonore de la mort à la fin du moyen âge’ (as n. 47), 94; Skoda, Medieval Violence (as n. 46), 111. 52 A. Franklin, Les rues et cris de Paris au XIIIe siècle (Paris 1874), 160. 53 B. Auzary-Schmalz, ‘Les contentieux en matière d’approvisionement, d’après les registres du Parlement de Paris (XIVe-XVe siècles)’, Franco-British Studies, 20 (1995), 52. 54 Franklin, Les rues et les cris (as n. 52), 153–64. See also Lett and Offenstadt, ‘Les pratiques du cri’ (as n. 47), 25. 55 Y.-H. Le Maresquier-Kesteloot, ‘L’approvisionement de Paris en bois (XIVe-XVe) siècles)’, Franco-British Studies, 20 (1995), 71–73, 79 and 82. 56 Ordonnances des rois de France de la troisième race, recueillies par ordre chronologique, 21 vols, ed. Laurière and others (Paris 1723–1849), I, 455. 57 Lett and Offenstadt, ‘Les pratiques du cri au moyen âge’ (as n. 47), 33. See also C. Gauvard, ‘Conclusion’, in Haro! Noël! Oyé: pratiques du cri au moyen âge (as n. 47), 234, n. 18.

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william chester jordan 58 Matthew Paris, Chronica majora, Rolls Series, LVII, ed. H. Luard (London 1872–83), V, 15–16. See also the De moneta of Nicholas Oresme, and English Mint Documents, trans. C. Johnson (London 1956), 57 verso. 59 Lett and Offenstadt, ‘Les pratiques du cri’ (as n. 47), 21–22. 60 Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (as n. 30), 173. 61 W. Jordan, The French Monarchy and the Jews from Philip Augustus to the Last Capetians (Philadelphia 1989), 150. 62 Eudes Rigaud, Archbishop of Rouen, Louis IX’s closest friend, imposed such punishments; The Register of Eudes of Rouen, trans. S. Brown and J. O’Sullivan (New York and London 1964), 118. See also M. Cassidy-Welch, Imprisonment in the Medieval Religious Imagination, c. 1150–1400 (Basingstoke 2011), 32. 63 Jordan, Men at the Center (as n. 2), 4 and 22–23. 64 For the usage in Parlement, see, for example, Olim (as n. 48), I, 470 (vii), 529 (vi), 556 (xiii), and 757–58 (xii). 65 F. Roumy, ‘Silentium perpetuum et absolutio ab impetitione: l’expression de la sentence définitive et de la requête irrecevable dans la procédure canonique des XIIe et XIIIe siècles’, in Proceedings of the Fourteenth International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, ed. J. Goering, S. Dusil and A. Thier (Vatican City 2016), 589–602. 66 Jordan, Men at the Center (as n. 2), 90–93. 67 Chronicon domini Walteri de Heminburgh, 2 vols, ed. H. Hamilton (London 1848–49), I, 309. 68 1318. Cest le Compte (as n. 35), 57. 69 Inventaire sommaire des archives communales antérieures à 1790: ville de Merville (Lille 1893), 38 FF81, dated 1597–99. 70 V. Toureille, ‘Cri de peur et cri de haine: haro sur le voleur – cri et crime en France à la fin du moyen âge’, in Haro! Noël! Oyé: pratiques du cri au moyen âge (as n. 47), 175–78; Gauvard, ‘Conclusion’, in Haro! Noël! Oyé: pratiques du cri (as n. 47), 228; Skoda, Medieval Violence (as n. 46), 85; Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 65. 71 Let me express my gratitude to Professor Reimitz for his critical reading of a draft of this chapter. 72 There is some useful information on punishments and torture at the Châtelet, though from a slightly later period, in G. W. Coopland, Crime and Punishment in Paris, September  6, 1389–May  18, 1390 (Leiden 1971); J. Claustre, ‘La prison de ‘desconfort’: remarques sur la prison et la peine à la fin du moyen âge’, in Remarques sur la prison et la peine à la fin du moyen âge (Paris 2008), 19–44, the latter online at https://halshs.archives-ouvertes.fr/halshs-00925772/document. 73 Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 98 and 150. 74 Although scarcely professional history, M. Herrera’s, Holy Smoke: The Use of Incense in the Catholic Church (San Luis Obispo 2011), available at www.scribd.com/doc/170397802/Holy-Smoke-The-Use-ofIncense-in-the-Catholic-Church, is a brief overview. Klemens Richter puts the use of incense and candles in the context of other symbols of Christian worship in K. Richter, The Meaning of the Sacramental Symbols: Answers to Today’s Questions, trans. Linda Maloney (Collegeville, MN 1990). Its catechistical title notwithstanding, Richter’s book is a serious study. 75 B. Caseau, Euódia: The Use and Meaning of Fragrances in the Ancient World and their Christianization (100–900 AD) (unpublished PhD thesis, Princeton University, Princeton 1994); M. Thurlkill, Sacred Scents in Early Christianity and Islam (Lanham, MD 2016). 76 P. Freedman, Out of the East: Spices and the Medieval Imagination (New Haven 2008). 77 1318. Cest le Compte (as n. 35), 57. See also Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 173, and the Ministry of Justice’s official history of the Châtelet and its prisons, www.justice.gouv.fr/histoire-etpatrimoine-10050/la-justice-dans-lhistoire-10288/le-chatelet-de-paris-24777.html. Jager, Blood Royal (as n. 37), 24. 78 https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/hand-foot-and-mouth-disease/symptoms-causes/ syc-20353035. 79 In general, see Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 170–71. 80 Cosmas of Prague, Chronicle of the Czechs, trans. L. Wolverton (Washington, DC 2009), 156.

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The King’s City 81 Gauvard et al., ‘Le Châtelet au début du XVe siècle’ (as n. 2), 576. See also Louis de Carbonnières, ‘Prison ouverte, prison fermée: les règles procédurales de la détention préventive sous les premiers Valois devant la chambre criminelle du Parlement de Paris’, in Enferments: le cloître et la prison (Vie-XVIIIe siècle), ed. I. Heullant-Donat, J. Claustre and É. Lusset (Paris 2011), 185. 82 Gauvard et al., ‘Le Châtelet au début du XVe siècle’ (as n. 2), 576. 83 Skoda, Medieval Violence (as n. 46), 66. 84 Gauvard et al., ‘Le Châtelet au début du XVe siècle’ (as n. 2), 578. 85 J. Théry, ‘Atrocitas/Enormitas’, available at www.cliothemis.com/Clio-Themis-numero-4. 86 Ducoudray, Les origines du Parlement de Paris (as n. 17), 895 (dated 1346). See also Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 179; W. Jordan, From England to France: Felony and Exile in the High Middle Ages (Princeton 2015), 105–12; Jager, Blood Royal (as n. 37), 24. 87 Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 178–79; Skoda, Medieval Violence (as n. 46), 224. 88 Skoda, Medieval Violence (as n. 46), 225. 89 Geremek, The Margins of Society in Late Medieval Paris (as n. 12), 271. 90 Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 180. 91 Quoted in Jager, Blood Royal (as n. 37), 24. On the impulse to clean, see Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 180. 92 On pre-modern urban smells, A. Corbin, The Foul and the Fragrant: Odor and the French Social Imagination (Leamington Spa and New York 1986); on Philip’s measures, see Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (as n. 30), 19–20. See also Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 84; Jager, Blood Royal (as n. 37), 21–22. 93 Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 177. 94 Quoted by T. Dean, Crime in Medieval Europe, 1200–1550 (London and New York 2001), 123. See also Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 171. 95 Compare D. Barnes’s study of The Great Stink of Paris and the Nineteenth-Century Struggle Against Filth and Germs (Baltimore 2005). 96 The quotation is from the Ascension Accounts, 1248; HF (as n. 5), XXI, 262. 97 Franklin, Les rues et les cris (as n. 52), 157–58. 98 V. Beaulande-Barraud, ‘ “Au pain de douleur et à l’eau de tristesse”: prison pénale, prison pénitentielle dans les sentences d’officialité à la fin du moyen âge’, in Enferments: le cloître et la prison (Vie-XVIIIe siècle), ed. I. Heullant-Donat, J. Claustre and É. Lusset (Paris 2011), 289. 99 Telliez, ‘Gêoles, fosses, cachots’ (as n. 13), 172–73. 100 Fosse d’aisances: Jager, Blood Royal (as n. 37), 272, n. 36. House of ease: Jordan, From England to France (as n. 86), 109. 101 Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 84. 102 R. Bartlett, The Hanged Man: A  Story of Miracle, Memory, and Colonialism in the Middle Ages (Princeton 2004), especially 5–6. 103 Gauvard in Bove and Gauvard, Le Paris du moyen âge (as n. 2), 232. See also Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 84 and 184. 104 Ibid. 105 Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 184. 106 Ibid. 107 Ibid., 164. 108 1318. Cest le Compte (as n. 35), 56. 109 G. Dickson, ‘The Burning of the Amalricians’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 40 (1989), 347. Dickson’s is the most insightful study of the Amalricians that I know. 110 Jager, The Last Duel (as n. 10), 164. 111 1318. Cest le Compte (as n. 35), 55. 112 G. Sivéry, L’économie du royaume de France au siècle de saint Louis (vers 1180-vers 1315) (Lille 1984), 138. 113 Skoda, Medieval Violence (as n. 46), 86 and 169.

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william chester jordan 114 G. Lizerand, Clément V et Philippe le Bel (Paris 1911), 98. (I erroneously give the page reference as 93 in W. C. Jordan, Unceasing Strife, Unending Fear: Jacques de Thérines and the Freedom of the Church in the Age of the Last Capetians (Princeton 2005), 113.) 115 ‘Excerpta e memoriali historiarum’, HF (as n. 5), XXI, 649. 116 M. Bloch, Sacred Monarchy and Scrofula in England and France, trans. J. E. Anderson (London 1973); Friedland, Seeing Justice Done (as n. 39), 79, 82, 91–95, etc. 117 R. Fawtier, ‘Un compte de menues dépenses de l’hôtel du roi Philippe VI de Valois pour le premier semestre de l’année 1337)’, Bulletin philologique et historique, 1928–1929 (1931), 197, 202, 204, 209, 213, 216–17, 219–21 (reprinted in idem, Autour de la France capétiennne: personnages et institutions, ed. J. Fawtier Stone (London 1987), no. XVI). 118 Bozóky, La politique des reliques de Constantin à saint Louis (as n. 32), 41–42. 119 Jordan, Louis IX (as n. 2), 174; Sivéry, L’économie du royaume de France au siècle de saint Louis (as n. 112), 138. 120 Bozóky, La politique des reliques de Constantin à saint Louis (as n. 32), 41–42. 121 C. Bourlet, ‘L’approvisionnement de Paris en poisson de mer aux XIVe et XVe siècles, d’après les sources normatives’, Franco-British Studies, 20 (1995), 15.

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The Great 13th-Century Chapels of Paris MEREDITH COHEN

By the mid-13th century, the city of Paris boasted many exceptional buildings: the Île de la Cité formed the physical, spiritual and royal centre of the city with NotreDame on the east and the Sainte-Chapelle to the west. The Cité was encircled by a ring of great ecclesiastical and royal institutions on both the right and left banks. Moving clockwise, the great abbey of the Scholastics, Saint‑Victor, stood on the eastern side of the left bank, followed by the royal abbey of Sainte-Geneviève just up the hill of the same name, accompanied by the major mendicant foundations, the Jacobins (Dominicans) to the south and Cordeliers (Franciscans) to the southwest, complemented by the royal abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, just outside the western walls on the left bank. On the opposite side of the river, on the right bank, stood Philip Augustus’s majestic Louvre with the abbey of Saint-Martin des Champs to the north. Among these large and impressive architectural complexes, however, stood at least another fifty other churches, chapels and shrines, either built or rebuilt in the 13th century, among those that stood there previously.1 Most of these are now either fully or partially destroyed.2 With such a small percentage of these buildings standing, and such a large historiography focused on the survivors, our view of the field remains limited. A better understanding of the less prestigious and lesser-known buildings, as well as the spaces and streets connecting them, would balance this out. While research on lost and unknown monuments has begun over the last two decades, there remains much more to do.3 This chapter will examine several lost freestanding chapels of 13th-century Paris to shed light on the local architectural context, particularly with respect to the Sainte‑Chapelle (Figs 5.1 and 5.2). Studies of the royal chapel have tended to under� value the significance of the independent chapels that preceded it and to assume that the chapels built concurrently and in its wake were necessarily inspired by it.4 While the designation ‘chapel’ does not indicate a homogenous architectural type but rather a devotional function, many Parisian chapels of the 13th century nevertheless share similar sizes, shapes and forms. Indeed, with the formalization of Purgatory, the 13th century was a period when numerous chapels were founded. The pioneers of chantry chapels in Paris were the lateral chapels of Notre-Dame on which construction began around 1228.5 Although not freestanding, these lateral chapels contained stylistic motifs fully resonant with independent chapels from the same period. For this reason, the chapels of Paris support the notion of a ‘metropolitan architecture’, by which is meant a common, typical working practice employing similar forms for buildings in the city over a specific period, an idea that challenges long-standing interpretations of royal architectural patronage as necessarily ‘top-down’ or more distinct, sophisticated, and ‘avant-garde’ than that of other patrons.6

© 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-5

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meredith cohen

Fig. 5.1  Paris: Sainte-Chapelle, c. 1239–c. 1248, exterior from southwest Source: Jean Feuillie © Centre des monuments nationaux.

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Fig. 5.2  Paris: Sainte-Chapelle, plan of upper chapel, at ground level Source: M. Cohen.

bishops’ chapels: the case of notre-dame Implicit in the reconstruction plan for Notre-Dame Cathedral spearheaded by Maurice de Sully and begun c. 1160 was an entirely new and grand episcopal residence: a bishop’s palace, complete with independent chapel, bordering the Seine on the south side of the Île de la Cité. The chapel provided a privileged space distinct from the cathedral for small ceremonies including acts of homage as well as for private devotion. An inscription on the chapel conveyed that ‘this church (sic) was consecrated by Lord Maurice, Bishop of Paris, in honor of the Virgin Mary, the blessed Martyrs Denis, Vincent, Maurice, and All Saints’.7 The chapel was likely operational by 1179, when Louis VII participated in a ceremony for his son Philip there.8 During the tenure of Bishop Peter of Nemours (1208–19), following a conflict with Philip Augustus over the division and definition of royal and episcopal rights, the chapel had to be refurbished.9 In 1243, Bishop William of Auvergne founded seven canon priests in his chapel to service it under his exclusive oversight (not that of the Cathedral’s dean and the chapter), being accorded keys that would allow them to move freely between the chapel and the great church. That same year, another prebend was founded in the lower bishop’s chapel by two laypeople, a mother and a son.10 This is an impressive number for a space that was essentially redundant to the enormous cathedral beside it, and particularly in comparison to the larger Sainte-Chapelle, to which five principal chaplains (each with one sub-chaplain and clerk) were designated a year later, in 1244. Beyond these traces, the written record concerning the bishop’s chapel of Notre‑Dame is sparse, and unfortunately little if nothing more is known about its use in this period. The visual record for the bishop’s chapel of Notre-Dame dates to the 17th century, when the well-known engraver Israël Silvestre produced what is now the earliest surviving image of the south side of the Île de la Cité, showing the bishop’s palace with Notre-Dame behind, on the right side of the image, and a wing of the Hôtel Dieu crossing the Petit Pont to the left (Fig. 5.3). This view and others Silvestre made served as models for the 19th-century restitution drawings by Viollet le Duc and Hoffbauer, although they are all imprecise renditions that were never intended as archaeological documentation.11 81

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Fig. 5.3  Israël Silvestre, Vue du Pont de l’Hotel Dieu, before 1655 Source: © Musee Carnavalet, G. 234.

Fig. 5.4  Paris: Notre-Dame, view of bishop’s chapel by Feodor Hoffbauer Source: Paris à travers les ages (Paris 1875), pl. 7.

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Fig. 5.5  Paris: Notre-Dame, plan of the bishop’s chapel of Notre-Dame Source: Redrawn from Viollet le Duc by Chris Kennish.

Hoffbauer’s impression (Fig. 5.4) shows the chapel at the eastern termination of a two-storied episcopal hall, which had at least six buttressed bays and was crenellated – perhaps the infamous crenellations that the reformer Peter the Chanter decried as sinful and ostentatious.12 The east end of the episcopal hall opened to the west end of the chapel, in a form that was typical of some royal residences outside of Paris, such as that at Laon.13 Like the hall, the bishop’s chapel was two-storied and marked by a small turret placed on top of the south-west corner buttress. From the exterior, the chapel appeared to have three bays demarcated by four buttresses and a round apse. The chapel was illuminated by relatively large windows on both levels, probably five on the upper level (only three are depicted in the image). This version shows keyhole windows with round arches, although they were probably pointed, like those at the neighboring Notre‑Dame. Plans from the 17th century show that the chapel had four bays, with two broad quadripartite rib vaults to the west and two narrower quadripartite vaults to the east.14 Viollet-le-Duc’s plan, however, shows two superbays, with the eastern one containing the apse hemicycle within it (Fig. 5.5).15 According to the scale on this plan, the bishop’s chapel had an interior length from wall to wall of about 19.49 m and a width of 9.75 m.16 The bishop’s chapel of Notre-Dame was not unique in France; such sanctuaries became regular features of episcopal and monastic complexes in Europe over the course of the 12th century. Thierry Crépin-Leblond identified archbishop’s or bishop’s chapels at Angers, Auxerre, Beauvais, Laon, Le Mans, Meaux, Noyon, Reims, Paris, Senlis and Soissons – there may have been more.17 Erected over the course of the 12th century, these chapels stood adjacent to their mother structure and had longitudinal plans similar to that of Notre-Dame Cathedral.18 The archbishop’s chapel at Reims, completed in the early 1230s, had the same plan that the Sainte‑Chapelle was to have when it was built only a few years in its wake, with four straight bays and a seven-sided polygonal apse.19 The fact that such chapels were common in France and built more or less to a similar plan contributed to their identity as episcopal chapels, in a way that the formal variety of royal or aristocratic chapels could not. Because they were often separate from the adjacent cathedral, they reinforced the exclusive prestige and rarefied status of the prelate. Standing within a broader network of monumental buildings within the city and beyond it, the bishop’s chapel at Notre-Dame reiterated the power of Paris’s highest prelate. 83

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Highly visible from the Seine and the left bank, the bishop’s chapel at NotreDame must have stood as a significant visual model for the Sainte-Chapelle. While it is impossible to comment on the quality and detailing of the episcopal chapel’s architecture, both chapels contained lower and upper levels, had several bays and terminated in an apse. These similarities have been interpreted in different ways. Inge Hacker-Sück, who wrote in the early 1960s on the typology of SaintesChapelles and palatine chapels, maintained that the bishop’s chapel type was adopted in royal residences because it was part of the local working practice for chapels in France.20 Yet even if the ubiquity of the local model was a factor in the planning for the new royal chapels, it does not necessarily follow that the choice was inevitable for the palace. The planners of the Sainte-Chapelle could have commissioned any shape or size of building – large or small, single- or double-storied, centrally planned, even round, or longitudinal. All of these shapes and architectural types were available in Paris and in earlier royal chapels. Indeed, from an iconographic perspective, the rejection of the central plan, a plan that would have associated the Sainte-Chapelle with illustrious historic precedents, such as the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem, the Sacra Capella of the Boukoleon Palace in Constantinople and or even Charlemagne’s palace chapel Aachen, suggests that the longitudinal, apsidal plan was a meaningful choice. Moreover, even if the plan of the Sainte-Chapelle did make a formal reference to still other historic chapels, possibly that of its own precedent, the chapel of Saint-Nicolas, or the European doppelkapellen more generally, perhaps even Roger II’s grand Capella Palatina in Palermo, its physical proximity and resemblance to the bishop’s chapel at Notre-Dame brought the ecclesiastical and the royal chapels into a visual dialogue. It appropriated a well-known local type with an unmistakable ecclesiastical association into a royal context. That this plan was selected for the Sainte-Chapelle nevertheless had consequences, for it stood prominently in the center of Paris, and its status as a shrine for France’s greatest relics, martyrs and also the sacral power and piety of the king made it an inspiration to other institutions in the city that wished to capture some of its prestige by visual association. the lady chapel of saint-germain-des-prés When construction on the Sainte-Chapelle was nearing completion, work began on an independent chapel dedicated to the Virgin within the Abbey of Saint-Germain-desPrés on the left bank. This was part of a broader reconstruction effort on the north side of the ancient monastery (originally founded by Childebert around 556) that began in 1227 with the renewal of the cloister under Abbot Eudes (1224–35) and was followed by the erection of a new refectory between 1239 and 1244, under Abbot Simon (abbot 1235–44).21 An inscription above the chapel’s portal stated that it was begun by Abbot Hugh d’Issy (1244–47) in 1245 and was completed during the abbacy of Thomas de Mauléon (1247–55).22 For all accounts and purposes, the chapel was more or less finished by 1255, because an election to replace the dying Abbot Thomas occurred within the chapel in that year. Both the chapel and the nearby refectory were built by Pierre de Montreuil, to whom 17th-century antiquarians and even more recent historians of architecture attributed many of the extant monuments of Gothic Paris, including the western bays of Saint-Denis and the highly esteemed south transept portal of Notre‑Dame 84

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Fig. 5.6  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Lady Chapel, digital reconstruction showing west façade Source: M. Cohen and K. Tanton.

cathedral.23 Pierre de Montreuil’s role in the Lady Chapel is confirmed by the fact that he was actually buried there, with his wife Agnès.24 In the aftermath of the French Revolution, the Lady Chapel was initially converted into a granary, then a saltpeter refinery and eventually it was sold to a certain Dr Salbrune, who entirely razed it in 1802.25 Nevertheless, a number of fragments were preserved and rearranged to embellish the façade of the doctor’s nearby house, on the corner of the newly pierced Rue de l’Abbaye and the Place Furstemburg. Many of these fragments remain today in the Square Laurent Prache, located on the northwest wall of the old abbey church.26 In fact, there remain enough fragments and archival or graphic evidence to gain an accurate sense of what the building once looked like (Figs 5.6–5.8).27 The engraving printed in Dom Jacques Bouillart’s Histoire de l’abbaye royale de Saint-Germain des Prés offers an image of the entire site in 1724 (Fig. 5.9).28 It shows the chapel to the north of the abbey church oriented regularly with four straight bays divided by narrow buttresses terminating in an apse. The chapel is depicted with a low, unarticulated exterior wall surmounted by broad windows that span each bay. Tracery divided the windows into two large subdivided pointed arches surmounted by rosettes. The roof line was marked by a horizontal balustrade. The chapel’s west end, illustrated loosely in a watercolor by Gautier Dagoty from 1802 (Fig. 5.10), rose with a proud gable and was framed by narrow stair turrets. Fragments of a large portal that once contained a trumeau carrying a sculpture of the Virgin and Child within a context of lush foliate sculpture survive at the Musée national du Moyen Âge – Thermes de Cluny.29 In addition to these important records, and in accordance with Bouillart’s description, early plans of the chapel consistently represented it as having four bays that terminated with a semicircular apse, although there has been some debate in the scholarly literature about this last point.30 Moulin and Ponsot’s plan proposed a polygonal end, a shape one would expect for a mid-13th-century chapel.31 Yet the remaining fragment of balustrade that exists from the chapel strongly suggests that the east end was circular (Figs 5.11 and 5.12).32 85

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Fig. 5.7  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Lady Chapel, digital reconstruction showing exterior north elevation Source: M. Cohen and K. Tanton.

Fig. 5.8  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Lady Chapel, digital reconstruction showing interior from the west Source: M. Cohen and K. Tanton.

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Fig. 5.9  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, after that of the Monasticon Gallicanum, 1658, published in Dom Jacques Bouillart (1724) Source: © Bibliothèque nationale de France, département des Estampes et de la photographie.

Fig. 5.10  Paris: demolition of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, showing west front of the Lady Chapel, ink and watercolor by Gautier-Dagoty 1802 Source: © Bibliothèque nationale de France, département des Estampes et de la photographie.

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Fig. 5.11 Paris: Saint-Germain-desPrés, fragment of balustrade from the Lady Chapel, Square Laurent Prache, Paris Source: G. Chitwood.

Fig. 5.12  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Plan of the Lady Chapel at dado level Source: M. Cohen and K. Tanton.

The chapel’s dimensions were given in royal feet by Dom Bouillart.33 His measurements translate to 32.5 m long by 9.5 m wide by 15.3 m high, although he did not indicate where he set his points. An archaeological record from 1912 recorded that ‘the interior width of the building . . . above . . . the foundations was only 9m, 88

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undoubtedly because the [pier] bases reduced the width of the nave by 1m’.34 This information, along with the fragment of the in situ pier at 8, rue de l’Abbaye, suggests that the width of the chapel from wall to wall was closer to 10.4 m.35 Thus, the archaeology informs that the interior of the chapel was wider than previously thought. If the length of the interior of the chapel was 32.5 m, as Bouillart recorded, the four bays therefore had to be close to 6.43 m each in length, assuming they were planned to be of equal size.36 Only this average length would allow for a hemicycle deep enough (6.78 m) to hold the original seven apse windows, two large fragments of which exist in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.37 These dimensions are surprising because they reveal the Lady Chapel is nearly commensurate in length and breadth with the contemporary Sainte‑Chapelle and not a royal foot (325 mm) narrower as previously thought.38 Were the similar lateral dimensions and plan of the Lady Chapel specific and meaningful references to the Sainte-Chapelle? The royal chapel’s lateral dimensions have been described as a pointed reference to the Old Testament Palace of King Solomon.39 This makes sense for a royal chapel, particularly within the court of Louis IX, which drew many connections to its Old Testament predecessors, but it is less obvious as an iconographic connection for a monastic chapel, even one with a Merovingian foundation. The similar dimensions may instead reflect a general working pattern for laying out plans. If the lateral dimensions and conception of the Lady Chapel echoed that of the Sainte-Chapelle, its round apse recalled that of the main monastic church of Saint‑ Germain des Prés itself, as well as Notre-Dame Cathedral. With a rounded balustrade at the top of the Lady Chapel, it is highly unlikely that the apse wall would have been anything other than rounded. However, as mentioned earlier, this was uncommon in the mid-13th century as increasingly standardized production practices and simplification probably contributed to the development of the polygonal apse. Rounding the stones to make a circular apse would have required more labor and funding than making the straight stones for a polygonal apse; so the rounded form may have been a meaningful reference to these other great churches. Thus, While the Lady Chapel related to other great churches and chapels in the city, its form was nevertheless a creative and unique hybrid. In terms of elevation, despite having the same number of bays and hemicycle sections, the Lady Chapel was also quite different from the Sainte-Chapelle. In the first place, it was a single-volume space, just 15.3 m tall as mentioned earlier. The Lady Chapel’s bay design (Fig. 5.13) can be deduced from a combination of the extant in situ fragments of the pier on 8 rue de l’Abbaye, fragments now located in the Square Laurent Prache and drawings of the fragments made after its destruction (Fig. 5.15). What emerges after arranging these puzzle pieces is a bay with an articulated dado at ground level that supported a window, which spanned the width of the bay to create an open wall between the buttresses. This bay terminated with a pointed arch whose rich moulding framed the formeret for the quadripartite vault over the nave as well as the window. The window consisted of a tracery rosette with a major mullion which extended down to the pavement and divided the window into two pointed arches, each of which was subdivided into two smaller arches capped by an oculus. The minor mullions also extended beyond the window sill to the ground. En délit shafts stood astride the mullions to support a cusped pointed dado arcade framed by a delicate foliate pattern and surmounted by an articulated cornice. 89

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Fig. 5.13  Paris: Saint-Germaindes-Prés, Lady Chapel. Second southern nave pier, in situ at 8 rue de l’Abbaye

Fig. 5.14  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Lady Chapel. Pier section (reconstructed), by author. A: transverse arch shaft; B: rib shaft; C: formeret; D: window frame; E: dado shaft (en délit)

Source: K. Tanton.

Source: M. Cohen.

While subdivision is typical of the period, the Lady Chapel’s bay is striking in the completeness of its interconnectivity. The great piers outlining the bays of the chapel defined and connected all the different parts of the elevation. Their sections comprised the number of shafts required to link to its corresponding transverse, lateral, and secondary parts (Fig. 5.14). The shafts diminished in relation to the size of the parts they connect to, with those of the dado being the thinnest and those of the transverse arch being the most substantial. The great pier thus defined the size of the supports throughout the building. In the windows, the uppermost oculus was fronted by a moulding, which descended as a mullion in front of the dado all the way to the floor. The mullion shaft has the same diameter as the formeret of the great pier, and it is accompanied on each side by the shafts of the dado arcade that extends laterally around the building. This horizontal axis is unified with the vertical elevation at the formeret and the pier. The subsections of the pier form a cluster of interconnected shafts, which functioned as the supporting matrix for the enclosing windows and vaults of the building. The elevation of the Lady Chapel represents one of the most complete examples of the interrelated parts that created the skeletal structure so often referred to as a characteristic component of Gothic architecture. For this reason, the Lady Chapel’s elevation appears as a reflection upon, or even a more sophisticated version of, its royal neighbour. The Sainte-Chapelle did not go quite as far in its interconnectivity; there, the dado remains visually distinct from the windows and the only connection between them are the great piers that delineate the bays. One might also recall the pattern in the upper clerestory of the western bays of Saint-Denis, which, having a third mullion 90

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Fig. 5.15  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Plan and details of the Lady Chapel by Albert Lenoir, published in Adolph Berty Source: Topographie historique du Vieux Paris, région du Bourg Saint-Germain (1876) © Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Estampes et photographie.

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that descends from the rosettes, are very similar to those of the Lady Chapel and were completed around the same time, probably in the first half of the 1250s.40 The four bays of the Lady Chapel’s nave were glazed with grisaille glass while the east end displayed deeply saturated colored glass.41 This is corroborated by the fragments dispersed throughout museums today.42 The duality of glass types also differs from the Sainte-Chapelle, and while the choice of grisaille in the nave anticipates its widespread use in later decades, which may have expressed a desire for brighter light within the chapel, it may also have been slightly less costly than a fully saturated glazed program. Similarly, as with the Sainte-Chapelle and Saint-Denis, foliate sculpture proliferated at the Lady Chapel. The extrados of the dado arcade is lined with carved foliate decoration, as are the capitals, and the remaining fragments of the portal exhibit vegetal motifs, along with exceptionally fine craftsmanship, exhibiting identifiable species (Fig. 5.16). The recovered Virgin and Child is the only figural sculpture that remains from the Lady Chapel. Because it was never finished (a fissure developed in the stone while it was being carved), the only indication remaining of the quality of sculpture related to the chapel is the trumeau figure of Childebert from the refectory, also said to have been completed by Pierre de Montreuil or by a workshop under his aegis (Figs 5.17 and 5.18).43 While Childebert is in many ways comparable to the standing Apostles of the Sainte-Chapelle, the foliate sculpture at the Lady Chapel is finer, more delicate and intricate than its royal neighbor.44 Finally, the handling of the individual parts at the Lady Chapel – the diameter of the dado colonettes, the delicacy of the arcade, down to the pointed vault shafts and baroque arabesques of the pier sections – are all lighter and more elegant than their equivalents at the Sainte-Chapelle (Fig. 5.19). Qualitatively, the Lady Chapel’s ‘style’ is lighter and more sophisticated than that of its royal neighbor. The reconstructed Lady Chapel clarifies that this building stood as a counterpoint to the Sainte-Chapelle. If we accept that the royal chapel was begun as early as 1239, then the Lady Chapel displays some small but significant reflections and a more sophisticated design from just six years later.45 While bishop’s chapels were common, the Lady Chapel of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, an abbot’s chapel, served as yet another model for independent chapels, which began to proliferate with the construction of new college complexes in 13th-century Paris. college chapels While the Île de la Cité housed the cathedral school of Notre-Dame, independent schools flourished in Paris from the late 11th century onwards.46 At first, colleges served to lodge students. The earliest recorded collegiate foundation, from Jocelin de Londres in 1180, provided a room for eighteen students within the Hôtel Dieu on the Île de la Cité. It was appropriately known as the College of the Eighteen.47 Early colleges such as that were usually associated with traditional orders and provided the educational basis for a clerical career; they are known as ‘regular’ colleges. At the turn of the 13th century, a series of documents that resulted in the formal establishment of the University of Paris created oversight and order for the increasing numbers of students coming to the city for higher education. In 1200, Philip Augustus placed students under his protection and granted them the right to be subject solely to ecclesiastical justice. In 1215, the papal legate confirmed the first university statutes, 92

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Fig. 5.16  Paris: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Lady Chapel. Portal Source: M. Cohen.

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Fig. 5.17  Unfinished and discarded Virgin and Child from the Lady Chapel of Saint-Germain-des-Prés Source: © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource.

Fig. 5.18  Paris: Musée du Louvre, King Childebert, from the refectory of Saint-Germain-desPrés, c. 1245 Source: T. Schmitt.

Fig. 5.19  Paris: Sainte-Chapelle, interior upper chapel dado Source: Bruno Acloque © Centre des monuments nationaux.

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and then finally in 1231, Pope Gregory IX granted the bull Parens scientiarum, acknowledging the university’s privileges.48 When the mendicants came to Paris in 1217, they put great emphasis on teaching, which required new buildings to accommodate and provide learning space for their students, but obtaining funding and land to build on took time.49 At first, the spiritual needs of the collegians were provided by local churches or by using portable altars. But given the great popularity and royal support for the mendicants, as early as the 1230s, the Franciscans and Dominicans began to build dormitories, refectories and large churches according to traditional monastic plans on newly acquired sites for their masters and students. They were soon followed by the Cistercians (Bernardins) who, starting in 1248, also built a large church on the left bank near what is now the rue de Poissy, where their magnificent refectory and sacristy survive.50 Over the span of a century, these institutions defined what would become standard features of colleges: a cloister or quad, a dormitory, a lecture hall and a church or chapel.51 ‘Secular’ colleges, colleges with no specific monastic affiliation, founded from the mid-13th century onwards, adopted these features as well. Robert de Sorbon, a Pariseducated ‘prudhomme’ who became a clerk at the royal court, and possibly confessor to Louis IX, is credited with founding the first secular college on land he purchased and obtained from the king, on the rue Coupe-Geuele, located just to the west of the rue Saint-Jacques.52 However, construction of a chapel did not begin until 1322. Thus, while the Sorbonne was the first secular college, it was not the first to possess a chapel. This distinction was to belong to the College of Cluny, founded by Yves de Vergy next to the Sorbonne in honor of the Virgin Mary for twenty-eight fellows in 1262.53 It is the earliest college in Paris known to have a chapel planned within its foundation documents, although the college’s founder saw only the dormitory, the refectory and half the cloister built before his death in 1275.54 Construction of the chapel appears to have begun soon after, under the guidance of his nephew and successor, Yves de Chasant. Philip III of France (r. 1270–85) gave two altars to the college in 1276, which suggests that work on the chapel may have been underway, although it was not until 1278 that permission was sought from Pope Nicholas III to celebrate the offices and install a bell, although the latter privilege was not granted until 1344.55 The chapel of the College of Cluny is an important building to examine, for it set a precedent for later college chapel architecture in Paris.56 However, both college and chapel were dissolved in 1789, and the chapel, after serving among other functions, as atelier for the painter Jacques-Louis David, was ultimately destroyed in 1833.57 Plans, engravings and keystones that have survived present an architectural language consistent with the late 13th-century dates attributed to it.58 It is notable that the Cluny chapel had a length of 32.5 m (100 royal feet) from the apse wall to the threshold of the portal and a width of about 10.55 m (32.5 royal feet) from wall to wall, very similar to the Sainte-Chapelle and the Lady Chapel of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.59 In terms of architectural iconography, it would be difficult to draw a connection between the college chapel and the biblical source for these numbers, the Palace of Solomon, unless the planners had a desire to associate this chapel with any biblical prototype. As Aurélie Perraut suggests, there must have been a desire to visually associate the college chapel with the Sainte-Chapelle.60 Yet even if their homologous dimensions were recognized among those who saw and used these buildings, their internal organization, apse polygons and heights were completely different. 95

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Fig. 5.20  Paris: College of Cluny, plan Source: © Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Estampes et photographie.

The Cluny college chapel was preceded by a small narthex followed by six bays terminating with a five-part apse (Fig. 5.20). While this internal spatial arrangement differs from the other chapels discussed earlier, the bays of the college chapel would have been very close in width to the others, measuring 10.5 m from wall to wall on average on the plan compared to 10.4 m at Saint-Germain-des-Prés and 10.43 m at the Sainte-Chapelle.61 However, because there were more bays within the overall length of 100 royal foot/32.5 m, they were not as long as those of its predecessors, measuring 4.6 m in length on average at Cluny, as compared to 5.9 m and 6.4 m on average at the Sainte-Chapelle and the Lady Chapel respectively. Notable here, however, are the similar widths of all three chapels. When royal feet are translated into toises, with the equivalent of six royal feet per toise, it appears likely that the circumference of the core of the pier for all chapels fell at the five toise mark.62 This point seems to have served as the point from which the transverse vaults were set. The five toise mark suggests that a ratio of 5:3 toises, which is the proportional equivalent used in the Middle Ages to approximate the Golden Section, was used to define the transverse arch itself.63 While the distance between the transverse arch points was five toises, the radius of the circles that

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defined the arch would have been three toises. This suggests a similarity of practice in the setting of the chapel plans, which appear to have employed Golden Section geometries. The height of the chapel of the College of Cluny remains unknown, but Vacquer’s measured drawing of the collegium’s façade gives a total height of ground to the tip of the gable of 21.53 m.64 Nevertheless, assuming the rooflines were the same, some rough estimates can be proposed for the range within which the chapel’s keystone height was set. The same image gives the height of the gable as 9.20 m. At the Sainte-Chapelle, the extrados of the vault keystones are very close to the base of the gable. If the Cluny chapel’s vaults peaked the base of the gable, that height would be about 12.33 m. It seems unlikely that the keystone would be set lower than the base of the gable, so this might serve as a minimum height. Would the chapel have been any taller? The roofline of the collegium facade informs that the chapel’s keystone probably did not reach that of the Sainte-Chapelle’s upper chapel hemicycle keystone, which was set at 20.5 m from the ground, nor that of the Lady Chapel’s height of 15.3 m as it is unlikely a roof would have been placed so near the vault extrados in both cases. While no evidence of the interior elevation of the college chapel has been found, engravings of its exterior reveal that it had wide windows subdivided into three pointed arches surmounted by trefoils between buttresses (Fig. 5.21).65 The fact that the chapel windows had three pointed arches in the nave rather than four, as at Saint-Germaindes-Prés and the Sainte-Chapelle, corresponds to its shorter bays. These images and others show that the motifs of the Cluny college chapel very much fell within the repertoire of the period. The window tracery forms riff on the two-lancet and trefoil windows seen in the apse of the Sainte-Chapelle. The cloister arcade, also built in the 1270s (Fig. 5.22) employs forms seen in both of the Sainte-Chapelle’s dado arcades, as well as in the Lady Chapel. The bays of the cloister employ the eponymous motif of two double arches with inner cusping surmounted by a tracery quatrefoil within a circle (similar to the Sainte-Chapelle’s upper chapel dado) and with tracery trefoils in the open spandrels of the extrados (also similar to the Sainte-Chapelle’s lower chapel dado). A comparable design is also seen in the Lady Chapel’s nave windows. These forms are seen in other buildings, both extant and non-extant, throughout mid-13thcentury Paris, from the lateral chapel tracery at Notre-Dame to the upper lights of Saint-Denis (just outside Paris) and in the church of the Jacobins, which had three lancets surmounted by three oculi holding quatrefoils.66 Delicately carved foliate keystones rendered with identifiable botanical forms also survive from the College of Cluny.67 The expansion of sculpted foliate forms that replaced historiated and inhabited capitals became very common during this period, seen throughout the Lady Chapel of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the transepts of NotreDame and the Sainte-Chapelle. Thus, like its predecessors, the chapel of the College of Cluny perpetuated the forms that were being used throughout the city at the time. It is therefore difficult to say that the Cluny college chapel looked directly to the Sainte-Chapelle as its inspiration, for it drew from forms and practices used broadly throughout Paris to make something unique in its own right. That unique feature at the college was the antechapel or narthex, which could have been an architectural reference to other Cluniac churches which routinely made use of a narthex, or a Galilee porch, for the celebration of its dead.

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Fig. 5.21  Paris: College of Cluny, chapel and cloister of the College of Cluny, showing the nave of south side of the chapel in 1824 (1915) Source: © Heritage Image Partnership Ltd/Alamy Stock Photo.

Fig. 5.22  Paris: College of Cluny, cloister Source: © Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Estampes et photographie.

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Fig. 5.23  Paris: Chapel of the Convent of the Carmelites, by Felix Thorigny Source: © Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Estampes et photographie.

What we can say is that the overall longitudinal and apsidal shape of College of Cluny’s chapel became a standard for chapel architecture in this new type of institution.68 Although few examples remain standing, the chapel of the College of Beauvais founded in 1370 and built five years later maintains a similar plan as well as Rayonnant tracery within its windows.69 The lost chapel of the College of the Carmelites, on two levels, also had many similar features (Fig. 5.23). While chapels remained typo�logically similar, the College of Navarre, founded in 1305, inaugurated a second generation of college architecture, one where everything the institution required, including dormitory and chapel, was both planned and provided for in the foundation itself.70 It is notable, despite their similar foundation dates, that in England, college chapels from early on adopted a quadrilateral form with a flat east end and grand east window; Merton College is the earliest example.71 So in terms of college architecture, the Sainte-Chapelle may have stood as a paragon in Paris, but in practical terms, it did not exert direct influence on college architecture, which developed over time.72 Instead, college chapels were built in the style of architecture distinctive in Paris at the time, characterized primarily by the motifs we now call Rayonnant, specifically tracery with double lancet windows capped by oculi, trefoils and quatrefoils, often found in multiples and interrelated. These were the forms of architecture that the Sainte-Chapelle, the Lady Chapel and the chapel of the College of Cluny made identifiably Parisian. 99

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The Sainte-Chapelle did not invent these motifs, for they appeared earlier at Amiens and Chartres and were developed in Paris in the lower parts of the façade and in the lateral chapels of Notre-Dame (the latter begun around 1228). At best it could be said that the Sainte-Chapelle popularized such forms and imbued them with the prestige of its patron such that they came to signify the special status of the city at the time. This examination of four freestanding chapels in 13th-century Paris, however selective, allows us to draw some conclusions concerning the primacy of the Sainte‑ Chapelle as the example sine qua non of Parisian independent chapels. First, such chapels were a feature of bishop’s palaces by the late 12th century and had an international history within palaces themselves, so the Sainte-Chapelle was not unique as such. In France, the bishop’s chapel was the only type of building that maintained a more or less consistent plan, longitudinal terminating in an apse, at this time. The Sainte-Chapelle adopted that plan and that visual appropriation was a meaningful one.73 Moreover, if the Sainte-Chapelle made use of this form as well as popular motifs in elevation, it deviated greatly from these chapels, since its impressive height aligns the building instead with great churches and cathedrals. The Sainte‑Chapelle was the exception rather than the norm. The royal chapel was still apparently under construction when the Lady Chapel at Saint-Germain-des-Prés (a type of bishop’s chapel) was begun (the refectory at Saint-Germain des Prés from which almost nothing still remains, was however complete), and a short generation later, in a new type of architectural complex, the College of Cluny, with its chapel, was built. If Notre-Dame’s bishop’s chapel, the Sainte‑­ Chapelle and the Saint-Germain-des-Prés Lady Chapel encouraged the production of similar independent apsed chapels throughout the city, like the Cluny college chapel, their proliferation and similarities sustain the notion of a metropolitan architecture rather than an architecture unilaterally directed by the palace, even if the towering presence of Sainte‑Chapelle in the center of the city nevertheless extended its reach, instilling them with a unique prestige that became associated with the city’s urban architecture.

notes 1 Many of the churches rebuilt in the 13th century had Merovingian foundations; for a list of those, see P. Lorentz and D. Sandron, Atlas de Paris au Moyen Âge: Espace urbain, habitat, société, religion, lieux de pouvoir (Paris 1999), 19. For a list of churches initiated or funded by Louis IX during his reign, see chapter five of M. Cohen, The Sainte-Chapelle and the Construction of Sacral Monarchy: Royal Architecture in Thirteenth-Century Paris (Cambridge and New York 2015). A  complete list of 13th-century constructions and reconstructions has yet to be published. 2 Some publications describing the mass destruction of Paris after the Revolution include P. Léon, La Vie des monuments français: destruction, restauration (Paris 1951); L. Réau, Histoire du vandalisme: les monuments détruits de l’art français (Paris 1959), revised M. Fleury and G.-M. Leproux ed. (Paris 1994). 3 Notable publications that focus on smaller buildings and the medieval urban cityscape of Paris are A. Erlande-Brandenburg, Autour de Notre-Dame (Paris 2003); E. Hamon and V. Weiss ed., La demeure médievale à Paris (Paris 2012). 4 I. Hacker-Sück, ‘La Sainte-Chapelle de Paris et les chapelles palatines du Moyen Âge en France’, Cahiers archéologiques, 13 (1962), 218–57; D. Weiss, Art and Crusade in the Age of Saint-Louis (Cambridge 1998). Concerning the Sainte-Chapelle’s progeny, see C. Billot, Les Saintes-Chapelles royales et

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The Great 13th-Century Chapels princières, Thématiques du patrimoine (Paris 1998); A. Perraut, L’Architecture des collèges parisiens au Moyen Âge (Paris 2009). 5 M. Doquang, ‘The Lateral Chapels of Notre-Dame in Context’, Gesta, 50 (2012), 137–62. 6 The notion of a Court Style remains compelling if not entirely accurate. Robert Branner adopted the term although the idea had been current long before his widely read publications. See R. Branner, Saint Louis and the Court Style in Gothic Architecture (London 1965). 7 T. Crépin-Leblond, ‘Recherches sur les Palais Episcopaux en France au Moyen Âge (12e et 13e siècles)’ (unpublished thesis, École des Chartes, Paris 1987). Unfortunately, this impressive and thorough study remains very difficult to access. 8 Crépin-Leblond, ‘Recherches’ (as n. 7), II, ‘Notre-Dame’. Possibly the ceremony took place there because the Cathedral’s high altar was not consecrated until 1182. 9 The written record concerning the chapel is sparse; the earliest charter drawn up in the chapel dates to 1202, under the auspices of Bishop Eudes de Sully (1197–1208). Crépin-Leblond, ‘Recherches’ (as n. 7), II, ‘Notre-Dame’. 10 B. Guérard, Cartulaire de l’église de Notre-Dame (Paris 1850), xcvii, and 151–53, nos. CLXXIX–CLXXX. 11 F. Hoffbauer, Paris à travers les ages. Aspects successifs des monuments et quartiers historiques de Paris depuis le XIIIe siècle jusqu’à nos jours, 3 vols (Paris 1875). 12 ‘Alas, why do you want your houses so tall? What is the use of your towers and ramparts? Do you believe the devil cannot scale them? Nay, I say that thereby you will become the neighbor and companion of demons!’ Peter the Chanter, Verbum, in J.-P. Migne, Patrologia cursus completes . . . series latina (Paris 1844–1903), 205, 257B, cited in J. Baldwin, Masters, Princes, and Merchants: The Social Views of Peter the Chanter and His Circle (Princeton 1970), 68. 13 Viollet le Duc’s plan for this chapel does not show it connected to the hall directly, but this form seems more likely. For a plan of the palace and chapel at Laon, see the image published in L. Broche, ‘L’­ancien palais des rois à Laon’, Bulletin de la Société academique de Laon, 31 (1900/04), 180–212. 14 Crépin-Leblond, ‘Recherches’ (as n. 7), II, ‘Notre-Dame’. 15 Documents attest that the chapel was rib vaulted. Crépin-Leblond, ‘Recherches’ (as n. 7), part 2, ‘Notre-Dame’. 16 Viollet-le-Duc’s plan is scaled, but the source for his measurements has yet to be found. 17 Crépin-Leblond, ‘Recherches’ (as n. 7). One example of a ‘bishop’s chapel’ made for an abbot but not adjacent to its mother structure is Berzé-la-ville in Burgundy. Berzé-la-ville was 7km from its mother church. Crépin-Leblond, ‘Recherches’ (as n. 7). See also Thierry Crépin-Leblond, ‘Une demeure épiscopale du XIIe siècle: l’exemple de Beauvais (actuel Musée départementale de l’Oise)’, Bulletin archéologique du comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques, nouvelle série 20–21, années 1984–1985 (1988), 8–58 and idem, entries on Auxerre, Beauvais, Laon, Meaux, Noyon, Paris, and Reims, in A. Renoux ed., Palais médiévaux (France-Belgique): 25 ans d’archéologie (Le Mans 1994), 135–68. For a recent discussion, see D. Rollason ed., Princes of the Church: Bishops and Their Palaces (Milton Park 2017). 18 This chapel type appears to have evolved from Carolingian doppelkapellen. 19 E. Ame, ‘La chapelle de l’archevêché de Reims’, Annales archéologiques (1855), 213–23; Crépin Leblond, ‘Recherches’ (as n. 7), II, ‘Reims’. 20 Hacker-Sück, ‘La Sainte-Chapelle’ (as n. 4), 240. 21 H. Verlet, ‘Les Batiments monastiques de Saint-Germain-des-Prés’, Federation des Sociétés historiques et archéologiques de Paris et de l’Île de France, 9 (1957), 9–68; Dominique Leborgne, Saint-Germain des Prés et son faubourg, evolution d’un paysage urbain (Paris 2005). The primary historical account of the abbey remains Dom J. Bouillart, Histoire de l’abbaye royale de Saint-Germain des Préz (Paris 1724); for the dates of the abbots and the initiation of the successive claustral buildings, see pp. 118–30. The dates are also given in P. Bonfons, Antiquitez et singularitez de Paris (Paris 1608), fol. 38. 22 Ibid., fol. 38. In 1247, Hugh was buried slightly above ground level in the chapel’s apse. 23 For a discussion of Pierre de Montreuil’s possible presence at Saint-Denis, see C. Bruzelius, The 13thCentury Church at St-Denis (New Haven 1985), 132, 173–74; R. Branner, ‘A note on Pierre de Montreuil and Saint-Denis’, Art Bulletin, 45 (1963), 355–57; L. Grodecki, ‘Pierre, Eudes, et Raoul de Montreuil à l’abbatiale de Saint-Denis’, Bulletin Monumental, 122 (1964), 269–74; M. Aubert, ‘Pierre de Montreuil’, in Festshrift

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meredith cohen Karl M. Swoboda (Vienna 1959), 19–21; H. Stein, ‘Pierre de Montereau, architecte de l’église de Saint-Denis’, Mémoires de la société nationale des antiquaires de France, 61 (1902), 79–104; concerning his presence at Notre-Dame, see D. Kimpel and R. Suckale, L’architecture gothique en France, 1130–1270, trans. F. Neu (Paris 1990), 411–21; A. Prache, ‘Un architecte du XIIIe siècle et son oeuvre: Pierre de Montreuil’, Dossiers d’histoire et archéologie, 47 (1980), 29. 24 Bouillart, Histoire (as n. 21), 126. The epitaph is cited in Bonfons, Antiquitez (as n. 21), 38v and 40 as well as Paris, Bib. Nat., MS fr 18866, 165. 25 On the history of its destruction and for a reconstruction, see M. Shepard, ‘The 13th-Century Stained Glass from the Parisian Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, Columbia University, New York 1990), 19–21. 26 Berty noted in 1876 that two houses on the rue de l’Abbaye still had fragments from the chapel; in 1899, A. Lauguier identified them and had those located within number 6 and 10 transferred to the Ville de Paris in 1900; in 1901, he requested the removal of the arches stemming from no. 6; they were placed in what is now the Square Laurent Prache. See A. Laugier, ‘Rapport sur les trois arceaux de la chapelle de la Vièrge de l’abbaye de Saint-Germain-des-Prés encastrés dans le mur d’une maison, 6 rue de l’Abbaye’, in Commission municipal du vieux Paris, procès-verbaux (Paris 1901), 78–79 and 172, cited in Verlet, ‘Batiments’ (as n. 21), 25. 27 A recent 3D digital reconstruction offers a more comprehensive interpretation of the evidence that resolves a number of these questions. The model was completed by the author and Kristine Tanton between 2015 and 2018 using Vectorworks, with a panel of the stained glass reconstructed by Kexin Dai, the roof by Ian Webb, and the vaults by Tori Schmitt, then undergraduates at UCLA. The current illustration was completed by William Wharton. The latest version of the 3D model may be found on http://paris. cdh.ucla.edu/lady-chapel/. 28 Verlet, ‘Batiments’ (as n. 21). 29 On the Virgin and Child sculpture, see X. Dectot, ‘Broken, But in a Better Shape. An Unfinished Virgin and Child for the Façade of Pierre de Montreuil’s Lady Chapel at Saint-Germain des Prés (1245– 1247)’, forthcoming. 30 Bouillart, Histoire (as n. 21), 126, also makes clear that the chapel had four bays and a seven-sided apse. Early plans dating from the 16th century onward are listed by Verlet, ‘Batiments’ (as n. 21), 10–11. For example see A. Berty, revised L. M. Tisserand, Topographie Historique du vieux Paris. Region du Bourg Saint-Germain (1876), 173 (plan by Albert Lenoir). 31 J. Moulin and P. Ponsot, ‘La chapelle de la Vièrge à l’abbaye de Saint-Germain-des-Prés et Pierre de Montreuil’, Archéologia (1980), 55. 32 Prache, ‘Pierre de Montreuil’ (as n. 23), 35. 33 ‘One hundred feet long and about 29 feet wide . . . its height under the vault is 47 feet, two and a half inches’, Bouillart, Histoire (as n. 21), 126. 34 Commission municipal du vieux Paris, procès-verbaux, Fouilles, année 1912, 24: La largeur intérieure de l’edifice immédiatement au-dessus de la masse des empattements n’était que de 9 metres, en raison sans doute des bases ou soubassements qui diminuaient de 1 metre la largeur de la nef relevée sur le plan de M. Desprez. (‘The interior width immediately above the foundations was only 9 meters, undoubtedly because the bases or socles diminished by 1 meter the width of the nave drawn on the plan by Mr Despres’.) 35 The in situ pier has a complete depth of 890 mm. In our reconstruction, this measure, along with the size of the apse windows, for which significant fragments exists at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, NY (‘Scenes from the Life of Saint-Vincent of Saragossa and the History of his Relics’, accession nos. 24.167a-k) indicated the wall-to-wall width of the chapel. 36 The bay lengths of the Sainte-Chapelle are all of different sizes, with the first and the fourth significantly different so as not to be attributed to a margin of error. Thus, it is difficult to be certain whether that of the Lady Chapel also were intended to be the same size. 37 See earlier note 35.

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The Great 13th-Century Chapels 38 At the Sainte-Chapelle, the width is 10.43 m between the dado walls of the lower chapel, Cohen, Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 1), 228. 39 With a ratio of 100:50 between the length and buttress to buttress. S. Murray, ‘The Architectural Envelope of the Sainte‑Chapelle of Paris’, in Pierre, lumière, couleur. Etudes d’histoire de l’art du Moyen Âge en l’honneur d’Anne Prache, ed. F. Joubert and D. Sandron (Paris 1999), 225–29; Cohen, SainteChapelle (as n. 1), 77. 40 For the date, Bruzelius, The 13th-century Church (as n. 23), 174. Pierre de Montreuil’s work at Saint-Denis is difficult to locate, and there are differing opinions, see earlier note 23. The moulding profiles of the Saint-Denis upper clerestory responds (north pier 4 for example) and those of the Lady Chapel are different. See also Kimpel and Suckale, L’architecture gothique en France (as n. 23), 386. 41 Shepard, ‘The Lady Chapel’ (as n. 25), posits that the grisaille may have included colored strapwork and portrait panels, 120–21. For a description of the glass, see H. Sauval, Histoire et recherches des antiquités de la ville de Paris, 3 vols (Paris 1724), I, 341. 42 For example see earlier note 35. 43 See Dectot, ‘Broken, But in a Better Shape’ (as n. 29). 44 Childebert was deposited at the Musée du Louvre in 1851 from the École des Beaux Arts (the Musée des monuments Francais), accession number M.L. 93. 45 Some scholars have argued that the Sainte-Chapelle was begun when its first foundation was written in 1244. See S. Gasser, ‘L’architecture de la Sainte-Chapelle. État de la question concernant sa datation, son maître d’oeuvre, et sa place dans l’histoire de l’architecture’, in La Sainte-Chapelle: Royaume de France et Jérusalem céleste. Actes du colloque (Paris, Collège de France, 2001), ed. C. Hediger (Turnhout 2007), 157–80. Since the 1244 foundation established the college of canons, it is my opinion that the lower chapel was likely to have been complete by this date so that services could begin. 46 P. Glorieux, Aux origins de la Sorbonne (Paris 1965); J. Verger, ‘La Sorbonne médiévale’, in La Sorbonne au service des humanités: 750 ans de création et de transmission du savoir (1257–2007), ed. J.-R. Pitte (Paris 2007), 3–19. 47 Perraut, Collèges (as n. 4), 31. 48 These texts are edited in the Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis, ed. H. Denifle and E. Châtelain (Paris 1889), I, nos. 1, 20, 79, cited in Verger, ‘La Sorbonne médiévale’ (as n. 46), 4–5. 49 The Franciscans and Dominicans were the first to arrive in Paris in 1217/18. On the history of the Franciscans in Paris, see L. Beaumont-Maillet, Le Grand Couvent des Cordeliers de Paris: Etude historique et archéologique du XIIIe siècle à nos jours (Paris 1975); for the Dominicans, see W. A. Hinnebusch, A History of the Dominican Order, Origins and Growth to 1500, 2 vols (New York 1966), I, 58–59. 50 Sauval, Histoire (as n. 41), I, 435–36; I, 621. For more detailed studies of the college, see Philippe Dautrey, ‘Croissance et adaptation chez les Cisterciens au XIIIe siècle, les débuts du collège des Bernardins de Paris’, Analecta cistercensa, 32 (1976), 122–215; Philippe Dautrey, ‘L’église et de l’ancien collège des Bernardins de Paris et son image’, in Mélanges à la mémoire du Père Anselme Dimier, 3 vols, ed. Benoît Chauvin (Arbois 1982–7), III, 497–514; A. Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage cistercien à travers Paris’, Archéologia, 44 (1972), 70–77; on the 14th-century church, see M. T. Davis, ‘Cistercians in the City: The Church of the Collège Saint-Bernard in Paris’, in Perspectives for an Architecture of Solitude: Essays on Cistercians, Art and Architecture in Honour of Peter Fergusson, ed. Terryl Kinder (Turnhout 2004), 223–34; Perraut, Collèges (as n. 4), 34, cites the foundation as 1246. 51 Chapels did not become regular features of colleges until after 1300. Perraut, Collèges (as n. 4), 35. 52 Louis IX gave Robert the compliment of describing him as a ‘prudhomme’, a man of admirable education and temperance, as told by Jean Joinville, Vie de saint Louis, ed. J. Monfrin (Paris 1995), 14; Verger, ‘La Sorbonne médiévale’ (as n. 46), 9. 53 With this dedication, it is therefore another ‘Lady Chapel’ or ‘Virgin Chapel’, but for some reason history has not referred to it as such, so in keeping with practice for the purposes of this chapter and to avoid confusion, it will be referred to as the chapel of the College of Cluny or simply the college chapel. 54 Dom P. Anger, Le Collège de Cluny fondé à Paris dans le voisinage de la Sorbonne et dans le ressort de l’Université (Paris 1916), 15.

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meredith cohen 55 Sauval, Histoire (as n. 41), I, 629, dated the construction to 1269. Perraut, Collèges (as n. 4), 35–36 dates the foundation to 1278, but the altars were founded in 1276, AN Paris, M 67 A. Cf. Anger, Collège de Cluny (as n. 54), 15–16, who cites Denifle, Chartularium (as n. 48), I, no. 209, 494 and 571. 56 Perraut, Collèges (as n. 4), 220–21. 57 The chapter-house was destroyed only in 1866 when the boulevard Saint-Michel was created. Anger, Collège de Cluny (as n. 54), 115. 58 Y. Christ, Églises de Paris actuelles et disparues (Paris 1947), 29. 59 These dimensions derive from the scaled plan in Fig. 3.21. We arrived at a width of 10.4 m between the dado walls of the Lady Chapel; at the Sainte-Chapelle, the width is 10.43 m between dado walls of the lower chapel, Cohen, Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 1), 228. 60 Perraut, Collèges (as n. 4), 223, 235, 253–56 and passim. 61 This plan shows only a 2% degree of difference from the size of the other chapels; construction allows for a 3% degree of difference, and the plan itself could have been slightly irregular or incorrect. 62 See A. E. Berriman, Historical Metrology: A New Analysis of the Archaeological and the Historical Evidence Relating to Weights and Measures (London 1953); R. E. Zupko, French Weights and Measures Before the Revolution: A Dictionary of Provincial and Local Units (Bloomington 1978); O. A. W. Dilke, Mathematics and Measurement, II, Reading the Past (Berkeley 1987). 63 S. Murray, ‘The Architectural Envelope of the Sainte-Chapelle’, Avista Forum, 10 (1996–7), 22. See also M. Borissavliévitch, The Golden Number and the Scientific Aesthetics of Architecture (New York 1958). 64 Papiers de Théodore Vacquer, MS 237, 141. Much more could be conjectured about the Cluny college chapel by comparing the Lady Chapel’s measurements with it. 65 The image of the Cluny chapel by A. F. Pernot, from 1824 and once located in the Musée Carnavalet, clearly showed three trefoils in the apse windows. This image is published in Cohen, Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 1), chapter 1, figure 54. 66 For images of the Jacobins, see Cohen, Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 1), chapter 1, figures 46–51. 67 Paris, Musée national du Moyen-Âge – Thermes de Cluny, CL. 18684–93. 68 See Perraut, Collèges (as n. 4), 239. 69 See ibid., figure 63. Musée Carnavalet Cab. Arts graphiques, Fichot D. 10363. 70 Ibid., 87. M. T. Davis has also been working on a digital reconstruction of this site. 71 See J. R. L. Highfield, The Early Rolls of Merton College, Oxford, with an Appendix of Thirteenth-Century Oxford Charters (Oxford 1964). See more recently T. Ayers, The Stained-Glass of Merton College, Oxford (Oxford 2016). 72 The notion of influence still remains problematic, see M. Baxandall, Patterns of Intention: On the Historical Explanation of Pictures (London 1985). 73 Cohen, Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 1), 150.

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City of Light Picturing the Translation of the Crown of Thorns to Paris in the Gothic Glass of the Sainte-Chapelle EMILY DAVENPORT GUERRY

On 19 August 1239, the relic of the Crown of Thorns reached the city of Paris after its long journey from Constantinople. King Louis IX (1214–70), later Saint Louis (canonised 1297), had become its new guardian, and he immediately set about commissioning the Sainte-Chapelle – a resplendent two-storied Gothic edifice that still stands in the heart of the Île-de-la-Cité – to protect and glorify this sacred treasure. The opportunity to acquire Christ’s Crown emerged during a crisis in the Latin East; the Crusader state of Constantinople was on the verge of collapse and the (last) Latin Emperor, Baldwin II (1217–73), had pledged the relic as debt collateral during various loan negotiations with Venetian allies. In the end, Louis IX agreed to pay off the total debt and became the owner of the relic by default.1 Despite the inherently political (and economic) circumstances surrounding its acquisition, for Louis IX and the Capetian kingdom of France, the Crown of Thorns would be welcomed and enshrined in Paris as a divine gift. In the Autumn of 1238, the king despatched two Dominican friars (named Jacques and André) on a special diplomatic mission to collect the Crown, and they succeeded in bringing it safely to France by the Summer of 1239.2 Louis IX intercepted the friars at Villeneuve-L’Archevêque and carried the relic through the streets of Sens and Paris in two sets of jubilant parades, accompanied by joyous sermons. A short text known as the Historia Susceptionis Coronae Spinae, written by Archbishop Gauthier Cornut of Sens (d. 1241), is our primary source for these events, including the king’s negotiations with Baldwin, the friars’ journey, and the festivities organised in Sens and Paris. Cornut orchestrated the ceremonies staged for relic the arrival of the Crown in France; he also delivered rousing sermons to the Senois and Parisian crowds. His text presents a detailed and authoritative account of the history of the Crown relic’s translation from Constantinople as well as an engrossing, propagandistic interpretation of the significance of its presence in Paris. This chapter will expose the importance of the Historia as a source for understanding the narrative design of the glass in the Sainte-Chapelle. After the expedient (and expensive) completion of its construction, the Sainte-­ Chapelle was dedicated on 26 April 1248 in the presence of the Capetian royal family, nobles, and prelates. Eudes de Châteauroux (r.1244–73), a papal legate, presided over the ritual.3 Although the record of his address at the consecration ceremony is lost, his sermon for Rogation Sunday, which he delivered one month later inside the Sainte-Chapelle on 27 May 1248, honoured the ‘tokens of [Christ’s] sacrifice’ that are ‘decorated with the honour of such a place’ and ‘worthy of praise’.4 In the nine years between the arrival of the Crown and the dedication of the chapel, Baldwin

© 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-6

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II approached Louis IX for further financial support; the king agreed, offered more money in aid, and received twenty additional relics from Constantinople in a gesture of continued diplomatic friendship.5 These items, which included relics of the True Cross, the Holy Lance, and the Purple Vestments, would be reunited with the Crown of Thorns in the king’s new chapel, which now housed the largest collection of Passion relics in Christendom. From its foundation, the Sainte-Chapelle has received praise as a thoughtful celebration – and explication – of its impressive royal relic collection.6 In this sense, the walls of gold, polychromy, and glass serve far more than a structural function.7 These shimmering materials are arranged into a complex series of visual narratives that define and express the symbolic significance of the presence of Christ’s Passion relics, especially his Crown of Thorns, in Paris. Across the many splendid Gothic artworks in the Sainte-Chapelle, the vast majority of the stained glass windows in the upper chapel belongs to the monument’s initial phase of construction history (c. 1239–48), and all but one of these windows depict scenes from the Bible, with figures from the Old and New Testaments dressed in contemporary French fashion.8 In the upper part of Window A, which stretches across the final set of four lancets in the south-western corner, a cycle appears showing the translation of the Crown to Paris, representing the events of recent history as a turning point in salvation. Two different numbering systems are discussed in this chapter: the first is that of Baron Ferdinand de Guilhermy (see Table 6.1), who oversaw the restoration of the glass in the 19th century. The second is the plan published in the Corpus Vitrearum in 1959 (Fig. 6.2). My purpose is to cast new light on one aspect of the Sainte-Chapelle glass, namely the Gothic iconography of Window A, with reference to the source for part of its design – the aforementioned Historia. The circulation of the Historia enabled the diffusion of the French royal cult of the Crown beyond its centre in Paris, throughout the Capetian kingdom and beyond. Soon after its compilation, liturgists relied on this text to compose the Susceptio Coronae office, which would be chanted to commemorate a new, royally sponsored annual feast to honour the cult. Its lectios are taken verbatim from the Historia and its hymns are inspired by the text’s typological inferences. After a careful overview of the design, destruction, and restoration of Window A, we will examine the relationship between text and image in its representation of the history of the translation of the Crown of Thorns, for which Fig. 6.3 is offered. storytelling in the sainte-chapelle windows The sequence of visual storytelling seen in the glass in the upper chapel begins chronologically with the opening of the Bible, proceeding clockwise from the northwest corner of the nave with scenes from Genesis (O) (Fig. 6.1). Representations of patriarchs and heroes in Exodus (N) appear in the second bay, followed by the Book of Numbers (M) in the third bay, in which the leaders of the tribes of Israel are shown in a repetitive series of twenty coronations. Depictions from Deuteronomy and Joshua (L) are then followed by Samson’s sacrifices in Judges (K) before the septpartite apse. Here, circumventing the high altar and the tribune of Passion relics, the programme shifts from the Old to the New Testament. The prophecies from Isaiah (J) fill a pair of lancets, including a Tree of Jesse in which his descendants are crowned to form a vertically sprouting royal genealogy, with Christ enthroned in the apex. This 106

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Fig. 6.1  The decorative programme of glass in the upper chapel of the Sainte-Chapelle, numbered O–A Source: redrawn by Chris Kennish.

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Fig. 6.2  The current layout of Window A, with figural panels numbered according to the CVMA numbering system Source: redrawn by Chris Kennish.

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Fig. 6.3  Reconstruction of the original Gothic design of the Translatio Coronae narrative, with Steinheil’s ‘états actuels’ Source: Emily Davenport Guerry.

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dynastic portrait is followed by episodes from the New Testament, beginning with the Infancy of Christ (I). The Passion of Christ (H) occupies the central pair of lancets. Here, the Gothic designers’ commitment to explicating the power of the royal relic collection comes into clear view. Above the Flagellation (H-78) and the Crowning in Thorns (H-81), a pair of square panels showing the Crucifixion (H-58) and Deposition (H-61) are placed at the very centre of the axial windows. Together, this climactic set of four episodes from the Passion would have faced the grande châsse, the Gothic micro-architectural reliquary that enshrined the relics of Christ’s Passion. Before its destruction during the Revolution, the grande châsse was elevated atop a monumental tribune supported by a jubé in the east end. Following the images of Christ’s salvation through sacrifice is a portrayal of the Women at Christ’s tomb (H-38) alongside a modern panel showing the Harrowing of Hell (H-41). Taken together, the scenes in the central cluster of glass facing the tribune in Window H reveal the role of these relics – collected by Louis IX and contained in the grande châsse – in the drama of the Passion, generating a remarkable fusion of the past and present state of each sacred object. The substantial amount of planning and effort required by the glazers to achieve this mise-en-scène is a testament to their ability to manage and synthesise multiple strands of source material. The position (and composition) of the iconography in Window H speaks to their visionary execution of a coherent and site-specific decorative programme. The biblical narrative then continues southwards with a retelling of the life and martyrdom of John the Baptist (G), whose head relic Louis IX had also acquired, and images of marvels and miracles from the Book of Daniel. Visions and prophecies from Ezekiel (F), Jeremiah and Tobit (E) appear in the final lights of the apse, followed by lengthier illustrations in the southern bays from the Books of Judith and Job (D), Esther (C), and Samuel and Kings (B). In the westernmost bay of the south elevation, the programme terminates with a completely novel glass sequence illustrating recent events in French history, culminating in Louis IX’s acquisition of the relic of the Crown of Thorns (A).9 After over a thousand images of the long-distant biblical past, Window A proudly recalls the events of recent history and commemorates the reasons for the chapel’s construction: to glorify Christ’s Crown. Almost ominously, the Apocalypse appears in the western rose immediately to the right of Window A. However, what visitors today see is a late 15th-century, Flamboyant rose window.10 Although the original, Rayonnant content of the rose remains unknown, it is likely that it too depicted a similarly eschatological event, such as the Last Judgement.11 In this position, the coming of the Passion relics to Paris directly precedes the promised end of days before the long-awaited return of Christ. The placement of Window A implies the critical importance of its subject matter as a temporal and thematic bridge – one that leads from biblical prophecy to imminent redemption – activated by the arrival of the Crown of Thorns in France. Given its pivotal role in the ensemble of glass, these illustrations of the ‘Capetian present’ resemble the adjacent scenes of the Israelites, Judeans, and Christ’s disciples, so that the celebrants of the French cult of the Crown could be framed as the new chosen people.12 The depiction of the still-living royal patrons and their people in Window A, posed in the same manner as the triumphs and sacrifices of nearby biblical heroes, helps the viewer to understand that Christ specifically chose Paris to be the most worthy place for the veneration of his Passion. By presenting the arrival of the relic as a transformative historical event, the underlying symbolism here is relentlessly 110

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effective: Christ has ‘crowned’ the king of France with the safe delivery of the relic of the Crown of Thorns. As we shall see, this memorable message, which cleverly borrows from the performative potential of the reception of Christ’s Crown relic as an act of divine coronation, was first articulated in Cornut’s Historia. destruction and restoration Our understanding of the narrative cycle in the upper chapel glass, installed between 1246 and 1248, is obscured by the consequences of centuries of damage and repair.13 Before major restoration work began in the 19th century, Ferdinand de Lasteyrie (1810–79) observed that the earliest evidence of intervention appeared in the lower portion of the fourth lancet of Window A, where he spotted the coat of arms of Étienne de Melun, who served as a canon in the Sainte-Chapelle from 1323 until 1345.14 Scholars have suggested that a fire in the c. 1470s prompted the total redesign of the western rose, causing an unknown amount of harm to nearby windows.15 In 1630, another fire damaged the glass at the west end, especially in Windows O and A.16 During the renovation that followed, some panels were wrongly reinserted, resulting in the confusion of images related to Genesis with contemporary portrayals of the Capetians. There was another refurbishment of the glass in 1781, as this date once appeared in the crowning light of the axial window (H).17 Arguably the most extensive damage to the Gothic glass occurred in 1803, when the chapel was converted into an archive: this required the removal of the first two metres of the lancet glass to accommodate the insertion of shelves, leaving as many as sixteen panels blank (the content of the lower four registers) in Window A.18 After decades of civil unrest and neglect, the Sainte-Chapelle fell into a state of disrepair until 1837, when the newly formed Commission des Monuments Historiques vowed to restore it.19 On 27 October 1845, the Ministère d’état au département des travaux publics, approached Baron Ferdinand de Guilhermy (1809–78), the future Président de la Commission, about the condition of the glass, requesting help to ‘guide the architect’ with its restoration.20 When Guilhermy began his study, he remarked that ‘not a single [extant] window’ appeared to have all of its original, integral pieces, recording numerous stopgaps and losses.21 His diligent survey of the upper chapel glass is preserved today in the so-called Collection Guilhermy, a set of handwritten notes (bound into volumes and organised by place-name) held in the Bibliothèque nationale de France.22 Guilhermy oversaw the restoration of the windows of the upper chapel between 1848 and 1855, and his notes offer an invaluable insight into his working methods. The lancets of Window A were the final set to be restored in the upper chapel, and when its panels were removed, rearranged, and reinserted from 1853, the majority of its lower registers contained only clear glass.23 After restoration, the visual narrative in Window A that visitors see today is essentially the product of Guilhermy’s singular vision.24 Under the heading ‘Note sur la restauration des vitraux de la Sainte-Chapelle’, Guilhermy wrote a three-page assessment of the condition of the glass in the upper chapel in which he expressed his own particular interest in the ‘story’ seen in the 15th window, that is Window A: The fifteenth window, which is the subject of restoration now, is the most interesting from a historical point of view. It represents not – as it was thought – the story of Saint Louis, but of the acquisition of and translation of the relics in whose honour this prince constructed the

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emily davenport guerry Sainte-Chapelle . . . Because of the particular character of this glass, it was deemed necessary to remove from it all that was foreign to the history of the Holy Relics. This is a sacrifice of around twenty panels. Like the Sainte-Chapelle, the translation of famous relics have been represented in the windows of the cathedral of Le Mans, in those of Troyes, etc. In the preserved panels, Saint Louis is represented five times. One also sees the Count [Robert] d’Artois, the brother of the prince, and a queen, probably Blanche de Castile. This is not the place to discuss the degree to which these figures resemble portraits. What is certain is that these are representations made from living characters. It would be difficult to mention others of the same time that have an authentic character. It is indispensable that in the new panels the parts of the ancient panels should be reproduced with the greatest exactitude for these three historical figures. To complete the window, it was thought necessary to select from the Golden Legend the principle circumstances of the Invention and Exaltation of the Holy Cross. This is the first part of the story of the Holy Relics before their deposition in the Sainte-Chapelle.25

To ‘reproduce’ the content of Window A  with ‘the greatest exactitude’, Guilhermy rearranged (and, in many cases, reinvented) some of the figural scenes to create a coherent account of the translation history of both the True Cross and the Crown of Thorns. Before he began this project, Guilhermy claimed that forty-four panels in Window A had some original Gothic elements (recall that the first sixteen panels were blank), and ‘around twenty’ had to be ‘sacrificed’.26 In her groundbreaking study of the Sainte-Chapelle glass, Alyce Jordan concluded that Guilhermy’s re-ordering of Window A – especially its lower half – should be seen as a ‘retelling’ of the history of the Passion relics through ‘extensive alterations’, asserting that eighteen panels with Gothic compositions were actually eliminated by Guilhermy’s team in 1853.27 For these reasons, any analysis of the iconography seen in Window A must proceed with caution. Fortunately, for the discussion at hand, the panels that depict scenes related to the transfer of the Crown relic to Paris are visible in the upper half of Window A, where a larger portion of the glass is original.28 A patient visitor to the Sainte-Chapelle could count 179 individual panels (both figurative and decorative) in Window A, all of which were cleaned during the recent refurbishment of the chapel glass, overseen by the Centre des monuments nationaux from 2008 to 2014 and funded by Velux. Sixty figural scenes appear across its four lancets, so that each lancet has fifteen pictures, arranged in alternating rows of large trefoils, inverted trefoils, and smaller quatrefoil-shaped tracery, all of which is surrounded by twenty-six ornamental panels. Guilhermy numbered these figural panels in a sequence from the bottom up and from left to right in his notes, so that the window in the lower left corner of the east/left lancet to the left is marked as ‘no. 1’ and the window in the upper right corner of the west/right lancet is ‘no. 60’. Present-day art historians tend to follow the numerical order devised by the restoration team and published in the Corpus Vitrearum annotated catalogue of the glass in 1959. This numbering system includes non-figural panels and also proceeds from left to right, though it starts from the top and proceeds down.29 Although the authors called attention to many of Guilhermy’s invasive ‘erreurs’, Aubert and Grodecki generally agreed with his interpretation of the scheme in the Corpus Vitrearum: Window A is a monumental donor portrait that expressed Louis IX’s sacro-political ideologies.30 Alyce Jordan’s research challenged the accuracy of the 19th-century restoration, especially in the case of Window A.31 In her 2002 monograph, Jordan adopted the same numbering system seen in Aubert and Grodecki’s catalogue, but she proposed a hypothetical reconstruction of the entire layout of the narrative.32 She claimed that 112

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Window A, which she believes is ‘the most unusual and, arguably, the most famous’ part of the Sainte-Chapelle glass, originally represented a history of the kings of France – one that focused on their virtues in a manner similar to the Grandes Chroniques – culminating in Louis IX’s acquisition of the Crown of Thorns.33 She concluded that the original cycle in Window A ‘celebrate[s] the realm of France, her king and her people as the worthy heirs to the crown of Christ’.34 For example, instead of Lasteyrie’s identification of the dying king as Louis IX, she inferred that this figure could have been his father, Louis VIII, preparing to name his successor.35 Her reinterpretation of its Gothic design emerged in part from her assiduous examination of the relevés produced by Louis-Charles-Auguste Steinheil (1814–1885).36 As Guilhermy devised his restoration plans, Steinheil was busy producing visual studies of the chapel’s glass, as well as its wall paintings, while simultaneously working on their restoration in stages between 1845 and 1870. Produced as a crucial stage in the restoration of the Sainte-Chapelle, Steinheil’s evocative relevés are a series of watercolour studies of the glass panels, applied to a careful tracing (in ‘calque’) of the actual panels; some represent the Gothic imagery before restoration (‘états actuels’), others serve as careful proposals for new illustrations to suit Guilhermy’s restoration (‘projections’), and all of them are kept together in a numbered sequence of folders in the Médiathèque de l’architecture et du Patrimoine at Saint-Cyr.37 According to Jeanette Dyer-Spencer, who examined the upper chapel glass in the 1920–1930s, about 720 of 1,134 total panels can be reliably dated to the 13th century, amounting to about 63% of the imagery.38 The lower half of the current cycle shows the rediscovery of the True Cross by Saint Helena and the recapture of the True Cross by Emperor Heraclius. However, nearly every component of these episodes (except for a few fragments from battle scenes, now related to the conquest of Heraclius) is totally modern, designed by Guilhermy.39 Before restoration, Ferdinand de Lasteyrie observed in 1838 that Window A contained a total of forty-four figural scenes, grouped into vertically arranged double panels, but he also cautioned that their order appeared to be the product of ‘complete intervention’ (‘complétement interverti’).40 Fifteen years before Guilhermy began his work, Lasteyrie concluded that Window A represented ‘subjects related to the translation of the Holy Crown . . . with other subjects drawn from the life of the king-saint Louis’ (‘sujets relatifs à la translation de la sainte couronne . . . avec d’autres sujets tirés de la vie du roi saint Louis’) in such a way that reflects the ‘curious authenticity of [this] contemporary legend’ (‘curieuse authenticité d’une légende contemporaine’).41 Also, he claimed that one of the panels showed ‘the death of the same king’ [i.e. Louis IX] (‘le mort du roi lui-même’), leading him to conclude that Window A must post-date 1270.42 Due to the absence of a halo, which would have signified the king’s sanctity, Lasteyrie suggested that its design must have pre-dated the king’s canonisation in 1297. However, since the publication of the Corpus Vitrearum edition, scholars have unanimously agreed (both on stylistic and technical grounds) that Window A, along with the rest of the lancet designs in the upper chapel, date to the late 1240s. seeing the susceptio coronae in window a, now and then Any study of the Gothic glass in the Sainte-Chapelle requires an extremely careful appraisal of the evidence and the patience to untangle (and then weave back together) several art historical threads. Fortunately, when it comes to the identifications of the 113

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panels in the upper section of the lancets in Window A, there is a consensus about most of the original subjects, and Steinheil’s relevés remain an invaluable resource for their Gothic iconography and style. Table 6.1 aligns the fundamental source material and scholarship for reading and retracing what we see in the upper part of Window A today, the order of which is the product of 19th-century restoration. The content of only thirty-two figurative scenes will be examined here, as this cluster of pictures includes elements related to the history of the translation of the Crown of Thorns. In Figure 6.3, the hypothetical arrangement of the original sequence of panels is divided into sets of four scenes to reflect their appearance in each horizontal register. In the left margin, additional notes in brackets of A, B, C, and D (to be read from left to right) correspond with the location of a specific panel; the entries with an [A] represent a scene in the far-left lancet while [D] appears to the far right. The use of these letters highlights the ‘snaking’ movement of the cycle devised by Guilhermy. Jordan, as we shall see, disagrees with this narratological arrangement. There are some additional caveats to the information presented in Table 6.1. In Guilhermy’s notes, the episodes related to the translation of the Crown relic first appear in panel no. 29 (A-103 in the Corpus Vitrearum), above the third row of quatrefoil-shaped frames. It then terminates in the final figural image seen in the lancets, no. 60 (A–36).43 Each of these identifications reflects Guilhermy’s ongoing work on reformatting Window A (and filling its gaps to create a coherent story), but it is important to realise that they occasionally do not match with the final version of restoration; these are his working notes. The meaning of the additional marks of ‘X’ alongside some entries in his margins is unclear, but they might refer to a problematic gap in the narrative that he intended to fill with an entirely new scene. Moreover, his citation of various relevés by Steinheil (e.g. ‘ancien no. X’) are more often wrong than right, which is puzzling. In every instance, these elusive inconsistencies are marked with an asterisk in Table 6.1. Guilhermy’s identifications are cross-referenced with Steinheil’s entries for the same panels, which are transcribed from his scaled pencil drawing of the layout of Window A, where he also includes an index to the corresponding paginated relevé, where each état actuel is identified as a numbered ‘ancien panneau’.44 Where Steinheil’s relevés represent new, reinvented panels, Table 6.1 includes a note ‘[m]’ (for ‘moderne’) and these are not included in Fig. 6.3. The other two columns list the identification of the same subject matter published in the Corpus Vitrearum, which represents the appearance of the programme today, and Jordan’s monograph.45 However, all of Jordan’s entries are taken from her hypothetical layout of the original programme, which are then realigned to accompany the disposition of the 19th-century redesign. Although she also used the same A–O numbering system employed in the Corpus Vitrearum, her reconstruction does not pass comment on the restored panels. Fig. 6.3 is designed to help visitors to the Sainte-Chapelle ‘read’ what they see in the upper half of Window A today and understand what was restored, augmented, and added in 1853. Table 6.2 retraces the hypothetical reconstruction of the c. 1240s cycle proposed by Alyce Jordan with direct reference to the extant états actuels records in the relevés by Steinheil. In her meticulous study, Jordan observed that only forty-four figurative panels currently on display (out of a possible total of sixty) appeared in the tracery before 1848 and an additional eighteen panels were ‘eliminated’ during restoration: this leaves us with only twenty-six Gothic compositions in Window A today, most of which are not in their original location.50 She moreover added

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City of Light Table 6.1  The history of the translation of the Crown of Thorns, Window A (present day) Guilhermy

Steinheil’s relevé and notes

Corpus Vitrearum

Jordan

 1 [D]

29. S. Louis charge les religieux d’aller à Constantinople chercher la Sainte Couronne [X]

No. 80 [m] Saint Louis charge les religieux d’aller à Constantinople chercher la Sainte Couronne

A-103 Saint Louis charge les religieux d’aller chercher la relique [moderne]

[X]

 2 [C]

31. Les reliques en voyage, portés sur un cheval accompagnés de religieux (ancien no. 79)

No. 79 La Sainte relique accompagnée de religieux (ancien panneau)

A-102 Les religieux vont à Constantinople [panneau ancien]

A-102 A procession of monks follows the relics

 3 [B]

32. [combined with entry no. 31] (ancien no. 107*)

No. 78 La Sainte relique en voyage portée sur un cheval (ancien panneau)

A-101 Les reliques sont transportées à dos de cheval à Venise [panneau ancien]

A-101 Crown of Thorns transported on horseback

 4 [A]

30. Le roi Baudouin, barbre, reçoit à Constantinople des envoyés de S. Louis (ancien no. 77)

No. 77 L’Empereur reçoit les envoyés du roi St Louis (ancien panneau)

A-100 Les envoyés de Saint Louis à Constantinople (ou à Venise) [très effacé et restauré]

A-103 The Dominican envoys arrive in Constantinople [CV A-100]

 5 [A]

33. Les reliques portés solennellement d’après les ordres du Roi, à leur arrivé en France (ancien no. 53*)

No. 81 La couronne reçue et portée solennellement à son arrivée en France d’après l’orre du Roi (ancien panneau)

A-96 Les reliques portées solennellement en France [très restauré]

A-96 The Crown of Thorns carried in procession from Villeneuvel’Archevêque to Sens

 6 [B]

34. La caisse d’or contenant la couronne est présentée à Saint Louis, près de Sens. Saint Louis est imbarbe (ancien no. 82)

No. 82 La caisse d’or contenant la relique et présentée à St Louis près de Sens (ancien panneau)

A-97 Les reliques présentées au roi à Villeneuvel’Archevêque [très restauré]

A-97 The Crown of Thorns presented to Louis IX at Villeneuvel’Archevêque

(Continued)

115

emily davenport guerry Table 6.1 (Continued) Guilhermy

Steinheil’s relevé and notes

Corpus Vitrearum

Jordan

 7 [C]

35. Le roi (imbarbe) porte avec un jeune homme (son frère, le Comte d’Artois) les reliques sur un brancard (ancien no. 81*)

No. 83 Le Roi et son frère entrent à Sens portant pieds nus la couronne sur un brancard (ancien panneau)

A-98 Saint Louis et Robert d’Artois entrent à Sens portant les reliques [panneau presque totalement refait]

A-70 Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown of Thorns into Paris [CV A-98]

 8 [D]

36. Clergé et peuple formant cortège [X]

No. 84 [m] Clergé et le peuple formant cortège

A-99 Le cortège de clergé et du peuple [moderne]

[X]

 9 [D]

38. La Sainte Couronne importée sur un autel, à découvert; coffre d’or (ancien no. 94*)

No. 96 La Couronne exposé sur un autel à découvert (ancien panneau)

A-87 La couronne d’épines exposée à Sens [fort restauré]

A-58 The Crown of Thorns displayed on an altar [CV A-87]

10 [C]

37. Une procession vient au devant de la relique, à Vincennes. Personnages pieds nus, tenant des cierges; évêque, diacre, enfants de choeur (ancien no. 93*)46

No. 95 La clergé en procession vient en faire la Susception (ancien panneau)

A-86 Le clergé et le peuple en cortège [très effacé]

A-86 The archbishop of Sens awaits the arrival of the Crown of Thorns

11 [B]

40. Assistante à la cérémonie [X]47

No. 94 [m] Cortège en Marche; la Reine Blanche; moines de St Denis et autres

A-85 La reine Blanche suit le cortège [moderne]

[X]

12 [A]

39. Le roi porte la Sainte Relique avec son frère (costume ci-dessus; pieds nus) (ancien no. 124*)

No. 93 Le Roi et son frère portant la Sainte couronne (ancien panneau)

A-84 Saint Louis et Robert d’Artois portent les reliques [assez effacé]

A-87 Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown of Thorns into Sens [CV A-84]

13 [A]

41. L’autel érigé devant à Notre-Dame d’abbaye de SaintAntoine, surmont le point de départ [X]

No. 105 [m] Après une Station à Notre-Dame on se remet en marche vers la palais

A-72 La couronne d’épines exposée à la vénération du peuple [moderne]

[X]

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City of Light Guilhermy

Steinheil’s relevé and notes

Corpus Vitrearum

Jordan

14 [B]

42. La Couronne est portée sur le brancard que le roi et son frère soutrimanet[?], par les evêques [X]

No. 106 [m] Des Évêques replacent la Sainte Couronne sur un brancard

A-73 La couronne placée sur un brancard pars les évêques [moderne]

[X]

15 [C]

43. Dans le cortège, les deux reines, la mère et la fille de Saint Louis [X]

No. 107 [m] Dont le Roi et son frère vont se charger de nouveau

A-74 Transport des reliques à Paris [moderne, imité du A-98]

[X]

16 [D]

44. La ville de Paris; le palais, forteresse, entre les deux bras de la Seine (ancien no. 106*)

No. 108 Le palais du Roi entre les deux bras de la Seine (ancient panneau)

A-75 Le palais royale de Paris (?) [panneau ancien]

A-73 Notre-Dame de Paris or the palace chapel of Saint-Nicolas (?) [CV A-75]

17 [D]

45. Ostentation de la Sainte Couronne; dais; évêque tenant la relique entre le roi et la reine (ancient no. 110*)

No. 112 Ostension de la Sainte couronne, Evêque, le Roi, la Reine Blanche (ancien panneau)

A-71 Ostentation de la couronne d’épines [panneau ancien, très bien conservé]

A-69 A bishop displays the Crown of Thorns from a gallery [CV A-41]

18 [C]

46. Proposition nouvelle de l’Empereur remise au Roi par un personnage agenouillé, tenant une baguette. Le roi emberbe; sceptre fleur de lys. La reine, sa mère, près de lui (ancien no. 109*)

No. 111 Lettre remise au Roi et la Reine don mère pour leur proposer de nouvelles reliques

A-70 Lettres remises à Saint Louis et la reine [bonne conservation générale]

A-68 Louis IX and Blanche of Castile receive a messenger (?) [CV A-68]

(Continued)

117

emily davenport guerry Table 6.1 (Continued) Guilhermy

Steinheil’s relevé and notes

Jordan

Corpus Vitrearum

19 [B]

47. Le roi donne les instructions et remet de l’argent à les envoyés qui étaient les Cordeliers [X]

No. 110 [m] Le Roi donne ses instructions et remet de l’argent à ses envoyés qui s’étaient des cordeliers

A-69 Saint Louis ordonne d’aller acheter des reliques [moderne]

[X]

20 [A]

48. Entrevue des envoyés du Roi et d’autres personnages à Constantinople (ancien no. 54*)

No. 109 Entrevue des envoyés du roi et d’autres personnages à Constantinople

A-68 Les envoyés du roi achètent des reliques à Venise (?) [panneau ancien]

A-98 The envoys of Louis IX negotiate with the Venetians (?) [CV A-68]

21 [A]

49. Argent compté aux engagistes [??] d’or [X]

No. 121 [m] L’argent pesé et remis aux engagistes des Saintes Reliques

A-56 Achat des reliques à Venise [moderne]

[X]

22 [B]

50. La croix et caisse remises aux moines [X]

No. 122 [m] La croix et les crosses livrées aux moines français

A-57 Les reliques remises aux envoyés [moderne]

[X]

23 [C]

51. Hommes et femmes, mains joints, in adoration (ancien no. 65*)

No. 123 Personnages en prière devant les reliques (ancien panneau)

A-59 Le peuple en adoration devant les reliques [peu restauré]48

A-57 Worshippers kneeling before the Crown of Thorns [CV A-59]

24 [D]

52. Caisse d’or des reliques, remise par un moine à un évêque, sur un autel (ancien no. 66*)

No. 124 Reçues dans une grande boîte par un évêque sur un autel et des mains d’une moine (ancien panneau)

A-58 [A-113] Un évêque et un moine placent les reliques sur l’autel [peu restauré]49

A-84 Gautier Cornut receives the Crown of Thorns from André de Longjumeau [CV A-58]

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City of Light Guilhermy

Steinheil’s relevé and notes

Jordan

Corpus Vitrearum

25 [D]

53. Procession; moines portant les reliques, pieds nus; [?], chant clerics (ancien no. 50*)

No. 136 Translation des Saintes reliques (ancien panneau)

A-47 Translation des reliques [très restrauré]

A-74 A new procession proceeds from Sens to Paris [CV A-47]

26 [C]

54. Suite de la procession; hommes et femmes avec cierges d’or (ancien no. 133*)

No. 135 Un grand cortège va recevoir les Saintes reliques (ancien panneau)

A-46 Cortège allant recevoir les reliques [assez restauré]

A-72 A procession accompanies the Crown of Thorns [CV A-46]

27 [B]

55. Grande procession; evêque, clerics, croix, choeur [?], hommes et femmes (ancien no. 135*)

No. 134 Procession en marche allant au devant du Roi (ancien panneau)

A-45 Procession allant au devant du roi [très effacé et restauré]

A-75 A new procession proceeds from Sens to Paris [CV A-45]

28 [A]

56. Le roi imberbe, pieds nus, en longe[?] cette route, porte à leur mains sur une nappe une double view? La reine, sa mère?, le suit (ancien no. 105*)

No. 133 Le Roi porte entre ses mains la croix sur une nappe (ancien panneau)

A-44 Saint Louis portant la Vraie Croix [panneau ancien]

A-46 Louis IX takes the cross (?) [CV A-44]

29 [A]

57. Le roi ordonne à Pierre de Montereau de construire la Sainte-Chapelle [X]

No. 137 [m] Saint Louis ordonne à Pierre de Montereau de construire la Sainte-Chapelle

A-33 Saint Louis fait bâtir la Sainte-Chapelle [moderne]

[X]

30 [B]

58. Continuation de l’edifice [X]

No. 138 [m] Edification du Monument

A-34 Construction de la Sainte-Chapelle [moderne]

[X]

(Continued)

119

emily davenport guerry Table 6.1 (Continued) Guilhermy

Steinheil’s relevé and notes

Corpus Vitrearum

Jordan

31 [C]

59. Continuation de la Sainte-Chapelle en présence du roi et des évêques [X]

No. 139 [m] Construction de la Sainte Chapelle

A-35 Consécration de la Sainte-Chapelle [moderne]

[X]

32 [D]

60. [combined with entry no. 59]

No. 140 [m] En présence du Roi et du Clergé

A-36 Le roi et la reine assistent à la consécration [moderne]

[X]

two quatrefoil-shaped panels seen in the opposite window (Window O, Genesis) – which could have been reinserted in the wrong place after the 1630 fire in the west end – along with five panels from the Book of Judges (Window K) ‘suppressed’ by Guilhermy.51 We should recall that most panels in the lower section of Window A are the product of extensive restoration and reinvention, and the first four registers (sixteen figurative panels) were completely devoid of glass after the chapel’s conversion into an archive in the early 19th century. Jordan’s new index for Window A (appendix 8 in her monograph) does not follow the assertion (repeated in the Corpus Vitrearum) that the narrative actually snakes from right to left and then from left to right in alternating horizontal rows.52 Instead, she claimed that the registers that contain representations of the transportation of the Crown in the glass seen in Window A always proceed from right to left, and she inferred that this narratological ‘switch’ would have enabled the artists to show the movement of the relic along the same right-to-left (or west-to-east) axis.53 In this way, the design seems to mirror expected movement inside the chapel, from Window A (the nave) towards the venerable location of the relic in situ (the east end), interrupting an otherwise coherent narratological rhythm to emphasise the joyous events of royal relic procession. In Table 6.2, Jordan’s identifications of the panels related to the translation event that originally appeared in the upper part of Window A are presented alongside some new reinterpretations.60 Her appraisal of one panel in this sequence (no. 5 in Table 6.2) is based on her interpretations of relevés that the 19th-century restoration team opted not to use for their reorientation of the cycle. The two highest registers do not seem to relate to the translation of the Crown of Thorns. They include a pair of battle scenes and a pair of images of Louis IX (in one he appears to take up the Cross to pledge his crusade (which he did in December 1244), (A-46), and in another he is said to receive the keys to a city, (A-33). With these observations in mind, we are left with reliable evidence for a total of eighteen Gothic panels in Jordan’s reconstruction that relate to the history of the acquisition of the Crown relic. These images will be examined in my final section with reference to their concordance with the Historia.

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the history of the historia In their discussion of the representation of the history of the translation of the Crown of Thorns seen in Window A, Aubert and Grodecki directed their readers towards a specific medieval text for further clarification: One could identify the episodes here with their rapport with a nearly contemporary text, the Historia Susceptionis Coronae Spineae Jesu Christi, attributed to Gauthier Cornut, the archbishop of Sens, who participated in these events. The account includes the history of negotiations, the encounter of the Dominican envoys in Constantinople, the purchase of the Crown in Venice, its transport to Villeneuve-l’Archevêque, then the procession of the royal cortège at Sens, the exposition of the Relic in this city, its final voyage to Paris, and the pauses at SaintAntoine, Notre-Dame, and finally the deposit of the Crown in the chapel of Saint-Nicolas in the palace.61

The Historia remains our primary source for understanding how and why Louis IX acquired the Crown of Thorns. In the first instance, the Historia is a royally sponsored ‘official’ record of the circumstances surrounding Louis’s translation of the Crown of Thorns. It explains the historical context leading up to negotiations that began in 1237, culminating in a detailed description of the king’s jubilant adventus of the relic, first in Sens on 11 August and then in Paris on 19 August 1239. Also, it clarifies that the act of translation was completely legal, as any perception of the acquisition as a financial transaction would have invalidated the status of the cult. To share the joyous news of the relic’s arrival and legitimize its transfer, the Historia repeatedly states that the coming of the Crown of Thorns to Paris is the direct result of divine agency. For Cornut, Christ himself had selected the kingdom of France as a more worthy place for the veneration of his Passion: Lord Jesus Christ chose the promised land [terram promissionis] to exhibit the mysteries of his redemption, so it seems and is believed that he specifically chose our Gaul in order that the triumph of His Passion should be worshipped with more devotion.62

The patriotic and propagandistic tone of this particular passage in the Historia is emblematic of its function – to present Louis IX’s acquisition of the Crown of Thorns as a sign of Christ’s special preference for the Capetian kingdom. For [the Lord] vouchsafed to crown the kingdom of France, honoured by distinguished deeds over many ages – in our age by the diligent vigilance of King Louis, as well as his pious mother Blanche – with the Crown of his head, with great glory and manifold honor.63

Here, Cornut ingeniously manipulates the inherent symbolic potential of the Crown of Thorns – an abject signifier of divine kingship – to indicate that Christ himself has crowned the king of France with the transfer of his relic. A complete copy of the Historia Susceptionis Coronae Spineae, transcribed from another copy of a now-lost medieval witness by the Sénois lawyer Jacques Taveau (1548–1624), forms the first of the eleven items in a codex assembled under Archbishop Charles de Montchal of Toulouse (1589–1651), catalogued as BnF Ms Lat. 3282, ff. 1r–4v.64 This is the earliest-known complete recension of the Historia and a

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emily davenport guerry Table 6.2  The history of the translation of the Crown of Thorns, Window A (following Jordan’s reconstruction) Steinheil’s relevé

Jordan

Plates and new identifications

 1 [D]

No. 77

A-103 The Dominican envoys arrive in Constantinople [CV A-100]

Fig. 6.4. Baldwin II facilitates the friars’ journey to Constantinople

 2 [C]

No. 79

A-102 A procession of monks follows the relics54 [CV A-102]

Fig. 6.5. The friars continue their mission

 3 [B]

No. 78

A-101 Crown of Thorns transported on horseback [CV A-101]

Fig. 6.6. The Crown is transported on horseback

 4 [A]

[X]

[CV A-100]

 5 [D]

(Relevé Vol. 5, f. 47)55

A-99 The envoys of Louis IX negotiate with the Venetians (?) [lost]

 6 [C]

No. 109

A-98 The envoys of Louis IX negotiate with the Venetians (?) [CV A-68]

Fig. 6.7. The friars negotiate with the Venetians

 7 [B]

No. 82

A-97 The Crown of Thorns presented to Louis IX at Villeneuve-l’Archevêque [CV A-97]

Fig. 6.8. A friar presents the Crown to Louis IX at Villeneuve-l’Archevêque

 8 [A]

No. 81

A-96 The Crown of Thorns carried in procession from Villeneuve-l’Archevêque to Sens [CV A-96]

Fig. 6.9. The Crown is carried in a procession to Sens

 9 [D]

No. 93

A-87 Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown of Thorns into Sens [CV-84]

Fig. 6.10. Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown into Sens

10 [C]

No. 95

A-86 The archbishop of Sens awaits the arrival of the Crown of Thorns [CV A-86]

Fig. 6.11. Archbishop Cornut and the people of Sens form a cortège

11 [B]

[X]

[CV A-85]

12 [A]

No. 124

A-84 Gauthier Cornut receives the Crown of Thorns from André de Longjumeau [CV A-58]

122

Fig. 6.12. Archbishop Cornut and Friar André place the Crown on an altar

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Jordan

Plates and new identifications

13 [D]

No. 135

A-75 A new procession proceeds from Sens to Paris [CV A-45]

Fig. 6.13. The procession in Paris (I)

14 [C]

No. 136

A-74 A new procession proceeds from Sens to Paris [CV A-47]

Fig. 6.14. The procession in Paris (II)

15 [B]

No. 108

A-73 Notre-Dame de Paris or the palace chapel of Saint-Nicolas (?) [CV A-75]

Fig. 6.15. The Île de la Cité

16 [A]

No. 134

A-72 A procession accompanies the translation of the Crown of Thorns [CV A-46]

Fig. 6.16. The procession in Paris (III)

17 [D]

[X]

[CV A-71]

18 [C]

No. 83

A-70 Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown of Thorns into Paris [CV A-98]

Fig. 6.17. Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown into Paris

19 [B]

No. 112

A-69 A bishop displays the Crown of Thorns from a gallery [CV A-71]

Fig. 6.18. Archbishop Cornut displays the Crown from a gallery with the Capetian family

20 [A]

No. 111

A-68 Louis IX and Blanche of Castile receive a messenger (?) [CV A-70]

Fig. 6.19. Louis IX and Blanche of Castile commision the Sainte-Chapelle (?)

21 [A]56

[X]

[CV A-56]

22 [B]

No. 123

A-57 Worshippers kneeling before the Crown of Thorns [CV A-59]

Fig. 6.20. Worshippers kneel before the Crown

23 [C]

No. 96

A-58 The Crown of Thorns displayed on an altar [CV A-87]57

Fig. 6.21. The Crown is displayed on an altar

24 [D]

[X]

[CV A-59]

25 [A]

[X]

[CV A-44]

26 [B]

[X]

[CV A-45] (Continued)

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emily davenport guerry Table 6.2 (Continued) Steinheil’s relevé

Jordan

27 [C]

No. 133

A-46 Louis IX takes the cross (?) [CV A-44]

28 [D]

(Relevé Vol. 15, f. 16)

A-47 Battle scene58

29 [A]

(Relevé Vol. 15, f. 15)

A-33 Citizens present Louis IX with the keys to a city (?) [CV pl. 95, currently in the sacristy]59

30 [B]

[X]

[CV A-34]

31 [C]

[X]

[CV A-35]

32 [D]

(Relevé Vol. 15, no. 53a)

A-42 Battle scene [CV A-124]

Plates and new identifications

copy of Taveau’s signature appears after the last line of the final paragraph, in which he clarifies the provenance of the text: This is the work of Gauthier Cornut, formerly the archbishop of Sens, who presided over the matter, and it came from a manuscript written at the order of King Louis, [which is noted] in a chronicle assembled at the monastery of Saint-Pierre-le-Vif of Sens. For it is written in [that chronicle], ‘in the year 1234, Brother Jordan, Master of the order of the preachers, was sent to preach to the Saracens and died in the harbour of the sea. In that time, two Greek princes, Vasthacius [Vatatzes] and Duxanus [Doukas], making peace with one another, fought against the Constantinopolitan Empire. Seeing that without the French, Emperor John could not resist, he sent Baldwin, the heir to the Empire, to France because of their generosity. Indeed the same Baldwin was a kinsman of the king and the queen Blanche, and his wife was the granddaughter of Blanche. When he arrived in France, John, whose daughter was [married] to Baldwin, had died; and the barons of Constantinople were in urgent need to pledge the Holy Crown of Thorns to Venice. In France, recognizing the prayers of King Louis, Baldwin obtained a ransom and placed the Crown in Paris. And so it came to pass that Master Gauthier, the archbishop, testified to this in a book that he wrote.’ Jacques Taveau of Sens.65

This breathless postscript on fol. 4v of Lat. 3282 thus names both the patron and the author of the text: King Louis IX commissioned the Historia, and Archbishop Cornut, who ‘had attended and presided over the matter’, wrote the account.66 The remainder of the paragraph after the phrase ‘in the year 1234’ is an excerpt taken from the c. 1290s Chronicon S. Petri Vivi Senonensi written by the Benedictine monk and historian Geoffrey de Courlon (d. 1295), based at the abbey of Saint-Pierre-le-Vif in Sens.67 Librarians at the Bibliothèque du Roi in Paris also consulted Taveau’s transcription at some point in the early 17th century and produced their own copy of the 124

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Historia, bound in MS Dupuy XIII, pp. 135–147.68 Access to Taveau’s transcription of the Historia ignited academic interest and, since the mid-17th century, historians have believed that the Historia reproduced by Taveau was a reliable version of an influential text written by Archbishop Gauthier Cornut of Sens.69 The availability and importance of the Historia is confirmed by references from both hagiographers and liturgists working in 13th-century France. In his Vita Ludovici Noni, Geoffrey de Beaulieu, the king’s Dominican confessor, wrote that the history of the translation of the Crown of Thorns to Paris could be read in a libellus.70 In chapter 24 of his Vita, Geoffrey praised the piety of his protagonist by explaining the king’s desire for the Crown relic and describing his humble behaviour throughout the adventus ceremony: How great was his faithful devotion and effort, how great was the expense, how great was the danger to his agents, when he obtained from the emperor in Constantinople the sacrosanct Crown of Thorns of our Saviour, as well as a large piece of the Holy Cross and numerous other precious, sacred relics! And with what joy did our devout king journey out to reverently take possession of these said relics! And again, with what solemn devotion did all the clergy and the populace receive in procession at Paris these valuable relics, when the king himself, barefoot, bore on his own shoulders for some way this sacred treasure! The little book that was diligently compiled about these matters bears witness to all these things, from which is now read at Matins the solemn rite for the said Crown and other relics.71

These effusive words about Louis IX’s role as the new guardian of the Passion relics would have only enhanced his saintly reputation. In passing, when Geoffrey de Beaulieu mentions the existence of a ‘diligently compiled little book’ (libellus qui diligenter super his est confectus) that explains how the Crown of Thorns came to Paris, we recall that Geoffrey de Courlon claimed that the Historia could be found in a book, one that was commissioned by the king and produced by the archbishop. In 1878, Eduoard Miller challenged the attribution of the libellus in question.72 He referred to a text with the heading, Incipit translatio, which also mentions the history of the Crown’s translation.73 The Incipit translatio reflects on the wave of royal translation events from Constantinople to Paris between 1239 and 1242; it only briefly describes the reception of the Crown before discussing the subsequent arrival of the True Cross and other holy relics in the years that followed.74 After Miller’s publication, Léopold Délisle found another manuscript containing a copy of this text (Incipit translatio Sancte Corone) in 1879 and concluded that the author was a monk named Gérard de Saint-Quentin.75 In light of these claims, a careful reading of the Vita Ludovici Noni suggests that the libellus mentioned by Geoffrey de Beaulieu is not the Incipit translatio but rather Cornut’s Historia. The hagiographer’s specific reference to the danger of the envoys’ mission is discussed at length solely in the Historia. In fact, no other extant contemporary text mentions the peril encountered by the king’s nuncios; this includes the Incipit translatio of Gérard de Saint-Quentin, as well as the Chronica Majora of the English historian Matthew Paris, the Chronicon of the Cistercian historian Albéric de Trois-Fontaines, and many others.76 The evidence for active liturgical engagement with the Historia (and not the Incipit translatio) for the creation of the new Susceptio Coronae office, which would commemorate the reception of the Crown in France, also testifies to its widespread accessibility and importance soon after the relic’s arrival. Although the first witnesses to the development of this liturgy are lost, many 13th-century versions of the 125

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Susceptio Coronae feast include verbatim citations from Cornut’s Historia scattered across each of its nine (or, occasionally, fewer) lectios, albeit in a haphazard way that varies from manuscript to manuscript, until the office stabilised around the start of the 14th century.77 Put simply, the reappearance of the same text seen in Taveau’s transcription in over a dozen 13th-century breviaries used in Paris and Sens confirms the use of Historia for the deployment of the Susceptio Coronae liturgy. When the General Chapter of Cistercians assembled for a meeting at Cîteaux in 1240, Louis IX and his family petitioned the order to address a number of questions (about various foundations, eating meat, etc.).78 On this occasion, the Cistercians also approved of the celebration of a new, royally sanctioned annual feast in honour of the king’s reception of the Crown of Thorns. According to Louis-Sébastien Le Nain de Tillemont (1637–98), ‘the chapter of Citeaux ordered, in the year 1240, at the request of the king and queen, that one should observe the feast of the Crown of Thorns in the abbeys of France on 11 August’.79 The Statua capitulorum generalium oridinis cisterciensis confirms that the king and queen (his mother, Blanche of Castile) asked two abbots (one from Vaux-de-Cernay, another from Chaalis) to help ‘establish the feast day of the Holy Crown of Thorns on the day after the feast of Blessed Lawrence in the abbeys of their kingdom [ie 11 August]’ and a ‘legendary history [historia] pertaining to this festival was provided to the abbots’.80 This petition confirms that plans were already underway to standardise the liturgy for the new annual feast, perhaps before the first anniversary on 11 August 1240. Moreover, it confirms that Louis had access to a certain ‘historia’ before the meeting of the General Chapter, one which liturgists could use it as a source.81 It is likely that a libellus containing the Historia was in circulation before Pope Innocent IV’s bull issued on 3 June 1244, which granted indulgences for the Susceptio Coronae celebrations.82 This bull also implies that the construction of the Sainte-Chapelle was well underway, and its renowned beauty had already earned a splendid reputation. Citing Ovid (in a manner similar to Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis), Innocent IV wrote that the Crown and other relics were safeguarded inside the chapel, where the ‘workmanship surpassed the material’ (opere superante materiam).83 The date of this bull does not rule out the possibility that local anniversaries occurred in the intervening years (1240–43), especially in places that nurtured the growth of the royal cult. Instead, it testifies to a flurry of activity in support of devotion to the Crown in Paris during the early 1240s. elucidating the gothic design in window a: text and image This section will contend that the Gothic glazers of the Sainte-Chapelle consulted Cornut’s Historia to design the translation scheme in Window A, most likely through access to the account in a libellus. It is equally possible, given the record of royal initiative in fostering the liturgy for the Crown cult, that the king and his coterie could have encouraged these artists to use this specific text. It could be the case that the artists were informed of the Historia’s content via the nascent liturgy of the Crown cult, but it is less likely that they worked solely from recent memory or dictated oral accounts, given the significance of the artistic project at hand (and the requisite intellectual energy needed to plan and fit the story with the adjoining Old and New Testament cycles). The decision to include a visualisation of this recent episode in Capetian history required careful planning and the use of appropriate source 126

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material, as it is the only non-biblical part of the programme. A careful examination of the iconography and design of the original translatio panels in Window A shows that Louis IX’s glaziers adapted a number of the key events described in the Historia to explain how the Crown of Thorns came to Paris, retelling this glorious story in colour and light. Ferdinand de Lasteyrie was probably the first historian to observe that many of the images in Window A depict the history of the acquisition of the Crown relic, naming and describing a total of ten scenes with reference to Cornut’s text.84 The Historia not only helps us understand the iconography of the glass; it was the authority for contemporary historians, liturgists, and artists – including those at the Sainte-Chapelle – who recorded the history of the translation of the Crown to Paris. The examination that follows will focus solely on the eighteen extant panels with Gothic iconography related to the history of the Crown’s translation, arranged between the 8th and 13th horizontal registers in Window A. It omits the unknown and problematic subjects and begins with the image Jordan identified as The Dominican envoys arrive in Constantinople (Fig. 6.4; Table 1.4; Table 2.1), ending with the representation of The Crown of Thorns displayed on an altar (Fig. 6.21; Table 1.9; Table 2.23). Given the right-toleft (west-to-east) disposition of the narrative in each of the six registers, the panels seem to have been planned as groups of four images that synthesise a specific episode described in the text. It might come as no surprise that we do not see the early part of the chronicle in the Historia, which explains the dire political situation in Latin Constantinople and the terms of Baldwin II’s loan agreement with the Venetians (and then Louis IX) in this glass. Instead, we see the friars’ journey, the king’s reception of the relic at Villeneuve-L’Archevêque, the joyous processions and sermons in Sens and Paris, and the installation of the Crown of Thorns in a candlelit tribune. The cycle seen in Window A therefore represents an accurate summary of how the Crown came to Paris, but the excerpts that inspire the imagery are ‘cherry-picked’ to maximise the site-specific devotional and political themes articulated in the Historia. The illustrations do not attempt to explain or justify complicated aspects of diplomacy; they focus instead on those parts of the story that reveal that the relic belongs in Paris, that King Louis IX is a worthy guardian, and that he would share the joy of this sacred treasure with his people. Taken together, the iconographic design of Window A reveals that Christ ensured the delivery of his Crown to the king and welcomed its devotion in Capetian France. Register 8 (Inverted Trefoils): The Friars’ Mission Three medieval compositions depict scenes showing the friars’ journey to Constantinople. The first panel, Emperor Baldwin II facilitates the friars’ journey to Constantinople (Fig. 6.4; Table 6.2.1), has remained in the same position since its record in Guilhermy’s notes of 1848, but Jordan believed it originally appeared in the position of A-103 (i.e. to the far right of register 8) instead of its current location (i.e. to the far left). Five figures appear outside the crenellated walls of a city, which is probably Constantinople.85 Dressed in a purple robe, wearing a crown (with golden shoes to match), and sporting a well-manicured beard, a man near the centre of the panel twists back towards the others. This crowned figure is probably Emperor Baldwin II, who had offered the Crown relic to Louis IX in exchange for his financial support.86 127

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Fig. 6.4  Emperor Baldwin II facilitates the friars’ journey to Constantinople

At least two figures are tonsured. The relevance of the Historia to this depiction of the emperor directing the nuncios to his city is especially clear. The text explains why Baldwin II approached Louis IX for a loan to which the relic was bound as collateral, beseeching the king’s assistance: Thinking therefore about this devotion of the king and his mother, Baldwin made mention to him of the sacrosanct Crown of Thorns. He then said that he knew through a true account that the leaders locked in the city of Constantinople had reached such a state of calamitous famine that they needed to sell the incomparable treasure of the Crown of the Lord, which was the title and particular glory of the whole empire, to other people, or at least mortgage it under the title of a pledge. Therefore, he ardently prayed that the inestimable honor and glory of this unique gem should at least come to the king of his own blood, his leader and benefactor, as well as to the kingdom of France, from which both of his parents had come.87

The Historia confirms that the Latin emperor initiated the relic transfer and that he hoped it would be delivered to his kinsman, Louis IX, and venerated in the kingdom of France. The Historia is the only known source for the identities of the nuncios appointed by the king. They were Dominicans named Jacques (Jacobus), who had previously seen the Crown of Thorns in the imperial city, and André (Andreas), and they were sent by Louis IX from Paris to Constantinople to collect the relic (and transfer the debt repayment): The king, therefore, returning most plentiful thanks to Baldwin, joyfully assented that he would receive that inestimable gift from him. Jacques and André, friars of the preaching order, were swiftly sent by the king to Constantinople to complete the negotiations. One of them, namely Jacques, had been prior of the brothers of this same order in the aforementioned city where he had often seen this very Crown, and knew very well those matters relating to it.88

The Historia then explains that ‘Baldwin also sent a special messenger with them, one worthy of trust, accompanied with the letters patent by which he decreed to the 128

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Fig. 6.5  The friars continue their mission

barons that the holy Crown be handed over to the King’s envoys’.89 Perhaps one of the additional figures here is that imperial messenger. This panel introduces some of the leading actors described in Cornut’s account, presenting a thoughtful summary of the circumstances surrounding the arrangements for the transfer of the Crown. The image of the distant city is a marker of their first destination. As a synopsis of various diplomatic negotiations, it simultaneously reveals the king’s acceptance of Baldwin II’s offer and the appointment of the friars as nuncios, legitimizing their mission and confirming their safe transit to Constantinople. In the next panel, The friars continue their mission (Fig. 6.5; Table 1.2; Table 2.2), a group of four men walk and talk with animated gestures in a tree-lined landscape. At least one of them is a Dominican (second from left), identified by a knotted belt. He seems to walk out of the frame to the left, raising his right hand while gazing back towards his companions. An attendant in blue to his left is already looking ahead – to the left/ east – beginning to exit the pictorial frame. The central cleric points towards his tonsured companion to the left while engaging with another figure, seen holding a rod. Unfortunately, the Gothic head of this figure is missing (and Steinheil’s reproductions present an honest record of a makeshift stopgap in grisaille; a face with cartoonish features).90 After Jacques and André reached Constantinople, the Historia explains that they were greeted with disappointing news: the deadline for the debt repayment had passed, they needed to hurry to Venice with the relic and pay an additional fee to secure it. Then, after many turns in their route, they reached Constantinople and found, according to the pious proposition of the king, a path prepared for them by the Lord. For such perilous straits had troubled the barons of the empire that they had been compelled to pledge the most sacrosanct Crown for a huge sum of money to the Venetians.91

Despite these delays and obstacles, Cornut stresses that divine agency guided the mission. The composition in this panel serves as an amalgamation of various diplomatic decisions and the various necessary ‘paths’ that the nuncios managed to navigate safely. 129

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Fig. 6.6  The Crown is transported on horseback

The next panel, The Crown is transported on horseback (Fig. 6.6; Table 6.1.3; Table 6.2.3), shows two men wearing broad-brimmed travellers’ hats. One holds a walking stick in his left hand and guides a horse by the bridle with the other. They move through another tree-lined landscape and their cargo – presumably the Crown of Thorns – sits on the saddle, which is draped in a red, patterned textile. The updated conditions of the loan repayment required the friars’ immediate departure from Constantinople in December 1238.92 The Historia states that the Dominican envoys travelled from Constantinople to Venice with the relic and that they were accompanied by imperial messengers. As they departed the city, its denizens wept: They therefore agreed with the Venetians that the King’s messengers, whose life and habit testified to their religious devotion, carried that sacrosanct object to Venice, with the official messengers of the empire accompanying them, in the presence of grand Venetian citizens. The chest was sealed by the seals of the leaders and was carried to the ship, not without floods of tears and cries of lamentation from the public.93

After the friars paid off the whole of the loan in Venice, the Historia presents an atmospheric picture of them safely transporting the relic into the kingdom of France through fine weather: They had security in its conduct, when it was appropriate, through the ministers of the emperor. Moreover, protected as they were by the presence of this divine gift, nothing contrary dismayed them in their journey. No inclemency of weather caused them harm, nor did any drop of rain fall upon them, although when they had been taken into guesthouses it often rained abundantly.94

The composition is a visual shorthand for another chapter in the Historia’s diplomatic story; namely the diversion to Venice. The pastoral scene perhaps helps the viewer to 130

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Fig. 6.7  The friars negotiate with the Venetians

understand that the mission to collect the Crown involved numerous stages of negotiation and travel, but it does not frame the need to reroute across the Mediterranean as a bureaucratic setback. Significantly, this depiction of the relic’s transport (via horse) is strikingly different from the iconographic design of the panels showing the king carrying the Crown with great ceremonial pomp at Sens and Paris, which resemble a triumphant adventus. Nevertheless, the representation of the relic’s humble transit through the wilderness, accompanied by men in travellers’ caps, indicates that the envoys were ‘protected as they were by the presence of this divine gift’.95 Register 9 (trefoils): The Crown ventures from Venice to Villeneuve-l’Archevêque JORDAN placed four panels in this register, one of which she reinserted with hesitation (Table 6.2.5).96 The other three panels confirm the development of the narrative alongside the continuation of the Historia. The second panel from the right is now identified as The friars negotiate with the Venetians (Fig. 6.7; Table 6.1.20; Table 6.2.6). Set against a Gothic arcade it shows six men, with four tonsured figures to the right and two laymen to the left; the clerics lower their hands while the laymen raise theirs. They seem to be conversing, and the clerics seem to concede to what the laymen demand. The Historia explains that when the friars finally reached Venice, they needed to separate; Jacques went back to Paris to acquire more money and André stayed to guard the relic: They entered Venice and were received with praise, and with care and devotion they put the most blessed Crown in a stamped vessel in the treasury of the church of Saint Mark the Evangelist [San Marco]. While Brother André was left there as guardian of this noble treasure, brother Jacques hurriedly headed for the king with the envoys of the empire, and faithfully recounted the events and state of play to the king and queen.97

In addition to the cost of the imperial loan, the Venetians now required another payment from the king since the initial deadline (the Orthodox feast of Saints Gervase 131

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Fig. 6.8  A friar presents the Crown to Louis IX at Villeneuve-l’Archevêque

and Prothase, 14 October) had passed. Fortunately, Jacques was quick, returning from Paris to Venice with more money while André was industrious, relying on interim loans from French merchants in the Italian city to secure the Crown: They then prepared official and prudent envoys and sent them to Venice with brother Jacques and the envoys of the empire with fuller instructions and financial resources for securing the repurchase of the sacred guarantee . . . [Jacques and his envoys] came to Venice without difficulty and found brother André with the treasury. Provided by divine clemency, merchants born in the kingdom of France were at that very time doing business in those parts. When the letter from the king had been shown to them, they mutually offered money to the tune of the envoys’ wishes. The sacred guarantee was brought back, while the Venetians lamented but, owing to the conditions they had agreed upon, they had no way to block it.98

Thus, the debt was cleared and the Venetians relinquished their possession of the relic. The friars then commenced the final leg of their journey across the Alps, back into the kingdom of France. The next panel, A friar presents the Crown to Louis IX at Villeneuve-l’Archevêque (Fig. 6.8; Table 6.1.6; Table 6.2.7), has appeared in the same location since 1848, but elements of the composition have changed since restoration.99 It represents the first meeting of the king and his Crown relic at Villeneuve-l’Archevêque, which is described only in the Historia. Gauthier Cornut, who refers to himself in an elliptical third-person voice, was both an eyewitness and a participant in the initial inspection of the reliquary: They sent envoys in front of them to announce that the most sacred present had now reached Troyes. The king was very much overjoyed, along with his mother and brothers, and taking with him Gauthier, the archbishop of Sens, Bernard, bishop of Le Puy, and other barons and soldiers whom he could suddenly get hold of, went to meet them in festive spirits. In the town that is five leagues from Sens and is called Villeneuve-l’Archevêque, he found with the envoys the treasure that he had desired.100

Jordan was the first to notice that the pre-1848 scene conforms more closely to the contemporary account of the presentation of the relic to Louis IX. Gaut[h]ier Cornut states that the king was dressed only in a shirt and that the Crown of Thorns was presented in a series of boxes.101

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Fig. 6.9  The Crown is carried in a procession to Sens

Cornut provides a detailed and emotional description of the removal and inspection of the various layers – in wood, silver, and gold – that enveloped the relic: A sealed wooden vessel was brought forth, and the seals of the barons appeared around the silver vessel. Moreover, the aforementioned envoys brought forth the seals of the [Constantinopolitan] leaders, with the letters patent to the king and Baldwin. Then they made a comparison of these with the seals, with which the vessel of the sacred Crown was stamped, and they found them to be genuine. They then broke these little seals, as well as the seal of the Doge of Venice, which had been added for greater certainty, and opened the silver vessel. They found a most beautiful chest of the purest gold, in which the sacred Crown lay. When they had removed this covering, the inestimable pearl appeared to all that were present. With how much devotion, how much weeping and sighing these things were observed by the king, the queen and others, is scarcely possible to measure. They were fixed in their countenance in the yearning of love, feeling as they did so devout a fervour in their minds, as if they saw the Lord before them crowned with these very thorns.102

In this panel, the Gothic artists effectively represent the king’s overwhelming reaction to the opening of the Crown reliquary and his experience of that ‘yearning of love’ at first sight, when he laid eyes on the relic – that ‘inestimable pearl’ – inside. The last panel in this register, The Crown is carried in a procession to Sens (Fig. 6.9; Table 6.1.5; Table 6.2.8), shows the friars transporting the relic in a double-bier.103 At least two other figures seem to follow them or share in the burden of carrying the relic; one man is bearded with a red cap, but the haphazard composition of Steinheil’s relevé suggests that his face was taken from another window (possibly after a fire) and used as a stopgap at some point before restoration in the 19th century.104 In 1848, this image appeared in the lower range of upright trefoils, but both the Corpus Vitrearum and Jordan are in agreement in stating that its present-day location more accurately reflects its original place in the programme.105 Here, we bear witness to the friars’ last task – to transport the relic some 20 km from Villeneuve-l’Archevêque to Sens – before the launch of an itinerary of royal events staged in honour of the relic’s reception at Sens, when the king would take the reliquary bier upon his shoulders. The Historia states that the king’s encounter with the relic at Villeneuve-l’Archevêque occurred on 133

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Fig. 6.10  Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown into Sens

the feast of Saint Lawrence (10 August). The next day (11 August) would henceforth mark the annual festival honouring the Susceptio Coronae in France, when the initial royal adventus of the Crown of Thorns took place.106 In a manner similar to previous images in the ninth register, the panel testifies to the friars’ success in their mission. The inclusion of this image in Window A also might serve as a commemorative double portrait, designed to congratulate Friars Jacques and André and thank them for their heroic role in securing the Crown for the kingdom of France. Register 10 (Quatrefoils): The Royal Processions in Sens On 11 August 1239, King Louis IX carried the Crown of Thorns in a spectacular public parade through Sens. Three Gothic panels in this register represent different events on that special day. The first panel is identified as Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown into Sens (Fig. 6.10; Table 6.1.12; Table 6.2.9) and the crowned protago�nist leading the charge with the double-bier on his shoulders is – without doubt – the king.107 The simple, effective iconography of this panel represents an amalgamation of various details of the royal procession through Sens as described in the Historia. Once again, Cornut provides a thorough, eyewitness account of the collective experience of jubilation in his city, which culminated in the revelation of the relic to the crowd gathered inside the Cathedral of Saint-Étienne: The whole body of people rejoiced, without distinction of sex and age. When first entering the city the king, bare-footed and dressed in only a tunic, along with his brother Robert, a count similarly humble in dress, took up this sacred object to carry on their shoulders. Soldiers went in front and behind them, without their boots. The joyous crowd came to meet them, and groups of clerics arrived in procession. Clerics dressed in silks of their rural diocese and monks with other religious orders brought down the bodies of saints and other relics so that the devotion of men imagined that the saints themselves desired to meet the coming Lord, and shouted out in competition the praises of the Lord. The city, decorated in tapestries and cloaks,

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Gérard de Saint-Quentin also confirms that they originally carried the relic on their shoulders (in humeris suis gestans) with ‘humility and devotion’.109 The iconography is repeated three times (one image is a 19th-century invention) in the current visual narrative to indicate other public parades.110 In each case, the royal figures who carry the Crown on a double-bier are noticeably barefoot, but there is a clear departure from the description of the king’s appearance. Although the extant sources explicitly state that he removed his crown and wore only a ‘humble tunic’, Louis IX clearly wears his Capetian diadem and colourful garments, so that he is easily recognised. These additions should be seen as a wilful anachronism on the part of the Gothic artisans. Instead of reflecting historical reality, the depiction of his royal costume in the adventus imagery affords instant recognition to Louis IX. The noticeable repetition of this composition in the decorative programme not only speaks to the two different occasions of the royal parade but also underscores the king’s humility and, perhaps inadvertently, codifies a new devotional iconography. Precisely the same type of adventus iconography is employed to express his sacral kingship in later hagiographic portrayals of Saint Louis in devotional books, following his 1297 canonisation.111 This double-bier translation portrait in glass was positioned at the very centre of the saint-king’s church. It accurately portrays the method of conveyance during the adventus, described in the Historia and other contemporary eyewitness accounts (such as the Incipit translatio), and it came to illustrate Louis IX’s piety in the wake of his canonisation. In this sense, the glass seen in the king-saint’s chapel served as an archetype, illuminating the walls that surround the epicentre of the royal cult and facilitating the transmission of this iconography in hagiographic visual culture.112 The next panel, Archbishop Cornut and the people of Sens form a cortège (Fig. 6.11; Table 6.1.10; Table 6.2.10), appears to ‘meet and greet’ the royal adventus,

Fig. 6.11  Archbishop Cornut and the people of Sens form a cortège

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suggesting that the interaction between these two scenes is immediate and simultaneous. This composition evokes the atmosphere of the adventus described in the previous citation from the Historia on Sens, where ‘wax lights were burnt along with twined candles throughout the streets’ and both clerics and common people ‘rejoiced’.113 Here is a group of at least six clerics and attendants, clutching glowing tapers and spiralling ‘twined candles’ as they walk from left to the right towards the approaching king and the Crown. In Steinheil’s pre-restoration watercolour, the prelate at the centre dominates the composition: his mitre touches the top of the upper part of the quatrefoil, he wears a light blue robe paired with a golden collar, and he too is noticeably barefoot. The three figures in front of him are tonsured. One cleric, wearing a red cape and clutching a fragmentary processional cross, is probably a deacon, and the other two seem to be children (possibly oblates) carrying candles that measure nearly half of their height. Two male figures behind the archbishop, who have standard Capetian haircuts with a short fringe and short curls covering their ears, wear robes of green and red. Jordan confidently identified the prelate as Gauthier Cornut, who presided over the archdiocese.114 Facing the image of the royal adventus, the Gothic glaziers seem to have constructed a diptych across these two panels to commemorate the joyous parade at Sens. The last panel in this sequence, Archbishop Cornut and Friar André place the Crown on an altar (Fig. 6.12; Table 6.1.24; Table 6.2.12), shows a prelate wearing a mitre (again, presumably, Cornut) and a tonsured assistant (identified by Jordan as Friar André) lifting a vessel above an altar. Since the publication of the Corpus Vitrearum, this panel was moved from A-58 to its current location in A-59.115 The iconography seems to show how the Crown reliquary was ‘uncovered’ and then ‘opened up’ inside the cathedral, to expose the relic to the Senois people, ‘owing to such joyfulness’.116 The Gothic glaziers’ decision to show the moment before the revelation at Sens – indeed, the relic is still concealed – is especially interesting in light of their bold representation of the Crown in Paris in register 12. The setting of this scene in Sens notably portrays the moment right before the relic’s exposure.

Fig. 6.12  Archbishop Cornut and Friar André place the Crown on an altar

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The archbishop and his assistant, said to be Friar André, are only just lowering the reliquary box atop the altar, whereas in the panels showing the celebrations in Paris, the Crown relic is revealed in its entirety. The distinction here builds a sense of narrative tension in anticipation of the climactic ceremony that took place in Paris. Register 11 (Inverted Trefoils): The Royal Cortège Assembles in Paris Jordan assigned four extant panels to this register, all of which represent the coming of the Crown to Paris. The parade departed from the royal palace of Vincennes at dawn and arrived at the royal palace on the Île de la Cité after a public ceremony in the Specula – a large open field next to the monastery of Saint-Antoine, near the eastern city walls – on 19 August 1239. Albéric des Trois-Fontaines, a Cistercian chronicler, wrote in his c. 1240 Chronicon that an ‘innumerable’ crowd had assembled in the Specula near Saint-Antoine to see the Crown of Thorns relic ‘in the presence of the Archbishop of Sens and his suffragans’, signalling Cornut’s leadership of the ceremony.117 Before examining the iconography, I will quote the whole of the next section of the Historia in full: On the day after [12 August], the king directed his journey towards Paris, the royal city, carrying the famed vessel. They were praised by the voice of everyone, who said, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the honour of the Lord, by whose ministry the kingdom of France is exalted by the presence of so great a gift’. On the eighth day, a lofty pulpit was set up outside the walls [19 August], near the church of Saint-Antoine, on the plain of a field, with many prelates standing there, and clergy of churches dressed in silks, with the tokens of saints on display, in as great a number of people as had ever left Paris. The chest was shown from the pulpit, and there was a sermon on the happiness of the day and the reason for joy. After these events, it was brought inside the walls of the city by the king and his brother, without shoes as before, and with their clothing removed save for their tunics. Also, all the prelates along with the clerics and other religious, including soldiers as well, went in front of them barefoot. No one would be able to recount how great was the joy throughout the city, or how many signs and symptoms of delight were seen on the faces of those that had come there. It was conveyed into the Pontifical Church of the Blessed Virgin [i.e. Notre-Dame de Paris], where, once devout prayers had been completed to God and his most blessed mother, they returned ceremoniously with the noble treasure to the king’s palace. The Crown of the Lord was placed in the royal chapel of Saint Nicholas with much joy.118

The site of the public sermon ‘near the church of Saint-Antoine, on the plain of a field’ is the aforementioned Specula, and the first panel, now referred to as The procession in Paris (I) (Fig. 6.13; Table  6.1.27; Table  6.2.13), contains a busy group of seven (Aubert and Grodecki mistakenly counted eight) ‘secular figures’ in brightly coloured robes marching ‘en masse’ carrying tall, twined tapers, lit with a burning red flame.119 Like the procession at Sens, we again see that ‘wax lights were burnt along with twined candles throughout the streets’.120 An elegantly dressed woman with a wimple wearing a light blue bliaut stands out in this group as she walks hand in hand with a young man. Her prominent presence also evokes what Cornut said about the participants – men and women of all ages – in the royal processions, where ‘the whole body of people rejoiced, without distinction of sex and age’.121 In addition to the diversity of the participants, the Historia also recalls the enormous size of the crowd. There were 137

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Fig. 6.13  The procession in Paris (I)

Fig. 6.14  The procession in Paris (II)

‘as great a number of people as had ever left Paris’ in attendance, and they had come to see the king and his Crown.122 This ‘crowded’ panel effectively represents both the diversity and size of the Parisian multitude and their collective contribution to the sacred atmosphere of the parade. The second image, The procession in Paris (II) (Fig. 6.14; Table 6.1.25; Table 6.2.14), depicts a bustling cohort of eight men, including clerics wearing a variety of brightly coloured robes – alluding to an array of different religious orders – walking in front of and behind the reliquary bier supporting a golden châsse. The bier is lifted by two men, whose heads were missing before restoration. The elements that comprise the head of the red-hatted figure transporting the back of the bier might have reinserted into another panel; namely Steinheil’s pre-restoration relevé for The Crown is carried in a procession to Sens (Fig. 6.9; Table 6.1.5; Table 6.2.8), which includes a head with a bearded face and a red cap, suspended awkwardly alongside the cargo and creating 138

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confusion as to who exactly is lifting the bier.123 Because multiple sources report that Louis IX and his brother carried the Crown throughout the Parisian adventus, it is necessary to reconsider the identification of this panel. The Historia also explains that when the cortège reached the Specula, there were ‘many prelates standing there, and clergy of churches dressed in silks, with the tokens of saints on display’ and, in the earlier description of the ceremonies at Sens, we learn that clerics dressed in silks of their rural diocese and monks with other religious orders brought down the bodies of saints and other relics so that the devotion of men imagined that the saints themselves desired to meet the coming Lord, and shouted out in competition the praises of the Lord.124

Thus, it seems more likely that this panel represents the clerics of Paris bringing the bodies of saints to ‘meet’ the Lord, whose presence dwelled in the relic of the Crown of Thorns, carried in a different bier by the king of France. Here, we see some of the ‘prelates along with the clerics and other religious orders’ who joined in the parade in Paris.125 Next, we have a purely architectural scene, now identified as The Île de la Cité (Fig. 6.15; Table 6.1.16; Table 6.2.15). Its unpeopled composition contrasts with the bustling scenes to either side. There is a crenellated wall, multiple towers, and a Gothic gate; a river flows to the left, presumably the Seine. Here is a westward view of the Île de la Cité, from an eastern approach on the right bank, where NotreDame and the royal palace would be visited as the two final stops in the processional itinerary. The Historia explains that after the gathering in the Specula, the relic was ‘brought inside the walls of the city’, taken to the cathedral and then, ‘once devout prayers had been completed to God and his most blessed mother’, the royal cortège proceeded ‘ceremoniously with the noble treasure to the King’s palace’.126 This inclusion of this panel therefore anchors the activity in Paris and highlights the future site of the Sainte-Chapelle in its summary of the event, connecting the recent past to the present through place.

Fig. 6.15  The Île de la Cité

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Fig. 6.16  The procession in Paris (III)

Located in A-46 before 1848, the final scene in this dynamic register, The procession in Paris (III) (Fig. 6.16; Table 6.1.26; Table 6.2.16), is bursting with animated, parading figures.127 This panel is the second half of the plate published by Lasteyrie, who identified it as another scene of procession with Archbishop Cornut.128 Every person holds a spiralling, glowing taper in their hands. Indeed, as Lasteyrie first noted, the Historia clearly describes the form of the candles in this manner (cerie cum candelis tortilibus per plateas et vicos accenduntur).129 As many as ten heads appear here, making it the most populous panel in the entire programme. It includes another woman and some laymen, who carry more twined candles, as well as more clerics, two of whom hold processional crosses and a formidable prelate. This tall, bearded man with a mitre, who would have been clutching a crosier (the top of which is lost), wears an elegant purple robe that conceals layers of blue, red, and green fabric. Again, the prelate is Archbishop Cornut. In the extant Itinera accounts for royal household payments between Ascension Day (25 May) and the Feast of All Saints (31 October) 1239, there is a list of gifts of 21 Pallia clericorum given to 22 high-ranking French clerics, including a number of recognisable names of men who attended the itinerary of activities staged for the Crown’s arrival (e.g. the Episcopus Silvanectensis, Bishop Adam Chambly of Senlis).130 At the head of this list is Archbishop Cornut, who received (by far) the most expensive garment (amounting to a cost of ten livres) from the king’s coffers.131 The payments in the Itinera might allude to a special provision of fine attire to the clerical leaders in the Parisian parade, and Cornut would have looked the most splendid of all. Most relevant to the discussion at hand, however, is the inference that Cornut, the author of the Historia, was also master of the ceremonies during the adventus in Paris. Here, he is seen approaching the climactic event of the public parade: his revelation of the relic to the crowd in the Specula. Register 12 (Trefoils): Celebrations in Paris The first panel is blank in Jordan’s reconstruction of this register, but the second depicts Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry[ing] the Crown into Paris (Fig. 6.17; Table 6.1.7; Table 6.2.18). Although the top portion of this panel was dam� aged and flooded with stopgaps (some of which, including the portion of a face with 140

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soft features, were evidently taken from the 15th-century glass in the rose) before its 19th-century restoration, this was certainly another image of the royal adventus.132 Louis IX and his brother march with the Crown in a double-bier away from a twostoried edifice to the right and towards an open door (perhaps in the city wall) to the left. A humble figure crouches before them in adoration. We learn in the Historia that when the relic was ‘brought inside the walls of the city by the King and his brother, without shoes as before, and with their clothing removed save for their tunics’.133 Given what is seen in the adjacent panel, this replicated iconography indicates this royal procession to and from a specific place: the Specula. Next is one of the most important images in the narrative cycle and perhaps the clearest reference to the use of the Historia as a source. It commemorates a singular and exciting moment of communal joy in Paris. In Archbishop Cornut displays the Crown from a gallery with the Capetian family (Fig. 6.18; Table 6.1.17; Table 6.2.19), we see Archbishop Cornut proudly holding the relic of the Crown of Thorns.134 With his mitre, pallium, purple robe, and a green cape lined with a gilded alb, he unquestionably personifies the role of master of ceremonies and the author of the Historia. He stands at the centre of a makeshift platform beneath a canopy (called a pulpitum in the Historia) while King Louis IX, Queen Blanche of Castile, and three other male figures (possibly the king’s brothers, Robert, Alphonse, and Charles) react in awe of the orator and the sacred object, bowing their heads and lifting their arms. The relic is rendered as a braided green band, resting safely against a gilded disc, presumably a supportive paten or possibly the outer layer of the reliquary in which it arrived. The staging of this iconography creates a captivating visualisation of Cornut’s display of the Crown relic in the Specula, when ‘the chest was shown from the pulpit, and there was a sermon on the happiness of the day and the reason for joy’.135 The final panel in this register is assumed by Jordan to show Louis IX and Blanche of Castile receive[ing] a messenger (?) (Fig. 6.19; Table 6.1.18; Table 6.2.20), in which another young man kneels before the rulers while holding a long rod in his left hand. The scene takes place within an architectural setting, with ramparts on either side resembling the design of the structure, possibly the royal palace, seen in The Île de la Cité (Fig. 6.15; Table 6.1.16; Table 6.2.15), which might indicate that we are looking at the royal palace. Before restoration, it appeared in a different position, A-68.136 Guilhermy assumed that the panel represented the next stage of Louis IX’s negotiations

Fig. 6.17  Louis IX and Robert of Artois carry the Crown into Paris

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Fig. 6.18  Archbishop Cornut displays the Crown from a gallery with the Capetian family

Fig. 6.19  Louis IX and Blanche of Castile commision the construction of the SainteChapelle (?)

with Baldwin II about the acquisition of the True Cross and other Constantinopolitan relics in 1241. However, both Grodecki and Jordan hesitated to endorse this; Jordan surmised that ‘there is no indication that the ‘Relics’ window recounted the acquisition of additional relics’.137 After restoration, a letter was inserted into the kneeling figure’s hand, transforming him into a messenger. While the full meaning of this composition remains elusive, the Historia might help clarify what we see. The final stages of the royal reception of the relic in Paris were hosted ‘ceremoniously’ in the ‘king’s palace’ where ‘the Crown of the Lord was placed in the royal chapel of Saint Nicholas with much joy’.138 Steinheil’s relevé doubtless shows smiles on the faces of Louis IX and Blanche, indicative of their joy. The role of the third figure, however, remains a mystery, but the tantalising inclusion of a rod allows for the possibility that he could be a Gothic architect, about to start work on the Sainte-Chapelle. Register 13 (Quatrefoils): Installation of the Cult of the Crown in the Royal Palace Only two panels are identified in this register. The first shows Worshippers kneeling before the Crown (Fig. 6.20; Table 6.1.23; Table 6.2.22) and the second is The Crown is displayed on an altar (Fig. 6.21; Table 6.1.9; Table 6.2.23).139 Given the composition 142

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Fig. 6.20  Worshippers kneel before the Crown

Fig. 6.21  The Crown is displayed on an altar

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of the first panel, it seems likely that these images are directly related, forming parts of a single narrative moment. To the left, three men and a woman genuflect with opened hands towards the scene in the adjacent panel (the woman presses her hands against her chest). To the right, the Crown of Thorns appears suspended in a tribune, surrounded by glowing candles. Interpretation of this could be fairly straightforward. The panels might represent the relic installed on the high altar at Saint-Nicolas, the palace chapel that would be razed to the ground to make way for the Sainte-Chapelle nine years later. Alternatively, it could allude to the construction of the tribune in the Sainte-Chapelle, which elevated the Crown relic in the east end. The conclusion of the Historia might provide additional context for understanding what we see here: When these things had been enacted in Paris with solemnity, the great news spread, and the outstanding spectacle was made known abroad, first through neighbouring areas, then through remote cities and towns: in a hurry they rushed together to the joy; they desired to see the reason for the celebration at that time throughout the whole region. Indeed, because they were not allowed to see what they desired, since the treasure of the Lord had been hidden for various reasons and faithfully sealed, they flooded to the fields and passionately kissed the pulpit on which the aforementioned vessel had been exhibited. There, if one believes the people who are most worthy of trust, through the power of the sacred diadem, and through the devotion of the faithful our Lord Jesus Christ wrought many signs and miracles were performed amongst the sick, to whom be praise, honor and power for ever and ever. Amen.140

Perhaps, the final panel evokes both the reliquary tribune and the pulpitum, visited and venerated by people who ‘rushed together to the joy; they desired to see the reason for the celebration at that time throughout the whole region’.141 Although this inference requires more evidence, the conclusion of Cornut’s text testifies to an instantaneous and collective interest in the Crown relic – ‘the reason for celebration’ – both in and beyond Paris. He reports that people came from afar to venerate the Crown in its new location and, because they could not see the relic, they felt compelled to kiss the outdoor pulpit in the Specula used during its revelation. The Historia moreover reports that the pulpitum became a contact relic of the Crown itself, generating miracles ‘through the power of the sacred diadem’ through its lingering association with the power of the relic. The report of the popular veneration of a finely decorated pulpit, left in an open field outside the city of Paris, also shows the extent to which the royal celebrations were memorable and influential civic ceremonies. conclusion The narrative design of Window A was a carefully researched and thoughtfully executed visualisation of the history of the translation of the Crown of Thorns to Paris, which required the Sainte-Chapelle glaziers to study and synthesise the Historia. There are eighteen original Gothic compositions in Window A related to the reception of the Crown in Paris that survive in the programme today. In each case, the images reflect the version of events described by Cornut. Moreover, their iconography suggests active editorial engagement on the part of the artists with this text, as they condensed and simplified this royally sponsored chronicle to create a cohesive and effective pictorial cycle. Some images represent the voyage of the Dominican friars from Constantinople to Venice and then back to France, for which Cornut is the only source. Others reflect 144

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events that took place during the initial inspection of the relic at Villeneuve-l’Archevêque and the procession in Sens, where Cornut was both an eyewitness and leading participant, and his text is again the only known source. Also, these panels depict the celebrations staged in honour the arrival of the Crown in Paris, which Cornut oversaw as the master of ceremonies. Cross-examining the Gothic iconography of the upper portion of Window A with the content of the Historia has the effect of clarifying our understanding of the design. The glaziers relied on the detailed information described in this well-circulated text to envision the only non-biblical portion of the kaleidoscopic glass in the upper chapel. Although this chapter cannot account for the entirety of Window A – let alone the rest of the programme of glass in the upper chapel – it has attempted to shed new light on specific aspects of its history and design. In the first instance, it has elucidated some of the issues with restoration, relying on Alyce Jordan’s meticulous research as well as the visual records that survive in the relevé watercolours by Louis Steinheil and Baron François de Guilhermy’s notes. The study benefitted enormously from the results of the most recent restoration initiative, completed in 2014, 800 years after the birth of King Louis IX, which significantly improved the legibility and brightness of the glass. Above all, I have attempted to explain why and how the Gothic artists could have used the Historia for their design, relying on a libellus. Long after its dedication, the stained glass in the upper chapel of the Sainte-Chapelle continues to project its own history, retelling the glorious story of the king’s acquisition of the Crown of Thorns relic in dazzling Gothic colour, portraying Paris as a city of light. notes 1 I wish to express my sincere thanks to John McNeill and Alexandra Gajewski for their insightful editorial work; to Chris Kennish for his excellent illustrations; to Mathilde Falguière, Alain Nafilyan and the friendly and helpful staff at the Médiathèque du patrimoine at Saint-Cyr; to Francis Margot, Béatrice de Parseval, Chrsitopher Wride, and the brilliant équippe at the Centre des monuments nationaux who look after the Sainte-Chapelle. Thank you for making it possible for me to see (and retell) the story in Window A much more clearly. The transfer of the Crown of Thorns from Constantinople to Paris was the result of a complex plea bargain, in which Louis IX agreed to pay off a substantial amount of imperial debt (totalling 13,134 hyperpara) accrued by the Emperor Baldwin II. The relic had been used by the ruler of Constantinople as a pawn to secure various loans from wealthy Venetians before Baldwin approached Louis to cover the entire amount. A helpful overview of the history of negotiations related to the pledge of the Crown as debt collateral from c. 1237–39 appears in D. Nicol, Byzantium and Venice A Study in Diplomatic and Cultural Relations (Cambridge 1988), 168–70. See also the summary of the political context in B. Galland, ‘Engagement de la Sainte Couronne d’épines par les représentants de Baudouin II, empereur de Constantinople, à Nicolas Quirino, patricien de Venise’, in Le Trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle, ed. J. Durand and M.-P. Lafitte (Paris 2001), 44 and in E. D. Guerry, ‘“Path Prepared for them by the Lord”: King Louis IX, Dominican Devotion, and the Extraordinary Journey of Two Preaching Friars,’ in The Medieval Dominicans: Books, Buildings, Music, and Liturgy, ed. E. Giraud and C. Leitmeir (Turnhout 2022), 167–211. 2 Historians assume that the friars departed Paris in Autumn 1238 because the original letter concerning Louis IX’s debt relief, repayment deadline, and the delivery of the Crown relic, survives. It is dated 4 September 1238, with some of the seals of the baronial council in Constantinople. See Arch. Nat. AE/ III/187 (a copy is preserved in Trésor des chartes layettes J/155, no. 1). The impressions from the seals of Anselm de Cayeux and Willan d’Annet are lost, but those of Narjot de Toucy, Geoffroy de Méry, Gérard de Struens, and Milon Tirel are catalogued in the Inventaire de sceaux at nos. 11837, 11832, 11835, and 11836. This patent letter is published as ‘Impignoratio Sacrae Coronae Spineae’ in Riant, Exuviae, II:

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emily davenport guerry 119–21. It also appears in A. Vidier, ‘Le Trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle’, Mémoires de la Société de l’histoire de Paris et de L’Ile-de-France, XXXVI (1909), 245–395 at 249–50, no. 1. 3 Eudes was a Franciscan friar and canon at Notre-Dame de Paris before his appointment as the University Chancellor, the cardinal-bishop of Tusculum (Frascati) and then a papal legate. For a full list of the audience at the Dedicatio of the Sainte-Chapelle, and the indulgences granted to them on this day (and, henceforth, the anniversary of the dedication and its octave), see the ‘Indulgentia Sanctam Capellam Parisiensem visitantibus a proelatis concessa’ in Paris, Archives Nationales J 155, no. 3, transcribed in S.-J. Morand, Histoire de la Sainte-Chapelle royale du palais (Paris 1790), 68. 4 ‘Deus omnipotens, cuius unigenitus filius Ihesus Christus semel in ara crucis extitit immolatus, ut, ibi moriens, a perpetue fideles suos erueret mortis morsu, loca suo specialiter dedicata numini, tanto maiori vult devotione ac reverencia honorari, quanto idem qui summus guberator extitit ac dispositor orbis terre, cuius opera mirifica sunt et stupenda, dignatur loca huiusmodi honorificentia decorari, et eius fideles.’ This sermon is preserved in Arch. nat. L 619 no. 10 and transcribed in Riant, Exuviae Sacrae Constantinopolitanae, II: 136–37. According to Alexis Charansonnet, the sermon corresponding with In festo reliquarium (30 September) might replicate the text originally read by Eudes in honour of the chapel’s dedication. See A. Charansonnet, ‘L’Université, l’église, l’état dans les sermons du Cardinal Eudes de Châteauroux (1190?–1273)’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Université de Lyon II 2001), appendix sermo 9. 5 In the official document of relic concession, addressed to King Louis IX and signed by the Latin Emperor Baldwin II at the royal palace in Saint-Germain-en-Laye on 5 June 1247, the emperor confirms the transfer of the following sacred items from Constantinopolitan churches to the king of France: (1) a large fragment of the True Cross, (2) the Holy Lance, (3) the Holy Blood (4), the Swaddling Clothes, (5) another fragment of the True Cross, (6) the iron collar used in the Flagellation, (7) the Mandylion, (8) a Sepulchral stone that had touched the Christ’s head, (9) the milk of the Virgin, (10) the Cross of Victory, (11) the Purple Robes, (12) the Reed Scepter, (13) the Holy Sponge, (14) the Sudarium, (15) the cloth Christ used to wash the disciples’ feet, (16) the Rod of Moses, (17) the superior part of the Baptist’s head relic, and the heads of (18) Clement, (19) Blaise, and (20) Simeon. A copy of this letter is preserved in Arch. nat. L 620, no. 1. It is transcribed (with a print of the emperor’s signature) in Morand, Histoire de la Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 3), pièces justificatifs, 7–8. Morand also includes an engraving of Baldwin’s seal in idem, 68. The letter is published in P. Riant, Exuviae Sacrae Constantinopolitanae, 2 vols (Geneva 1877–78), II, 133–35; Vidier, ‘La trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle’ (as n. 2), 257–58, item 12. A 17th-century print showing ‘La Veritable representation des tres-saintes et tres-precieuses Reliques, mises par S. Louys en la Sainte-Chapelle’ accompanied by the list of relics that appears in the aforementioned imperial letter is preserved in Paris, BnF Est. Va 225 F, no. 2184. For a full inventory of the relics installed in the Sainte-Chapelle, complete with an index of their provenance, see J. Durand and M.-P. Lafitte ed., Le Trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 1), 32–33. 6 There are numerous studies of the decorative programme of the Sainte-Chapelle and the central importance of King Louis IX’s Passion relics to its Gothic design. Recent publications include M. Cohen, The Sainte-Chapelle and the Construction of Sacral Monarchy (Cambridge 2015); M. Cohen, ‘An indulgence for the visitor: The public at the Sainte-Chapelle de Paris’, Speculum 83 (2008), 840–83; J.-M. Leniaud and F. Perrot, La Sainte-Chapelle (Paris 1992); D. H. Weiss, Art and Crusade in the Age of Saint Louis (Cambridge 1998); B. Brenk, ‘The Sainte-Chapelle as a Capetian Political Program’, in Artistic Integration in Gothic Buildings, ed. V. C. Raguin, K. Brush and P. Draper (Toronto 1995), 195–213. One of the seminal texts remains R. Branner, Saint Louis and the Court Style (New York 1965). 7 On the architectural iconography of the Sainte-Chapelle, see D. H. Weiss, ‘Architectural Symbolism and the Decoration of the Sainte-Chapelle’, Art Bulletin 77 (1995), 308–20; S. Murray, ‘The Architectural Envelope of the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris’, in Pierre, lumière, couleur: Études d’histoire de l’art du Moyen Âge en l’honneur d’Anne Prache, ed. F. Joubert and D. Sandron (Paris 1999), 222–30. 8 For example the representation of Joshua seen throughout Window L (with his chin-length hair, Capetian crown, and sceptre topped with the fleur-de-lys) is a Doppelgänger for the images of the ruling monarch – Louis IX – in Window A. The only obvious difference between the two figures is the absence of a beard. See also M. C. Gaposchkin, ‘Louis IX, crusade and the promise of Joshua in the Holy Land,’ Journal of Medieval History 34 (2007), 245–74. 9 For this O–A arrangement of the decorative programme, devised originally by the 19th-century restoration team, see M. Aubert, L. Grodecki, J. Lafond and J. Verrier, Les Vitraux de Notre-Dame et de

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City of Light la Sainte-Chapelle (Paris 1959), with the first two authors writing on the Sainte-Chapelle glass, and A. Jordan, Visualizing Kingship in the Windows of the Sainte-Chapelle (Turnhout 2002). Both books provide a detailed catalogue of the upper chapel glass programme. 10 From 15 January  1485, the Sainte-Chapelle rose was remodelled in the Flamboyant style at the behest of Charles VII (r. 1483–98). There is no surviving record of the iconography in the rose from the reign of King Louis IX. Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 84, 296, 310–28. 11 The petal-like shape of the original Rayonnant ferramenta can be seen in full-page miniatures, such as the illumination for June in the Très Riches Heures. Françoise Perrot has worked extensively on the construction, 19th-century restoration, and present-day refurbishment of the windows, particularly the rose, in F. Perrot, ‘La rose de la Sainte-Chapelle et sa reconstruction’, in La Sainte-Chapelle: Royaume de France ou Jérusalem céleste? ed. C. Hediger (Turnhout 2007), 197–210; F. Perrot, ‘À propos de la restauration et de la fabrication des vitraux à la Sainte Chapelle de Paris’, in ’Tout le temps du veneour est sanz oyseuseté’: Mélanges en l’honneur d’Yves Christe, professeur honoraire à l’université de Genève, ed. C. Hediger (Turnhout 2005), 377–81. 12 The location of the ‘Capetian present’ in Window A forms a connective node that ‘diminishes the gap between the biblical past and the immediate experience’ according to G. Spiegel, ‘Political Utility in Medieval History: A Sketch’, History and Theory, 14 (1975), 314–25 at 323. 13 Art historians generally accept this chronological span for the date of the installation of the upper chapel glass. In both of the foundation letters issued by King Louis IX for the Sainte-Chapelle (January 1246 and August 1248, with some updated terms and conditions), he outlines the necessity of adequate funding to ‘refine and repair’ the glass in the chapel in perpetuity (‘De ipsis obventionibus et oblationibus verrerias eiusdem capellae refici et reparari volumus quotiens opus fuerit, et in bono statu servari’. For the first letter (1246), see Paris, Arch nat. AE/II/2406, transcribed in Morand, Histoire de la Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 3), pièces justificatives, 4–7. For the second letter, see Paris, Arch. nat. K 30. 17, transcribed in idem, 8–11. 14 F. de Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (Paris 1857), I, 172, note 4. Aubert and Grodecki undermined Lasteyrie’s claim, stressing that the panel showing this heraldry in Window A ‘ne figure pas parmi les relevés et nous ne savons pas si le renseignement est exact. Même s’il l’était, il ne prouverait pas qu’une restauration ait été faite au XIVe siècle à cette fenêtre’. Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 296. 15 Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 296. 16 Ibid., 85; J. Dyer-Spencer, ‘Les vitraux de la Sainte-Chapelle’, Bulletin Monumental, XCI (1932), 335–44. 17 Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (as n. 14), I, 166. 18 Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 86 and 296. See also A. Jordan, ‘Nineteenth-Century Restoration Politics: Recrafting Monarchy in the Stained Glass Windows of the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris’, in Medieval Art and Architecture After the Middle Ages, ed. J. T. Marquardt and A. Jordan (Newcastle 2009), 195–217 at 212; A. Jordan, ‘Rationalizing the Narrative: Theory and Practice in the Nineteenth-Century Restoration’, Gesta, 37 (1998), 192–200. For a description of the empty glass and the panels that were removed in 1803, see N. Troche, La Sainte-Chapelle de Paris: Notice historique, archéologique et descriptive (Paris 1853), 57. 19 See Leniaud and Perrot, La Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 6), 17–47; M. Cohen, ‘Restoration as re-creation at the Sainte-Chapelle’, RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics, 48 (2005), 135–54; H. Stein, La Palais de Justice et la Sainte-Chapelle (Paris 1912), 83–92. 20 Guilhermy provides a handwritten copy of his letter from S. Dumon, the Ministère in question: Le désordre que les remaniements successifs ont introduit dans la verrière de la Sainte-Chapelle et l’absence de toute la partie inférieure détruite ou enlevée me font vivement désirer que vous ne refusiez pas à l’administration le concours de vos connaissances en matière d’iconographie chrétienne, soit pour guider l’architecte dans la composition des parties qui sont à restituer, soit pour régulariser des légendes dont le sens a été interverti par suite de déplacement. He then confirms that he responded with ‘tout le zèle’ to this request. F. Guilhermy, ‘Notes sur les monuments de Paris’, Vol. 1, ff. 232–310 in the Collection Guilhermy, volume XXV, kept at the Richelieu

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emily davenport guerry site and catalogued as Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, nouvelles acquisitions françaises [NAF] MS 6118, f. 229r. 21 ‘Il n’y avait pas une seule fenêtre été réparée à l’aide de panneaux enlevés du parties basses qu’on avait mise en verres blancs, or même de verres peints étrangers à la Sainte-Chapelle’. NAF 6118, f. 232r. 22 See note 20. 23 See the letter sent from Guilhermy to Jean-Baptiste Lassus, then architecte-en-chef, on 12 January 1850 and then again on 23 July 1853 in Paris, Médiathèque d’architecture et du Patrimoine, carton 2088, kept at the Charenton-le-Pont site. 24 Jordan, ‘Nineteenth-Century Restoration Politics’ (as n. 18), 195–217. 25 ‘La quinzième fenêtre, celle qu’il sujet de restaurer maintenant, ait la plus intéressante au point de vue historique. Elle représente, non pas, comme ca l’avait pensé, l’histoire de Saint Louis, mais celle de l’acquisition et de la translation des reliques en l’honneur desquelles ce prince fit construire la Sainte-Chapelle. . . En raison du caractère particulier de cette verrière, on a cru devoir en retirer réjouissement tout ce qui était étranger à l’histoire du Saints Reliques. C’est un sacrifice de vingt panneaux environs. Comme à la Sainte-Chapelle, du translation de reliques célèbres ont été représentés sur les vitraux de la cathédrale du Mans, de celles de Troyes, etc. Dans les panneaux conservés, Saint Louis est représenté cinq fois. On y voit aussi le Comte d’Artois, frère de ce prince, et une reine, probablement Blanche de Castille. Ce n’est pas le lieu de discuter le plus au mois de ressemblance de ces figures comme portraits. Ce qui est certain c’est que sont des représentations faites du vivant même les personnages. On en citerait difficilement d’autres du même temps qui essaient un pareil caractère d’authenticité. Il est indisponible que dans les panneaux nouveaux on reproduit avec la plus [?] exactitude, pour ces trois figures historiques surtout, les types des panneaux anciens. Pour compléter la fenêtre, on a cru devoir choisir dans la Légende Dorée les circonstances principales de l’invention et de l’exaltation de la Sainte Croix. C’est la première partie de l’histoire des saintes reliques avant leur dépôt à la Sainte-Chapelle’. Paris, BnF MS NAF 6118, f. 232v–233r. My translation. 26 ‘Sainte-Chapelle. Dans les baies, 60 panneaux à remplir. 16 sont vides. 44 sont occupés’. Paris, BnF MS NAF 6118, f. 287r. See also Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 122. 27 Jordan, ‘Nineteenth-Century Restoration Politics’ (as n. 18), 197; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 122. 28 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 296. 29 Thus, for Aubert and Grodecki, the cycle ends at the apex of the crowning light with A-1 and it begins with the decorative panel located in the lower left corner of the lancets, A-179; so the first figurative panel in the lancets is A-168, located in the lower left corner, and the last appears in upper right corner, A-42. 30 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 83–84, 88–89, 295–309. 31 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9); Jordan, ‘Seeing Stories in the Windows of the Sainte-Chapelle: The Ars Poetriae and the Politics of Visual Narrative’, Mediaevalia, 23 (2002), 39–60; Jordan, ‘Stained Glass and the Liturgy: Performing Sacral Kingship in Capetian France’, in Objects, Images and the Word, ed. C. Hourihane (Princeton 2003), 274–97. 32 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), appendix 8: 122–26. 33 See Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 58, see also 62–65. 34 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 57–69; Jordan, ‘Seeing Stories in the Windows of the Sainte-Chapelle’ (as n. 31) at 279 and 284–86. 35 With this in mind, the various images Lasteyrie considered ‘guerres des croisades’ in the lower section of Window A might actually show the wars of Louis IX’s predecessor, who vanquished the Albigensians in 1229. See Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (as n. 14), I, 172; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 123. 36 See S. Anthonioz, ‘Louis Charles Auguste Steinheil (1814–1885): Vie et Oeuvre’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Université de Genève, Geneva 2008). 37 Steinheil’s relevés of Window A are catalogued as ‘Relevés-calques des vitraux de la Sainte-Chapelle de Paris’, 20 vols (1848–1852), Paris, Médiathèque d’architecture et du patrimoine 80/151/15 (i.e. the 15th volume in the collection) and currently housed at the fortress of Saint-Cyr. 38 Dyer-Spencer, ‘Les vitraux de la Sainte-Chapelle’ (as n. 16), 342; M. Caviness, ‘Three Medallions of Stained Glass from the Sainte-Chapelle of Paris’, Philadelphia Museum of Art Bull., 62, no. 294 (1967), 245–59 at 251.

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City of Light 39 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 295–309. 40 Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (as n. 14), I, 169. 41 Ibid., I, 172 and 169. 42 Ibid., I, 172. Guilhermy also made this identification. Aubert and Grodecki, however, overturned the attribution, stating it was ‘mal identifié’ by both 19th-century men. See Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 303, note 1. 43 The annotations from Guilhermy are taken from NAL 6188, ff. 287r–288v. 44 Louis Steinheil, ‘Relevés-calques des vitraux de la Sainte-Chapelle de Paris’, 20 vols (1848–52), Paris, Médiathèque d’architecture et du patrimoine 80/151/15, f. 2 (this folio shows Steinheil’s handwritten annotations in the tracery plan for Window A, and the relevés, which are pasted on paper, follow). 45 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 303 with the catalogue at 295–309. 46 Guilhermy’s notes for panels no. 37 and 38 are reversed, and the description for no. 37 does not match any restored panel. 47 Note here that the identification does not follow what was restored, which shows an image of Queen Blanche placed before the adjacent adventus scene. 48 It is unclear why these panels are listed in the incorrect order here: they should proceed from right to left in the following order: A-56, A-57, A-58, and A-59. The entries for the subject matter in A-58 and A-59 should be reversed in the Corpus Vitrearum catalogue. See Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 307. 49 This panel was moved from A-113 after the publication of the Corpus Vitrearum. See Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 50 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), appendix 8: Bay A: ‘Relics’ (The Royal Window), 122–26. 51 Ibid., 122. 52 ‘L’ordre de succession des scènes est, dans cette fenêtre, exceptionnel: il va, dans le registre inférieur de gauche vers la droite, dans le second registre de droite vers la gauche, dans le troisième à nouveau de gauche à droite et ainsi la suite’. Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 305, note 1. Jordan clarified and expanded the discussion of the design’s ductus, writing that ‘the narrative order of the scenes moves from left to right in registers one through seven and thirteen through fifteen, and from right to left in registers eight through twelve’. Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 122. 53 In summary, Jordan assumes that in the first seven registers, the narrative proceeds from left to right, before switching from right to left in registers 8 through 12. It then resets and returns to moving from left to right in the upper three horizontal, numbered 13–15. See A. Jordan, ‘Narrative Design in the Stained Glass Windows of the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Bryn Mawr College 1994), 593–96; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 122. 54 Jordan claims that Grodecki incorrectly assumed that the pre-restoration location of this panel was A-74. Because it shows ‘four monks’, she suggested that it probably represented the voyage from Venice to Paris, ‘when a larger contingent accompanied the Crown of Thorns from Venice to Paris’. Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124. 55 Jordan has suggested that this relevé, which is based on a panel once seen in Window K (Judges), could have come from Window A  originally. However, the panel was lost during restoration. Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124. 56 Note the change in narrative direction in this register (which now proceeds from left to right), where no images of a procession appear. It continues in this manner for the rest of Jordan’s reconstruction. There is no ‘snaking’ here. 57 Jordan allows some flexibility for assigning the position of the panel showing the relic displayed on an altar, saying that Grodecki ‘rightly noted’ that it ‘could refer to any number of locations in which the Crown was displayed during the translation’. Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 58 Jordan explains that the evidence for this panel, which was ‘removed from the ‘Relics’ window during the restoration and subsequently lost’, survives in one of Steinheil’s relevés (Vol. 15, f. 16), and it was seen in this location [CV A-47] before restoration. Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 126. 59 The relevé for this panel survives (Vol. 15, f. 15). Grodecki identified it as an ‘authentic’ composition, though there seem to be a number of iconographic interventions (such as the replacement of the king’s head) that predate the 19th century. Jordan reports that the panel was removed during restoration and is currently in the Sainte-Chapelle sacristy. Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 126.

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emily davenport guerry 60 See also her discussion of the reliable elements of this part of Window A in Jordan, ‘Nineteenth-Century Restoration Politics’ (as n. 18), 213, note 5. 61 ‘On peut en identifier les épisodes en se rapportant à un text presque contemporain, Historia Susceptionis Coronae Spineae Jesu Christi, attribuée à Gautier Cornut, archevêque de Sens, qui participé aux événements. Le récit comporte l’histoire des négociations, raconte, l’envoi des Dominicains à Constantinople, l’achat de la Couronne à Venise, son transport à Villeneuve-l’Archevêque, puis l’acheminement du cortège royal à Sens, l’exposition de la Relique dans cette ville, son voyage final à Paris, et les arrêts à Saint-Antoine de Paris, Notre-Dame, enfin le dépôt de la Couronne à la chapelle Saint-Nicolas du Palais’. Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 303. My translation. 62 ‘Sicit igitur Dominus Iesus Christus ad sua redemptionis exhibenda mysteria Terram promissionis elegit, sic ad passionis sue triumphum devotius venerandum nostram Galliam videtur et creditur specialiter elegisse’. Lat. 3282, f. 3r; see also Riant, Exuviae (as n. 5), I, 47. 63 ‘Honoratum enim gestis insignibus per multa tempora regnum Franciem, tempore nostro per sedulam regis Ludovici, nec non et religiose matris sue Blanche vigilantiam, Corona capitis sui cum multa gloria et honore multiplici dignatus est coronare’. Ibid. 64 See the entry on Lat. 3282 in M. Thomas ed., Bibliothèque Nationale Catalogue Général des Manuscrits Latins (Paris 1966), V, 28–33. For a comprehensive new study of the transmission of this text, see M. C. Gaposchkin, ‘Gautier Cornut and the Reception of the Crown of Thorns in France: Between Historical Narration and Liturgical Celebrations,’ Revue Mabillon 30 (2019), 91–154; see also her book, Vexila Regis Glorie: Liturgy and Relics at the Sainte-Chapelle in the Thirteenth Century (Paris 2022), especially 63–74. 65 ‘Opusculum hoc a Galthero Cornuto tum Senonensi Archiepiscopo qui huic negotio adfuit et praefuit conscriptum jussu Ludovici regis ex manuscripto chronico coenobii Sancti Petri Senonensis colligimus. Ita enim in eo scriptum est “Anno domini millesimo ducentesimo trigesimo quarto Frater Jordanus ordinis Praedicatorum magister, missus ad praedicandum Sarracenis, obiit in portu maris. Illo tempore, duo princepes Graecorum Vastachius et Duxanus, pacem invicem facientes, contra Imperium Constantinopolitinum bellaverunt. Videns Johannes imperator quod sine Francis resistere non posset, misi Balduinum, Imperii heredem, ad generositatem suam in Franciam. Consanguineus enim erat idem Balduinus regis et regnae Blanchae, et neptem habebat illius Blanchae in uxorem. Dum pervenisset in Franciam Johannes obiit cuius filiam habebat Balduinus; et barones Constantinopolitini necessitate urgente posuerunt apud Venetos pro pignore sanctam Coronam Domini spineam. Qui agnito in Francia rex Ludovicus prece obtinuit a Balduino ut Coronam redimeret et Parisius reconderet. Et sic factam est ut dominus Galtherus archiepiscopus, in libro quem fecit, declaravit. ‘Jacobus Tavellus Senonensis’. Lat. 3282, f. 4v. 66 Ibid. On Jacques Taveau, see G. Juillot, Cartulaire Sénonais de Balthasar Taveau (Sens 1884), at XIII; L. Marcel, ‘Questions de droit public et de droit civil au moyen age, Le songe du vergier’, Revue Critique de législation et de jurisprudence, 22 (1863), 44–67 at 53–55. 67 Also known as Gaulfridus de Collone, passages taken from Geoffory’s chronicle are cited in single quotation marks in note 4. The text appears in his section on Gautherus Cornuti, Senonesis Archiepiscopus in the Excerpta et Chronico Gaufridi de Collone, which is published in Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France [henceforth RHGF], XXII: 2, 27, and 31; Riant, Exuviae (as n. 5), II, 249; see also G. Juillot, Chronique de l’abbaye de Saint-Pierre-le-Vif de Sens (Sens 1876), I, 510–22. 68 On the final page, we see that the Dupuys used Taveau’s account as a source: they copied the same final paragraph, which includes Taveau’s annotation, his excerpt of the chronicle of Geoffrey de Courlon, and his name, J. Tavellus Senon. Compiled in 1633 by the bibliophiles Pierre (1582–1651) and Jacques Dupuy (1591–1656), who worked as keepers of the royal library in Paris, 12 pages of parchment – only slightly frayed around the edges – reproduce the Historia in clear, elegant cursive: ‘Historia translationis S. Coronae Spineae ex urbe Constantinopoli Lutetiam Parisiorsum anno domini 1239. Scripta iussa S. Ludovici Francorum regisa Gualtero Senonensi Archiepiscopo/Histoire de la Translatione de la S. Couronne d’epines de Constantinople a Paris l’an 1239. Mise par escrit du commandment du Roy S. Louis par Gauthier Archevesque de Sens’, in Mémoires concernans les empeureurs de Constantinople de sa maison de Courtenay, Volume II. CI-I-CXXXIII, P. DuPuy, at MS Dupuy XIII [formerly MS Dupuy 954], 135–47. See also the catalogue entry, which highlights the presence of the Historia text: ‘On peut signaler dans ce volume l’opuscule de Gautier Cornu [sic], archevêque de Sens, sur la couronne d’épines, publié d’après

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City of Light cette copie’, L. Dorez, Catalogue de la Collection DuPuy (Paris 1899), I, 15–16. On the Dupuy family and their contribution to the collections held at the Bibliothèque nationale, see S. Solente, ‘Les manuscrits des Dupuy à la Bibliothèque nationale’, Bibliothèque de l’école de Chartres, 88 (1927), 177–250. 69 Soon after the Dupuys’ copy, the Historia first appeared in print in 1649, when André Duchesne published parts of the text in the fifth volume of his monumental Historiae Francorum Scriptores. Also, he was the first to equip this text with a title: Historia Susceptionis Coronae Spineae Jesu Christi quam Ludovicus rex a Balduino Imperii Constantinopolitani haerede obtinuit, ac Parisiis reportavit anno MCCXXXIX. Like the Dupuys before him, Duchesne repeated Taveau’s attribution of Gauthier Cornut as the author: Auctore Galtero Cornuto Archiepiscopo Senonensi. ‘Historia Susceptionis Coronae Spineae Iesu Christi quam Ludovicus Rex a Balduino Imperii Constantinopolitani Haerede obtinvit, ac Parisiis reportavit anno MCCXXXIX, Auctore Galtero Cornuto Archiepiscopo Senonensi’, in A. Duchesne, Historiae Francorum Scriptores (Paris 1649), V, 407–11. See also the transcriptions in ‘Ex Historia translationis Sanctae Coronae Spineae ex urbe Constantinopoli Lutetiam Parisiorum an. Dom. 1239, scripta iussu sancti Ludovici Francorum Regis a Gualtero Cornuto Denonensi Archiepiscopo, qui huic negotio adsuit et praefuit, ex manuscripto Chronico Coenobii S. Petri Senonensis’, J. Du Bouchet, Histoire Genealogie de la maison royale de Courtenay (Paris 1661), Preuves, 18. Today, the most-accessible transcriptions appear in ‘Opusculum Galteri Cornuti, Archiepiscopi Senonensis, de Susceptione Coronae Spineae Jesu Christi’, in N. De Wailly and L. Délisle ed., Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France [henceforth RHGF] (Paris 1860), XXII, 26–31; see also ‘Gualterii Cornuti, Senonensis Archiepiscopi, Historia Susceptionis Corone Spinee’, in Riant, Exuviae (as n. 5), I: lxvii–lxxiv (introduction), 45–56 (transcription). 70 Geoffrey de Beaulieu (Gaulfido de Bello-Loco), Vita S. Ludovici, RHGF, XX, 1–26; see also N. De Wailly, ‘Examen critique de la Vie de Saint Louis par Geoffroy de Beaulieu’, Mémoires de l’Académie Royale des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres de l’Institut de France, 15 (1845), 403–37, as well as the recent words by M. Cecilia Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis: Kingship, Sanctity, and Crusade in the Later Middle Ages (Ithaca 2008); M. Cecilia Gaposchkin and S. Field ed., The Sanctity of Louis IX: Early Lives of Saint Louis by Geoffrey of Beaulieu and William of Chartres (Ithaca 2014). A devout Dominican and loyal royal advisor, Geoffrey served as the confessor to King Louis IX for over 20 years. It is therefore unsurprising that his early Vita, which is laced with personal observations, became a valuable source for other hagiographers. Writing at the order of Pope Gregory X c. 1272–76, before the canonisation of the saint-king under Pope Boniface VIII in 1297, Geoffrey’s Vita would be the first in a corpus of texts produced in support of inquest into the king’s sanctity. Unlike some other hagiographic sources related to Louis, the Vita Ludovici Noni includes a detailed excursus of how the saint-king acquired the Crown of Thorns. 71 ‘Quanta devotione fidei, et quam immensis laboribus et expensis ac nunciorum suorum periculis obtinuerit a Constantinopolitano imperatore sacrosanctam Coronam spineam Salvatorius, et partem maximam sanctae Crucis, cum aliquibus reliquiis multis ac plurimum pretiosis; et cum quanto gaudio procul occurrerit obviam Rex devotus ad dictas reliquias reverenter suscipiendas, necnon cum quam solemni ac devotissima processione totius cleri et populi pretiosae reliquiae Parisiis sint receptae, ipso rege hunc sacrum thesaurum ex una parte propiis humeris ac nudis pedibus deportante; testis est hic libellus, qui diligenter super his est confectus de quo ad Matutinas legitur, in solemnitatibus dictae Coronae caeterarumque reliquiarum’, from c. XXIV, ‘Quantam devotionem habuit in his quae spectant ad fidem, et primo de sacra Corona, et de aliis sanctus reliquiis’, Galfidus de Bello-Loco, Vita S. Ludovici (as n. 70), 15. I have cited the new translation of the Vita by L. F. Field in Cecilia Gaposchkin and Field ed., The Sanctity of Louis IX (as n. 70), at 100–01. 72 E. Miller, ‘Exuviae Sacrae Constantinopolitanae Fascilus doumentorum minorum, ad byzantina lipsana in Occidentem saeculo XIII translata spectantium’, Journal des Savants (1878), 292–309. 73 This text, the full title of which is Incipit translatio sancte Corone Domini nostri Jesu Christi a Constantinopolitana urbe ad civitatis Parisiensis facta anno domini mccxli regnante Ludovico filio Ludovici regni Francorum, is bound in a miscellany also preserved at Richelieu, Paris, BnF nouvelles acquisitions latines [NAL] MS 1423, ff. 172r–174v. 74 Miller, ‘Exuviae’ (as n. 72), 295–302; N. De Wailly, ‘Récit du treizième siècle’, Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes, 39 (1878), 408–15; F. De Mely, Exuviae Sacrae Constantinopolitanae (Paris 1904), III, 102–12. 75 L’auteur de cette relation est Gérard, moine de Saint-Quentin-en-l’Ile, comme le prouve le chap. LII du traité sur les hommes illustres attribué à Henri de Gand: ‘Gerardus, monachus Sancti Quentini

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emily davenport guerry in Insula, scripsit translationem venerandarum reliquiarum crucis et corone dominice a Constantinopoli Parisius, quas reliquias pie memorie dominus Ludovicus, rex Francorum, sibi ab imperatore Constantinopoleos acquisvit’. L. Délise, Manuscrits Latins et Française ajoutées aux fonds des nouvelles acquisitions (Paris 1894), I: 207, in the entry for BnF Ms  NAL 1423. He mentions the appearance of the text in Charleville-Mézières, Bibliothèque municipale Ms. 275 in L. Délise, ‘Translation des reliques de la Passion en 1239 et en 1241’, Bibliothèque de l’école des Chartes, 40 (1879), 143–44. 76 Matthew’s account of the arrival of the Cross appears under the heading De tribus beneficiis regno Francorum coelitus his duobus annis collatis, videlicet corona et cruce Domini et corpore sancti Edmundi Cantuariensis archiepiscopi, in CCCC Ms. 16, f. 140v; this chapter is transcribed in Matthew Paris, Matthaei Parisiensis, Monachi Sancti Albani, Chronica Majora, Rolls Series, LVII/IV, ed. H. R. Luard (London 1878), 90. For the Cistercian chronicler’s account of the translatio, see Chronica Albrici monachi Trium Fontium is transcribed in Riant, Exuviae (as n. 5), II, 242; P. Scheffer-Boichorst ed., Monumenta Germaniae historica (Hanover 1874), XXIII, 947. 77 See, for example, the lectios for the Susceptio Coronae offices seen in these Parisian breviaries (BnF Ms Lat. 15182, ff. 290v–297v and Lat. 14811, ff. 452–462r) and these Sénois breviaries (Lat. 1028, ff. 286r–297v, BM Auxerre MS 59, ff. 292r–294r). For a rich discussion of the development of the text, see the recent publications by Gaposchkin in note 64. 78 ‘Cum illustrissimus rex Francorum Ludovicus et inclitae recordationis Blanche mater eius, una cum nobili prole sua nobilibus Atrebatensi et Pictavie comitibus, et Isabella sorore eorumdem orationes ab ordine tempore capituli generalis personaliter petituri accesserint, licet fatigati ex itinere, in Cisterico non nisi de licentia capituli generalis carnes comedere voluerunt, et hoc extra terminos’. See the ‘Statut anni MCCXL’ in E. Martène ed., Thesaurus novus anecdotorum (Paris 1711), IV, 1371–74. 79 ‘La chapitre de Cisteaux ordonna, l’an 1240, à la prière du roy et de la reine, qu’on feroit la feste de la Coruonne d’épines dans les abbayes de France le 11 d’aoust, et même avec deux messes’, See L.-S. Le Nain de Tillemont, Vie de Saint Louis, ed. J. De Gaulle (Paris 1747), II, 344. His source is ‘Ms. G. p. 370’, which sadly does not survive today. See also A. Dimier, Saint Louis et Cîteaux (Paris 1954), 83. 80 ‘Anno 1240 (3): Petitio domini regis et reginae Franciae de festo Sanctae Coronae spineae in crastino beati Laurentii faciendo in abbatiis regni sui, exauditur; tam de legenda historia quam de ceteris ad festum pertinentibus provideant de Valle Sarnay et de Caroliloco abbates, et deferant aliquot paria ad capitulum generale’. See J. M. Canivez ed., Statua capitulorum generalium oridinis cisterciensis ab anno 1161 ad annum 1786 (Louvain 1934), II, 216. 81 Claire Maître has identified the Cistercians tasked with the responsibility of compiling this office: Jean II d’Arbonne of Vaux-de-Cernay (abbot from 1239 until 1255) and Thibault de Marly (abbot from 1235 until 1247). Unfortunately, there is no trace of any liturgical or literary activity by either abbot, but it is clear that both men maintained close relationships with the Capetian family. C. Maître, ‘Une Corona Spinea Cistercienne’, in Amicorum societas: mélanges offerts à François Dolbeau pour son 65e anniversaire, ed. J. Elfassi, C. Lanéry and A.-M. Turcan-Verkerk (Florence 2013), 435–60 at 437. 82 This bull also granted indulgences for the new annual festival of the translation of the Crown to Paris; he offered one year to those attending the anniversary of the translation (11 August), 100 days for those attending the octave (19 August), 40 days to those attending on the other ferial days in between (12–18 August), and one year’s worth of privileges for those who honoured the relic on Good Friday: Nos cupientes ut idem capelle congruis honoribus frequentur, omnibus vere penitentibus et confessis qui capellam istam venerabiliter visitaverunt in die susceptionis praedictarum sanctarum reliquiarum singulis annis, annum unum, et octo diebus sequentibus, centum dies; necnon in quolibet anno in die sancto Passionis Domini, annum unum; et in festo etiam translationis sanctae Coronae spiniae Domini, annum unum; per singulas quoque hebdomadas omni sexta feria, quadringinta dies de injuncta sibi poenitentia misericorditer relaxamus. Datum Laterani tertio nonas junii (anno MCCXLIII[I]), pontificatus nostri anno primo. Preserved in Arch. nat. L 620, n. 55; see the transcription in S.-J. Morand, Histoire de la Sainte-Chapelle (as n. 3), pièces justificatives, 2–3 83 ‘Cum igitur sicut ex parte tua fuit propositum coram nobis, capellam Parisius, infrà septa domûs regiae, opere superante materiam, ut ibidem praedicta Corona sanctissima, aliae pretiosae reliquiae quas

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City of Light de ligno crucis, et aliis sacris habere dignosceris, sub veneranda custodia conserventur, tuis sumptibus duxeris construendam ipsamque, deputandis ministris ibi idoneis de bonis propriis dotare proponas’. Ibid. 84 ‘Un certain nombre d’épisodes de ce voyage sont représentés sur la grande verrière de la Sainte-Chapelle. On y voit encore: – la couronne d’épines déposée sur l’autel de Saint-Marc à Venise. – Le P. Jacques en présence de saint Louis et sa mère, à qui rend compte de sa mission. – Les nouveaux ambassadeurs portant à Venise la somme pour laquelle se trouvait engagée la sainte couronne. – Le transport des reliques, à dos de cheval, pendant le voyage. – Leur translation de Villeneuve à Sens, au milieu d’une foule de fidèles, marchant processionnellement, le cierge à la main. – Le roi et son frère chargeant ce précieux fardeau sur leurs épaules, aux portes de la ville de Sens. – L’archevêque de Sens recevant la sainte couronne des mains du P. André de Longjumeau. – Une nouvelle procession accompagnant les reliques à leur entrée dans Paris. – Le peuple se pressant pour les adorer aux portes des églises. – La couronne d’épines exposée aux regards des fidèles par un évêque placé sur la galerie extérieure de la chapelle du Palais’. Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (as n. 14), I, 170–71. 85 The glaziers have rendered a magnificent series of architectonic features in this panel, including a gatehouse, with a trilobe arch crowned with three crosses. There are two pairs of tall towers; one set is rounded and the other is one pointed. The pointed towers are topped by crosses, perhaps suggesting that the central edifice is a church. Aubert and Grodecki believed that this panel showed ‘les envoyés de Saint Louis à Constantinople ou à Venise’, and Jordan agreed, suggesting that it was the former city. Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 306; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124. 86 A short brown fringe emerges from beneath his diadem, soft brown ringlets curl around his ears, and a manicured beard tapers just beyond the length of his chin. These delicate features suggest his elevated social status. He gestures with his right hand towards the city. At least two of the onlookers are tonsured, complete with stubble dotted around their occiputs; one wears a hooded blue robe with a white undergarment and the cleric behind him has a purple robe, indicated by a small piece of tesserae that covers his upper chest. They look intently at the crowned man. The man in blue also seems to hold a long rod in his left hand, but there could be some confusion in the composition caused by an earlier instance of repair. The two other faces are more difficult to identify due to the lack of detail. The components of glass surrounding the face of the figure to the left seems to indicate the presence of a vermillion hood, but it is possible that these elements could be stopgaps, inserted later. The fragmentary face of the last figure, peering between the two friars, seems to share a similar hairline when compared with the crowned man. To be clear, King Louis IX only ever appears blond and beardless in Window A, so it would not make sense to identify him as this figure. 87 ‘Perpendens igitur idem Balduinus devotionem regis et matris ipsius, de sacrosancta spinea Corona facit ei[s]dem mentionem. Dicit itaque se novisse relatione veridica, proceres inclusos in urbe Constantinopoli, ad hanc calamitatis inediam [mediam] devenisse, quod incomparabilem thesaurum illum Corone Domini que totius imperii titulus erat et gloria specialis oportebat eos [eis] alienis vendere, vel ad minus titulo pignoris obligare. Unde ardenter habebat in votis, quatinus ad regem, consanguineum dominum, et beneficum suum, necnon ad regnum Francie de quo parentes ipsius utrique processerant huius speciose gemme honor inestimabilis et gloria provenirent’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, ff. 2v–3r. 88 ‘Rex igitur, referens grates uberrimas Balduino, gratanter annuit se munus illud inestimabile recepturum ab ipso. Mittuntur ocius a rege Constantinopolim pro complendo negocio Iacobus et Andreas, fratres ordinis Predicatorum, quorum alter, scilicet Iacobus, prior fratrum eiusdem ordinis fuerat in urbe predicta ubi Coronam ipsam frequenter viderat, et ea que circa illam erant optime cognoscebat’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3r. 89 ‘Mittit etiam cum eis Balduinus nuncium specialem, fide dignum, cum patentibus, litteris, quibus mandat baronibus ut nunciis regalibus sancta Corona tradatur’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3r. 90 The Corpus Vitrearum catalogue refers to the subject matter here as ‘les religieux vont à Constantinople’, but Jordan suggested that it shows their voyage from Venice to Paris Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 306; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124. 91 ‘Post multos itaque viarum anfractus, ingredientes Constantinopolim, inveniunt ad pium regis propositum viam a Domino preparatam; tanta enim barones imperii arctaverat angustia, quod sacratissimam Coronam pro ingenti summa pecunie compulsi sunt Venetis obligare’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3r. 92 The date of the arrival of the friars in Constantinople is confirmed by a copy of a patent letter they collected, currently catalogued as ‘Litterae magnatum imperii Romaniae Nicolao Quirino ut, accepto

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emily davenport guerry pignoris pretio, sacrosanctam spineam coronam restituar’, in Arch. nat. J 155, no. 2; see the transcription in M. A. Teulet, Layettes du trésor des Chartes (Paris 1866), II, 395; Riant, Exuviae (as n. 5), II, 122–23; Vidier, ‘Le Trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle’ (as n. 2), 36: 250–52, no. 2. 93 ‘Conveniunt ergo cum Venetis, ut nuncii regales, quorum vita et habitus religionem testabantur, illud sacrosanctum portarent Venetiam, adiunctis sibi solemnibus nunciis imperii, presentibus etiam magnis civibus Venetorum. Signatur loculus sigillis procerum, non sine lacrimarum fluviis et eiulatu publico, defertur ad navem’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3v. 94 ‘Conductus securitatem, ubi decuit, per imperatoris ministros, habuerunt; protectos insuper divini muneris presentia, nihil in via contrarium contristavit; nulla eis intemperies aeris nocuit, nec stilla pluvie cecidet super eos, licet ipsis susceptis in hospitio pluisset pluries abundanter’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3v. 95 Ibid. 96 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124. 97 ‘Ingrediuntur Venetiam ovanter recepti, beatissimam Coronam cum vase signato in thesauraria capelle beati Marci evangeliste cum diligentia et devotione deponunt. Relicto ibidem fratre Andrea custode thesauri nobilis, frater Iacobus cum nunciis imperii festinanter ad regem accedit, rem gestam et statum negocii regi fideliter exprimit et regine. Gaudent ambo, et omnes quibus id secretum communicavit letitia ineffabili, sperantes in Domino quod ipse qui ceperat, votum eorum feliciter consummaret’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3v. 98 ‘Preparant itaque nuncios solemnes et discretos cum fratre Iacobo et nunciis imperii, mittentes eos Venetiam, instructos plenius et munitos de pecunia ad redemptionem sacri pignoris obtinendam . . . Expedite veniunt Venetiam, fratrem Andream inveniunt cum thesauro; procurante divina clementia, tunc temporis in partibus illis negociabantur nati de regno Francie mercatores; exhibitis sibi litteris regalibus, de mutuo exponunt pecuniam ad libitum nunciorum. Redimitur sanctum pignus, dolentibus Venetis, sed, pro conditionibus initis, non valentibus obviare’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3v. 99 In the restored panel, the item carried by the friar to the right is evidently the Crown of Thorns, copied by the restorers from the object’s present-day appearance in panel A-71; a green, circular band, set against a red background. The relevé indicates that before restoration, he held a golden box with a decorative pattern of diamonds, dots, and ovals, suggesting the presence of precious gems. However, a confused mosaic of tesserae form a stopgap located in the centre of the relevé; the original representation of the object is therefore unknown. See Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 307. 100 ‘Premittunt nuncios, qui iam usque Trecas munus sacratissimum nunciant advenisse. Exhilaratus rex plurimum cum matre sua et fratribus, assumptis secum Galthero, Senonensi archiepiscopo, Bernardo, Aniciensi episcopo, et aliis baronibus et militibus quos habere subito potuit, festivus occurrit: in villa, que per quinque leucas distat a Senonis, et Villanova Archiepiscopi dicitur, thesaurum quem desideraverat cum nunciis invenit’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3v. 101 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124. 102 ‘Consignatum vas ligneum referatur, apparent circa vas argenteum sigilla baronum; attulerunt autem prefati nuncii sigilla procerum, cum litteris patentibus ad regem et Balduinum. Facta igitur collatione ipsorum cum sigillis, quibus erat sacre Corone vas signatum, inveniunt vera esse; fractis itaque signaculis huiusmodi, necnon sigillo ducis Venetie, quod ad maiorem certitudinem appositum fuerat, argenteum vas recludunt. Inveniunt de auro purissimo loculum pulcherrimum, in quo sancta Corona iacebat; sublato huius operculo, visa est omnibus qui aderant inestimabilis margarita’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 3v–4r. 103 The Corpus Vitrearum referred to this scene as ‘les reliques portées solennellement en France’, Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 306; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124. 104 Today, the order of heads is clearer than in Steinheil’s watercolour, but the 19th-century glaziers (or some earlier restoration efforts) seem to have given a man in a red cap the honour of supporting the back of the bier, instead of the friar. In 1838, Lasteyrie published a plate of this panel, identifying it as a procession between Villeneuve-L’Archevêque and Sens: J’ai reproduit, à la planche XXVIII, un panneau double représentant une des processions dont je viens de parler. Cette procession doit être celle qui eut lieu dans le trajet de Villeneuve-L’Archevêque à Sens.

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City of Light J’ai plusiers raisons de la croire; mais la plus concluante consiste en ce que la châsse est portée ici par deux personnages, dont un est en costume de moine (sans doute P. André), tandis qu’à l’entrée des villes de Sens et de Paris, ce fut le roi lui-même, nu-pieds et en chemise, qui chargera, ainsi que nous avons vu, la châsse sur ses épaules. Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (as n. 14), I, 171 and II: pl. XXVIII It is puzzling to note that he pairs this panel above the inverted trefoil currently placed at A-46 in Aubert and Grodecki’s catalogue, showing Archbishop Cornut in a procession, which appears near the uppermost part of the programme. 105 The panel was formerly located at A-124; now, it is A-96. See Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124; Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 306. 106 ‘Anno igitur millesimo ducentesimo tricesimo nono, in crastino Laurentii martyris, huius preciose gemme thesaurus Senonis deportatur’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 4r. 107 Aubert and Grodecki, Les vitraux (as n. 9), 307. 108 ‘Occurrentibus in via populis universis: exultat omnis cetus hominum sine differentia sexuum et etatum. In primo civitatis ingressu, rex, nudis pedibus, sola indutus tunica, cum fratre suo Roberto, comite, humiliato similiter, sacrum onus humeris suis suscipit deportandum. Prosequuntur et precedunt milites reiectis calceis. Exiit obviam iocunda civitas, clericorum conventus processionaliter veniunt: clerici matricis ecclesie sericis ornati, monachi cum ceteris religiosis, sanctorum corpora deferunt et reliquias quas imaginatur hominum devotio, tanquam sancti desiderent occurrere Domini venienti, certatim concrepant laudes Domini; tapetibus et palliis ornata civitas res suas preciosas exhibet, campanis et organis resonat, et populi iocundantis applausu: cerei cum candelis tortilibus per plateas et vicos singulos accenduntur. Defertur in ecclesiam prothomartyris Stephani, populis detegitur, et tante causa iocunditatis aperitur’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 4r. 109 ‘Rex ipse discalciatus incendens, et Coronam dominicam in humeris suis gestans, humiliter et devote subsequitur, sicque cum plausu omnium ad ipsius regis palatium deportatur ubi in edificata non multo post per eundem regem basilica, precioso scemate constructa, honorifice reservatur’. Gérard de Saint-Quentin, Incipit, n.a.l. 1483, f. 172v, transcribed in Miller, ‘Exuviae’ (as n. 72), 297. 110 There are currently three panels in Window A that show this iconography, one of which is the work of 19th-century restoration (Table 6.1, items 7, 12, and 15; the latter is the modern invention). Jordan was the first to observe that ‘the restorers produced new panels of Louis charging his envoys with their tasks and multiplied the scenes in which Louis and his subjects process with and venerate the relics’. Jordan, ‘Nineteenth-Century Restoration Politics’ (as n. 18), 209. 111 For Gaposchkin, the iconography throughout these royal volumes is ‘interconnected’, see Cecilia Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis (as n. 70), 212. For Donna Sadler, the representation in window A of the ‘pious re-entry into Paris with the relics’ reflects Louis’s role as a ‘champion of Christ’s Passion’, in ‘The King as subject, the King as author’, European Monarchy: Its Evolution and Practice from Roman Antiquity to Modern Times, ed. H. Duchhardt, R. A. Jackson and D. Sturdy (Stuttgart 1992), 53–68, at 63. For Chiara Mercuri, the ‘repetition and recreation’ of the adventus image continuously reminds the visitor of the occasion of translation, in her Corona di Cristo, Corona di re: La monarchia francese e la corona di spine nel Medioevo (Rome 2004), 117–25. For Edina Bozoky, this type of image became a new emblem for the elaboration of his sacral kingship in La politique des reliques de Constantine à Saint Louis (Paris 2007), 8. 112 For example we see Louis carrying the Crown relic in a double-bier in numerous illuminated miniatures that accompany readings for his festival on 25 August (Boniface VIII approved the canonisation of Saint Louis on 11 August 1297). This includes the miniature that appears alongside None in the Hours of Saint Louis seen in the Book of Hours of Queen Jeanne de Navarre (BnF Ms n.a.l. 3145, f. 102r), at Prime in the lost Book of Hours of Jeanne de Savoy (Turin, Ms E. V. 49, f. 279r), and at Vespers in the Breviary of King Charles V (BnF Ms. Lat. 1052, f. 450r). Each of these images, designed for Louis’s devoted descendants, rely on the same standardised visual reference to the translation event. Unlike the panels in the

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emily davenport guerry Sainte-Chapelle, however, it is important to note that each of the aforementioned manuscript illustrations includes a prelate in the place of Robert, showing Louis IX sharing the burden of carrying the Crown with a high-ranking member of the church, perhaps Archbishop Cornut. This iconographic invention effectively conveys the balance of power between church and state, and this type of image might actually reflect an annual ritual practice instead of a singular, fixed moment in time, namely the first adventus. After the arrival of the Crown in 1239, King Louis IX restaged a small part of his initial procession to commemorate the annual festivals related to each of his relic cults. According to Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, one of these celebrations included the Franciscans, another was with the Dominicans, and a third involved other orders in Paris. In his Vie de Saint Louis, he wrote that these processions would begin at Matins in the Sainte-Chapelle. Then, joined by bishops, the clergy, and the people of Paris, the king would transport the relics – again, carried on his shoulders (‘portoit a ses propres espauls’) – and walk from his palace in an urban procession, effectively reversing the path of the Crown’s adventus. See the chapter ‘De sa devocion aus saintes reliques’ in H.-F. Delabord ed., Vie de Saint Louis par Guillaume de Chartres, confesseur de la Reine Marguerite (Paris 1899), 41–42. 113 See note 108. 114 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 307; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 124–25. 115 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 116 See note 108. 117 ‘Quae corona recepta est Parisiis infra octavas Assumptionis. Venerunt obviam processiones omnium ordinum et congregationum de civitate ad locum qui Specula dicitur, iuxta abbatiam Sancti Antonii monialium, presente archiepiscopo Senonensi cum suffraganeis’. This portion of the Chronicon is transcribed in Riant, Exuviae (as n. 5), II, 242. The present location of the Specula is the Hôpital Saint-Louis. For the usage of the term La Guette for the Specula, see H. Bonnardot, L’abbaye royale de Saint-Antoine-desChamps (Paris 1882), 24, note 2; J.-A. Piganiol De La Force, Description historique de la ville de Paris et ses environs (Paris 1765), II, 15. 118 ‘In die crastina rex versus Parisius urbem regiam dirigit iter suum, insigne vasculum deferens. Omnium voce laudantur, dicentium, “Benedictus qui venit in honore Domini, cuius ministerio regnum Francie tanti presentia muneris exaltatur!” Octava die extra muros, iuxta ecclesiam B. Antonii, in campi planitie, constriuitur eminens pulpitum, astantibus pluribus prelatis, ecclesiarum conventibus indutis sericis, exhibitis sanctorum pignoribus, in tanta populorum frequentia quanta unquam Parisius exierit; monstratur loculus ex pulpito, diei felicitas et causa gaudii predicatur. Post hec intra muros civitatis infertur a rege et fratre suo, discalciatis ut prius et preter tunicas vestimentis depositis; omnes etiam prelati cum clericis et viris religiosis, necnon et militibus, nudis pedibus antecedunt. Quanta per urbem iocunditas, quot signa et indicia gaudiorum in conspectu venientium visa sint, nemo sufficeret enarrare. In pontificalem ecclesiam beate Virginis inducitur, ubi, persolutis Deo et beatissime matri eius devotis laudibus, cum thesauro nobili solemniter ad regis palatium revertuntur; collocatur in capella regia beati Nicolai, cum multo gaudio, Domini Corona’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 4r. 119 Jordan noticed that this panel appeared in A-44 before 1848 and was moved to A-45 after restoration. Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 308; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 120 See note 107. 121 Ibid. 122 See note 115. 123 After the fire of 1630 (or another instance of disruption), it is possible that this confusion resulted from the incorrect insertion of this head fragment (originally seen in A new procession proceeds from Sens to Paris to fill the stopgap in The Crown of Thorns carried in procession from Villeneuve-l’Archevêque to Sens. 124 See note 115 (for the parade in Paris) and 107 (for the parade in Sens). 125 Ibid. 126 See note 115. 127 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 308; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 126. 128 ‘Dans la partie inférieure du même tableau, l’archevêque de Sens paraît en costume épiscopal, la mitre en tête et la crosse à la main. Un clerc est chargé de sa croix; un autre porte devant lui un long bâton blanc surmonté d’une tête de griffon. Que signifie ce dernier meuble? C’est ce qu’il est difficile de

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City of Light préciser. Quelques archéologues ont cru y voir un emblème de la puissance temporelle de l’archevêque, des droits de seigneurie qu’il exerçait sur les fiefs mouvant de son église. Cette explication n’est pas dénuée de vraisemblance; mais, faute de preuves à l’appui, elle reste à l’état de conjecture’. Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (as n. 14), I, 171. 129 Lasteyrie, Histoire de la peinture sur verre (as n. 14), I, 172. 130 The presence of the Bishop of Senlis at the Parisian reception celebrations is confirmed in an unpublished account in a cartulaire from the Augustinian abbey of Sainte-Geneviève. An entry corresponding with other events that took place in August 1239 justifies the canons’ refusal to allow the châsse of their titular patroness to be carried out during Louis IX’s procession of the Crown of Thorns, offering instead the relics of Saint Aude, one of her companions, as a replacement due to an ancient rule (Genevieve’s body could not be ‘fetched’ without the permission of Saint Marcellus). The canons testified before Archbishop Gauthier Cornut of Sens and Bishop Adam de Chambly of Senlis and paid a heavy fine: Venientes autem fratres nostri ad dominum regem; invenerunt venerabiles patres nostros magistrum Gualterum dictum Cornutum, Senonensem archiepiscopum, et magistrem Adam de Chambli, episcopum Siluanectensem, et coram ipsis et multis aliis intimaverunt domino regi quod Beata Virgo Genovesa numquam deportaretur; nisi processio Parisiensis cum corpore Beati Marcelli et aliis processionaliter requireretur. See the text under the heading reading ‘Quod nullo modo nisi ingruente necessitate maxima vel periculo beata Virgo Genovefa debeat deportari’, preserved in Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève MS. 356, f. 277v–78r. Dulaure was the first to draw attention to canons’ refusal to allow the châsse to participate in the royal parade of the Crown, J.-A. Dulaure, Histoire de Paris et ses monuments (Paris 1846), 165. Robert Branner also brought the canons’ refusal to light in his examination of ‘The Painted Medallions in the Sainte-Chapelle’, Transactions of the American Philiosophical Society, 58, no. 2 (1968), 14 at note 42. 131 In total, Louis IX paid 20 livres for all the clerical apparel received by Cornut and 21 more high-ranking clerics and nobles; half of the total budget for Pallia clericorum (10 livres) went to Cornut. ‘Pallia clericorum. Archiepiscopus Senonensis, pro pallio, x l. Episcopus Silvanectensis, pro eodem, c s . . .’ See these Receptae et expense compensatio in RHGF, XXII, 587–88. 132 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 307; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 133 See note 115. 134 This panel was originally placed in the position of A-69 before 1848. Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 307; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 135 See note 115. 136 Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 137 Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 307; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 138 See note 115. 139 The first panel was found in position A-112 before restoration, and the second panel was found in A-85. Aubert and Grodecki, Les Vitraux (as n. 9), 307; Jordan, Visualizing Kingship (as n. 9), 125. 140 ‘His itaque solemniter peractis Parisius, exiit fama celebris, divulgatur insigne spectaculum, primum per loca vicina, deinde per remotas civitates et villas: concurrunt festinanter ad gaudium; videre desiderant causam felicitatis presentium temporum et totius regionis. Quia vero non conceditur eis videre quod cupiunt, ex causis aliquibus abscondito thesauro Domini et fideliter consignato, certatim ad campos confluunt, ardenter deosculantur pulpitum, in quo exhibitum fuerat vas predictum. Ibi, si credendum est personis fide dignissimis, per virtutem sacri diadematis et propter devotionem fidelium, circa languentes operatus est multas virtutes et miracula Dominus Iesus Christus, cui est laus, honor et imperium in secula seculorum. Amen’. BnF, MS Lat 3282, f. 4r. 141 Ibid.

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Jean Pucelle, Mahiet and the Fauvel Master Relationships Between Manuscript Illuminators in 14th-Century Paris ANNA RUSSAKOFF

Located on different banks of the Seine, Jean Pucelle and his collaborators – working on the Left Bank near the parish church of St-Séverin – are often considered to be from a separate artistic milieu to the Fauvel Master and his workshop, based on rue NeuveNotre-Dame, directly in front of and perpendicular to the Cathedral of Notre-Dame on the Île-de-la-Cité. Pucelle’s hand is associated with around nine manuscripts that contain high-quality miniatures that feature various combinations of an Italianate influence, extensive marginalia, and three-dimensionality through the innovative technique of grisaille.1 His output is also associated primarily with liturgical manuscripts, Bibles and Books of Hours. The Fauvel Master, on the other hand, was one of the most prolific artists of the 14th century in Paris. No fewer than fifty-five manuscripts have been attributed to him.2 His illuminations appear to have been executed with haste, and he and his collaborators are generally associated with a rise in the production of vernacular texts. Yet both Jean Pucelle and the Fauvel Master maintained close connections with the French royal court. This chapter will consider the role of ‘intermediary’ artists such as Mahiet – who collaborated at various times with both artists – and illustrations of texts like the Miracles of the Virgin, which were completed by both groups. I will examine two manuscripts of Gautier de Coinci’s Miracles de Nostre Dame (Paris BnF NAF 24541 and The Hague KB 71.A.24) and two copies of Jean de Vignay’s Miroir historial, a translation of Vincent de Beauvais’s Speculum historiale (Paris BnF fr. 316 and Leiden University Library MS VOSS GGF3A). All these manuscripts were completed within the decade of 1327–37 and offer a much more complex picture of illuminators, collaboration and royal taste. the manuscripts The four main manuscripts will be considered in chronological order. All have documented royal patrons or feature in inventories of royal libraries shortly after their production. And all four share some similar iconography of the Miracles of the Virgin Mary. This chapter will focus on the various depictions of the miracle of the Thief Hanged. The first manuscript of 1327 is now in The Hague (Royal Library manuscript 71.A.24) and contains a combination of texts which include the Vie des saints, Vie des 158

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-7

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Pucelle, Mahiet and the Fauvel Master

pères and a half-complete portion of Gautier de Coinci’s Miracles de Nostre Dame. Its patron has been convincingly identified by Mary and Richard Rouse as King Charles IV, the last Capetian monarch. The precise dating of the manuscript stems directly from a document which tells us the codex was delivered and paid for on 30 April 1327. At 120 pounds, this manuscript was one of the most expensive recorded in the first half of the 14th century.3 There are, however, no images of the patrons left in the manuscript in its current form. The scribe has been identified as Jean de Senlis, and the illuminations are attributed exclusively to the prolific Fauvel Master. When collaboration took place in his circle, it usually meant that the libraire would distribute different quires to different artists.4 Our next manuscript is stylistically at the opposite end of the spectrum. Paris BnF NAF 24541 is complete, dated to c. 1328–34 and is the most luxurious copy of Gautier de Coinci’s Miracles de Nostre Dame to survive. The manuscript has been in royal hands at least since it was taken to the Battle of Poitiers by King Jean II le Bon in 1356. As I have recently argued, it was probably commissioned by Jean’s mother, Queen Jeanne II de Bourgogne, for the use of the entire royal family.5 There are nine royal portraits at the end of the manuscript whose identities remain ambiguous (Figs 7.1–7.9), but they probably reference the patrons of the codex. The terminus post quem comes from Jeanne II de Bourgogne’s accession to the throne in 1328, and the terminus ante quem derives from the attribution of the miniatures to the illuminator Jean Pucelle, who died in 1334. Also, as I have argued elsewhere, it is clear that Jean Pucelle did not work on this manuscript alone, and that it was a collaborative enterprise, although we are unsure of the identities of the other artists.6 We know that on other occasions, Pucelle worked with Ancelet, Anciau de Sens, Jacquet Maci and Mahiet. Unlike the distribution of different quires that took place with the Fauvel Master and his circle, however, collaboration between Jean Pucelle and his associates often involved the division of specific tasks: for example in the Billyng Bible (Paris BnF lat. 11935), François Avril convincingly identified Anciau de Sens as the artist who executed the fully painted decorated initials, whereas Jacquet Maci was the exuberant pen flourisher, working mostly with linear blues and reds.7 Both the artist Mahiet and the patron Jeanne II de Bourgogne will serve as important links with our next manuscripts.8 Queen Jeanne II de Bourgogne is well known as a great patron not only of the arts but also of the vernacular language. She commissioned Jean de Vignay to translate (among other texts) Vincent de Beauvais’s encyclopedic Speculum works into French. Part of that project became the Miroir historial. The Leiden manuscript (University Library MS VOSS GGF3A) is probably the earliest copy of this translation, dating between 1332 and 1335, which Claudine Chavannes-Mazel has studied extensively, and Paris BnF fr. 316 dates to just a year or two later, either 1333 or 1334.9 Both these manuscripts open with very similar miniatures that emphasize the royal nature of the commission (Figs 7.10 and 7.11). Both these frontispieces are divided into two parts: on the left we see King Louis IX dressed in a Franciscan habit with a crown and a halo entering the study of Vincent de Beauvais, and the arms of France decorating the background. On the right-hand side, Queen Jeanne II de Bourgogne is depicted entering the study of the translator, Jean de Vignay, who is shown with a tonsure in the act of writing a book with a knife and a pen. The arms of France and Burgundy ornament the surrounding space.10 The Leiden manuscript’s illuminations have been attributed to the Papeleu Master and his assistants, the Cambrai Master and Mahiet, 159

anna russakoff

Fig. 7.1  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, Fol. 232v Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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Pucelle, Mahiet and the Fauvel Master

Fig. 7.2  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, Fol. 234r

Fig. 7.3  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, Fol. 235v

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Fig. 7.4  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, Fol. 237r

Fig. 7.5  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, fol. 238v

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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Fig. 7.6  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, Fol. 241r

Fig. 7.7  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, fol. 242r

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Fig. 7.8  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, fol. 242v

Fig. 7.9  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, fol. 243v

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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Pucelle, Mahiet and the Fauvel Master

Fig. 7.10  Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial, Leiden University Library MS VOSS GGF3A, fol. 1r Source: Leiden University Library.

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Fig. 7.11  Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial, Paris BnF fr. 316, fol. 1r Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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who had collaborated previously with Jean Pucelle on the Belleville Breviary (Paris BnF lat. 10484). Mahiet’s hand can be traced in over thirty manuscripts, placing the quantity of his production between that of Jean Pucelle and the Fauvel Master.11 Mahiet reached his full artistic maturity in exactly this period: the mid-1330s.12 The illuminations in Paris BnF fr. 316 have been attributed to the Papeleu Master – this was probably his last work – and to the so-called sub-Fauvel Master.13 In a great demonstration of both the variety and haste of most commercial book productions at this time, almost none of the iconography and compositions are repeated between the two earliest illustrated Miroir historial manuscripts.14 We can now examine the ways in which these four different artistic teams tackled the iconographic theme of the miracle of the Thief Hanged. The miracle appears as I Mir 30 in Gautier de Coinci’s collection and is also included in Vincent de Beauvais/ Jean de Vignay.15 According to Gautier de Coinci’s version of the miracle story, a thief prayed to the Virgin Mary before he stole and often gave charity from his thefts out of love for her.16 When he was hanged for his deeds, the Virgin sustained him on the gallows for two days. The executioners found him safe and sound on the third day so they tried to stab his throat, but the sword would not enter. The thief cried out that the Virgin had sustained and saved him. That very day, he joined an abbey and became a monk, serving the Virgin Mary with devotion for the rest of his life. Although the thief is unnamed in Gautier de Coinci’s version, in Vincent de Beauvais/Jean de Vignay’s account the thief is introduced in the first sentence as Elbo. Similar to Gautier’s rendition, Elbo took from others so that he could feed his own family, and every time he stole, he was sure to pray to the Virgin Mary. When he was caught and hanged, the Virgin Mary came to him and held his feet for two days. But when the executioners returned and saw that he did not seem to be suffering, they tried to stab his throat. Mary intervened again, placing her hands in front of his throat to block the attack. When the executioners witnessed this, they understood that the Virgin Mary was coming to his aid and they released him. Elbo subsequently became a monk and lived a long life serving God and his holy mother. A second miracle is attached to this one in Vincent de Beauvais/Jean de Vignay17 – one that we see depicted side by side in the same miniatures. This describes the story of an archbishop from Canterbury who visited the abbey of St-Bertin near St-Omer. Here the archbishop gave a sermon in which he said that he knew of a diocese near Jerusalem where they frequently recited five Psalms, each one starting with a letter from MARIA: Magnificat; Ad Dominum cum tribularer; Retribue; In convertendo; Ad te levavi, and that they preceded each Psalm with the Ave Maria. A monk named Ioscio listened to this homily attentively. Each day, he dutifully recited these five Psalms. One day he was discovered dead, but there were five roses growing from his head: one from his mouth and tongue, two from his eyes, two from his ears. They even found the word MARIA written on the rose that issued from his mouth.18 In the Fauvel Master’s illustration of Gautier de Coinci’s miracle of the thief on fol. 29r of The Hague KB MS 71.A.24 (Fig. 7.12), action and violence predominate. The thief hangs by a rope in the centre of the composition, with not one but two executioners on the left – one wielding a black sword and one a white sword – who then attempt to stab him. The executioner on the far left shoves his sword directly towards the thief’s throat. Fortunately, the Virgin Mary appears right there, blocking the blow with her outstretched hand. Two witnesses on the right see this and gesture 165

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Fig. 7.12  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, The Hague 71.A.24, fol. 29r Source: The Hague, Koninklijke Bibliotheek.

towards the miracle that is taking place. The backgrounds vary, with the two outer fields rendered in gold while at the centre, behind the green hanging gallows, a pink background is decorated with a black abstract pattern. The emphasis is clearly on the large figures and their actions. No background details detract from the main action. Still following Gautier de Coinci’s text, and painted shortly afterwards, the Pucellian miniature (Fig. 7.13) shares a number of compositional elements with the Fauvel Master’s account, although it is executed in a completely different style. This is the type of miracle narrative for which it is very common to see the same iconographic moment chosen: the moment where the thief is hanging and the Virgin intervenes to save him. This proves to be the case in Paris BnF NAF 24541 fol. 65r. In compositional terms, the gallows is now pushed over to the right, giving it a dramatically asymmetrical position. Like the manuscript from The Hague, most of the background is simply a decorative pink pattern – this time enhanced with gold squares. But in the Pucellian manuscript, green stepped earth is represented beneath, giving some indication of a landscape setting in the foreground. Here only one executioner is depicted in action, with his left arm encircling the gallows and his right arm wielding the sword, seemingly placing it behind the gibbet. The Virgin Mary literally stops the sword at its 166

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Fig. 7.13  Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541, fol. 65r (and detail) Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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pointed tip before it can inflict any harm on the thief. Also, she touches the thief’s body tenderly with her other hand. Crowded onto the left-hand side of the composition, we see a group of executioners as well as witnesses reacting to the event. The executioner wearing a bright pink outfit and yellow turban, throws his head backwards at a 180-degree angle. Thus, the miniature seems to offer a negative view of the persecutors and a sympathetic depiction of the thief, who, dressed in a simple white garment, is depicted as a meek, Christ-like figure. Moving to the two depictions from the Vincent de Beauvais/Jean de Vignay version of this tale, in the Leiden manuscript on fol. 352r (Fig. 7.14) the miniature joins the miracle of the thief with the following miracle, the miracle of a monk who died and from whose head roses grow. Both sides of the miniature have sustained considerable damage. Looking at the thief side of the miniature, we again see a decorative pink background and simple wooden gallows. Yet there are no executioners and no witnesses, so our attention is focused completely on the thief and the Virgin Mary. The most remarkable aspect of the image is the discrepancy of scale. The thief is exceptionally small and doll-like, and the Virgin Mary, holding his body and his left foot, is oversized. Again, the thief (Elbo in this version) is portrayed as a pitiable creature rather than as a dangerous criminal. In the Miroir historial manuscript Paris BnF fr. 316 fol. 301v (Fig. 7.15), the min�iature is similarly joined with the miracle of the monk who died and from whose head five roses issued. For the miracle of the thief on the left, the background is again filled with a decorative pink pattern, this time checkerboard. The gallows are slightly over to the right-hand side of the composition, although the asymmetry is not as pronounced or dramatic as in Paris BnF NAF 24541. We do not have the same striking discrepancy of scale between the thief and the Virgin that we saw in the Leiden manuscript, although the Virgin remains impressively large. In this miniature, the Virgin extends her arm to protect the thief’s throat while an executioner or possibly a witness (he is unarmed and does not appear to be causing any harm to the thief) climbs up a ladder on the left to reach the thief. In fact, both the thief and the Virgin are disproportionately substantial compared to the other figure. Elbo, dressed in white (as in the Leiden manuscript), is again represented as more of an innocent victim than a threat. To provide some context for these miracle stories, theft – in theory and practice in the Middle Ages – was the crime par excellence.19 Although both Vincent de Beauvais and Gautier de Coinci originally wrote these miracles texts in the 13th century, by the following century and in Paris in particular – where these four manuscripts were ­produced – crime usually meant petty and non-violent theft. The poorest, migrant population was often forced into partial criminality due to economic circumstances.20 Theft recidivists in Paris were around five times more common than elsewhere. But ‘professional’ criminals were rare and constituted a mere 1–2 percent of those arrested.21 Most thefts were committed at an inn or a tavern and were of minor monetary value.22 Stealing was usually the consequence of a temporary need: if there was no money in the house, no wine or no honest way of earning a living, which seems to correspond well to the situation recounted in both miracle stories. The type of theft that occurs most often in judicial registers was the ‘pickpocket’ type.23 Purses could be pinched at markets (especially at Les Halles), the fair of Saint Denis, inns, hostelries, hospitals, the banks of the Seine and in the fields surrounding the ramparts.24 Thefts were not only ubiquitous, but they were also severely punished.25 Conviction of stealing usually meant the death penalty,26 even though people who stole food 168

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Fig. 7.14  Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial, Leiden University Library MS VOSS G4GF3A, fol. 352r (and detail) Source: Leiden University Library.

Fig. 7.15  Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial, Paris BnF fr. 316, fol. 301v (and detail) Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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were not supposed to be condemned to death if they were living in extreme poverty. But thefts of servants who stole from their masters could be harshly condemned, since this involved a betrayal. In general, those who were sentenced to death came from the lowest ranks of society.27 Hanging – the form of capital punishment that we saw depicted in all four manuscripts – was the most common sentence for theft.28 Usually this punishment was rapid, and it generally took place at the outskirts of town. The use of stone pillars with wooden beams between them, known as fourches, spread throughout France in the 13th century and were built to accommodate several people at one time. They could also be used to display the corpses afterwards. The most famous fourches, constructed in c. 1270, were located at Monfaucon, outside of the city walls to the north of Paris.29 In the case of recidivists, thieves could first lose appendages or limbs: often, the ‘offending’ parts of their body were cut off. But of course after several thefts, hanging became inevitable. As we move from the 12th to the 16th centuries, punishments became more and more public and spectacular, at least in part as a means of deterring crime.30 Unfortunately, next to no judicial records survive from the early 14th century, the period of these four manuscripts. The records from the Châtelet have not been preserved, with the exception of one register from the very end of the 14th century that has been studied in detail by both Bronislaw Geremek and Esther Cohen.31 This register is now preserved at Paris Archives nationales Y 10531 and covers the period from July 1389 to April 1392.32 Of the 127 people accused, eighty-five were charged with theft – the next highest number were charged with treason and crimes against the state at twelve.33 Cohen concluded that a lot of the crimes were ‘amateurish and casual’ and committed by offenders who did not even have local residences. As a telling end to many of their trials, it was common to find on record: ‘et n’avoit aucuns biens’.34 The prévôt (provost) of Paris – the representative of the King and the first magistrate of the police – had his seat at the Châtelet.35 This was an enormous building situated on the Right Bank that had been constructed during the reign of King Louis VI (1108–37).36 It lost its defensive function when Philip Augustus constructed a new set of walls at the end of that century (it was subsequently destroyed in 1808). In addition to its administrative services, the Châtelet housed several prisons and a morgue.37 The Châtelet derived its power from royal rather than municipal authority. It handled most of the cases of the poorest inhabitants of Paris, since political criminals and the nobility would have been tried at the Parlement.38 If a poor person found himself accused of theft at the Châtelet, the best he could hope for might be the ‘royal pardon’ (la grâce royale), which was extremely rare but occasionally accorded for crimes that would result in capital punishment.39 We will note that this resonates with the type of pardon granted to the thieves in question by the Virgin Mary herself. Pardon could thus be one of the ultimate expressions of power. To determine whether royal patronage may have played a role in the depictions of thieves, we should examine another manuscript painted by Mahiet. This is the text of the Ci nous dit, an extensive moralising encyclopedia written by an anonymous author not for royalty but for the religious edification of the laity in the decade with which we are concerned – 1320–30. Manuscript 26 at the Musée Condé at Chantilly dates to approximately 1340, and its paintings have been attributed to Mahiet,40 an artist who has been an important connective thread in our analysis. This is the oldest surviving copy of the text, and the only one that is extensively illustrated, containing over 800 miniatures. These miniatures are systematically placed in horizontal rectangles at the 170

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top of each page. In addition to some common biblical and hagiographic texts, the manuscript also contains a number of more obscure stories and fables. Thus, it is a codex that is amply illustrated but is not luxurious like the Pucellian Miracles of the Virgin manuscript.41 In the Chantilly Ci nous dit, the gestures of the figures are highly pronounced and dramatic, and the backgrounds are even simpler than the manuscripts discussed earlier. They simply alternate between solid reds and blues, and there are next to no distractions with architectural details or landscapes. And we can see here that Mahiet knew how to adapt his style (and perhaps his time management as well) to the type of work he was commissioned to illustrate.42 Although the Ci nous dit does contain a small section of Marian miracles, our point of comparison here is with an unusual exemplum concerning two men who hide away one night to skin a beast, without the authorisation of the master of the house. The younger one cooks and then eats the kidneys without telling the other. Since people heard them talking, they were taken and condemned to be hanged. The older man promises the younger one that he will save him from hanging if he tells him that he ate the kidneys, but nothing happens. (Fig. 7.16: Chantilly, MS 26, fol. 262v; CND chapter 400A).43 In the next sequence of the story (Fig. 7.17: Chantilly, MS 26, fol. 263r, CND chapter 400B), the older man declares that the beast that they found was a deer. Since this turns out to be true, the men are set free, and they proceed to sell the deer for 15 sous. The older man proposes that each of them should receive five sous, and the five remaining sous should go to the one who ate the kidneys. The younger man then finally admits that it was he who ate them. Ultimately, we reach the moral of the exemplum: those who do not want to confess resemble the young man who ate the kidneys: for a little bit of money, they will admit their sins to a few people, but they refuse to state it during confession.44 The main miniature in question here, Chantilly MS 26 fol. 262v, illustrates the text in the manner of continuous narrative. On the left, two men skin a deer, and one lifts the kidneys towards a fire to cook it. But in the next scene on the right, the two thieves are led towards a gallows to be hung, but this time there is no denigration of the person pushing them there (in fact, he resembles one of the perpetrators!) and no particular sympathy shown for the thieves. We even see in the following miniature (fol. 263r) that the two men (who seem to keep changing clothing) have been acquitted and are now contemplating what to do with the 15 sous. The depictions of the thieves in the miniatures of all four manuscripts of the Miracles of the Virgin, in contrast, displayed more empathetic views of the thieves. This is of course because they are illustrating a text in which the Virgin ultimately saves the thief because of his absolute devotion to her, so from a purely ‘literary’ point of view he is the favoured or even heroic protagonist. However, the ubiquitous nature of stealing itself and its extremely harsh penalties would have been difficult to ignore in the context of early-14th-century Paris. All of the illuminators in question lived and worked within a short walking distance of the Châtelet, where theft was the most common crime to be tried, principally for people without means, and far from being a secret, the frequent result of punishment by hanging became increasingly visible, becoming a spectacle over time. Perhaps, the idea of illustrating a text about Marian miracles prompted a certain amount of sympathy for the cause of the less fortunate who were driven to crime as a means of survival, yet we cannot forget that these four manuscripts were either royal commissions or extraordinarily expensive sales. The Thief Hanged also emphasises the ultimate power of royalty via the Virgin 171

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Fig. 7.16  Ci nous dit, Chantilly, Musée Condé, MS 26, c. 1340; artist: Mahiet, fol. 262v Source: Musée Condé.

Fig. 7.17  Ci nous dit, Chantilly, Musée Condé, MS 26, fol. 263r Source: Musée Condé.

Mary, since they, like her, were in a position to grant a pardon. As the case of the illuminator Mahiet demonstrates, a different text illustrated for a non-royal audience produced a contrasting result. While the artists discussed in this chapter have unquestionably distinctive styles, specialties and methods of work, perhaps it is also fruitful to look for more flexibility and points in common between the illuminators based on the Left Bank and those on the Île-de-la-Cité. Not only did they engage with some of the same visual themes and interact with some of the same well-placed patrons or clients, but they also shared similar experiences of the urban spectacle of 14th-century Paris. 172

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principal manuscripts Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, The Hague KB 71.A.24 Date: 1327 Patron: King Charles IV Artist: the Fauvel Master Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, Paris BnF NAF 24541 Date range: 1328–34 Patron: Queen Jeanne II de Bourgogne Artists: Jean Pucelle and collaborators Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial (a translation of Vincent de Beauvais’ Speculum historiale) Paris BnF fr. 316 Date range: 1332–35 Patron: Queen Jeanne II de Bourgogne Artists: Papeleu Master and the sub-Fauvel Master Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial, Leiden University Library MS VOSS GGF3A Date: 1333 or 1334 Patron: Queen Jeanne II de Bourgogne Artists: Papeleu Master and Assistants, Cambrai Master and Mahiet Anonymous, Ci nous dit. Chantilly, Musée Condé, MS 26 Date: c. 1340 Patron: Unknown; probably for the laity Artist: Mahiet

notes 1 K. Morand in her monographic study of Jean Pucelle listed 15 works. Since Pucelle’s date of death (1334) was discovered after Morand published, only nine manuscripts remain in her catalogue, and of these only three have secure documentary attachments to Pucelle. See K. Morand, Jean Pucelle (Oxford 1962). The date of Pucelle’s death was discovered by F. Baron and published in F. Baron, ‘Les arts précieux à Paris aux XIVe et XVe siècles d’après les archives de l’hôpital Saint-Jacques-aux-Pèlerins’, in Bulletin archéologique du C.T.H.S., nouv. sér. A, 20–21 (Paris 1988), 59–141. The Pucellian circle and influence is of course much larger. Pucelle left a tremendous legacy in manuscript illumination throughout the 14th century. See Part II of K. Pyun and A. Russakoff, eds., Jean Pucelle: Innovation and Collaboration in Manuscript Painting (London 2013). 2 The Fauvel Master is known for ‘profuse if uninspired illustration of vernacular texts in multiple copies’. For a list of the 55 manuscripts, see R. H. Rouse and M. A. Rouse, Manuscripts and Their Makers: Commercial Book Producers in Medieval Paris, 1200–1500, vol. I (London 2000), 213, 216. For more on the Fauvel Master, see A. Stones, ‘The Stylistic Context of the Roman de Fauvel, with a Note on Fauvain’, in Fauvel Studies: Allegory, Chronicle, Music, and Image in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, MS français, 146, eds. M. Bent and A. Wathey (Oxford 1998), 529–67. 3 Rouse and Rouse, Manuscripts and Their Makers, vol. I (as n. 2), 188. Although this ‘commercial art’ could seem to be routine, it nevertheless sold for high prices to royalty (Rouse and Rouse, Manuscripts and Their Makers, vol. I (as n. 2), 201). 4 Ibid., vol. I, 185. 5 A. Russakoff, ‘Portraiture, Politics and Piety: The Royal Patronage of Gautier de Coinci’s Miracles de Nostre Dame (Paris, BnF, nouv. acq. fr. 24541)’, Studies in Iconography, 37 (2016), 146–80. 6 A. Russakoff, ‘Collaborative Illumination: Jean Pucelle and the Visual Program of Gautier de Coinci’s Les Miracles de Nostre Dame (Paris, BnF, nouv. acq.fr. 24541)’, in Jean Pucelle: Innovation and Collaboration in Manuscript Painting (as n. 1), 65–90.

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anna russakoff 7 See F. Avril, ‘Un enlumineur ornemaniste Parisien de la première moitié du XIVe siècle: Jacobus Mathey (Jaquet Maci ?)’ Bulletin Monumental, 129 (1971), 249–64. 8 Indeed, Mahiet as a ‘link’ between the two groups of illuminators has been noted by M. Gil, ‘La role des femmes dans la commande de manuscrits à la Cour de France vers 1315–1358: la production de Jean Pucelle et de ses disciples’, Bulletin du Bibliophile, 2 (2013), 225–39, at 228. Mahiet lived on rue NeuveNotre-Dame on the Île-de-la-Cité. On Mahiet, see also Les Fastes du Gothique – le siècle de Charles V (Paris 1981), cat. no. 247, 299–30; M.-T. Gousset, ‘Libraires d’origine Normande à Paris au XIVe siècle’, in Manuscrits et enluminures dans le monde normand (Xe-XVe siècles): Colloque de Cerisy-la-Salle (octobre 1995), ed. P. Bouet and M. Dosdat (Caen 1999), 169–80, esp. 178–80; R. H. Rouse, ‘Mahiet, the Illuminator of Cambridge University Library MS Dd.5.5’, in The Cambridge Illuminations: The Conference Papers, ed. S. Panayotova (London 2007), 173–86; M. Kuroiwa, ‘Working with Jean Pucelle and His Collaborators: The Case of the Saint Louis Master (Mahiet?)’ in Jean Pucelle: Innovation and Collaboration in Manuscript Painting (as n. 1), 111–30; A. Kumler, ‘The Patron-Function’, in Patronage: Power and Agency in Medieval Art, ed. C. Hourihane (Princeton 2013), 297–319. 9 The date of 24 November 1333 or 1334 can be read on the manuscript with ultraviolet light. See Rouse and Rouse, Manuscripts and Their Makers, vol. I (as n. 2), 212. 10 C. Chavannes-Mazel, ‘The Miroir historial of Jean le Bon: The Leiden Manuscript and Its Related Copies’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Leiden, Leiden 1988), 156. In fact, it is this image that shows that the Leiden manuscript is earlier than Paris BnF fr. 316, since Queen Jeanne II de Bourgogne is depicted in the frontispiece, but her name is absent in the rubrics. 11 Kuroiwa, ‘Working with Jean Pucelle’ (as n. 8), 111. Kuroiwa prefers to call him the St Louis Master, 112. 12 Ibid., 113. 13 Rouse and Rouse, Manuscripts and Their Makers, vol. I (as n. 2), 141. On the argument for the distinction between the Fauvel Master and the Sub-Fauvel Master, see vol. I, 208–09. Rouse and Rouse believe that the Fauvel Master is just one artist. 14 A. D. Hedeman and E. Morrison eds., Imagining the Past in France: History in Manuscript Painting, 1250–1500 (Los Angeles 2010), 151. All four of these manuscripts are discussed in greater detail in A. Russakoff, Imagining the Miraculous: Miraculous Images of the Virgin Mary in French Illuminated Manuscripts, ca. 1250–ca. 1450 (Toronto 2019). 15 For translations into modern French of some of the miracles of the Virgin in Vincent de Beauvais’ Speculum historiale, see M. Tarayre, La Vierge et le miracle: le ‘Speculum historiale’ de Vincent de Beauvais, texts chosen and trans. M. Tarayre (Paris 1999). For this miracle in particular, see 14–43; it is listed as Vincent de Beauvais VII, 116. The publication of a critical edition of Jean de Vignay’s Miroir historial is in progress. For the first four books, see J. de Vignay, Le miroir historial: traduction du ‘Speculum historiale’ de Vincent de Beauvais, Tome 1, Books I–IV, ed., M. Cavagna (Abbeville 2017). 16 Gautier de Coinci, Les Miracles de Nostre Dame par Gautier de Coinci, II vols, ed. V. Frederic Koenig (Geneva 1955–70), 285–90. 17 Tarayre, La Vierge et le miracle (as n. 15). 18 As an aside, there is a similar miracle in Gautier de Coinci’s collection I  Mir 23 (Koenig vol. II, 224–26). Illustrations can be found in The Hague, KB 71.A.24 fol. 23r and Paris BnF NAF 24541 fol. 55v. However, it is a separate story that precedes and is unconnected to the miracle of the thief. There are also no specific places mentioned (Canterbury, St-Bertin, St-Omer, etc. are all omitted), no reference to the Ave Maria, and in this version all five roses issue from the monk’s mouth. 19 B. Geremek, The Margins of Society in Late Medieval Paris (Paris 1987), 49. For a study of theft in 15th-century France, see V. Toureille, Vol et brigandage au Moyen Age (Paris 2006). 20 E. Cohen, ‘Patterns of Crime in Fourteenth-Century Paris’, French Historical Studies, 11 (1980), 307–27, at 327. According to S. Farmer in her now classic study on this subject, the labouring and non-labouring poor constituted about half of the population of Paris in the 13th century. S. Farmer, Surviving Poverty in Medieval Paris: Gender, Ideology and the Daily Lives of the Poor (Ithaca 2005), 32. 21 C. Gauvard, ‘Crimes et châtiments à Paris aux derniers siècles du Moyen Age’, in Le Paris du Moyen Age, ed. B. Bove et C. Gauvard (Paris 2014), 213–35 at 227 and 228.

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Pucelle, Mahiet and the Fauvel Master 22 Cohen, ‘Patterns of Crime’ (as n. 20), 320. 23 Geremek, Margins of Society (as n. 19), 97 and 107. Since there were no actual pockets during this period, most people carried a small money-bag that hung from the belt. Parisian pickpockets could, for example, show new arrivals to the city the sculptures at Notre-Dame on the gallery of kings and simultaneously grab their purses (Geremek, Margins of Society (as n. 19), 108). 24 Ibid., 109. 25 It was only after three thefts that you were ‘liable to the rope’. See Geremek, Margins of Society (as n. 19), 49–50. 26 Seventy-nine percent of the verdicts were death penalties! (Ibid., 53). 27 Gauvard, ‘Crimes et châtiments’ (as n. 21), 226, 234. 28 See table in Geremek, Margins of Society (as n. 19), 53. Capital punishment was usually accomplished through hanging. Burning was reserved for heretics and decapitation reserved for political criminals. Gauvard, ‘Crimes et châtiments’ (as n. 21), 231. 29 P. Friedland, Seeing Justice Done: The Age of Spectacular Capital Punishment in France (Oxford 2012), 294 n. 65. The location of this former gibbet in modern-day Paris is the Place du Colonel Fabien, which straddles the Xe and XIXe arrondissements. 30 Ibid., 57–60. 31 Geremek, Margins of Society (as n. 19); Cohen, ‘Patterns of Crime’ (as n. 20), passim. 32 Geremek, Margins of Society (as n. 19), 47. 33 Ibid., 49 (table). 34 Cohen, ‘Patterns of Crime’ (as n. 20), 309 and 310. As in the case of one Colin Lenfant, typical low-value thefts included clothes, money, a beast, household goods, or occasionally silverware (Cohen, ‘Patterns of Crime’ (as n. 20), 323). 35 D. Sandron and P. Lorentz, Atlas de Paris au moyen âge: Espace urbain, habitat, société, religion, lieux de pouvoir, ed. P. Lorentz and D. Sandron (Paris 2006), 186. 36 Gauvard, ‘Crimes et châtiments’ (as n. 21), 217. 37 Sandron and Lorentz, Atlas de Paris au Moyen Âge (as n. 35), 187. 38 Cohen, ‘Patterns of Crime’ (as n. 20), 308. 39 Gauvard, ‘Crimes et châtiments’ (as n. 21), 232. For several examples of royal pardons for poor people who had committed thefts in the early 15th century, see Toureille, Vol et brigandage (as n. 19), 206–07. 40 See C. Heck, Le Ci nous dit: L’image médiévale et la culture des laïcs au XIVe siècle. Les enluminures du manuscrit de Chantilly (Turnhout 2011), 33–34. For the original attribution to Mahiet, see M.-T. Gousset, ‘Parcheminiers et libraires rouennais à la fin du quatorzième siècle d’après un document judiciaire’, Viator, 24 (1993), 233–47 at 242 note 20. 41 Heck, Le Ci nous dit (as n. 39), 34. 42 Ibid., 35. 43 Gérard Blangez, Ci nous dit, Recueil d’exemples moraux publiés par Gérard Blangez (Paris 1979), 324. Summarized in Heck, Le Ci nous dit (as n. 39), 165. 44 Ibid., 165.

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Building Paris on Its Bridges JANA GAJDOŠOVÁ

introduction In her book on medieval French bridges, Marjorie Boyer famously wrote: [A]t various times and places in medieval France, it was possible to be born on a bridge in a lying-in hospital, to reside on a bridge and to go to market there, to carry on business, to attend services in a chapel, and even, in the twelfth century, to hear lectures given by masters of the University of Paris.1

These activities were especially true of city bridges, which became the main streets of medieval urban centres. Often, a stone bridge not only connected the various parts of a medieval city, but since most cities could only cope with the maintenance of one bridge, that bridge in turn became an attractive place for a plethora of other buildings. It was thus common for shops, chapels, houses, towers and other buildings to cover bridges and for ceremonies such as punishments, coronation processions and even jousts to use them as their stage.2 However, due to a preference for wide avenues and uncluttered spaces in later centuries, very few bridges survive to illustrate these other provisions and uses, and we are thus left only to imagine what they may have looked like in the Middle Ages. What follows explores this phenomenon with a focus on Paris by looking at the activities and buildings that existed on its two early medieval bridges – the Grand-Pont and the Petit-Pont.3 I argue that the settlements and happenings on the two bridges reflected the institutions that lay beyond, displaying the intellectual and material wealth of Paris. The chapter attempts to also contextualise the GrandPont and the Petit-Pont to understand the significance of these now lost structures in the development of the topography of Paris. paris As in most medieval cities, the bridges of Paris were essential to exploiting the given underlying topography and to promoting accessibility. They were the gates to Roman and early medieval Paris and subsequently the gates to the Île de la Cité, as the heart of the French capital. In Roman Paris, the bridges formed elements in a single straight road which cut through the island directly. While Roman Paris developed on both the island and the left bank, after the invasions of the 3rd century, the island became the main part of the city, and fortifications were built to protect it.4 In the 9th century, Charles the Bald rebuilt the two bridges so that only the so-called Petit-Pont remained in its original location while the bridge connecting the north bank to the Île de la Cité – the Grand-Pont – was moved westward (Figs 8.1a and 8.1b).5 While many other buildings were located on the island, the Île de la Cité was dominated by two

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-8

© 2023 The British Archaeological Association

Building Paris on Its Bridges

Fig. 8.1a (left)  Plan of the Bridges of Paris during the Roman and Merovingian periods. Fig. 8.1b (right) Plan of the Bridges of Paris c. 1000–1280. A=Planches de Milbrai; B=PetitPont; C=Grand-Pont; D=Rue de la Pelleterie Source: Chris Kennish after Lorentz and Sandron.

institutions in the Middle Ages – the cathedral (Notre-Dame) and the Royal Palace.6 The most densely populated section on the island was the narrow strip separating the episcopal and royal spheres. This strip was divided between twelve parishes and included fourteen ecclesiastical buildings.7 Since the island hosted such a large number of urban institutions in such a small space, the bridges became much more than simply practical structures – they were stages for a diverse number of commercial, religious and royal activities. The impact that these crossings had on visitors was even recognised by Matthew Paris in his 13th-century travel map, which represented the city of Paris as three towers flanked by two bridges next to their respective names – ‘Grant-Pont’ and ‘Petit-Pont’.’8 Neither the Grand-Pont nor the Petit-Pont survive today, and we have very little physical evidence when reconstructing these bridges. The pictorial evidence that survives presents further difficulties because even before their modern reconstruction, the fabric of the structures was constantly altered and repaired as the result of floods, fires and other adversities. The stability of bridges was also often compromised by the continuous patchwork repairs that were completed in haste, so as to quickly re-establish crossing points. The Grand-Pont, for example, was damaged in a flood in 1280, and after being rebuilt in stone, it was again damaged by flood water in 1296. It was then rebuilt sideways, slightly upstream and became known as the Pont au Change.9 Contemporary descriptions and manuscripts, however, help in reconstructing an idea of what these structures were like in the Middle Ages (Fig. 8.2).10 Guillebert de Mets gives us an idea of what these bridges were like in the early 15th century. He states that the Grand-Pont has sixty-eight stalls on one side and sixty-two on the other; the moneychangers are on one side and the goldsmiths on the other. In the year 1400, when Paris was in its

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Fig. 8.2  Woodcut showing Paris c. 1550 by Olivier Truschet and Germain Hoyau Source: Louis Sieber, 1874, after an original at the University of Basel.

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We also know that the two bridges were paved.12 This was generally typical for medieval bridges as the paving prevented water from getting into the piers and damaging them. The paving at the top was usually only one of a series of carefully positioned layers that were designed to stop water from weakening the piers. In Prague, this fact has been investigated recently when it was shown that the 19th- and 20th-century repavings of the bridge caused major damage to the medieval stone layers and resulted in water leaking through the cracks and damaging the piers.13 In Paris, the paving is even illustrated in the Vie de St Denis (Bibliothèque Nationale, France, MS fr. 2090– 2092), a rare contemporary source from the 14th century, where one can see paving stones jutting out beyond the traceried railing (Fig. 8.3). Thus, compared to the rest of the city, the bridges with their luxury shops and paved roadbeds would have been among the most deluxe streets in Paris. Although evidence from contemporary images is problematic, a manifestation of Marjorie Boyer’s view of a bridge as a stage for medieval life can be found in the Vie de St Denis, which sets scenes of city life on the bridges of Paris.14 The manuscript represents Paris entirely on its bridges, underlining the central role that these structures played in the heart of urban life. It has been suggested that what we see in this manuscript are actually the two bridges – the Grand-Pont, illustrated on the left with four arches, and the Petit-Pont to the right, usually represented by two arches.15 The two bridges meet in the centre at a gate, which is flanked by round towers with battlements. The most problematic aspect of this hypothesis is that both bridges were damaged quite extensively in 1296, and so by 1317, when the Vie de Saint Denis was completed, there were only temporary wooden structures in their place.16 Scepticism of the manuscript’s scenography as a compression of two bridges at a given moment in time is beside the point, however, as it is clear that the depictions are stylised and should not be taken as realistic representations. Still, what the illuminations do reveal is an early 14th-century impression of what these structures may have been like. The image offered by the manuscript is a suggestion that the bridges had been built on piers with pointed cutwaters, which were linked by round-headed arches, and that they were protected by gates, with battlements, portcullises and large round flanking towers, not unlike the standardised secular architecture typical of the reign of Philip Augustus. His palaces but also the fortifications that he built are typologically similar to the images in the manuscript, and it is documented that he rebuilt the towers that fortified the bridges in the late 12th century.17 When we disregard the physical appearance of the bridges altogether, what these illuminations show also gives an insight into the activities that took place on the bridges. They illustrate processions, workers, fishermen and travellers – regular day-to-day activities – as well as the towers, shops, mills and houses that were set on the bridges. The abundance of buildings illustrated in the Vie de St Denis is further supported by later depictions of bridges in Paris. Buildings, houses and shops existed on the bridges of Paris from at least the 12th century. In contemporary accounts, the two structures were described as ‘covered bridges’ because buildings completely covered them – despite the constant dangers that plagued these dwellings and shops.18 A similar phenomenon occurred on Old London Bridge, where not only houses were present, 179

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Fig. 8.3  Vie de Saint Denis: Gilles de Pontoise donates the manuscript to King Philip V Source: Paris: BnF, Fr2090. Fol. 4v. © Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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but there was also a relatively large bridge chapel. This chapel, built and financed by Henry Yevele, was no modest structure. It was a two-level building with vaults and large stained glass windows – much like the palace chapels built in London and Paris (the chapel of St Stephens, Westminster and the Sainte Chapelle, Paris). In a recent lecture, Christopher Wilson noted that the architect of the chapel on the Old London Bridge, Henry Yevele, financed the chapel to ‘build himself into the physical fabric of the city and its collective memory’.19 As this was the only bridge in medieval London, the chapel stood in one of the most visible public spaces in the city. The bridge was also a significant commercial hub and the city’s most important gate from the south, explaining the desire for living on or associating oneself with the bridge in a medieval city. Surviving contemporary accounts from medieval Paris give an impression that the two bridges were dominated by specific members of society, who reflect those institutions in the city that the bridges connected. From the time that the bridges were repositioned in the 9th century, they linked the two most important medieval foundations on the island – the cathedral and the Royal Palace – with what lay beyond the river. The Grand-Pont connected the palace of the French kings with the Abbey of Saint-Denis by way of the rue Saint-Denis. As it was described by Guillebert de Mets in 1434, the road between Paris and St Denis had ‘many great and notable crosses sculpted in stone with great images, [which were] on the road in the manner of Montjoies to show the way’.20 This was a vital link because Saint Denis was closely connected to the monarchy. It was the burial place of the French monarchs, a link further emphasised in the 12th century by Abbot Suger’s reconstruction of much of the monastic church and his political ties to the French kings.21 Fittingly, the Grand-Pont was home to moneychangers, jewellers and artisans working in precious materials – much like the famous Ponte Vecchio in Florence. In 1141, Louis VII even decreed that ‘on the Grand-Pont and on it alone the moneychangers should carry on their affairs’.22 The Grand-Pont is also described by Jean de Jandun in 1323 as a place where metalworkers and manuscript makers (parchment makers, scribes, illuminators, binders and book dealers) also have their shops and sell some of the most prized objects made at the time.23 The Petit-Pont, which remained on the site of the Roman bridge, connected the cathedral of Paris to the three major monasteries – Sainte-Geneviève, SaintGerman-des-Prés and Saint-Victor.24 The institutions that this bridge connected, notably Notre-Dame, Saint-Geneviève and Saint-Victor, were not only monasteries but also centres of learning, forming parts of the University of Paris after its expansion beyond the cathedral school. Thus, the Petit-Pont was often home to scholars and masters of the University, who often gave lectures on the bridge.25 In describing the Petit Pont in 1175, Guy de Bazoches wrote: ‘Behold, this place has no equal. The little bridge is dedicated to passers-by [and] disputants in logic’.26 This was also attested by the fact that the schools were located on the left bank – Sainte-Geneviève and Saint-Victor attracted students from a distance, and they were directly connected via the Petit-Pont to the island. More importantly, the school of Notre-Dame, whose ideals were aligned with those of Pope Alexander III (1159–81), preaching ‘knowledge is the gift of God’, had already gained a reputation as a leader among the schools in Paris by the time of Abélard.27 This school, which housed many of its students in the cloister, was initially adjacent to the Petit-Pont. In addition, the Hôtel-Dieu, the oldest hospital in Paris and a place where new doctors were able to gain practical training was also immediately next to the PetitPont. Featured in many older panoramas of the city, its proximity to the bridge was 181

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a common phenomenon because of the hospital’s need for good water access (Fig. 8.2).28 The close bond between hospital and bridge can also be found in Avignon, Roudnice, Ulm, Prague, Bingen, Ausburg and in Regensburg – to name but a few. In Regensburg, the hospital was even referred to as the ‘Hospital atop the Bridge’. The complex was demolished in 1430, but a portal and a façade which led to the infirmary remained standing on the bridge until 1811.29 Several surviving drawings of Regensburg’s bridge reveal a close similarity to Paris. The portal’s trumeau featured a figure of a blessing bishop, probably Konrad IV. To the left of the portal was also access to a flight of stairs which offered a direct link from the bridge to the backdoor of the hospital premises.30 Apart from houses and institutions, both the Petit-Pont and Grand-Pont were also protected by large gate towers. The Petit-Pont was protected by the Petit Châtelet, a gate tower rebuilt in 1210 by Philip Augustus and which can be partly reconstructed from drawings and early modern plans of Paris.31 The Petit Châtelet was essentially a vaulted gate tower with a massive rounded northern end. Although the structure was evidently complex and included later additions, depictions of the building from the late Middle Ages and early modern period demonstrate that the Petit Châtelet was symmetrical on its bridge approach.32 The grandness of this structure in the Middle Ages is also revealed in an account by Guilebert de Mets, who wrote that the Petit Châtelet has walls so thick that one could easily lead a cart along the top of them. On the top of these walls are beautiful gardens. There is a double spiral staircase there, so that people going up one staircase cannot see others going down the other stairs.33

The Grand-Pont was also gated by the massive Grand Châtelet, which can be recognised today by the metro station of the same name. As with the Petit Châtelet, the Grand Châtelet was also in essence a fort with a gate at its core. When it was first built in the early Middle Ages, the Grand Châtelet was a simple gate tower which fortified the bridge and closed the city to the north – it was even called the Porte de Paris.34 In 1190, however, Philip Augustus moved the walls further out and by refortifying Paris in this way, the Châtelet lost its defensive purpose.35 Philip also rebuilt the Châtelet and transformed it into a prison and judicial centre – a function which to some extent it probably already enjoyed, as towers of this type were often used as prisons.36 It thus became the seat of the Prévôt de Paris, the king’s representative in the city, and was enlarged several times, becoming known for its gruelling conditions.37 ThomasCharles Naudet’s painting of the imposing Châtelet at the end of the 18th century emphasises its fortress-like qualities.38 It seems that the Châtelet unsurprisingly had a vaulted gate which was entered through a large pointed arch. Two rounded towers flanked this entrance and a series of other structures were fused to it. Although it is unclear how much of this structure was a later addition, an examination of its appearance on older plans of Paris reveals that it seems to have had the shape illustrated by Naudet from at least the 16th century.39 Fortifications at the end of a city bridge were common in the Middle Ages – attested to by examples such as Cahors, Regensburg or Prague, where towers still survive. Built for defensive purposes, these structures signified authority and power. They were often also embellished by sculptures depicting rulers and heraldry.40 There is not much evidence that either the Petit Châtelet or the Grand Châtelet had any imagery on them; however, based on contemporary examples, one is tempted to imagine that the gates 182

Building Paris on Its Bridges

Fig. 8.4  The Petit Châtelet c. 1700 Source: Alain Manesson Mallet.

Fig. 8.5  The Grand Châtelet seen from the Rue St-Denis c. 1800 Source: © Paris Musées/Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris.

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Fig. 8.6  The medieval bridge at Regensburg as engraved by Matthäus Merian in 1644 Source: Regensburg: Historisches Museum.

Fig. 8.7  Philip of Swabia: Regensburg, Bridge Tower, now in the Historisches Museum Source: Regensburg: Jana Gajdošová.

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Fig. 8.8  Prague: Coronation of King Vladislav I, relief sculpture from the façade of the Judith Bridge Source: Jana Gajdošová.

Building Paris on Its Bridges

once included at least some type of sculptural decoration. It is also apparent from later drawings that something was present on both of the façades – the Grand Châtelet for example has a corbel above the principal arch and the Petit Châtelet also had some type of decoration above the corresponding entry arch (Figs 8.4 and 8.5). Since these fortress gates were so closely connected to Philip Augustus’s display of power at the end of the 12th century, one can envisage that he or his successors would have used their façades to illustrate their authority in the city. Other bridge towers can help us imagine the type of sculptural programme that may have decorated the façade of these lost structures. The two best examples from the 12th century are probably the sculpted kings from Regensburg and Prague. In Regensburg, Philip of Swabia and his Queen Irene once sat enthroned above the gates to the city (Fig. 8.6). Although weathered, the two figures, as well as a larger figure of Frederick II from the bridge tower, are now displayed in the Historisches Museum in Regensburg (Fig. 8.7). In Prague, the relief sculpture on the façade of the gate from the Judith Bridge survives because Emperor Charles IV decided to incorporate the tower into the fabric of his new Gothic bridge. This life-size relief celebrates the coronation of Vladislav I but also propagates the powerful alliance between the Bohemian ruler and the Holy Roman Emperor who crowned him – namely Frederick Barbarossa (Fig. 8.8). Using the Petit and Grand Châtelet gates as vehicles for royal propaganda is perhaps unsurprising as both structures were gates to Paris and places of jurisdiction. Willibald Sauerländer discussed the ‘connection between the medieval bridge, feudal lordship, and the exercise of justice’ in relation to the gateway defending the bridge over the river Volturno at Capua, which he argued offered the most impressive example of an iconography that visualised this link.41 The gateway was built by Frederick II in the 1230s to defend the entrance to the Roman bridge over the river Volturno, at the entrance to the city of Capua.42 Much like Paris, it stood between two cylindrical towers and featured a sculptural programme, which no longer exists in its entirety, though some of the individual sculptures survive in the Museo Provinciale Campano in Capua. The sculptures included a central figure of the enthroned Frederick II and a sculpture of Concordia, along with busts of two judges. Four inscriptions on the Capua gateway read I stand as the keeper of the kingdom by command of Caesar; Those who deviate I make miserable; Security is granted to those who wish to live in purity; Prison awaits the faithless, clearly setting the judicial tone of the sculptural programme.43 It was not only gate towers which were frequently connected to justice and punishment; so were the bridges that they fortified. Erich Maschke, who has explored the relationship between German medieval bridges and justice, points out that due to the isolated nature of the bridges, they represented a unique location for courts and prisons, and German cities, such as Dresden, Würzburg and Regensburg, all had a ‘Brückengericht’ (a bridge court).44 In early 14th-century Avignon, the gallows were moved to the Pont St-Bénézet from their previous location, which was originally near the church of Saint-Agricol.45 The bridge in Avignon thus became the city’s execution ground. Furthermore, just as at the Châtelet in Paris, bridge towers were frequently used as prisons and as places to display punished criminals. This was the case on the Old Town Bridge Tower in Prague and the so-called traitor’s tower of the Old London Bridge.46 Since every person travelling on foot or horseback from the south would have entered London through this gate, the display of punished criminals was 185

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designed as a warning to visitors and to announce that this was where the authority of the city began. Neither the Petit Châtelet nor the Grand Châtelet survive today as they were destroyed in 1782 and 1808 respectively. It is clear, however, that the gates fortifying the two bridges of Paris were central to protecting the city’s ecclesiastical and royal power. Ultimately, what existed on the Île de la Cité was a division between the ecclesiastical city to the east, represented by the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, and the royal city to the west, represented by the royal palace. As mentioned earlier, these centres of power were connected by their respective bridge to institutions that were closely linked to them. The Abbey of Saint-Denis, where French monarchs were buried, was connected via the Grand-Pont to the palace while the three major monastic institutions, where scholars gathered, were connected via the Petit-Pont to Notre-Dame. The buildings and activities on the two bridges that stood out to medieval travel writers also reveal the kind of impression that these structures left behind. If a medieval visitor entered the heart of Paris over the Grand-Pont, he would have encountered the moneychangers and jewellers, advertising the physical wealth of the city, before arriving at the royal palace. On the other hand, if the visitor crossed to the island over the Petit-Pont, he would have encountered scholars, clerics and those who worked at the great hospital, in effect the intellectual wealth of the city, before arriving at the cathedral. While this arrangement is a simplification of the city’s topography, it is fascinating that these bridges became sites for the display of the physical and intellectual wealth of the city and that this wealth was guarded by massive gate towers which communicated the power and authority of Paris.

notes 1 Marjorie Boyer, Medieval French Bridges: A History (Cambridge 1976), 1. 2 For the joust on the Old London Bridge, see G. C. Home, Old London Bridge (London 1931), 92. For the joust and challenge known as the passo honroso run over the bridge at Hospital de Orbigo (Castile), see P. Evans ed., A Critical Annotated Edition of El Passo Honroso de Suero de Quiñones, by Pedro Rodríguez de Lena (Chicago 1930). More generally, for French medieval bridges, see Boyer, Medieval French Bridges (as n. 1); Jean Mesqui and Dominique Repérant, Les ponts de France rêves de pierre et d’eau (Aix-en Provence 2010); Marcel Prade, Les ponts, monuments historiques : inventaire, description, histoire des ponts et ponts-aqueducs de France, protégés au titre des monuments historiques (Poitiers 1986). For English bridges, see David Harrison, The Bridges of Medieval England: Transport and Society, 400–1800 (Oxford 2004); Patricia Pierce, Old London Bridge: The Story of the Longest Inhabited Bridge in Europe (London 2002); Christopher Wilson, ‘L’architecte Bienfaiteur de La Ville. Henry Yevele et La Chapelle Du London Bridge’, in Revue de l’Art, 166 (2009), 43–52. For German medieval bridges, see Erich Maschke, ‘Die Brücke Im Mittelalter’, Historische Zeitschrift, 224 (1977), 265–92; Erich Maschke, ‘Brücke’, Lexikon des Mittelalters (Munich 1980–98), 2, 724–30. 3 The situation in Paris changed in the course of the Middle Ages but before the addition of the Pont au Change, which was a strategic rebuilding of the Grand-Pont to prevent flooding, the two bridges were the only permanent river crossings in Paris. In 1378, the Pont Saint-Michel was built to create a road on the left bank that linked up with the Grand Pont (forming the rue Saint-Denis), and subsequently in 1413–16, the Pont Notre-Dame was added to create the rue Saint-Martin and link up with the Petit-Pont. 4 Philippe Lorentz and Dany Sandron, Atlas de Paris au Moyen Âge: espace urbain, habitat, société, religion, lieux de pouvoir (Paris 2006), 16–18. Richard Stillwell, ‘Lutetia Parisiorum’, in The Princeton Encyclopedia of Classical Sites, available at www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:1999.04.0006:entry=lutetia-parisiorum, [accessed 10 December 2018].

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Building Paris on Its Bridges 5 See Lindy Grant’s article in this volume, and Boyer, Medieval French Bridges (as n. 1), 22. 6 For more on the Île de la Cité, see Meredith Cohen, The Sainte-Chapelle and the Construction of Sacral Monarchy, Royal Architecture in Thirteenth-Century Paris (Los Angeles 2014); Meredith Cohen, ‘Metropolitan Architecture, Demographics and the Urban Identity of Paris in the Thirteenth Century’, in Cities, Texts and Social Networks 400–1500: Experiences and Perceptions of Medieval Urban Space, ed. Caroline Goodson, Anne E. Lester and Carol Symes (Abingdon 2017), 65–100; John W. Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (Palo Alto 2010); Jean Guérot, ‘Le Palais de la Cité à Paris des origines à 1417: essai topographique et archéologique’, Paris et Île-de-France: Mémoires, I (1949), 57–212; Michael T. Davis, ‘Desespoir, Esperance, and Douce France: The New Palace, Paris, and the Royal State’, in Fauvel Studies: Allegory, Chronicle, Music and Image in Paris, ed. Margaret Bent and Andrew Wathey (Oxford 1998), 187–213; Michael Camille, ‘Signs of the City: Place, Power, and Public Fantasy in Medieval Paris’, in Medieval Practices of Space, ed. Barbara A. Hanawalt and Michal Kobialka (Chicago 2000), 1–36. 7 Cohen, ‘Metropolitan Architecture, Demographics and Urban Identity’ (as n. 6), 79. 8 Matthew Paris, ‘Itinerary from London to Jerusalem’, in Historia Anglorum (London), British Library, Royal 14. C. VII, folio 2v. 9 Lorentz and Sandron, Atlas de Paris au Moyen Âge (as n. 4), 21–25. 10 The most informative of these is the woodcut of Paris of c. 1550 by Olivier Truschet and Germain Hoyau, popularly known as the plan de Bâle. 11 Guillebert de Mets, Description de la Ville de Paris, 1434, trans. and ed. Evelyn Mullally (Turnhout 2015), 89. 12 Boyer, Medieval French Bridges (as n. 1), 76–77. 13 Ibid., 76. For Prague, see Karel Fantyš, ‘Karlův most – Je oprava nutná?’ in Věstník Klubu Za starou Prahu 1–2/2001, available at http://stary-web.zastarouprahu.cz/kauzy/kmost/jenutna.htm, [accessed 10 December 2018]. 14 Virginia Egbert, On the Bridges of Medieval Paris: A  Record of Early Fourteenth-Century Life (Princeton 1974). 15 Ibid., 21–22. See also Camille Serchuk, ‘Paris and the Rhetoric of Town Praise in the Vie de St. Denis Manuscript’, Journal of the Walters Art Gallery, 57 (1999), 35–47. 16 Serchuk, ‘Paris and the Rhetoric of Town Praise’ (as n. 15), 37. 17 Cohen, The Sainte-Chapelle and Sacral Monarchy (as n. 6), 19. 18 Boyer, Medieval French Bridges (as n. 1), 167. 19 This lecture was previously published in French as Wilson, ‘L’architecte Bienfaiteur de La Ville’ (as n. 2). For more on the buildings on the London Bridge, see Dorian Gerhold, London Bridge and Its Houses, c. 1209–1761 (London 2019). 20 de Mets, Description de Paris, 1434 (as n. 11), 105. 21 Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (as n. 6), 18–19. 22 Boyer, Medieval French Bridges (as n. 1), 76. 23 Jean de Jandun, ‘A Treatise of the Praises of Paris’, in In Old Paris, ed. Robert W. Berger (New York 2002), 170. 24 Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (as n. 6), 19. 25 Boyer, Medieval French Bridges (as n. 1), 76. 26 Ibid. 27 Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (as n. 6), 175. 28 Documents from the 12th and 13th centuries reveal that bridges, roads and hospitals were often thought of as a single endeavour. See Maschke,‘Die Brücke Im Mittelalter’ (as n. 2), 287. For more on the Hôtel-Dieu, see ‘The Curious History of L’Hôtel-Dieu De Paris: Its Foundation and Early Days’, The Hospital, 8 March 1913, available at www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5213720/?page=1, [accessed 10 December 2018]. 29 Helmut-Eberhard Paulus, ‘Die steinerne Brücke in Regensburg’, Jahrbuch der Bayerischen Denkmalpflege, 40 (1986), 154; Maschke,‘Die Brücke Im Mittelalter’ (as n. 2), 287; Edith Feistner, Die Steinerne Brücke in Regensburg (Regensburg 2005). 30 The drawings are published in Feistner, Die Steinerne Brücke in Regensburg (as n. 29), 18. 31 Cohen, The Sainte-Chapelle and Sacral Monarchy (as n. 6), 24.

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jana gajdošová 32 Lorentz and Sandron, Atlas de Paris au Moyen Âge (as n. 4), 24. See also Jean Fouquet’s depiction of ‘La charité de saint Martin’, a loose leaf from the Heures d’Étienne Chevalier, of c. 1452–60 now in the Louvre museum, Paris. 33 de Mets, Description de Paris, 1434 (as n. 11), 89. 34 Léon Bernard, The Emerging City: Paris in the Age of Louis XIV (Durham 1970), 33. 35 Cohen, The Sainte-Chapelle and Sacral Monarchy (as n. 6), 22. 36 Baldwin, Paris, 1200 (as n. 6), 20. 37 Bernard, Paris in the Age of Louis XIV (as n. 34), 33. See also the chapter by William Chester Jordan elsewhere in this volume. 38 Thomas-Charles Naudet, Le Grand Châtelet, end of the 18th century (now in the Musée Carnavalet, Paris); see also Lorentz and Sandron, Atlas de Paris au Moyen Âge (as n. 4), 187. 39 See the plan de Bâle. 40 W. Sauerländer, ‘Two Glances from the North: The Presence and Absence of Frederick II in the Art of the Empire; The Court Art of Frederick II and the Opus Francigenum’, in Intellectual Life at the Court of Frederick II Hohenstaufen, ed. William Tronzo (Washington 1994), 196; Jana Gajdošová, ‘The Lost Gothic Statue of St. Wenceslas at the Old Town Bridge Tower’, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 80 (2017), 315–28. 41 Sauerländer, ‘Two Glances from the North’ (as n. 40), 189–96. 42 Cresswell Shearer, The Renaissance of Architecture in Southern Italy: A  Study of Frederick II of Hohenstaufen and the Capua Triumphator Archway and Towers (Cambridge 1935), 20; Jill Meredith, ‘The Arch at Capua: The Strategic Use of Spolia and References to the Antique’, in Intellectual Life at the Court of Frederick II Hohenstaufen, ed. William Tronzo (Washington 1994), 117. For a recent discussion, see L. Bevilacqua, ‘Spolia on City Gates in the Thirteenth Century: Byzantium and Italy’, in Spolia Reincarnated: Afterlives of Objects, Materials and Spaces in Anatolia from Antiquity to the Ottoman Era, ed. I. Jevtić and S. Yalman (Istanbul 2018), 181–85. 43 Cesaris imperio regni custodia fio. Quam miseros facio quos variare scio. Intrent securi qui querunt vivere puri. Infidus excludi timeat, vel carcere trudi. See Sauerländer, ‘Two Glances from the North’ (as n. 40), 196. 44 Maschke, ‘Die Brücke im Mittelalter’ (as n. 2), 291. 45 Joëlle Rollo-Koster, ‘Politics of Body Parts: Contested Topographies in Late-Medieval Avignon’, Speculum, 78 (2003), 80–81; J. Jusserand, English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages (London 1929), 25. 46 In Prague, 27 heads of leaders of a Czech uprising of 21 June 1621 were displayed along the top of the Old Town Bridge Tower. See Josef Petráň , Staroměstská exekuce (Prague 1985), 7; Jan Herben, Poprava č eských pánů na staromě stském námě sti v Praze 21. č ervna 1621 (Prague 1921).

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Not So Vast a Solitude Cistercians in Medieval Paris TERRYL N. KINDER

‘Cistercian architecture’ is often thought of as handsome 12th-century stone abbeys in bucolic settings far from populated areas, as was stated in an early ruling for the location of new foundations.1 Even if this topos has long been disproved,2 it remains true that the simplicity, solidity and beauty of Cistercian Romanesque monasteries – even in ruins – are compelling to modern taste. The Cistercian contribution to the development of medieval Paris, however, requires a deeper look into how the Order functioned. Cistercian abbeys near Paris in the 12th century included numerous royal foundations, and the Order’s footprint increased in the 13th, aided by the support of the Capetian kings and especially with the establishment or inclusion of women’s houses. Anne Lester has shown that by the middle of the 13th century, modest communities of Cistercian women could be found outside all major urban centres in the county of Champagne as well as along its trade routes; her map includes thirty-one convents of cisterciennes just to the east of the Paris basin.3 Constance Berman’s recent research analyses their account books and properties, a major contribution to our understanding of how Cistercian women were also actively involved in economic development.4 The internal organisation of an abbey rested on the assumption that contemplative monks and nuns needed to be savvy in the workings of the world so their monasteries could function successfully. As the Order grew, so did its economy involve a vast web of businesses. A life of prayer and charity supported by the sale of cheese cannot be sustained today without a properly vaccinated dairy herd, and while medieval examples may be different in kind, they are parallel in degree. When monks from three abbeys – Cîteaux, a second (unnamed) Cistercian abbey and Fontevraud – were the happy beneficiaries of alms in the form of jewels from the treasury of Count Thibaut of Champagne,5 the monks knew precisely where to take them for cash. They ‘entered our little chamber adjacent to the church and offered us for sale an abundance of gems such as we had not hoped to find in ten years, hyacinths, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, topazes’, and ‘We, however, freed from the worry of searching for gems, thanked God and gave them four hundred pounds for the lot though they were worth much more’. So recounted the buyer, Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis, who was searching desperately for glittering stones to adorn his golden crucifix.6 But speaking for the sellers, it is difficult to imagine that a Cistercian would accept anything less than market value for his gems. The General Chapter required abbeys to be economically viable and self-sustaining, although this does not mean that the communities made everything ‘from scratch’. It was soon obvious that purchasing materials was often more cost-effective than making them, a decision that necessarily involved Cistercians in the market economy. © 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-9

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Since financial viability also meant selling, abbeys needed establishments in urban areas as points of trade, warehouses and places to stay when the abbots (or cellarers or their agents) were transacting business or travelling. Such buildings existed in towns and cities throughout Europe, with surviving examples such as Clairvaux’s immense warehouse in Dijon and its more modest Cellier aux Moines in Bar-sur-Aube, or the viticultural facility of Petit Pontigny in nearby Chablis. A comprehensive study of Cistercians in Cologne identified buildings and included plans, reconstructions and references to townhouses in numerous German cities.7 Such complexes also contributed to the economic development of Paris, as M.-Anselme Dimier pointed out in 1972 and whose work was used to frame an exhibition at the Musée Carnavalet in 1986.8 Recent research by Valentine Weiss and François Blary has expanded on this topic, including archival documentation that broadens the scope while underscoring the complexity of these histories.9 The many property transactions quickly reveal how implicated Cistercians were in the evolution of medieval Paris and how complicated the real estate market was. Architectural and archaeological evidence of these structures, with a few notable exceptions, is scarce. Wars, urban renewal and the changing face of the city, the Order and commercial obligations have resulted in massive alterations or demolition. By the end of the 16th century, nearly all Cistercian abbeys were held in commendam, and although an occasional commendatory abbot appears in the documents, the buildings were more often sold, exchanged, repurposed or razed. At the French Revolution, properties still owned by Cistercians were seized and auctioned off; late 19th-century urban renovations further obscured remaining vestiges. This chapter will attempt to summarise what is known of Cistercian holdings in Paris, thus expanding our appreciation of the Order’s contribution to the development of the medieval city.10 houses in the city Cistercian abbeys owned houses in towns and cities throughout Europe, although countless factors impacted the economy of each monastery and urban property differently. Despite the wide archival net recently cast by Weiss and Blary, the history of Parisian Cistercian establishments remains patchy; the archival material is less a document trail than tiny, disparate flashes, often centuries apart, into the evolution of each estate. A statute promulgated by the General Chapter in 1213 indirectly provides one reason why Cistercians may have begun acquiring houses in Paris. The nunnery of Saint-Antoine-des-Champs had recently been founded outside the eastern city wall, and the statute stipulated that when in Paris, monks and lay brothers of the Order were forbidden to request food or lodging there.11 This stricture may have been the result of complaints about the number – and perhaps the burden – of such visitors, for there is no indication of any scandal, nor for the need to protect the nuns’ enclosure. It suggests, instead, two important factors: the increasing necessity for monastic officers to be in Paris and the lack of suitable lodgings. Right Bank The Rue Saint-Antoine, near the wharves of the Seine where goods were shipped and received, was a major thoroughfare through the eastern half of medieval Paris and 190

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often used for ceremonial entries into the city. Several Cistercian house complexes were located in what is now the 4th arrondissement, along and around a short portion of this street that was renamed the Rue François-Miron in 1865. Some of these houses already existed when Cistercians acquired them, and in the ensuing centuries most were rebuilt, attached to neighbouring properties, enlarged, subdivided or otherwise modified. As a result, little remains of ‘Cistercian buildings’, at least above ground. Several imposing cellars have been identified and some of them studied, while others likely await discovery. A house once owned by Chaalis Abbey has the best-known and best-preserved cellar, and its documentation exemplifies the sort of transformations these establishments underwent. Chaalis (Oise), located in the Ermenonville forest 40 miles north of Paris, was founded by King Louis the Fat in 1136 as a daughter-abbey of Pontigny. Chaalis already owned a house along the right bank on the Rue Saint-Jacques when, in 1200, Héloise de Palaiseau gave the monks another on the Rue Saint-Antoine (today 68 Rue François-Miron), which in 1249 was being used as the abbot’s lodgings. By 1492, it had become an inn that was leased for seventy years to Henry Dubreuil and his wife, who already ran an adjacent establishment called the Hôtel du Faucon. They were charged with repairs to the great hall and chapel, which had been destroyed by fire, although there is no prior mention of hall or chapel, nor of a fire. In 1518, a new lease was signed by the then-innkeeper, Pierre Durand, who was responsible for repairing the house, and work was finished by 1520. The property was transferred to Philippe de Castille in 1608, and in 1644, the abbot of Chaalis tried to buy it back, but the asking price was too high. In 1654, Philippe’s granddaughter Madeleine de Castille and her husband, Nicolas Fouquet, sold the property to Pierre Beauvais and his wife, Catherine Bellier, first lady to Anne of Austria. The house was demolished the following year, when Antoine Le Pautre, the king’s principal architect, built the imposing townhouse that occupies the site today, from that time called the Hôtel de Beauvais. Now a government property, it serves as the administrative court of appeal of Paris.12 The 17th-century townhouse was constructed over cellars that had supported two main buildings (perhaps the one donated to Chaalis in 1200 and the Hôtel du Faucon mentioned in 1492?). The oldest – 17 metres by 8.5 metres and dating from the 13th century – has two aisles of four bays each, the long side facing the Rue François-Miron. From 1967 to 1970, the cellar was excavated by volunteers from the association La Sauvegarde et la mise en valeur du Paris historique; the medieval paving was taken up at that time.13 The cellar is rib-vaulted, the ribs resting on corbels inserted into the four carefully built outer walls and three central columns, the latter with octagonal bases and water-leaf capitals. A second (later) cellar has four rib-vaulted bays to support a second main building opening onto the adjacent Rue de Jouy. Another important Cistercian domestic/commercial centre in Paris once belonged to Ourscamp (Oise), an abbey founded in 1129 in the Oise valley near Noyon, 70 miles north-east of Paris. The first mention of a structure at the corner of the Rue Geoffroi-l’Asnier and Rue Saint-Antoine (now 44, 46, and 48 Rue François-Miron) was made in 1148, when Mathieu de Saint-Germain, a Parisian bourgeois, and his wife Héloïse gave to the Ourscamp community a house near the Baudoyer gate.14 In a conflict over rights in 1266, the phrase magnam domum lapideam was used for the first time, suggesting that Ourscamp had been rebuilt using solid, noble and expensive materials. This house was part of a larger complex with multiple functions surrounding a courtyard.15 191

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Until the end of the 14th century, the house’s official name was the maison or hôtel d’Ourscamp while the popular reference was Maison (or Hôtel) de l’Ours (Bears’ House or Bears’ Inn), its sign carrying the image of a bear. In 1499, Philippe Le Genre, a cloth merchant on the Rue Saint-Honoré, purchased the house complex ‘at the Baudoyer gate where the sign of the bear hung’ and divided the property into three parcels.16 For the next three centuries the complex was lived in, rented or sublet to various artisans, a practice that continued after the post-Revolutionary sale and into the 19th century. By the beginning of the 20th century, all three properties were derelict and scheduled for demolition by the city. In 1964, numbers 44 (to the west) and 46 were donated to the association La Sauvegarde, whose members cleared and stabilised the medieval cellars beneath the houses and removed some of the partitions, allowing the medieval property limits to be re-established (Figs 9.1 and 9.2). The trap�ezoidal area of the cellar includes 240 square metres arranged in three aisles of four bays each, vaulted with ribs resting on fifteen wall corbels and six simple geometric capitals over columns on octagonal bases. One staircase provides access to the interior above; traces of a second led up to the Rue Saint-Antoine. The half-timbered upper stories surrounding the courtyard date from the 16th century.17 The cellars of Chaalis and Ourscamp are the best-known substructures of medieval Cistercian houses in Paris. One can imagine that they were used for storage of goods both to sell on the urban market and for consumption by the inhabitants of the house. Dany Sandron has argued for compiling a systematic inventory of the ‘hundreds, if not thousands’ of such cellars awaiting discovery below street level in Paris. By bringing to light the dimensions and shapes of ground-level structures and potentially creating an underground view of the street layout of medieval Paris, such a study would contribute to our understanding of the medieval city from the 12th century onward. A database containing such elements as types of walls and supports, vaulting, stone type, block sizes, tools, assemblage and eventual decoration would provide insights into medieval building practices, and traces of the types of merchandise sold or of craft activities would further increase our knowledge as to how the spaces were used.18 Preuilly Abbey (Seine-et-Marne), founded in Champagne in 1118 by Cîteaux, owned several houses near the Porte Baudoyer and the Rue de la Mortellerie by the mid-13th century. One house, situated a few blocks to the east on the Rue des Grèves, was acquired from two canons of Notre-Dame in 1211. In 1234, Gautier, bishop of Chartres, bequeathed to Preuilly his large house on the Rue Forgier-l’Asnier (now 9–11 Rue Geoffroy-Asnier); this townhouse for the Preuilly abbots was amortised by the king in 1248. In 1421, it included a garden and rental spaces, and according to a 1766 plan, the main building had been extended by a cellar.19 Sources are conflicting about later medieval ownership. In 1421, the president of Parliament was living there, and one document suggests that Preuilly subsequently gave the house to him, another that the house was sold in 1530. In 1437, a tax was paid by a bailiff for a house on the Rue Geoffroy-Asnier that ‘had belonged to the nuns of Ierre, then the monks of Preuilly’;20 another tax was paid by chaplains for a house with two gables on this street that had belonged to Preuilly. Ownership – or use – of several other houses in this area is mentioned in documents, although it is impossible to identify them with the precision of contemporary addresses. A cellar discovered in 1985 at 15 Rue Geoffroy-Lasnier may also have belonged to this complex.21 Its ribbed vault over two bays has a graceful profile and two bosses, one with the Preuilly coat-of-arms (similar to a keystone found c. 1917 in 192

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Fig. 9.1  Ourscamp house, plan of the cellar M. Source: Anselme Dimier.

Fig. 9.2  Ourscamp house, cellar Source: Terryl N. Kinder.

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a cellar at nearby 56 Rue de la Mortellerie, today Rue de l’Hôtel de Ville)22 and the other with vegetal décor dating to the 14th century. Maubuisson Abbey, founded in 1242 by Queen Blanche of Castile 28 miles northwest of Paris (Val d’Oise), owned houses in Paris from the beginning. In 1240, before construction of the new abbey was completed, the community purchased a house in Paris in the king’s censive and in 1252 exchanged another they apparently already owned on the street of the old mint for one in the weaver’s district. Louis IX, when amortising previous donations in 1248, had requested that the abbey limit its possession of houses to one or two in each village and town; yet in 1289, they bought another near the Saint-Gervais cemetery, which produced an annual income of 47 sous (an excellent return on their investment of 10 livres for the purchase). The scholar-priest William of Anjou, who was to be buried at Maubuisson, gave the abbey a house near the Seine in 1294, and the cartulary shows that the nuns purchased three more houses, paying 60 livres in 1302, 150 livres two years later and 400 livres for a third in 1310.23 These houses were not for the nuns’ use but were investment properties. It should be noted that – although Cistercian women also owned fields, granges, vineyards and other rural properties and in earlier decades worked in them – from 1184, a series of papal bulls were designed to increasingly limit their movements outside the enclosure, thus requiring them to find non-agricultural income. Whereas the cartulary notes the purchases, other documents provide small windows into the later lives of these properties. The saga of one of Maubuisson’s Parisian house compounds provides an example of the complexity, confusion and involvement of personal and political conflict surrounding medieval urban real estate. In the same block as the Preuilly buildings – at the corner of the Rue des Barres and the Rue Grenier-sur-l’Eau, opposite the parish church of Saint-Gervais – stands an imposing complex (Figs 9.3a and 9.3b). Whether or not it is the same house ‘near the Seine’ donated in 1294 (medieval addresses are rarely precise), a document from 1290 shows that a house on the Rue des Barres near the chevet of Saint-Gervais was purchased by a cleric, Guillaume Hilaire, from a Parisian bourgeois held in debtor’s prison. In 1294, having obtained a position far from the city, Guillaume bequeathed this house to the abbess of Maubuisson, where his niece was a nun. It wasn’t until 1302, after Guill­ aume’s death, that the abbess Blanche d’Eu de Brienne succeeded in putting an end to the pretension by the Benedictine nunnery of Valprofonde to income from this property. Guillaume’s brother, Jacques Hilaire, executor of Guillaume’s estate, borrowed money from the abbey so he could execute his brother’s will. When Jacques himself died, another niece and her husband, who also owned property within the same compound, contested Maubuisson’s claim to Jacques’s generosity, complaining that the nuns had already benefitted sufficiently from his largesse. Nonetheless, in 1327, a judgement accorded the abbey ‘half of the half of the house that had belonged to Jacques Hilaire’ against payment of 50 livres.24 The house in question appears to have been on the Rue Grenier-sur-l’Eau, adjacent to the one Maubuisson already owned; the two had apparently been built together but as separate structures and were later referred to as the hôtel du Cerf and the hôtel de la Crosse. In 1329, the abbess paid rights for an alley leading to the house; a courtyard was added in 1347, and other buildings (or parts of them) were gradually acquired to form a complex around the courtyard. In 1356, when a battle near Pontoise threatened Maubuisson during the Hundred Years War (1337–1453), the nuns fled to their city house and remained in Paris until 194

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Fig. 9.3a  Maubuisson house, corner of Rue Grenier sur l’eau and Rue des Barres, north façade

Fig. 9.3b  Maubuisson house, south and east façades Source: Terryl N. Kinder.

Source: Terryl N. Kinder.

1357. In 1359, the hôtel de la Crosse was rented out, but documents are silent for the next century, until a lease of 1458 indicates that the nuns retained an apartment for their use when in town on business. The nature of this business is not mentioned, but Maubuisson owned properties in the countryside including vineyards, and the location near the Seine and the commercial district of Paris was perhaps one reason why they worked so hard to keep it. From the 16th century, the leases became more regular and more explicit; in 1520, one confirmed that Maubuisson had two separate but connected houses in this location. A lease in 1549 for the house at the corner of the Rue Grenier-sur-l’Eau mentions that the ground floor had been used as a tavern. The importance of family connections, both inside and outside the Order, is also underscored here. In 1534, the abbess (sister of the constable of Paris) signed a lease with the Poussepin family, and in 1566, a single lease for both buildings to a member of this family led to unscrupulous dealings. An inspection in August 1566, by the Master of Works of the city of Paris, 195

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pessimistically declared the house to be in precarious condition, obliging work costing at least 900 livres lest it fall imminently into ruin. Yet one month later the Poussepins signed a thirty-five-year lease for an annual rent of 120 livres, and they must have made at least some repairs because the family remained in the house until the end of the century. The Poussepins were skilful lawyers, on very good terms at court, and through various legal shenanigans tried to secure ownership of the house by taking advantage of Maubuisson’s finances, which were severely compromised from the heavy taxes levied by the king on religious establishments to pay for the Wars of Religion (1562–98), Maubuisson having been assessed a whopping 2,340 livres. The end of the wars, and the arrival of the new abbess, Angelique d’Estrées (sister to the king’s mistress), put a stop to the lucrative swindling; the house continued to be rented out until the Revolution. An inventory of 1760 describes the two main buildings as having three upper stories that included thirty-five rooms with fireplaces, plus a courtyard, porte cochère and cellars; a plan of the ground floor in 1786 reveals a large courtyard surrounded by three buildings, all seized at the French Revolution; further modifications occurred when the Rue du Pont-Louis-Philippe was opened in 1833. While identifying details are now largely effaced, the abbey’s coat of arms is still visible below the cul-de-lampe at the corner of the two buildings; a drawing made half a century ago shows the arms of Castile (a tower and a half) and of France (a lily and a half) attached to a crosier held by an angel (Figs 9.4a and 9.4b). Recently restored, the house now belongs to the city of Paris.25

Fig. 9.4a  Maubuisson house, coat of arms

Fig. 9.4b  Maubuisson house, coat of arms in 1972

Source: Terryl N. Kinder.

Source: M.-Anselme Dimier.

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Barbeau Abbey was founded in 1147 by King Louis VII on the Seine and moved five miles north-east of Melun in 1156 (Seine-et-Marne). In 1186, the abbey had acquired a townhouse on the right bank at 15 Rue de l’Ave-Maria, called Lostel de Barbeel; when Philip Augustus built the new city wall (1190–1209), it appears on city plans with the name ‘Porte Barbeel devers lyau’ or ‘Tour Barbeau’ (Figs 9.5a and 9.5b). Several neighbouring houses (2 Rue des Fauconniers and 32–24 Quai des Célestins) were acquired and amortised in 1289 and 1293, and parts of the property were alienated in 1402, 1423 and 1429. When the commendatory abbot, Jean d’Espinay, died in the house in 1503, an inventory listed silver dishes, gold rings and other goods in a building that had at least seven rooms (one of which was ‘peinte’), some facing the garden, along with a chapel, comptoir, servants’ dining room and a cellar opening onto the street. Vestiges discovered in a cellar at 25 Rue de l’Ave-Maria are thought to have been the nave and aisle of a chapel (which would have been built over

Fig. 9.5a  ‘Tour de Barbeau’ (upper left), plan of Paris (detail) Source: Braun and Hogenberg, 1572.

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Fig. 9.5b  Paris: historic sign where the ‘Tour de Barbeau’ once stood

Fig. 9.6  Paris: street sign where houses belonging to Jouy Abbey once stood

Source: Terryl N. Kinder.

Source: Terryl N. Kinder.

a slope because of its proximity to the Seine), whereas others believe it was simply part of the cellar.26 Street signs can sometimes be reliable indicators of the history of a place, although caution is advised. When the nuns of Port-Royal-des-Champs were transferred to Paris in 1625, they built a monastery and church that are still used as a hospital complex, giving their name to a boulevard as well as a Metro station.27 The Rue de Jouy, as it is still called, acquired its name from a compound owned by Jouy Abbey, founded in 1124 in the diocese of Sens (Seine-et-Marne), daughter-house of Pontigny (Fig. 9.6). But one would be mistaken to conclude that the Rue de Cîteaux in the 12th arrondissement marked the spot of property belonging to the celebrated mother-house of the Order. This street was formerly the Impasse de l’Abbaye-Saint-Antoine, renamed in 1864 in memory of the eponymous nunnery that had been demolished seventy years earlier.28 By 1235, Jouy Abbey owned only a modest house on the Rue de Jouy, but in 1297 it was also given a neighbouring dwelling (9, 9bis and 9ter Rue de Jouy) by the grand archdeacon of Chartres. The resulting cluster, called the Hôtel de Jouy in the early 16th century, was described in the 1552 inventory as having four buildings, three 198

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of which surrounded a courtyard. The oldest faced the street and contained stables, a kitchen and pantry on the ground floor, a chapel, three chambers and kitchen on the upper floor, and a further chamber and attic above. Another stood between large and small courtyards, and the main structure – a large room at ground level, with upper floors divided into apartments and workrooms – was located between the great courtyard and the garden. A fourth building, contiguous with the garden, housed a stable and cellar, and a small door at the bottom of the garden gave access to an alley, now called the Impasse d’Aumont. By 1575, the complex was parcelled out but was still owned by Jouy until 1658, when it was sold by the commendatory abbot, Pierre de Bellièvre.29 By that time, Jouy seems to have possessed only a small house on the opposite side of the street, behind the Hôtel du Faucon (of Chaalis, as earlier), that they no longer owned in 1600.30 No physical remains have been identified; this block is now largely occupied by the Lycée Sophie-Germain. The abbey of Longpont, near Soissons (Aisne), was founded in 1131 by Clairvaux. In 1234, they acquired a townhouse located on the Rue des Termes, subsequently called the Rue des Moines de Longpont (today the Rue de Brosse), near the church of Saint-Gervais. In 1437, it still belonged to Longpont, then to a succession of owners, although the precise date of its sale is not known. The only detail recorded about the house is that it had two gables.31 Also located on the right bank, but distant from the neighbourhood discussed ­earlier, were properties owned by Royaumont Abbey, founded by St Louis in 1228 in the Oise valley 18 miles north of Paris (Val d’Oise). By 1316, Royaumont owned a townhouse on the Rue Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois – near the Seine just east of the ­Louvre palace – that they exchanged for a house further north on the Rue Raoul-­ Roissolle (now 4 Rue du Jour). Described in the tax records as a small house in 1373, a house with dependencies in 1399, and an inn by 1419, by 1489 its various components were managed by several different parties. In 1530, a sign displaying a golden lion indicated the abbot’s house, where a rib-vaulted cellar on two levels remains. In 1612, Philippe Hurault de Cheverny, bishop of Chartres and (commendatory) abbot of Royaumont, built a new townhouse on the site that was demolished in 1950. Royaumont also owned a house on the opposite side of the street, called the Maison du Panier vert et rouge.32 Val Notre-Dame, the first Cistercian abbey in the Ile-de France, was founded 18 miles north of Paris in 1125 (Val-d’Oise). In 1317, the community purchased a townhouse on the south side of the Rue de Hueleu (approximately 30 Rue de Turbigo, 75003), which was eliminated when the boulevard de Sébastopol was built during Haussmann’s transformation of Paris in the 1850s. Called l’ostel du Val Nostre Dame, a sign bore an image of Mary, and by 1472, it was a large townhouse with appurtenances.33 Clairvaux Abbey, third foundation of Cîteaux in 1115, had early connections to Paris where St Bernard (1090–1153) preached to attract vocations. The abbey had ties to the Capetians – such as in 1175 when Louis VII granted Clairvaux the considerable sum of 30 livres from bridge revenue at the Grand-Pont – and they possessed a number of Parisian properties at different times and in different sections of the city. From 1224, Clairvaux owned a house at the Saint-Landry port on the Île de la Cité just north of Notre-Dame, now the Quai aux Fleurs. Abbot Stephen of Lexington (1243–55) obtained permission in 1237 to install a group of monks there and to hold classes for what would become the Cistercian college in Paris; the house became 199

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redundant for this purpose when they moved and was sold in 1254. From 1242 to 1253, Clairvaux also owned a house on the right bank that subsequently became the property of Reigny Abbey; it was destroyed to rebuild the Quartier de l’Horloge in the 1970s, now the Rue Bernard de Clairvaux. Reigny Abbey, founded 16 miles south of Auxerre (Yonne) by Clairvaux in 1128, acquired a residence from its mother-house on the major north–south axis, the Rue Saint-Martin, in 1253. Reigny rebuilt the house and transformed the access path into a cul-de-sac, although the memory of its earlier owner was retained as it was later referred to as the Cul-de-sac de Clairvaux (today the Impasse Bernard de Clairvaux). In 1432, the townhouse was still called the Hôtel de Clairvaux; the sign bore an iron cross, and the owner of a nearby grange was living there. From 1438 to 1475, it still bore the sign of the iron cross, and the pied-à-terre remained in Reigny’s possession until its sale in 1788.34 Left Bank In addition to their extensive properties on the right bank, in the 14th century Chaalis also had a townhouse, the Hôtel de Chaalis, on the left bank, south of the church of Saint-Severin and accessed via an alley bearing their name. They transferred it to the abbot of Fontenay, who in 1428 sold it to the wardens of Saint-Severin so they could enlarge their charnel-house; it was demolished in 1445. The alley bearing the name of Chaalis was obliterated in 1448; in 1478, the site of the hotel was still a large empty area contiguous with the cemetery.35 A Hôtel des abbés de Notre-Dame des Vaux-de-Cernay was mentioned in a tax roll of 1253. Located on the Rue du Foin (not far from the townhouse belonging to Chaalis, then Fontenay), by the 14th century the street was called the Rue aux Moines de Cernay. At the time of its lease in 1511, the complex had several houses, cellars, courtyards and gardens. The site was suppressed for construction of the Boulevard Saint-Germain and encompassed the area between 21 and 23bis boulevard SaintMichel and 72bis boulevard Saint-Germain.36 Pontigny (Yonne), founded in 1114 as the second daughter-house of Cîteaux, acquired a house on the left bank at 28 Rue de la Huchette by 1292. In 1328 and 1329, it still belonged to ‘Jehan de Pontigny’ (whose identity is not clear; Jean [IV] was abbot of Pontigny until 1324/25; Thomas succeeded him into the 1330s). It was leased as a furnished residence from 1364 to 1370, when it was acquired by Clairvaux, although it continued to be referred to as the Hôtel de Pontigny in the mid-15th century.37 It was also called the Hôtel de Clairvaux or the Hôtel de l’Ange from an image of an angel on a sign marking the structure. In 1500, the townhouse had become the Hôtellerie de l’Ange where dignitaries were lodged, and in 1523, it consisted of several buildings and a staircase giving access to the Seine. Some sources say that Clairvaux was still the owner in 1573, but others claim that by 1509 it belonged to the captain of the Paris archers.38 After the 1370 sale of the Huchette house, the abbots of Pontigny moved to a smaller one on the east side of the Rue des Anglais, which they had purchased in 1287. By 1509, it was called the Maison de l’Ymaige Saincte Esme, from a sign displaying an image of the archbishop St Edmund of Canterbury in recognition of his last journey, death and burial in the abbey church of Pontigny in 1240. Certain difficulties appeared on the horizon in 1558, and the house seems to have been forcibly sold in 1569, but Pontigny’s ownership was renegotiated, and the abbey was still leasing it out in 1578. Documents over the next many decades, however, indicate a tortuous 200

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legal situation that included non-payment of rent, abandonment by (expulsion of?) tenants, degradation of empty buildings, an auction in 1600, the monks’ protestation of the forced sale and their re-acquisition of the house in 1602 (provided they paid for repairs) while neighbours railed and former tenants demanded the right to return to the house. The case was apparently not settled for several more years.39 The convoluted history of Pontigny’s house on the Rue des Anglais was probably more common than not, as abbots had to deal with any and all woes of landlordship. It is not known how long this house remained in Pontigny’s possession, but by the 18th century the abbots of Pontigny – as well as the abbots of the other four motherhouses – had residences within the precinct of the Collège des Bernardins that was requisitioned by the mayor of Paris to house orphans in January 1790.40 Some three dozen houses of varying sizes and complexities, owned by 15 Cistercian abbeys in medieval Paris, have been identified here. As even a glance makes clear, their acquisitions, histories, sources and details vary widely and provide little more than a glimpse into the real estate practices of Cistercians in the city. Space does not permit extensive research into each property, but the examples of Maubuisson and Pontigny serve to illustrate a few of the problems that accompanied urban estate management in the Middle Ages. There are undoubtedly more houses, as well as portions thereof, and even individual rooms, that were also owned or managed by Cistercians. The houses are summarised in the last section of this chapter, organised alphabetically by abbey, and their distribution is shown in Fig. 9.19. teaching and learning: the collège saint-bernard Expanding rapidly – from the foundation of Cîteaux in 1098 when life was largely rural, to the urbanising 13th century – the white monks adapted to the swiftly changing times. While pieds-à-terre in towns and cities were needed to maintain commercial activities, Cistercians also contributed to the Parisian cityscape in other ways. With the rise of universities and competition for vocations from Franciscans and Dominicans, higher education became essential for promising young monks, especially those being groomed as future novice masters and abbots. The response initially came from Clairvaux, and while Stephen of Lexington is often credited with founding a Cistercian college in Paris, two of his predecessors had laid the groundwork, one as early as 1224 by acquiring a house on the Île de la Cité near Notre-Dame where classes were first held. With the support of Pope Innocent IV, the Collège Saint-Bernard – also called the Collège des Bernardins – was founded in 1245. The permanent location was a vast plot of land in the clos du Chardonnet on the left bank, bordered by Philip Augustus’s wall to the east, the Seine to the north and a branch of the Bièvre (a tributary to the Seine) to the south and west. The property eventually also included a small piece of land opposite, a total of nearly five hectares (12 acres) (Fig. 9.7).41 In 1250, Pope Innocent IV authorised the celebration of liturgical offices in the chapel, burials within the enclosure and the right to have lay brothers. Alphonse de Poitiers, brother of Louis IX, became patron of the college in 1253 and donated an annual rent to support twenty students.42 But the cost of maintenance soon exceeded the income Clairvaux was able to provide, and for various reasons – including the importance of keeping monks abreast of current theological debates – the General Chapter purchased the Collège in 1320 and transformed it into an Order-wide institution. In 1335, the Cistercian pope Benedict XII, an alumnus, issued the constitution 201

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Fig. 9.7  Collège Saint-Bernard, plan of Paris (detail) of 1552 by Olivier Truschet and Germain Hoyau now at the University of Basel

Fig. 9.8  Plan of the Collegiate church of Saints Mary and Bernard Source: Redrawn by Michael T.; Davis after Théodore Vacquer, Paris, BHVP, MS 252.

Fulgens sicut stella, which established the primacy of the Parisian institution over regional Cistercian schools and where the most promising students of the Order were to be sent to study. To remain solvent, twenty livres tournois were to be paid by (the abbey of) each student at the beginning of fall term on the first of October. To ensure full enrolment of the fifty students required to meet expenses, it was further stipulated that if an abbey had a population of forty or more monks, the abbot was to send two of them to study in Paris; if between thirty and forty, to send one; if between eighteen and thirty, one monk either to Paris or to a regional school.43 In this manner, the Parisian college – by the pope’s design – became a transnational institution that a Cistercian monk from any abbey could attend. As a result of the General Chapter’s purchase in 1320 and the Cistercian pope’s enthusiasm for the project, an immense building campaign was begun.44 This included an ambitious edifice that has been studied extensively by Michael Davis, who posited that the resulting church of Sainte-Marie and Saint-Bernard was the most enterprising ecclesiastical building project in 14th-century Paris. In addition to calling attention to a Cistercian college within the university quarter and marking its primacy among the Order’s sites of learning, the building also represented the prestige of its sponsor and illustrious alumnus, Pope Benedict XII (1334–42).45 On behalf of the monarchy, 202

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Queen Jeanne de Bourgogne laid the first stone in 1338 and made a donation to the fabric. Contributors to the project were offered papal indulgences of 100 days, and frequent visits to the church were encouraged. Remains of this edifice disappeared when the boulevard Saint-Germain was extended in 1859, but during excavations for a parking garage in 1978–79, foundations were discovered that allowed the plan to be re-imagined: a regular grid 80 metres in length with thirteen aisled bays, a row of shallow rectangular chapels running the length of the aisles on both north and south sides and a polygonal apse flanked by two rectangular chapels. The foundations appear to have been entirely laid out at one time, demonstrating confidence that the church would be completed (Fig. 9.8). Extensive surviving accounts studied in meticulous detail by Davis are proof of the rapid pace of construction from the beginning in 1338, the scandal one year later resulting in a change of master and the breakneck speed of subsequent work: seven days a week, year-round. Three and a half years after Queen Jeanne laid the first stone, the entire platform was laid out and the eastern half of the church had risen to its full height, but the pope’s death in April 1342 brought work to a halt. The apse and flanking chapels, as well as five eastern nave bays, were complete, but the eight western bays were not yet begun. The pope’s dream church for the Collège would never be fully realised.46 Despite its partial state, the church dominated the Parisian cityscape, as late medieval and early modern engravings illustrate (Figs 9.9 and 9.10). Drawings by Théodore Vacquer capture some of the delicately defined details as he saw them in the late 19th century,47 and he was no doubt responsible for photographs showing details of the inner walls before demolition (Fig. 9.11), but the only remaining vestige of the church is a door in the south wall. The sacristy was finished not long after the pope’s death by his nephew, another alumnus of the college, Cardinal Guillaume Curti (d. 1361). Attached to the southeast corner of the church, its shape – a slightly irregular quadrilateral of two by three bays (10 m by 12.5 m) – is the result of its being a ‘bridge’ between the church and the monastic building (Fig. 9.12). Now used as a temporary exhibition space, the sacristy provides a glimpse of the magnificence intended in Benedict’s church, with its soaring height, detailed mouldings and many refinements. The contiguous monastic building remains as a vivid witness of the project’s intended grandeur (Fig. 9.13). Seventy metres long and 14 metres wide, it extended southward from the sacristy, as would the monks’ building in a monastery. Here, all the functions present in the three wings surrounding a monastic cloister were compressed into the surviving three-level building. Intended for fifty students, space was needed for classes, a library, administrators, lay brothers and other personnel. The ground floor, seventeen bays in length by three in width, rests on thirty-four slender columns (Fig. 9.14). Now a single breathtaking space, it was originally subdivided into areas for various functions, including classrooms, chapter room, kitchens, refectory and library (Fig. 9.15). As in a monastery, the dormitory was located on the upper floor while the cellars below were used for storage and as quarters for the lay brothers. The building campaign coincided with the beginning of the Hundred Years War (1337–1453), and revenues – on which the budget depended – came from the students’ abbeys, but the war, as well as sporadic recurrences of the plague, severely impacted their prosperity. Enrolment dropped alarmingly as monks were being sent instead to newly founded regional colleges in Italy, Germany, Spain, England and elsewhere in France rather than to Paris. By 1421, the General Chapter voiced its distress over the 203

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Fig. 9.9  Church of the Collège Saint-Bernard, south flank. Engraving by Jean Marot, 1660, re-engraved by P. Mariette in 1727 Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Fig. 9.10  Collège Saint-Bernard, church and gardens from the north-west. Engraving by Israël Silvestre (1621–1691) Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France.

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Cistercians in Medieval Paris

Fig. 9.11  Collège Saint-Bernard, vestiges of the church, inner wall of chapels along the south aisle showing two niches in each chapel. Photograph by Pierre Emonds (or Emonts), 20 November 1886 Source: © Paris Musées/Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris.

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Fig. 9.12  Collège Saint-Bernard, sacristy Source: © Laurent Ardhuin.

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Cistercians in Medieval Paris

Fig. 9.13  Collège Saint-Bernard, monastic building from the south-east Source: © Laurence de Terline.

Fig. 9.14  Collège Saint-Bernard, monastic building, toward the south-east Source: © Domitille Chaudieu.

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Fig. 9.15 Collège Saint-Bernard, ground floor of monastic building, interior disposition Source: M.-Anselme Dimier.

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Cistercians in Medieval Paris

disastrous condition of the Parisian buildings: the stability of the foundations was in question, revenues were neglected, monastic offices were no longer held, the church pavement was covered with water, and there was no teaching in the school.48 Despite this hair-raising description, Thomas Sullivan, osb, found that the sixty-eight Cistercian monks licensed in theology from 1373 to 1450 ranked in the upper quartile of their classes, a rate higher than the other 946 clerics licensed during the same period. Sixty percent of the students came from monasteries in the northern half of France, and a large number went on to inception as Masters of Theology.49 By 1487, however, physical and economic conditions had worsened. The college was so far in debt from low enrolment and resulting lack of revenue that the cellarer could no longer light the church, and the chapter considered selling its treasures and other valuable objects to pay off creditors.50 Complaints arose concerning the level of discipline and learning among the student monks. Grades were allegedly falsified, wealthy students had servants and threw extravagant parties for their fellow students, a number of whom were, by contrast, living in poverty. Some of the bacheliers refused the authority of the provisor, bullied younger students, skipped the monastic offices and stayed in their rooms to eat, drink and play. Those who dressed in civilian clothes, painted their faces and sneaked out to join the general revelry during the Three Kings festival on 6 January were excommunicated, but banquets and entertainments at graduation had become de rigueur, and home monasteries had to foot the bills.51 By the end of the 15th century, the situation could no longer be ignored, and several new tactics were implemented. To raise capital, the college took advantage of its location in what had become a fashionable neighbourhood to lease the edges of the clos du Chardonnet to prominent Parisian citizens, mostly from the legal profession. For an annual rent, they were allowed to build houses on lots around the periphery, with the stipulation that no doors or windows could face inside the enclosure at street level and upstairs windows had to be covered with grills. In addition, the large garden area between the church and the Seine was rented to timber merchants who managed the driftwood that floated down the river.52 These measures provided new income, but it was also necessary to improve conditions on the inside. Jean de Cirey, the talented and resourceful abbot of Cîteaux (1476–1501), was in 1478 mandated by Pope Innocent VIII to reform the entire Cistercian Order. Thanks in large measure to his efforts, discipline and much-improved administrative organisation were also established for the college. In 1493, they received a new set of regulations called the Articuli Parisienses, a remarkable document not only for the Cistercians but also for the whole University of Paris.53 Liturgical observances were reduced to ensure that students had enough rest and adequate time for studying. The provisor was entrusted with authority equalling that of an abbot, and out-of-town abbots staying at the college were expected to obey him. Budgetary responsibilities were to be handled by the procurator (cellarer) and the bursar. A subprior was to serve as spiritual director to the students, a custos to maintain order in the dormitories and a bedel as campus custodian in charge, among other responsibilities, of keeping gates and doors locked. A college council was formed, including the four principal officers and upper-level students who were to meet weekly to advise the provisor on administration and discipline.54 These regulations, with a few modifications, would govern the life of the college until the French Revolution. These drastic steps obviously paid off, for the college experienced a renewal in the later Middle Ages, as witnessed by the lively intellectual life examined extensively by 209

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Caroline Obert.55 Using the contracts that Parisian notaries were required to keep from the late 15th century, Beatrice Beech reconstructed an economic and social history of the college during the Wars of Religion (1562–98).56 Prosperity also brought investment in the fabric during this time, as four additional bays were added to the nave from 1510–14, although the church was never finished and slowly fell into disrepair. Nor was the longer-term viability of the college assisted by the introduction of the commendatory system to the abbeys by the Concordat of Bologna of 1516, which meant that (often absentee) abbots were more interested in skimming abbey income for personal use than spending money to educate the monks nominally in their charge. The church was converted for use as a cattle market in the 1770s, and the remnants torn down in 1859 for Haussmann’s new apartments and boulevard.57 The monastic building fared better, as it was requisitioned in 1790 by the mayor of Paris for use as a hospital for orphaned children. It subsequently became a flour depot, foundry, salt depository, fire station and municipal barracks until 1995 (Fig. 9.16). Purchased in 2001 by the diocese of Paris, the building was magnificently restored during 2004–08.58 The very location proved problematic to the restoration. Walls were deformed, and water seepage – dating from the purchase of the site in the 13th century – had compromised the foundations so severely that the lower floor had already been infilled with two metres of gravel in the Middle Ages.59 To stabilise the building, the walls were reinforced with a total of 300 micro-pilons sunk to a depth of about 20 metres. The pitch of the roof was determined by fifteen oak tie-beams which were found intact during the restoration, each 16 metres in length and cut from trees felled in the 1240s. Today, the lowest level is used as classrooms, a library and conference rooms while the top level – including an auditorium for conferences and films – is suspended from a metal frame resting on the outer walls. As a result of this restoration, the building once again has an educational purpose. from swamp to city: the women of saint-antoine-des-champs Nearly all the properties discussed till now concerned male monasteries, but Cistercian nuns also played a vital role in the evolution of medieval Paris. Many Cistercian abbeys were founded for women in the first half of the 13th century, though most were poor, and a significant number had disappeared by the end of the Middle Ages. Prestigious royal nunneries – such as those established by Queen Blanche of Castile, Maubuisson and Lys (Dammarie-les-Lys, 54 km south-west of Paris, in 1244) – were well endowed and survived until the Revolution. In 1206, two abbeys for women on the outskirts of medieval Paris – Port-­ Royal-des-Champs, 38 km south-west in the Chevreuse valley, and, much closer, Saint-Antoine-des-Champs just east of the new city wall – were incorporated into the Cistercian Order. As their names make clear, the locations were not urban, but Saint-Antoine-des-Champs became a worthy example of how Cistercians adapted to rapidly changing circumstances and contributed to the development of the medieval city. While the abbey’s origins are somewhat obscure, the site may not have been the ‘desert, an empty howling wasteland’ described in Deuteronomy 32:10 as Cistercian rule stipulated, but neither was it prime real estate. The owner of the property is not known, but the preacher Foulques de Neuilly is said to have founded an establishment for fallen women and usurers in 1198 to the east of Paris, at that time a swamp 210

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Fig. 9.16 Collège Saint-Bernard as a fire station, early 20th century

with a hermitage and a chapel dedicated to St Anthony.60 The number of inhabitants or converts went unrecorded, and none were named when Eudes de Sully, bishop of Paris, integrated the community into the Cistercian Order by attaching it directly to Cîteaux in 1204/08.61 The increase in Saint-Antoine’s wealth and prominence paralleled the growing importance of the capital city itself. Vanessa Szollosi has pointed to the importance of the political and religious context, noting especially the conflict between Capetians and Plantagenets following the failure of the Third Crusade (1189–92) and the emergence of heretical movements and their repression by the lords to the north, many of whom became the first major benefactors. Philip Augustus (1180–1223) was silent about the foundation and early years of Saint-Antoine, whether because of his difficult relationships with the Parisian bishops, his mistrust of the major benefactors or judging it best to watch a new faubourg develop from a distance without the need for intervention on his part.62 Guillaume de Seignelay, bishop of Auxerre (1207–20) before becoming bishop of Paris (1220–23), oversaw transfer of the women’s abbey of Celles near Auxerre to a new site along the right bank of the Yonne River. Renamed Les Isles at the transfer, he increased its population in 1220 by sending nuns from Saint-Antoine-des-Champs.63 211

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Saint-Antoine played a lively role in the growing city. When Louis VIII was facing military disaster in the Poitou in 1224, Blanche of Castile choreographed a dramatic procession with Berengaria, her niece and queen of Jerusalem, and Queen Ingeborg. Followed by the citizens of Paris, the three queens, weeping and praying, walked barefoot from Notre-Dame to Saint-Antoine, where they prostrated themselves before the high altar, asking God’s help; it cannot have hurt the abbey’s prestige that the king took La Rochelle the next day.64 In 1227, Louis IX confirmed a donation of 14 arpents (nearly 12 acres) that appears to have been given to the abbey by his father to celebrate his birth; from that time Saint-Antoine was considered a royal abbey.65 Queen Blanche remained on close terms with the nuns of Saint-Antoine, and as Lindy Grant has noted, by the late 1230s abbess Agnes Mauvoisin was so often at court that she had become ‘almost a member of the household’.66 Louis IX left on crusade through the eastern gate of the city, the Porte Saint-Antoine, through which he returned in 1238 with the Crown of Thorns, newly acquired from the emperor of Constantinople. The relic was exhibited in Paris for the first time inside the abbey walls, on a platform swathed in silks.67 When Maubuisson was ready for occupancy in the early 1240s, it was populated by nuns sent from the Saint-­Antoine community, as had been the case for Les Isles two decades earlier. The status of Saint-Antoine was such that in 1261, King Louis granted them exemption from the 12th-century law forbidding pigs to roam freely, provided the nuns’ pigs wore a bell with a cross to identify their owners. The abbey had become so popular a destination for well-born women that, in 1291, the number of nuns and lay sisters was limited to 140.68 In the second half of the 14th century, during the Hundred Years War, the Bastille was constructed to defend the eastern entry to Paris from the English threat. Formally called the Bastille Saint-Antoine, it was built in the middle of the Rue Saint-Antoine, with the Porte Saint-Antoine to the north. The abbey was still (just) outside the walls, but the city was steadily creeping towards it. In later centuries, privileges from bishops and popes granting indulgences to those who visited Saint-Antoine on a number of holy days made it a convenient pilgrimage point less than an hour’s walk from the heart of the medieval city. By the 18th century, an inventory shows that some remission from sins would have been granted for visiting on 120 days a year.69 In 1233, King Louis IX and Queen Blanche attended the consecration of the abbey church, of which nothing remains but much speculation has occurred. A drawing of 1481 from the south side of the property is the most detailed iconographic source for its late medieval appearance (Fig. 9.17). The church and claustral buildings dominate the composition while orchards, watercourses, ponds, gardens, gatehouse chapel, woods, home grange and numerous other outbuildings are nestled within the enclosure wall that curves around the irregularly shaped domain. The cloister buildings lay to the south of the church, facing the viewer. The most prominent may be the refectory, with three south-facing windows and surmounted by a modest bell tower; adjacent structures appear to enclose a cloister garth. The drawing shows two lancet windows in the façade of the south transept, clerestory windows in the nave, while the west façade, preceded by a low porch, has two lancets and an oculus. The hexagonal crossing tower, façade, east end and both transept gables are crowned with outsized crosses. 212

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Fig. 9.17  Abbey of Saint-Antoine-des-Champs in 1481 Source: © Paris Musées/Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris.

Fig. 9.18  Abbey of Saint-Antoine-des-Champs Source: From the plan of Paris of 1552 by Olivier Truschet and Germain Hoyau now at the University of Basel.

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The overview of Paris by Olivier Truschet and German Hoyau of 1552 depicts SaintAntoine from the west (Fig. 9.18). While far less detailed than the 1481 drawing, it clearly indicates north and south transepts and a prominent crossing tower, all three topped with large crosses. A plan drafted in 1696 for renovation of the claustral buildings shows the medieval church with a six-bay nave and wide aisles based on a square module, nuns’ stalls contained within three nave bays and a seven-sided polygonal apse flanked by two square chapels.70 The north transept is one bay deep, whereas an identical space for the south transept appears to have been altered, although the 1790 plan of Paris by Antoine Verniquet still includes both north and south transepts in the silhouette of the church.71 The extensive analysis of Saint-Antoine’s income and property management by Berman opens wide a door to the financial decision-making of the abbey and its involvement in the economic (r)evolution of medieval Paris. As with Maubuisson, restrictions concerning nuns’ movements outside the abbey walls would have been taken into account when both nunneries were laying their economic foundations. The date of Saint-Antoine’s attachment to the Cistercian Order coincided with new types of investments that were being created as the city expanded, workers were in demand, and housing as well as workshop space were needed, all elements in which the nuns participated actively. One of the oldest surviving documents dates from 1206, a donation of 100 solidi in rents from a certain Agnes de Cressonessart to the ‘hospital of Saint-Antoine-de-Paris’ and to the ‘brothers and sisters’ there.72 This loose parchment was not copied into the cartulary, perhaps because the memory of a mixed-gender community was not considered desirable. Agnes was later buried in the abbey chapel, and her donation seems to have presaged the wealthy and important nunnery that Saint-Antoine would soon become: a house for well-born women that immediately attracted donors from important bourgeois and noble families in and around Paris. As Berman has noted, patrons included men and women, laypeople and clerics, from both urban and rural milieux. The early success of the abbey was tied to such rising knightly families as the Montmorency, Mauvoisin and Montfort, who had made their fortunes – at least in part – by their association with Cistercian abbots who had led the crusade against the Albigensian heretics.73 The cartulary was compiled in c. 1300, a crucial transition time for legal documents when written charters were beginning to replace face-to-face transactions, and French was replacing Latin. Scribes sometimes ran into difficulties trying to use old types of contracts to cover new types of transactions, especially those involving credit or the transformation of money into income, such as increased rents on Parisian houses. What Berman calls ‘augmentation of rents’ appear to have been newly created annuities that were granted on property already paying rent to Saint-Antoine. This may represent the increased value of the property, and sometimes tenants agreed to make improvements to the property against cash provided by the nuns, who may in some cases have been lending money against a perpetual rent or granting ‘home improvement loans’ to tenants in return for increased (future) rents.74

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By the 1340s, over 600 livres cash income was reported in the censiers (rent books) from approximately 150 properties owned by Saint-Antoine within the city.75 Among the earliest donations were half a house in the Clos Brunel of the Latin Quarter given post-obit in 1210 by a matricularis at Notre-Dame and a house that the bishop of Paris, Pierre de Nemours, had purchased with his own money and donated to Saint-Antoine in 1213.76 Other gifts of property in Paris were made by bourgeois Parisians, some connected to the royal court, and they included parts of houses such as ‘deux chambres’ given by a widow in 1217 and another half a house as well as two houses in 1218.77 While they owned ten houses in this location, particular note was made of ‘notre grant maison des Halles’, which owed 80 livres per year,78 although rents elsewhere in the city could be considerably higher. The description of Saint-Antoine’s holdings makes clear that at least some houses adjoined properties that were also owned by the nuns and that selective acquisition on particular streets was underway. They collected rents from different parts of the city, some near areas where various trades were practised – weavers, silk-makers, belt-makers, goldsmiths, furriers and slaughterhouses – while others were in neighbourhoods identifiable today, such as Les Halles and the left bank.79 Multiple holdings on a single street with identical rents suggest that the nuns had built identical row houses for rental purposes (Fig. 9.19). The information provided, especially in Saint-Antoine’s accounts, begs the question of what constitutes a ‘Cistercian house in Paris’. Up to now these houses have been considered as belonging to rural abbeys for the commercial and/or domestic use by abbey officers on business in Paris. Accounts from Saint-Antoine and Maubuisson show how this phrase accrues another meaning, one that vastly expands the aforementioned summary of urban properties held by Cistercians. This expansion did not end with the Middle Ages. In 1471, Saint-Antoine benefitted from a royal order to encourage the development of local business. Exempted from high taxes, artisans set up workshops around the abbey, and for the next 150 years – under the franchise of the abbess – the quartier benefitted by being able to eliminate severely regulated business models and allowing woodworkers to use wood other than oak. By the mid-17th century, the abbess was in charge of an area that included some fifty streets. The process of consolidating properties within the medieval walls was later replicated in the Faubourg-Saint-Antoine, where – just before the Revolution – the abbey owned street after street of houses and lots,80 probably connected to woodworking, a craft which remained prominent in this neighbourhood well into the 20th century and continues on a limited scale today. When Saint-Antoine was closed in 1790, the community consisted of twenty-four choir nuns and eleven lay sisters. The law of 4 February 1791 turned the church over to parish use; in 1795, the abbey was made into a hospital, and the church and entrance chapel were demolished the following year.81 Although much transformed, Saint-Antoine still functions as a hospital of that name, an ironic echo of the 1206 charter describing a leper hospital on the site, back when the neighbourhood was little more than a swamp.

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Fig. 9.19  Cistercian impact on the plan of Paris. Houses owned by Cistercian abbeys: blue stars = St-Antoine; red stars = all others Source: Based on the plan of Paris of 1552 by Olivier Truschet and Germain Hoyau now at the University of Basel.

conclusion Often romantically imagined as oases of pious solitude, Cistercian abbeys were (and are) institutions that survived by evolving as the society around them evolved. The old idea of a Cistercian ‘Golden Age’ which faded at the end of the 12th century as the Order abandoned its original raison d’être, only to be followed by centuries of laxity and decline, is now known to be false. The actual situation was far more nuanced, and abbeys had no choice but to respond to a world that was constantly changing – socially, religiously, economically, politically and, indeed, spiritually. This summary of Cistercians’ commercial, domestic, educational, political and spiritual involvements in Parisian life points to a few of the ways in which this cloistered order had a significant impact on the development of medieval Paris. At the same time, it underscores the paradox of how it was necessary for those who belonged to the Order to play an important role in the life of the city so they could live lives far removed from it. 216

summary of houses owned by cistercian abbeys identified in paris Abbey

Location

Acquired/ First Mention

Barbeau

15 Rue Ave-Maria

Evolution

Medieval Vestiges

Divested

later 12th c., ? before wall – – – –  – – – – 1289, 1293: acquired neighbouring houses

expropriated for PhilipAugustus’s wall – – – – – – – – – – 1503: commendatory abbot died here

Tour Barbeau

end 12th c.

– – – – – vestiges found in cellar of 25 Rue Ave-Maria

–  –  –  – 1402, 1423, 1429: parts alienated

Rue St-Jacques (Left bank) –  –  –  –  –  – Rue St-Antoine (now 68 rue François-Miron)

before 1200

?

?

?

– – – – – –  –  –  – 2 cellars, medieval –1608: paving ceded

–  –  –  –  –  – Left bank, south of St-Severin 75005

– – – –  – – – – 14th c. ? (cited)

– – – – – – – – – – –1249: used as abbot’s lodgings –before 1492: fire –1492: inn, great hall & chapel –1518: inn, house –1608: ownership transferred to Philippe of Castille –1644: Chaalis tried to buy back, but too expensive –1654–55: sold, razed, rebuilt – – – – – – – – – – ?

–  –  –  –  –  – 2 Rue des Fauconniers, 32–24 Quai des Célestins Chaalis

Means of acquisition

?

– – – –  – – – – 1200 donated by Héloise de Palaiseau

– – – – – ?

–  –  –  – before 1428: to Fontenay (Continued)

(Continued) Abbey

Location

Clairvaux

Acquired/ First Mention

Evolution

Medieval Vestiges

Divested

St-Landry port by 1224 ? (Quai aux Fleurs) –  –  –  –  –  – – – – –  – – – – cul-de-sac near Rue 1242 ? St-Martin

–1237: permission to install monks and hold classes – – – – – – – – – – ?

?

1254: sold

–  –  –  –  –  – 28 Rue de la Huchette 75005

– – – –  – – – – 1370 from Pontigny

– – – – – – – – – – –1500: townhouse –1523: several buildings, stairs to the Seine

– – – – – –  –  –  – vestiges destroyed –1253: given/ sold to Reigny – – – – – –  –  –  – ? by 1509? 1573: still owned?

Fontenay

Left bank, south of St-Severin 75005

from Chaalis transf. from before 1428 Chaalis to Fontenay

1445: demolished

?

1428 sold to St-Severin

Jouy

13–17 Rue de Jouy –  –  –  –  –  – 9, 9bis, 9ter Rue de Jouy

by 1235 ? – – – –  – – – – 1297 donation by archdeacon of Chartres – – – –  – – – – by 1658 ?

–initial possession, then clustered with other houses –early 16th c.: called Hôtel de Jouy: had 4 buildings

–block now Lycée Sophie-Germain –alley at bottom of garden = Impasse de l’Aumont – – – – –

1575: all parcelled out 1658: sold

?

?

–  –  –  –  –  – small house on opposite side of Rue de Jouy, behind Hôtel du Faucon Longpont

Rue Moines de Longpont (now Rue de Brosse), near St-Gervais

1234

Means of acquisition

?

– – – – – – – – – – ?

1437: belonged to Longpont, then others

–  –  –  – by 1600 no longer owned

Abbey

Location

Maubuisson in the king’s censive –  –  –  –  –  – on the street of the old mint –  –  –  –  –  – in weaver’s district –  –  –  –  –  – near St-Gervais cemetery –  –  –  –  –  – near the Seine –  –  –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  –  –  – 12 Rue des Barres

corner Rue des Barres and 11 Rue Grenier-sur-l’Eau (properties combined)

Acquired/ First Mention

Means of acquisition

Evolution

Medieval Vestiges

Divested

1240 purchase – – – –  – – – – before 1252 ?

? – – – – – – – – – – ?

? – – – – – ?

– – – –  1252 – – – –  1289

– – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – ?

– – – – – ? – – – – – ?

? –  –  –  – exchanged 1252 –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – ?

– – – – – – – – – – ?

– – – – – ?

–  –  –  – ?

– – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – –1329: rights to alleyway –1347: courtyard added –1359: leased –1458: leased but kept an apt for their use –1520: two houses still joined –1760: 2 main buildings of 3 stories: –1786 plan: large courtyard surrounded by 3 buildings

– – – – – ? – – – – – ? – – – – – ? – – – – – house with coat of arms

–  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – seized at the revolution

– – – – exchange – – – – purchase

– – – –  – – – – 1294 donation by William of Anjou – – – –  – – – – 1302 purchase – – – –  – – – – 1304 purchase 150 l – – – –  – – – – 1310 purchase 400 l. – – – –  – – – – 1294/1302 bequest to abbess from Guillaume Hilaire 1327

awarded half of half house of Jacques Hilaire

modified further in 19th c.

(Continued)

(Continued) Abbey

Location

Acquired/ First Mention

Means of acquisition

Evolution

Medieval Vestiges

Divested

Ourscamp

near Baudoyer gate, corner of Rue Geoffroil’Asnier and Rue St-Antoine (now 44–45–46 Rue François-Miron)

1148

donation by Mathieu de SaintGermain and his wife Héloïse

–1266: rebuilt magnam domum lapideam –1499: sold, subdivided

cellars

1499

Pontigny

28 Rue de la Huchette 75005 –  –  –  –  –  – east side of Rue des Anglais

1292

purchase

–1328/29: ‘Jehan de Pontigny’ –rented out 1364–1370 – – – – – – – – – – 1509: image of St Edmund

?

1370 sold to Clairvaux –  –  –  – ?

several houses near the Porte Baudoyer, Rue de la Mortellerie (Rue de l’Hôtel de Ville) –  –  –  –  –  – east of Rue des Grèves

by mid-13th c.

(Preuilly owned numerous houses in this area; it is not always clear which is which)

vault boss discovered c. 1917 in cellar

?

– – – –  – – – – acquired 1211 from 2 Notre-Dame canons – – – –  – – – –

– – – – – – – – – – ?

– – – – – ?

–  –  –  – ?

– – – – – – – – – –

– – – – –

–  –  –  –

Preuilly

–  –  –  –  –  –

– – – –  – – – – 1287 purchase

– – – – – ?

Abbey

Location

Acquired/ First Mention

Means of acquisition

Evolution

Medieval Vestiges

Divested

Rue Forgier-l’Asnier now 9–11 Rue Geoffroy-Asnier –  –  –  –  –  – 15 Rue Geoffroy-Lasnier

1234

bequest from Bp Gautier of Chartres

–1248: king amortised –1421: garden, rental spaces –1766: extended cellar

?

1545: still owned (tax declaration)

– – – –  – – – – ? ?

– – – – – – – – – – ?

– – – – – –  –  –  – 1985: cellar found with ribbed vault over 2 bays; coat of arms similar to keystone c. 1917 in cellar at 56 Rue de la Mortellerie

Reigny

cul-de-sac near Rue St-Martin; today Rue Bernard de Clairvaux

1253

–Reigny rebuilt, continued to be called ‘Hôtel de Clairvaux –1432: called Hôtel de Clairvaux

vestiges destroyed

1788: sold

Royaumont

Rue St-Germainl’Auxerrois

before 1316

?

–  –  –  –  –  – Rue RaoulRoissolle (now 4 Rue du Jour)

– – – –  – – – – 1316 exchanged for house on Rue St-Germainl’Auxerrois

1316: exchanged for below –  –  –  – ?

–  –  –  –  –  – Maison Panier vert et rouge – Rue Raoul-Roissolle

– – – –  – – – – by 1530 ?

acquired from Clairvaux ?

– – – – – – – – – – 1373: small house 1399: had dependencies 1419: inn 1530: sign of golden lion = abbot’s house 1612: rebuilt 1950: demolished – – – – – – – – – – ?

– – – – – rib-vaulted cellar on 2 levels

– – – – – ?

–  –  –  – ?

(Continued)

(Continued) Abbey

Location

St-Antoine- half a house in the des-Champs Clos Brunel –  –  –  –  –  – house in the censive of St-Magloire –  –  –  –  –  – deux chambres –  –  –  –  –  – half a house –  –  –  –  –  – house –  –  –  –  –  – house –  –  –  –  –  – some 120 further houses at Porte Baudouet, Porte de Montmartre, Petit Pont, Cité, Grève, Saulerie, Sellerie, Tannerie, Truanderie, Cemetière de Jehan, Marais, Halles, Ostaux des Drapiers, Grande Rue St Denis, Grande Rue St Jacques; Rues de

Acquired/ First Mention

Means of acquisition

Evolution

Medieval Vestiges

Divested

1210

donation

?

?

?

– – – –  – – – – 1213 donation

– – – – – – – – – – ?

– – – – – ?

–  –  –  – ?

– – – –  1217 – – – –  1218 – – – –  1218 – – – –  1218 – – – –  ?

– – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – ? – – – – – – – – – – ?

– – – – – ? – – – – – ? – – – – – ? – – – – – ? – – – – – ?

–  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – ? –  –  –  – ?

– – – – donation – – – – donation – – – – donation –– – – – donation – – – – ?

Abbey

Location

Acquired/ First Mention

Means of acquisition

Evolution

Medieval Vestiges

Divested

la Harpe, de la Juiveie, des Arcis, des Jardins, Lanvrières, Marmozets, Nonnes d’Yerres, Châtelet, Tissandières Val NotreDame

Rue du Hueleu now approx. 30 Rue du Turbigo

1st Aug 1317: amortised

Purchase

1472: large townhouse with appurtenances

vestiges destroyed 19th c.

?

Vaux-deCernay

Rue du Foin, then Rue aux Moines de Cernay

by 1253 (tax roll)

?

1511: several houses, with cellars, courtyards, gardens

?

site suppressed 19th c.

terryl n. kinder

notes 1 ‘None of our monasteries are to be built in cities, walled towns, villages, but in places removed from human habitation’, from the Instituta generalis capituli, in Narrative and Legislative Texts from Early Cîteaux, Cîteaux – Commentarii cistercienses: Studia et Documenta, 9, ed. C. Waddell (Brecht 1999), 458. 2 M.-A. Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage cistercien à travers Paris’, Archeologia, 44 (1972), 70–77; J.-B. Auberger, L’unanimité cistercienne primitive: mythe ou réalité? Cîteaux – Commentarii cistercienses: Studia et documenta, 3 (Achel 1986), 87–133. 3 A. E. Lester, Creating Cistercian Nuns (Ithaca, NY 2011), 20–21. 4 C. H. Berman, The White Nuns: Cistercian Abbeys for Women in Medieval France (Philadelphia 2018). 5 The gems came from Thibaut’s uncle, Henry of England, in 1137 via his younger brother, King Stephen, along with an annual rent of 2,000 silver marks as compensation for Thibaut’s having renounced pretention to the English throne; see M. Bur, La formation du comté de Champagne v. 950–v. 1150 (Nancy 1977), 289 and note 18. For context, see T. N. Kinder, ‘Toward Dating the Construction of the Abbey Church of Pontigny’, Journal of the British Archaeological Association, 145 (1992), 77–88 at 82. 6 Abbot Suger, De Administratione, Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St.-Denis and Its Art Treasures, trans. E. Panofsky (Princeton 1979), section 32 at 58–59; C. Norton, ‘Bernard, Suger, and Henry I’s Crown Jewels’, Gesta, 45 (2006), 1–14. 7 G. Steinwascher, Die Zisterzienserstadthöfe in Köln (Bergisch Gladbach 1981). 8 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2); Les Cisterciens à Paris (Paris 1986), catalogue of an exhibition of the same name held from 21 January to 13 April 1986 at the Musée Carnavalet, Paris. 9 The exhibition catalogue V. Weiss and É. Hamon ed., La demeure médiévale à Paris, Archives nationales (Paris 2012), is not to be confused with V. Weiss ed., La demeure médiévale à Paris. Répertoire sélectif des principaux hôtels, Archives nationales (Paris 2012). 10 It should be noted that in the flow of Counter-Reformation projects, a royal monastery dedicated to Saint Bernard was founded by King Henri III in 1587 as a Cistercian reform house of the Feuillants. The convent, at what is now 229–235 Rue Saint-Honoré near the corner of the Rue de Castiglione, appears in late medieval views of Paris. The church was designed by the king’s architect and construction reportedly led by one of the monks. See Carnavalet (as n. 8), 33–63. Other contributions by this late Cistercian reform order have not been examined in this chapter, which privileges earlier projects. 11 ‘Prohibetur firmiter ut nullus monachus vel conversus Ordinis nostri in domo monialium Sancti-Anthonii iuxta Parisios comedat vel pernoctet’, in Statuta Capitulorum Generalium Ordinis Cisterciensis, I, ed. J.-M. Canivez (Louvain 1933), 1213:4. 12 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 72; Carnavalet (as n. 8), 15 (with a photo of the cellar on p. 17); F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Maisons cisterciennes à Paris’, in Demeure médiévale (as n. 9), 122; Weiss, Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 44–45; G. Chaumet and V. Soulay, ‘Les moines à Paris – les maisons des abbayes cisterciennes’, Dossiers d’archéologie, no. 371 (September/October 2015), 20–25, esp. 22. 13 A brief guidebook was published by A.-L. Guinchard, with the help of J.-L. Ricot, À la découverte de l’Hôtel de Beauvais, Association pour la Sauvegarde et Mise en valeur du Paris historique (Paris 2011). 14 Also called the Porte Baudéer (with many spelling variants), this gate was originally part of the Carolingian wall; the Place Baudoyer memorialises the location today. 15 Carnavalet (as n. 8), 14–15; G. Chaumet, ‘La Maison d’Ourscamp, 44–48, Rue François-Miron’, in Demeure médiévale (as n. 9), 91–92; F. Blary, G. Chaumet and V. Weiss, ‘Ourscamp (Hôtel de l’abbaye d’)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 117; Chaumet and Soulay, ‘Les moines à Paris’ (as n. 12), 23–25. 16 Chaumet, ‘La Maison d’Ourscamp’ (as n. 15), 92. 17 An excellent brief history and tour of the location, building, and cellar are available on YouTube at www.youtube.com/watch?v=idlPbOME4a0, [accessed 30 August 2021]. 18 D. Sandron, ‘Les caves médiévales’, in Demeure médiévale (as n. 9), 87–90. 19 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 73; Carnavalet (as n. 8), 16; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Preuilly (Hôtel de l’abbaye de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 126–27. 20 Ierre was probably Yerres, a Benedictine abbey 9 miles south of Paris. 21 Y. Christ, ‘Découverte d’un cellier gothique’, Vieux Paris, 7 (1985), 58. 22 Blary and Weiss, ‘Preuilly’ (as n. 19), 126, with a photo of the vault at 15 Rue Geoffroy-Lasnier.

224

Cistercians in Medieval Paris 23 Berman, White Nuns (as n. 4), 129 and n. 93–94, citing the Cartulaire de Maubuisson, ed., A. Dutilleux and J. Depoin Société historique du Vexin (Pontoise 1890–1913), no. 589 (1240), no. 590 (1252), no. 591 (1254), no. 600 (1289), no. 605 (1294), no. 607–619 (1302–1305). 24 M. Le Moël, ‘La maison parisienne de l’abbaye de Maubuisson’, Bulletin de la Société Nationale des Antiquaires de France 1982 (1984), 141–50 (here 143). 25 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 72–73; Le Moël, ‘La maison parisienne de l’abbaye de Maubuisson’ (as n. 24); Carnavalet (as n. 8), 16; J.-L. Adaine, ‘Le domaine de Maubuisson’, L’espace cistercien, ed. L. Pressouyre (Paris 1994), 554–67, esp. 563–64; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Maubuisson (Hôtel de l’abbaye de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 104–05. 26 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 72; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Barbeau (Hôtel)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 27–28. 27 Carnavalet (as n. 8), 64–68. 28 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 74. 29 C. Lefeuve, Histoire de Paris rue par rue maison par maison (Paris and Leipzig 1875), 462. 30 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 72; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Jouy (Hôtel des abbés de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 87–88. 31 F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Longpont (Hôtel des abbés de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 101. 32 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 73; V. Weiss, ‘Royaumont (Hôtel de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 137. 33 F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Val-Notre-Dame (Hôtel de l’abbaye du)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 161. 34 F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Reigny ou Rigny (Hôtel de l’abbaye de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 130. 35 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 72; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Chaalis (Hôtel de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 45. 36 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 73, mistakenly located this house in the Marais, where there was indeed another Rue du Foin; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Vaux de Cernay (Hôtel des abbés de Notre-Dame des)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 162. 37 Archives départementales de l’Yonne, Auxerre, H. 1502; Topographie historique de vieux Paris, ed. L.-M. Tisserand (Paris 1897), 10; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Clairvaux (Hôtel de)’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 49–50. 38 Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 72; P. Dautrey, ‘Croissance et adaptation chez les Cisterciens au treizième siècle: les débuts du Collège des Bernardins de Paris’, Analecta cisterciensia, 32 (1976), 122–215, esp. 151, n. 132); F. Blary, ‘Clairvaux en ville: les maisons et hôtels urbains’, in Clairvaux, l’aventure cistercienne, ed. A. Baudin, N. Dohrmann and L. Veyssière (Paris 2015), 159; F. Blary and V. Weiss, ‘Clairvaux’, in Répertoire sélectif (as n. 9), 49–50. 39 Archives départementales de l’Yonne, H. 1502. 40 Municipal library, Auxerre, MS 224, published by H. Baptiste, ‘Le Collège des Bernardins du XVe au XXe siècle’, in Le Collège des Bernardins (Poissy 2008), 131. 41 For the exact date, see Dautrey, ‘Croissance’ (as n. 38), 151–53; Carnavalet (as n. 8), 18–26; L. J. Lekai, ‘The College of Saint Bernard in Paris in the Fifteenth Century’, Cistercian Studies, 6 (1971), 172– 79, esp. 174. See also Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 74–77; D. M. LaCorte, ‘Pope Innocent IV’s Role in the Establishment and Early Success of the College of Saint Bernard in Paris’, Cîteaux, 46 (1995), 289–304. 42 M. Dumolin, ‘La censive du collège des Bernardins’, Bulletin de la société de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Île-de-France, 62 (1935), 25–96, esp. 28. 43 Lekai, ‘College’ (as n. 41), 172–79; L. J. Lekai, The Cistercians. Ideals and Reality (Kent State 1977), 80–84. 44 Dautrey, ‘Croissance’ (as n. 38), 122–215; P. Dautrey, ‘L’Église de l’ancien collège des Bernardins de Paris et son image’, in Mélanges à la mémoire du Père Anselme Dimier, 5, ed. B. Chauvin (Arbois 1987), 497–514. 45 M. T. Davis, ‘Cistercians in the City: The Church of the Collège Saint-Bernard in Paris’, in Perspectives for an Architecture of Solitude: Essays on Cistercians, Art and Architecture in Honour of Peter Fergusson, ed. T. N. Kinder (Turnhout 2004), 223–34; re-published in French (with minor corrections) as ‘Les Cisterciens dans la ville: l’église du Collège Saint-Bernard à Paris’, Cîteaux, 62 (2011), 217–40; English version cited here. 46 Ibid., 224–32. 47 Reproduced by Davis, ‘Cistercians in the City’ (as n. 45), 229–30, Figs 4–6.

225

terryl n. kinder 48 Statuta (as n. 11), 4 (1936), 239 (1421–38). 49 T. Sullivan, ‘Cistercian Theologians at the Late Medieval University of Paris’, Cîteaux, 50 (1999), 85–102. 50 Statuta (as n. 11), 5 (1937), 622 (1487–513). 51 Lekai, ‘College’ (as n. 41), 175–76. 52 Dumolin, ‘La Censive’ (as n. 42), 34. 53 Published by Dom Michel Félibien in the Histoire de la ville de Paris, 2 (Paris 1725), 168–80. 54 Lekai, ‘College’ (as n. 41), 178. 55 C. Obert, ‘La vitalité de l’Ordre cistercien à la fin du Moyen Âge à travers les Maîtres et étudiants du Collège Saint-Bernard de Paris’, Monachisme d’orient et d’occident: Cîteaux après l’âge d’or (Sénanque 1987), 1–35; C. Obert, ‘La Promotion des études chez les cisterciens à travers le recrutement des étudiants du Collège Saint-Bernard de Paris au moyen âge’, Cîteaux, 39 (1988), 65–77; C. Obert, ‘Les lectures et les œuvres des pensionnaires du Collège Saint-Bernard: Jalons pour l’histoire intellectuelle de l’Ordre de Cîteaux à la fin du Moyen Âge’, Cîteaux, 40 (1989), 245–89. 56 B. Beech, ‘The Administration of the College of Saint Bernard in the Time of Jean Huon (1571– 1611)’, Cîteaux, 48 (1997), 327–36. 57 Dautrey, ‘Croissance’ (as n. 38), 503. 58 On all aspects of the restoration including excavations, see V. Aucante, ed., Le Collège des Bernardins (Poissy 2008), 100–71. 59 H. Baptiste, ‘Restauration’, in Le Collège des Bernardins (as n. 58), 159. 60 Gallia christiana, 7 (Paris 1744), col. 899. 61 H. Bonnardot remains the classic source for the history: L’abbaye royale de Saint-Antoine-desChamps de l’Ordre de Cîteaux: Étude topographique et historique (Paris 1882), 20–21; see also Dimier, ‘Pèlerinage’ (as n. 2), 73–74; Carnavalet (as n. 8), 27–32. For a discussion concerning the foundation date, see C. H. Berman, ‘Cistercian Nuns and the Development of the Order: The Abbey at SaintAntoine-des-Champs outside Paris’, in The Joy of Learning and the Love of God: Studies in Honor of Jean Leclercq, ed. E. R. Elder (Kalamazoo MI and Spencer MA 1995), 121–56, esp. 148, n. 12). Berman, White Nuns (as n. 4) has appeared since the conference and has been used here concerning Saint-Antoine (ch. 7: 150–90). 62 V. Szollosi, ‘Les moniales de Saint-Antoine-des-Champs au XIIIe siècle’ (École des chartes, Thèses, Paris 2007), 216–17. 63 Archives départmentales de l’Yonne, H. 1748, chronique. 64 L. Grant, Blanche of Castille. Queen of France (New Haven 2016), 72, 214, 316. 65 Bonnardot, L’abbaye royale (as n. 61), 2–3. 66 Grant, Blanche of Castille (as n. 64), 174. 67 Ibid., 116. 68 A. Bondéelle-Souchier, ‘Les moniales cisterciennes et leurs livres manuscrits dans la France d’Ancien Régime’, Cîteaux, 45 (1994), 193–338, esp. 312–13. 69 Berman, White Nuns (as n. 4), 189 and n. 181, citing Archives nationales, Paris AN S*4384. 70 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, Estampes, available at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/ btv1b53037553v.item, [accessed 12 September 2021]. 71 The plan is available at https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f4/1790_Plan_de_Verniquet.jpg, [accessed 12 September 2021]. 72 Berman, White Nuns (as n. 4), 158, esp. 297, n. 58. 73 Berman, ‘Cistercian Nuns’ (as n. 61), 123–24. 74 Berman, White Nuns (as n. 4), 178–79. 75 Ibid., 178–80, citing Archives nationales, Paris LL1595, f° 87ff. 76 Ibid., 154, n. 24–25, esp. 296, citing Archives nationales, Paris LL1595, fols 42v and 38 r-v. 77 Berman, ‘Cistercian nuns’ (as n. 61), 131 and n. 59. 78 Berman, White Nuns (as n. 4), 181–82. 79 Berman, ‘Cistercian nuns’ (as n. 61), 151, n. 38. 80 Ibid., 130. 81 Bonnardot, L’abbaye royale (as n. 61), 80–82.

226

Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages The Great Monuments RAPHAËLE SKUPIEN

The depiction of the royal palace on the Île de la Cité by the Limbourg brothers in the calendar of the Très Riches Heures (Chantilly, Musée Condé; MS 65, fol. 5v), made in 1411–16 for Jean, duc de Berry, and the representations of the cathedral of Notre-Dame, Paris, in the Hours of Etienne Chevalier by Jean Fouquet (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; coll. R. Lehman, inv. 1975.1.2490) from c. 1452–60 count among the most celebrated works of art in western painting of the Middle Ages, introducing a new type of urban imagery into French art (Fig. 10.1). In the past, scholars have attributed this innovation to the fact that the manuscripts had patrons such as Jean de Berry, the brother of the king, who came from the highest echelons of society. Having never been systematically studied, however, the development of cityscapes in France has long been considered an epiphenomenon, a mere offspring of the experiments made in Flanders and Italy. Yet scholars have been aware of the precocity of landscape painting among French artists working in the royal domain. Erwin Panofsky, for example, drew attention to 14th-century French artists incorporating cityscapes into their work, despite the fact that these early attempts at depicting space remained without follow-up, in contrast to those of the Netherlandish and Italian painters, who developed distinct procedures for using perspective in painting.1 According to Pierre Lavedan, among all the cities of France, Paris seems to have been the city that was most frequently represented, be it as a general view or by focusing on specific districts or buildings.2 In 1460–70, such images were used widely to illustrate Flemish manuscripts painted in Bruges. Italian painters, on the other hand, still ignored these representations of Paris a quarter of a century later. compiling a corpus of paris cityscapes To gain a clearer understanding of the importance and the diffusion of Parisian cityscapes, it is necessary to continue the cataloguing of such images that was first begun in the 19th century by Alfred Bonnardot.3 The aim is to consider monuments in terms of the frequency with which they are depicted and the dates at which they are included in various media. This helps to determine whether the artists were active in Paris. Unexpectedly, this approach also reveals that the artists – identified in the documents as painters or illuminators and of bourgeois status – first turned to the sites with which they were familiar before turning to landmark buildings. Moreover, the earliest patrons were not necessarily royal but came from among the courtiers and the great officers of the realm. Indeed, the new imagery spread as a bottom-up movement, originating in a collaboration between bourgeois artists and their long-standing customers. © 2023 The British Archaeological Association

DOI: 10.4324/9781003405153-10

227

raphaële skupien

Fig. 10.1  The Right Hand of God Protecting the Faithful against the Demons, with Île de la Cité in the background (c. 1452–60) Source: Hours of Etienne Chevalier, by Jean Fouquet. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, coll. R. Lehman, inv. 1975.1.2490. © New York; Metropolitan Museum of Art.

228

Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages

In compiling his first corpus of representations of Paris, Bonnardot aimed to establish an exhaustive list.4 His central criterion was the documentary value of the images in an archaeological sense, and he restricted himself neither to medieval images nor to painting as such. For instance, he included the so-called Plan of the abbey of SaintAntoine-des-Champs and the manor of Reuilly (Archives nationales, Paris; CP/N/ III/Seine/730), a bird’s eye view, dated by inscription to 1481. Due to the restricted format of their publications, more recent compilations were forced to make arbitrary choices as to the images that were included, sometimes based on the attractiveness of the images.5 Notwithstanding this, Bernard Chevalier has emphasised the importance of conducting a broad survey that includes documentary images, since the latter might provide information about artists working in different media. A good example is Jean Fouquet (d. 1481), who simultaneously worked as a painter, illuminator and organiser of royal entries.6 Patrick Gautier Dalché’s inventory of medieval plans and local maps from 2016 has proved the accuracy of Chevalier’s intuition, since it has demonstrated that there were at least sixty painters in France before 1550, known for their ability to represent landscape as well as architecture.7 I have therefore followed Bonnardot in seeking views of Paris and its region in both works of art and documentary images made for practical purposes.8 The 214 images recorded include one mural painting; one tapestry; two dice; two seals; two stained glass panels; four panel paintings or retables; four architectural drawings or drawings of architectural projects; twenty-three local maps and eightysix illustrated books or rolls, of which six are archival registers and seven are printed works (five literary works, two editions of a technical treatise and one poster).9 Chronologically, the corpus covers the period from 1290 to c. 1525. The terminus post quem is given by the first identifiable representation of a Parisian monument that can be attributed to a painter, the seal of the Templars in Paris (Archives nationales; S 5067, n° 27/D 9915). This shows the treasurer Jean de Tour in prayer and the Temple keep as it appears later in 15th-century illuminated manuscripts.10 The terminus ante quem is 1525, after which date the first printed plans of Paris were published; these present an official image of the city and its most representative monuments.11 The first technical drawings appear only in the 14th century, suggesting that painters were ahead of architects in this respect. The Temple keep was built later than the Sainte-Chapelle but was represented earlier, although less frequently. This difference in the chronologies of the built landscape and the painted landscape suggests that, although the artists working for the king and the court made use of this type of imagery, they did not necessarily initiate it. For example the Palais de la Cité occurs first in the Roman de Fauvel (Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris [hereafter BnF]; MS Fr 146, fol. 30v) (Fig. 10.2) from c. 1316–20, recorded as in the possession of Gérard de Montaigu (d. 1339), a royal advocate; the palace depicted by the Master of Fauvel, who was probably identical with the librarian Geoffroy de Saint-Léger the Younger, shows the new Parliament of Paris but not the Sainte-Chapelle. This miniature is contemporary with those that illustrate the two manuscripts of the Vie de saint Denis, c. 1316–22: the Latin version (BnF; MS Lat 5286) was copied and preserved in the library of the abbey of Saint-Denis until 1406–10 and probably served as model for the bilingual version (BnF; MS Fr 2090–93), commissioned by Abbot Gilles de Pontoise (1304–26) and copied by Guillaume Lescot as a gift for King Philippe V.12

229

raphaële skupien

Fig. 10.2  Palais de la Cité, Paris (c. 1316–20) Source: Roman de Fauvel. BnF; MS Fr 146, fol. 30v. Paris; Bibliothèque nationale de France.

By the end of the Middle Ages, four types of views can be distinguished among painted Parisian landscapes: views of the entire city, views centred on the Île de la Cité, close-up views focused on a district and views of buildings or sites separated from their urban context. Such isolated sites form almost half of all representations of Paris. The corpus includes forty-three views of the entire city and twenty-two views of the Île de la Cité. Only three of the views of the Île de la Cité cannot be attributed to painters who were active or had been trained in Paris but to painters from the Loire valley or the Rhône region.13 These date from 1475 to 1485 and are inspired by formulas developed in the Parisian milieu in the first half of the century. Painters in Bruges were not 230

Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages

interested in this type of view, although they produced at least nine views of the whole of Paris.14 All these illustrate manuscripts commissioned at the court of Burgundy and were made in the workshop environment of the Parisian painter Philippe de Mazerolle in the years 1460–70.15 It is perhaps not surprising that Parisian painters were the first to create this type of image, before their colleagues in the Loire valley, central France, Flanders and Italy. More unusual is the tight chronology of its diffusion in the periphery: the representation of Parisian monuments outside the capital seems to have occurred only during the reigns of Louis XI and Charles VIII, with a high rate of production in Flanders, especially at the court of John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. It was only later that this spread to the Loire valley. changes around 1440–60 A Number of important changes can be observed between 1440 and 1460. They not only concerned the spread of Parisian imagery outside Paris but also the choice of texts and the identities of the patrons and the dedicatees. A general tendency of the market for books and illustrations around 1450 was an increase in the number of images that illustrate historical works compared to those that illustrate religious works. After 1450, city views of Paris also appear in a greater variety of media: painted panels, stained glass, tapestry and printed books, as well as in manuscripts, which remained the medium that most often included views of the capital and its sights, playing an important role in perpetuating traditional iconographic formulas. To trace the evolution of city views for the purpose of this chapter, it has been assumed that when a monument is represented three times, it formed part of the common iconographic repertory of the painters said to be active, or having been trained, in Paris. On a local level, the repertory expanded in the second half of the 15th century. Generally, once a monument or site formed part of the repertory, it remained in use into the 16th century, with the exception of Montmartre and the site known as the gallows of Montfaucon, also called ‘la grande justice de Paris’, located to the north of the city, outside the walls built under Charles V in 1358–83. Both sites cease to be depicted after the 15th century but are used again in the modern era, outside the framework of this study. The increase in the sites depicted was not consistent, however, and certain years proved richer than others. Neither were all monuments equally popular at all times. To assess the distribution of the representation of Parisian monuments over time, it has been necessary to evaluate each monument against the years in which it was represented in a table (see Table 10.1). As a result, it is clear that the views depicted in the Très Riches Heures, the Hours of Etienne Chevalier and in the Grandes Chroniques caused an upsurge soon after they were painted; respectively in 1411, 1452 and 1455.16 The Paris sites depicted in the Très Riches Heures had antecedents in the Parisian milieu: for example the Palais de la Cité was already depicted in the Roman de Fauvel (BnF; MS Fr 146, fol. 30v) (Fig. 10.2) and the castle of Vincennes on the seal of the Sainte-Chapelle of Vincennes from 1403 (Archives départementales de l’Aube, Troyes; 42 Fi 149); some of them, such as depictions of Notre-Dame Cathedral and the Louvre, appeared at the same time in the Très Riches Heures and in the breviary of Louis de Guyenne, which was illuminated by the Boucicaut and the Bedford Masters. The latter, who is known to have collaborated with the Limburg brothers, was responsible for a view of the interior of the Sainte-Chapelle (Bibliothèque Mazarine, Paris; 231

raphaële skupien

Table 10.1  Representations of monuments in Paris (the dates given are those of the images) ©Raphaële Skupien; design Tzortzis Rallis. 1400 1410 1411 1413 1414 1415 1420 1423 1424 1425 1430 1440 1442 1449 1450 Notre-Dame

1

Palais de la Cité

1

Sainte-Chapelle

3

3 2

3

3

Fortified tower

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

2

1 1

4

1 1

2

Bridge with buildings Saint-Denis

1 1

1 1

3

2

1

1

1

2

Louvre

1

Temple

1

SaintsInnocents

1

1

1

1

1

1

Bastille Porte Saint-Denis

1

Quartier des Halles Saint-Germaindes-Prés Hôtel-Dieu

1

Augustinian monastery Bishop’s palace SainteGeneviève Montmartre

2

Petit Châtelet Saint-Jean-enGrève Gallows of Montfaucon Saint-Jean-leRond Saint-Paul Hôtel de Bourbon Total general

232

1 1

1

9

2

13

3

3

3

9

3

5

2

3

3

3

Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages

1451 1452 1455 1458 1460 1462 1470 1473 1475 1476 1480 1482 1483 1484 1490 1493 1494 1500

1

7

2

2

2

2

2

3

4

3

1

5 1

1

1

2

2

2

4

1

2

2 1

1

1

1

1

1

32

1

31

1

21

3

13 1

1

11

1

1

1

13

1

 6  8

1 1

1 1

2

3 1

1

4

2

 9

2

1

 4

2

 3 2

1

1

1

1

2

1

 5

2

2

 4

1

 4  2

1

 1 1

2

 4

2

 2 1

1

1

 2

1

1

 3 1

1

30

28

1

4

1

15

 1  1

1 2

 1

2

4

3

3

7

1 1

2

4

1

1

11

233

 3

raphaële skupien

MS 406, fol. 7).17 Nonetheless, the Limburg brothers can be said to have considerably renewed this shared stock of motifs by adding the depiction of the episcopal palace in Paris to the traditional repertory and by painting in a manner that seems truer to life. the case of jean fouquet The case of Fouquet is different. Several sites were depicted for the first time in the Hours of Etienne Chevalier, in particular the Bastille and the gallows of Montfaucon as well as, on the left bank, the Augustins, the Petit Châtelet and Saint-Germain-desPrès. However, these depictions were not copied, except in the illustrations of the Grandes Chroniques, which was also the work of Fouquet. It was only in the 1480s that the Bastille and the gallows of Montfaucon were again depicted, before ceasing to be part of the repertory until the modern period and not until 1500 for the sites on the left bank. Like the Limbourgs, Fouquet represented the château of Vincennes (Chantilly; Condé MS 71 [n° 27], in a scene of the life of Job) and the tower of the episcopal palace next to the towers of Notre-Dame (Fig. 10.1). The rare revival of the towers of Notre-Dame in the so-called Harley Froissart (British Library, London; MS Harley 4379, fol. 3) from c. 1470–72 by the Maître de Froissart de Commynes, active in Bruges, and the diffusion among his followers of Parisian motives (e.g. the Bastille was depicted by Liévin van Lathem18 and by the Master of Antoine de Bourgogne)19 tends to confirm a hypothesis of Pascal Schandel about the Parisian origin of this artist and his identification with Philippe de Mazerolles.20 The two manuscripts illustrated by Fouquet undoubtedly constitute a distinctive ensemble in the history of Parisian landscape painting. Nonetheless, they reflect a change in iconography that was already in progress from the years 1435–40 onwards. The eastern side of the city, where the Bastille is situated and the places where judicial power was exercised, such as the Great Chamber of the royal palace, where parliament sat, prisons, gallows and pillories, were given a place of honour in such manuscripts as the Harley Froissart (British Library; MS Harley 4380, fol. 60v) and the copy of Froissart made for Edward IV of England (British Library; MS Royal 18E II, fol. 268v). This was also the case with the Grandes Chroniques (BnF; MS Fr 6465, fols. 236 and 444) as well as for the tapestry known as the History of the Gauls (Musée départemental de l’Oise, Beauvais) (Fig. 10.3). Other prominent groups of sites were stations on processional routes, such as the Châtelet and the Place de Grève, which lead to the parish church of SaintJean-en-Grève on the right bank and to Notre-Dame on the Île de la Cité and further to the Hôtel-Dieu and to Saint-Denis; they were shown, for example, in the Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César et Faits des romains from c. 1460–65 (BnF, Paris; MS Fr 64, fol. 223) and in the Harley Froissart (British Library; MS Harley 4379; fol. 3). They revitalised the range of images, especially from the third quarter of the 15th century onwards.21 The role that Fouquet played in the context of the mid-15th-century rupture in the evolution of these types of images seems, therefore, less important than has been suggested by Erik Inglis, who saw an analogy with the putative role of the Limbourg brothers fifty years earlier.22 What are often called the ‘architectural portraits’ of the ‘history painter’, Fouquet, are part of a local iconographic tradition. For example, the view of the Paris seen from the north, used to illustrate two episodes from the martyrdom of St Denis in a breviary (Médiathèque Equinoxe, Châteauroux; MS 2, fols. 364 and 367v) made c. 1414 for the dauphin, Louis de Guyenne (1401–15), saw a wide circulation in the mid-15th century (Fig. 10.4). It was adopted by Fouquet, who had 234

Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages

Fig. 10.3  The foundation of Lutetia by Paris, with the city of Paris in the background, seen from the north (c. 1522–30) Source: Tapestry of the History of the Gaules. Beauvais, Musée de l’Oise © RMN-Grand Palais (MUDO – Musée de l’Oise); Thierry Ollivier.

Fig. 10.4  Scenes of the martyrdom of Saint Denis with Paris in the background, seen from the north (c. 1414) Source: Bréviaire de Louis de Guyenne, dit aussi de Châteauroux. Châteauroux, Médiathèque Équinoxe; MS 2, fols. 364 et 367v © IRHT-CNRS.

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Fig. 10.5  Dream of Dagobert (1455–60) Source: Grandes Chroniques de France (BnF; MS Fr 6465, fol. 57). Bibliothèque nationale de France.

been educated in Paris, as an illustration in the background of two manuscripts that he illuminated in the capital in the years 1450s: the martyrdom of St James the Great in the Hours of Étienne Chevalier, 1452–60 (Chantilly; Condé MS 71 [n° 36]) and the Dream of Dagobert in the Grandes Chroniques de France (BnF; MS Fr 6465, fol. 57), 1455–60 (Fig. 10.5).23 Moreover, in the scenes from the Hours of Etienne Chevalier that were used to illustrate books of hours produced in western France between 1460 and 1480, this background view of Paris is usually missing or is unrecognisable.24 Only the Master of the Hours of Madrid seemed to have been interested in this Parisian landscape, including a view of the city from the north in the eponymous manuscript (Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid; MS Vitr/25/3, fol. 44).25 The same view continued to be used in the 16th century, for example for the tapestry of the History of the Gauls. The anonymous artist responsible, generally identified as coming from the circle of Noël Bellemare,26 showed his interest in architecture by including the recently built tower of Saint-Jaques-de-la-Boucherie and the 13th-century stone 236

Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages

tower of Saint-Jean-en-Grève. By contrast, he left out the buildings on the left bank, including the Collège des Cholet, although the patron, Nicolas d’Argillière, was the Grand Master there. This example demonstrates the role that versatile painter-illuminators played in the creation of a Parisian imagery and its transmission at a local level. There is therefore no clear break before the 1500s, the period when the sites on the left bank, introduced by Fouquet make their true entry into the repertory of local artists. a statistical approach to images of paris The statistical analysis of the corpus invites a periodisation of the phenomenon in four phases: 1

The 14th century. Four new sites were added to the repertory: the royal palace of the Île de la Cité, the Sainte-Chapelle, the bridges with buildings and Saint-Denis 2 The decade from 1410 to 1420. Six new sites were added to the repertory: Notre-Dame, the Tour de Nesle, the Louvre, the cemetery of the Innocents, the Porte Saint-Denis and Montmartre 3 The period from c. 1440 to 1485. Eight new sites were added to the repertory: the Temple, the Bastille, the district around les Halles, Saint-Jean-en-Grève, the gallows of Montfaucon, Saint-Paul, and the Hôtel de Bourbon 4 After 1500. Six new sites were added to the repertory: Sainte-Geneviève, Saint-Jean-leRond, and those painted by Fouquet; the episcopal palace, Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the church of the Augustinians and the Petit Châtelet.

A number of Parisian sights that were not depicted were nonetheless important, for example the university and the colleges and religious buildings in its vicinity, the growth of which profited the development of the left bank. Similarly, on the opposite side of the river, prestigious royal and princely residences such as the Hôtel de Nesle and the other Valois palaces were not depicted. Generally, the fortified towers and bell towers of royal foundations functioned as topographical landmarks around which the urban landscape was structured. The sites chosen by the painters were those that were of great significance for the time, such as the Grand and the Petit Châtelet, or symbols of local power, such as the gallows of Montfaucon. They also emphasised sites related to spectacle, especially the Place de Grève and the rue du Roi de Sicile, which were the scenes of great urban processions and the district around les Halles and its pillory. It is testimony to their great familiarity with these sites that painters showed such interest in the bridges and the two parish churches on the right bank, Saint-Jean-en-Grève with its stone bell tower and the Holy Innocents, where the cemetery became a model, for example, for the charnel house of Saint-Sévérin.27 The status of other major buildings in illustrations is more difficult to interpret, and it is unlikely that they were always intended to function as political images. Generally, views of Paris that were more accessible to the public, for example those in stained glass or in the first printed maps, were more political. However, views of the city and its sites in illuminated manuscripts made in workshops for anonymous bourgeois patrons belonged to the artistic capital of the workshop, such as that of the Bedford Master, who often depicted the Sainte-Chapelle or the cemetery of the Innocents. With almost forty examples each, the cathedral and the royal palace of the Île de la Cité largely dominate Parisian production. But their distribution within the corpus differs 237

raphaële skupien

greatly (Table 10.2). In twenty out of forty cases, Notre-Dame appears in general views of the city, and it is sometimes only roughly sketched, suggesting it had great emblematic value. Over the period considered here, the cathedral remains frequently depicted in views of the Île de la Cité, of which a third include an image of the building. However, it is rarely represented in isolation, outside of its urban context. Only four of the forty representations of Notre-Dame are of this type. The royal palace was, on the other hand, the most emblematic monument of the Île de la Cité, of which it occupied the western part. The building was sometimes discreetly hidden among other buildings in views of the entire city and at other times it was depicted in isolation; the fact that its representation often excluded the Sainte-Chapelle demonstrates that it was its political function that counted. The Sainte-Chapelle was also one of the rare buildings of which interior views were widely depicted; in particular, a number of views of the Great Chamber of the Paris Parliament were commissioned by the great officers of the realm in the 15th century, starting with Jean Lebègue (1368–1457), a notary in the royal chancellery and secretary to the king, who in c. 1417–18 provided instructions for the illustration of a manuscript with texts by Sallust (Bibliothèque de Genève, Geneva; MS Lat 54; fol. 20). Other patrons include Laurent Girard (Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich; Cod. Gall. 6 fol. 2v), Philippe de Commynes (British Library; Harley 4380, fol. 60v) or Jacques d’Armagnac (Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna; Cod 2551, fol. 73 and 130).28 The frequency and importance of the depiction should be related to the political situation in the 15th century, the civil war and the Anglo-Burgundian occupation of Paris (1422–36), which prompted the creation of local parliaments according to the model of the Great Chamber outside Paris.29 The appearance of images of Paris buildings that became a model for the other cities of the kingdom marks the emergence of a more official image of the city, in which certain

Table 10.2  Monuments by type of image Site

Number of Depictions

Notre-Dame

40

Île de la Cité

7

As a single monument

6

Notre-Dame and its area

3

City of Paris

24

Royal palace on the Île de la Cité

39

Île de la Cité

10

As a single monument

18

Palace and its area

2

City of Paris

9

Source: ©Raphaële Skupien; design Tzortzis Rallis.

238

Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages

monuments have an emblematic value. This new repertory foreshadows the official image of Paris on printed plans of the city in the 16th century. Key monuments depicted out of scale were based on architectural portraits, such as a lost drawing of the façade of NotreDame, designed by Pierre Trubert in 1456 to serve as a model for the reconstruction of Troyes Cathedral.30 It is significant that when the north tower of the cathedral of Bourges collapsed in 1506, it was rebuilt on the model of Notre-Dame de Paris.31 The chapter also drew its inspiration from Paris to build their Hôtel-Dieu.32 conclusion The iconographic and statistical approach adopted in this survey of the first pictorial representations of Paris and its monuments throws new light on the place occupied by the Très Riches Heures, the Hours of Etienne Chevalier and the Grandes Chroniques in the development of urban landscape painting. Although the innovative character of these manuscripts is not disputed, they do not seem to have played the pivotal role traditionally assigned to them in the development of monumental imagery. Among the eleven buildings represented in the Très Riches Heures, only the Palais de la Cité was taken up among Parisian illuminators. The influence of Fouquet’s works is even more surprising. The motifs that he was the first to introduce, such as depictions of Saint-Germain-des-Prés or the Augustinian church, reappear too late for any direct filiation to be envisaged. As for the Bastille, it seems to have had a greater impact in the Burgundian Netherlands than in Paris. On the other hand, these three exceptional manuscripts worked as catalysts for the Parisian tradition on which their authors, the Limbourg brothers and Jean Fouquet, based their images. The second quarter of the 15th century corresponds to the period of the English regency (1422–36) and the difficult years that followed and does not stand out for its originality. From this time onwards, it seems that the city councillors and the great of the kingdom relied on existing types of imagery to encourage the development of an official architectural typology.

notes 1 E. Panofsky, La perspective comme forme symbolique (Paris 1975), esp. 130–50. 2 P. Lavedan, Les représentations de la ville dans l’art du Moyen Âge (Paris 1954). 3 See R. Skupien, ‘Le peintre et le monument: L’invention du paysage urbain dans la peinture parisienne de la fin du Moyen Âge (XIVe-XVIe siècles)’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Amiens 2017). 4 A. Bonnardot, ‘Iconographie du vieux Paris’, Revue universelle des Arts, II (1855), 266–85; IV (1857), 385–408; V (1857), 25–46 and 210–21; VI (1857–58), 211–42; VII (1858), 125–45; VIII (1858– 59), 45–60; IX (1859), 152–68; X (1859–60), 5–24 and 379–96. 5 See N. Fleurier, Paris – Enluminures (Paris 2009); E. Mullally, Guide de Paris au Moyen Âge (Paris 2011); and the compilation by B. Bove, J. Förstel and R. Skupien, available at www.menestrel.fr/, under the rubric Paris médiéval/Iconographie, [accessed 1 May 2022]; the authors encountered complex legal issues regarding the copyright of the images. 6 B. Chevalier, ‘Le paysage urbain à la fin du Moyen Âge: imaginations et réalités’, in Actes des congrès de la Société des historiens médiévistes de l’enseignement supérieur public. Le paysage urbain à la fin du Moyen Âge (Lyon 1980), 7–21. 7 P. Gautier Dalché, ‘Essai d’un inventaire des plans et cartes locales de la France médiévale (jusque vers 1530)’, Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes, 170 (2012), 421–71.

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raphaële skupien 8 For the methodology and the sources, see Skupien, ‘Le peintre et le monument’ (as n. 3). 9 The corpus encompasses images of Paris made anywhere before 1550. It includes illuminated manuscripts in Flanders (Bruges) and in England as well as some drawings by (or attributed to) Italian painters; no coins or medals with an image of Paris were located. All items are recorded in Skupien, ‘Le peintre et le monument’ (as n. 3), vol. III. 10 H.  de Curzon, La Maison du Temple de Paris: histoire et description (Paris 1888), 120–22 and 134–36. For seals designed by painters, see also M. Gil and J.-L. Chassel ed., ‘Pourquoi les sceaux? La sigillographie, nouvel enjeu de l’histoire de l’art (Lille 2011); A. Vilain’, in Imago urbis: les sceaux de villes au Moyen Âge (Paris 2018). 11 The famous Plan de la Gouache, which was often copied, is a copy of a lost earlier map of the city commissioned between 1523 and 1530, as is explained by J. Dérens, ‘Les Plans de Paris au xvie siècle’, Les Cahiers du CREPIF: Les Plans de Paris, du xvie au xviiie siècle, 50 (1995), 17–28, esp. 21; A. Picon and J.-P. Robert, Le dessus des cartes: un atlas parisien (Paris 1999), 29. See also J. Boutier, Les Plans de Paris: des origines (1493) à la fin du xviiie siècle: étude, carto-bibliographie et catalogue collectif (Paris 2002). 12 Discussed in R. Skupien, ‘Des monuments, des saints et des hommes: vision des origines chrétiennes de Paris dans le Bréviaire de Châteauroux (avant 1415)’, in La forme de la ville de l’Antiquité à la Renaissance: une approche pluridisciplinaire, ed. S. Bourdin, M. Paoli and A. Reltgen-Tallon (Rennes 2015), 111–32. 13 These are a copy of Titus Livy, 1st and 3rd decade (BnF; MS Fr 274, fol. 1); a Franciscan missal (Bibliothèque Municipal, Lyon; MS 514, fol. 272v); and the Molé Hours (Bibliothèque de la Société des lettres de l’Aveyron, Rodez; MS 1, fol. 53v). 14 Among the 43 views of this type, 31 are by Parisian painters and three by painters from the south. 15 P. Schandel in B. Bousmanne et T. Delcourt ed., Miniatures flamandes, 1404–82 (Paris 2011), 331– 37, who argues that the Master of the Harley Froissart is identical with Philippe de Mazerolles, the valet de chambre of Charles the Bold, a controversial argument, with which this author agrees. 16 Although the Très Riches Heures were made in three campaigns, all the city views of Paris have to be dated to 1411–16; however, the Sainte-Chapelle, designed by the Limburg brothers in Paris before 1416, was altered by Jean Colombe in Bourges c. 1485. 17 P. Stirnemann and C. Rabel, ‘The Très Riches Heures and Two Artists Associated with the Bedford Workshop’, The Burlington Magazine, 147 (2005), 534–38. 18 The Froissart of Breslau, c. 1468–69 (Staatsbibliothek Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin; dépôt Breslau I, MS Rhediger 4, fol. 1). 19 The Froissart de Gruuthuse, c. 1470–75 (BnF; MS Fr 2645, fol. 116v). 20 P. Schandel in Bousmanne et Delcourt, Miniatures flamandes, 1404–82 (as n. 15). 21 R. Skupien, ‘En marche! L’expérience de la rue dans les images de processions parisiennes du xve au xviiie siècle’, in L’œuvre en mouvement: de l’Antiquité au xviie siècle, ed. M. Dickson et al. (Bordeaux 2022), 263–78. 22 E. Inglis, Jean Fouquet and the Invention of France: Art and Nation After the Hundred Years War (New Haven 2011), 180–202, who draws on C. Serchuk, ‘Images of Paris in the Middle Ages: Patronage and Politics’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Yale University, New Haven 1997). 23 See Skupien, ‘Des monuments, des saints et des hommes’ (as n. 12). 24 F. Avril, Jean Fouquet: peintre et enlumineur du xve siècle (Paris 2003), 411, cat. nos 28, 35 and 58; S. Gras, La Vallée de la Loire à l’époque de Jean Fouquet: la carrière de trois enlumineurs actifs entre 1460 et 1480 (unpublished PhD thesis, Lille University 2016), 261–69. This is discussed in Skupien, ‘Le peintre et le monument’ (as n. 3), vol. I, 313–15. 25 For the manuscript and the artist, see S. Gras, ‘Un livre d’heures à l’usage de Rome conservé à la bibliothèque nationale d’Espagne’, Art de l’enluminure, 50 (2014), 2–27. 26 F. Scailliérez, François Ier et l’art des Pays-Bas (Paris 2017), 181–82. 27 R. Skupien, ‘Le chantier de Saint-Séverin à la fin du Moyen Âge (1450–1515): un foyer artistique majeur du Paris flamboyant’, Bulletin de la Montagne Sainte-Geneviève, 317 (2014), 60–78. For the bridges in Paris, see the article by Jana Gajdosova in this volume. 28 For more examples, see note 27.

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Images of Paris in the Late Middle Ages 29 E. Brown and R. Famiglietti, The ‘Lit de justice’: Semantics, Ceremonial, and the Parlement of Paris, 1300–1600 (Sigmaringen 1994), 39–42. See also E. Maugis, Histoire du Parlement de Paris, de l’avènement des rois Valois à la mort d’Henri IV (Paris 1913–16), I, 24; H. Gilles, ‘La création du Parlement de Toulouse’, in Les Parlements de Province: pouvoirs, justice et société du XVe au XVIIIe siècle, ed. J. Poumarède et J. Thomas (Toulouse 1996), 28–39; F. Hildesheimer and M. Morgat-Bonnet, État méthodique des archives du Parlement de Paris (Paris 2011), 57. 30 R. Skupien, ‘La cathédrale transfigurée. II. Notre-Dame de Paris dans les images de la fin du Moyen Âge (XIVe – XVIe siècle)’, Livraisons d’Histoire de l’Architecture, 38 (2019), https://doi.org/10.4000/ lha.1462. 31 E. Hamon, ‘Le financement du chantier de la tour nord de la cathédrale de Bourges au début du XVIe siècle’, in Du projet au chantier: maîtres d’ouvrage et maîtres d’œuvres aux XIVe-XVIe siècles, ed. O. Chapelot (Paris 2001), 117–39. 32 E. Hamon, ‘Les débuts du chantier de l’Hôtel-Dieu de Bourges d’après les sources comptables (1508–1520)’, Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes, 161 (2003), 9–32. The foundation stone was laid on 6 June 1510, and the main works were finished in 1520.

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INDEX Page references in bold italic refer to illustrations

Abelard, Peter, 10, 12 Adam, abbot of Saint-Denis, 10, 13, 19, 20, 22 Adela of Savoy, queen of France, 17, 43 Albéric de Trois-Fontaines, chronicler, 125, 137 Alexander II, pope, 15 Alexander III, pope, 181 Algrinus of Etampes, canon of Notre-Dame, 4 Alphonse de Poitiers, 201 Ancelet, artist, 159 Anciau de Sens, artist, 159 Avignon (Vaucluse), Pont-St-Bénézet, 185, Saint-Agricol, 185 Baldwin II, emperor, 105, 124, 127 – 29, 142 Bar-sur-Aube (Aube), Cellier aux Moines, 190 Barbeau (Seine-et-Marne), abbey, 197 Bayeux (Calvados), cathedral, 22 Benedict XII, pope, 201, 202 Berneval (Seine-Maritime), priory, 9 Bernier, dean of Notre-Dame, 4 Berzé-la-Ville (Saône-et-Loire), 101 n. 17 Blanche de Castile, queen of France, 112, 121, 124, 126, 141, 142, 194, 210, 212 Bourges (Cher), cathedral, 239 Busson, Didier, archaeologist, 2 Calixtus II, pope, 39 Cambrai Master, 159 Capua (Campania), bridge, 185 Chaalis (Oise), abbey, 191, 200 Chablis (Yonne), Petit Pontigny 190 Charlemagne, 42, 43, 47 Charles the Bald, king of France, 20, 40, 41, 176 Charles IV, king of France, 159 Charles V, king of France, 231 Charles VI, king of France, 42, 43 Charles VIII, king of France, 231 Chartres (Eure-et-Loir), cathedral, 5, 9, 10 Childebert, king of France, 1, 2, 84, 92, 94 Cîteaux (Côte-d’Or), abbey, 189 Clairvaux (Aube), abbey, 190, 199 Clovis, king of France, 1, 15, 17

242

Cologne (North Rhine-Westphalia), 190 Cornut, Gauthier, archbishop of Sens, 105, 111, 121, 124 – 27, 129, 132 – 34, 136, 137, 140, 141, 144, 145 Dagobert, king of the Franks, 19, 20, 40, 47, 48, 236 Dammarie-lès-Leys (Seine-et-Marne). nunnery, 210 David, Jacques-Louis, painter, 95 Denis, saint, 1, 5, 9, 27 Dijon (Côte-d’Or), warehouse, 190 Doublet, Jacques, dean of Saint-Denis, 33, 37, 41 Eloi, saint, 17 Étienne de Melun, canon of Saint-Chapelle, 111 Étienne de Senlis, bishop of Paris, 5 Eudes, abbot of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, 84 Eudes de Châteauroux, 105 Eudes de Sully, bishop of Paris, 211 Eudes Rigaud, archbishop of Rouen, 76 n. 62 Eugenius III, pope, 39, 42 Fabri de Peiresc, Nicolas-Claude, 33, 38 Fauvel Master, 158, 159, 165, 166, 229 Fleury abbey see Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire Fontevraud (Maine-et-Loire), abbey, 189 Fouquet, Jean, 227, 228, 229, 234, 237, 239 Fulk of Beauvais, poet, 20 Gautier, bishop of Chartres, 192 Gautier de Coinci, 158, 159, 160–162, 165, 166, 167, 168 Geneviève, saint, 65 Geoffrey de Beaulieu, historian, 125 Geoffrey de Courlon, historian, 124, 125 Geoffrey de Lèves, bishop of Chartres, 10, 20 Geoffroy de Saint-Leger, librarian, 229 Gérard de Montaigu, 229 Gérard de Saint-Quintin, 125, 135 Gilles de Pontoise, abbot of Saint-Denis, 180, 229 Gregory IX, pope, 95

Index Guilhermy, Ferdinand de, 106, 111 – 14, 127, 141, 145 Guillaume de La Villeneuve, poet, 66 Guillaume de Seignelay, bishop of Paris, 211 Guillebert de Mets, 177, 181, 182 Guy de Bazoches, 181 Héloise de Palaiseau, 191 Henry I, king of France, 13, 14, 15, 17, 20 Hilduin, abbot of Saint-Denis, 29, 41, 44, 45, 50 Hoyau, Germain, 178, 202, 213, 214, 216 Hubertus of Senlis, canon of Notre-Dame, 4 Hugh d’Issy, abbot of Saint-Germain-des- Prés, 84 Inchadus, bishop of Paris, 2 Ingelrand, artist-scribe, 15 Innocent II, pope, 39 Innocent IV, pope, 126, 201 Innocent VIII, pope, 209 Ivo, abbot of Saint-Denis, 20 Jacquet Maci, artist, 159 Jean, duc de Berry, 227 Jean de Cirey, abbot of Cîteaux, 209 Jean de Jandun, 181 Jean de Senlis, scribe, 159 Jean de Vignay, 158, 159, 163, 164, 165, 168, 169 Jeanne II de Bourgogne, queen of France, 159, 203 John II, king of France, 159 John the Fearless, duke of Burgundy, 231 Jouy (Seine-et-Marne), abbey 198, 199 Laon (Aisne), royal palace, 83 Lasteyrie, Ferdinand de, 113, 127, 140 Le Mans (Sarthe), cathedral, 112 Leo III, pope, 42 Les Isles (Yonne), abbey, 211, 212 Liévin van Lathem, 234 Limbourg brothers, 227, 231, 234, 239 London, Old London Bridge, 179, 185, chapel, 181 Longpont (Aisne), abbey, 199 Louis VI, king of France, 2, 4, 10 – 13, 15, 17, 19, 42, 170, 191 Louis VII, king of France, 9 – 11, 42, 47, 81, 181, 197, 199 Louis VIII, king of France, 63, 113, 212 Louis IX, saint, king of France, 13, 50, 63, 64, 66, 72, 89, 95, 105, 106, 110, 112, 113, 120, 121, 124 – 28, 132, 134, 135, 139, 140, 141, 142, 145, 159, 194, 199,  212 Louis XI, king of France, 231 Louis of Guyenne, 231, 234

Mahiet, artist, 158, 159, 165, 170, 171, 172 Maître de Froissart de Commynes, 234 MANUSCRIPTS Chantilly, Musée Condé, MS 26, Ci nous dit, 170, 171, 172 MS 65 Très Riches Heures, 227, 231, 239 MS 71, Hours of Etienne Chevalier, 231, 234, 236 Châteauroux, Médiathèque Equinoxe, MS 2, Breviaire de Louis de Guyenne, 234, 235 Geneva, Bibliothèque de Genève, MS Lat. 54, 238 Leiden, University Library, MS VOSS GGF3A Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial, 158, 159, 163, 164, 168, 169 London, British Library MSS Harley 4379 and 4380, Harley Froissart, 234, 238 MS Add 11662, Saint-Martin-des-Champs verse chronicle, 14, 16 MS Royal 18EII, 234 Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de Espãna, MS Vitr/25/3, 236 New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, coll. R. Lehman, inv.1975.1.2490, Jean ­Fouquet, Hours of Etienne Chevalier, 227, 228, 231, 234, 239 Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine, MS 406, 231 Paris, Bibliothèque national de France, MS Fr 64 Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César et Faits des romains, 234 MS Fr 146, Roman de Fauvel, 229, 230, 231 MS Fr 316, Jean de Vignay, Miroir historial, 158, 159, 165, 168, 169 MS Fr 2090 – 2093 Vie de St Denis, 179, 180, 229 MS Fr 6465 Grandes Chroniques, 231, 234, 236, 239 MS NAF 24541, Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, 158, 159, 160–62, 166, 167, 168 MS Lat 3282, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157 MS Lat 5286, Vie de Saint-Denis, 229 MS Lat 10484, Belleville Breviary, 165 MS Lat 11935, Bylling Bible, 159 The Hague, Royal Library, MS 71.A.24, Gautier de Coinci, Miracles de Nostre Dame, 158, 165, 166 Marcel, saint and bishop of Paris, 1, 5 Martin, saint, 33 Master of Antoine de Bourgogne, 234 Master of the Hours of Madrid, 236 Matthew Paris, chronicler, 13, 66, 125,  177

243

index Maubuisson (Val d’Oise), abbey, 194, 195, 196, 201, 210, 212, 214, 215 Maurice de Sully, bishop of Paris, 7, 81 Nicholas III, pope, 95 Noyon (Oise), cathedral, 43 Odo of Deuil, 42 Orléans (Loiret), cathedral, 13 Ourscamp (Oise), abbey, 191 Oxford, Merton College chapel, 99 Palermo (Sicily), Capella Palatina, 84 Panofsky, Erwin, 31, 33, 36, 38, 44, 227 Papeleu Master, 159, 165 Paris religious buildings Augustins, 234, 237, 239 College of Beauvais, chapel, 99 Collège de Cholet, 237 College of Carmelites, chapel, 99 College of Cluny, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100 College of Navarre, 99 Collège St Bernard, 95, 201, 202, 203, 204–208, 209, 210, 211 domus sancti Johannis Baptiste, 2 Holy Apostles basilica (later Sainte-Geneviève), 1 Holy Innocents, 237 Jacobins church, 79, 97 Notre-Dame cathedral, 4, 63, 79, 81, 83, 89, 97, 100, 139, 177, 181, 186, 227, 231, 238, 239, bishop’s chapel, 81, 82, 83, 84, 100, 234, 237, central portal, 6, 7, Saint Anne portal, 4, 5, 6, south transept portal, 84 Port-Royal-des-Champs, abbey, 198, 210 Saint-Aignan chapel, 17, 18 Saint-Antoine-des-Champs abbey, 121, 137, 190, 210 – 12, 213, 214 – 16, 229 Saint-Christophe, 2 Saint-Denis-du-Pas, 2 Saint-Etienne, 1, 2 Saint-Germain-des-Prés abbey, 5, 13, 15, 17, 79, 181, 234, 237, 239, Lady Chapel, 84, 85–88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95 – 97, 99, 100 Saint-Germain-en-Laye abbey, 13, 146 n. 5 Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois monastery, 13 Saint-Jacques-de-la-Boucherie, 236 Saint-Jean-en-Grève, 234, 237 Saint-Jean-le-Rond, 1, 2, 237 Saint-Magloire abbey, 13, 15 Saint-Martin-des-Champs abbey, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 22, 79

244

Saint Nicholas, palace chapel, 13, 84, 121, 137, 141, 142, 144 Saint-Paul, 237 Saint-Pierre abbey, Montmartre, 17, 19 Saint-Séverin, 158, 200, 237 Saint-Stephen’s basilica, 1 Saint-Victor abbey, 17, 22, 79, 181 Saint-Vincent-Sainte-Croix, 1 Sainte-Chapelle, 38, 64, 79, 80, 81, 83, 84, 89, 90, 92, 94, 95 – 97, 99, 100, 229, 231, 237, 238, glass, 105 – 57, 107–09, 128–36, 138–43 Sainte-Geneviève abbey 15, 17, 22, 79, 181 Sainte-Marie and Saint-Bernard, 202 topography Bastille Saint-Antoine, 212, 234, 237, 239 bishop’s palace, 234, 237 Carrières quarry, 9 Châtelet, 11, 61, 62, 64, 65, 67 – 69, 72, 171, 182, 183, 185, 186, 234, 237 Corbeil, 9 Grand-Pont, 176, 177, 179, 181, 182, 186, 199 Hôtel de Beauvais, 191 Hôtel de Bourbon, 237 Hôtel de Chaalis, 200 Hôtel du Faucon, 191, 199 Hôtel-Dieu, 2, 81, 92, 181, 234, 239 Île de la Cité, 1, 2, 11 – 13, 61, 62, 81, 176, 186, 227, 228, 237, 238 Impasse Bernard de Clairvaux, 200 Innocents cemetery, 11, 237 Les Champeaux, 11, 71 Les Halles, 168, 215, 237 Louvre, 12, 79, 231, 237 Montfaucon, 70, 170, 231, 234, 237 Montmartre, 231, 237 Musée de Cluny, 2, 11, 13, 85 Parliament of Paris, 229, 234, 238 Petit Châtelet, 182, 183, 185, 186, 234, 237 Petit-Pont, 81, 176, 177, 179, 181, 182, 186 Place de Grève, 234, 237 Pont au Change, 177 Pont Saint-Michel, 186 n. 3 Pont Notre-Dame, 186 n. 3 Porte Saint-Antoine, 212 Porte Saint-Denis, 237 Quai aux Fleurs, 199 royal palace, 11, 12, 137, 139, 142, 177, 181, 227, 229, 230, 231, 234, 237 – 39 Rue Coupe-Geuele, 95 Rue de Barres, 194, 195, 196 Rue de Brosse, 199 Rue de Jouy no 9, 198 Rue de l’Abbaye no 8, 89 Rue de l’Ave-Maria no 15, 197, 198 Rue de la Huchette no 28, 200

Index Rue de l’Hôtel de Ville, 194 Rue de Poissy, 95 Rue de Turbigo no 30, 199 Rue du Jour no 4, 199 Rue du Roi de Sicile, 237 Rue François-Miron no 68, 191, nos 44, 46 and 48, 191, 192, 193 Rue Geoffroy-Asnier nos 9 – 11, 192, no 15, 192 Rue Grenier sur l’Eau, 194, 195, 196 Rue Neuve-Notre-Dame, 158 Rue Saint-Antoine, 190, 192, 212 Rue Saint-Denis, 181, 186 n. 3 Rue Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois, 199 Rue Saint-Jacques, 191 Rue Saint-Martin, 186 n. 3 Sorbonne, 95 Square Laurent Prache, 85, 88, 89 Temple keep, 229, 237 Tour de Barbeau, 197, 198 Tour de Nesle, 237 University of Paris, 12, 181 Vincennes, palace, 137, 231, 234 Pascal II, pope, 10 Pepin the Short, 21 Peter of Nemours, bishop of Paris, 81, 215 Philip I, king of France, 10, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 19 Philip II Augustus, king of France, 11, 12, 40, 42, 61 – 63, 69, 79, 81, 92, 170, 179, 182, 185, 197, 201, 211 Philip III, king of France, 63, 95 Philip IV the Fair, king of France, 66 Philip V, king of France, 180, 229 Philippe de Mazerolle, painter, 231, 234 Pierre de Montreuil, 84, 85, 92 Poitiers (Vienne), Saint-Hilaire, 40 Pontigny (Yonne), abbey, 200, 201 Prague (Czech Republic), Judith Bridge, 184, 185 Preuilly (Seine-et-Marne), abbey, 192 Pucelle, Jean, illuminator, 158, 159, 165,  166 Regensburg (Bavaria), bridge, 182, 184, 185 Reigny (Yonne), abbey, 200 Reims (Marne), archbishop’s chapel, 83 RELICS Crown of Thorns, 38, 105 – 57, 130, 132–36, 141–43 Holy Nail, 41, 50 Saint Denis, 27, 29, 31, 36, 37, 38, 39, 41, 42, 45, 47, 48 Saint Eleutherius, 27, 45, 47, 48 Saint Eloi, 17 Saint Geneviève, 65 Saint Martin, 33, 39

Saint Ouen, 39 Saint Rusticus, 27, 45, 47, 48 Saint Simeon, 41, 43 Richer of Senones, chronicler, 40 Robert d’Artois, 112, 134, 140, 141 Robert de Sorbon, 95 Robert of Beaumont, 11 Robert II the Pious, king of France, 13 Rouen (Seine-Maritime), Saint-Ouen, 39 Royaumont (Val d’Oise), abbey, 199 Rucqueville (Calvados), 22 Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire (Loiret), 12, 19, 27, 33, 36 Saint-Denis (Seine-Saint-Denis) abbey, 5, 9 – 12, 15, 19, 20, 21, 22, 27 – 60, 28–30, 32, 34–37, 45, 46, 49, 63, 72, 84, 90, 92, 97, 181, 186, 229, 237 Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Paul Eluard, 20, 21 Saint-Michel-du Charnier (Seine-Saint-Denis), 20, 21 Saint-Paul (Seine-Saint-Denis), 20, 22 Samson, archbishop of Reims, 31 Sens (Yonne), cathedral, 134, 136, Saint-Pierre le-Vif, 124 Simon, abbot of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, 84 Steinheil, Louis-Charles-Auguste, 113, 114, 133, 136, 138, 142, 145 Stephen II, pope, 31 Stephen de Garlande, archdeacon, 4, 17, 18, 22 Stephen of Lexington, abbot of Clairvaux, 199, 201 Suger, abbot of Saint-Denis, 4, 9 – 26, 27 – 60, 126, 181, 189 Sulpicius Severus, 1 TAPESTRY Beauvais, Musée départemental de l’Oise, ­History of the Gauls, 234, 235, 236 Theobald, archbishop of Canterbury, 31 Thibaud, bishop of Paris, 5 Thibaut, count of Champagne, 189 Thomas de Mauléon, abbot of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, 84 Tours (Indre-et-Loire), Saint-Martin, 27, 31, 33, 39 Troyes (Aube), cathedral, 112, 239 Trubert, Pierre, 239 Truschet, Olivier, 178, 202, 213, 214, 216 Vacquer, Théodore, archaeologist, 2, 202, 203 Val Notre-Dame (Val-d’Oise), abbey, 199 Venantius Fortunatus, 1 Venice, San Marco, 131 Vézelay (Yonne) abbey, 43 Victurinus, bishop of Paris, 1 Villeneuve-l’Archevêque (Yonne), 105, 121, 127, 132, 133, 145

245

index Vincent de Beauvais, 158, 159, 165, 168 Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène Emmanuel, 2, 4, 7, 33, 38, 48, 49, 81, 83, 101 notes 13, 16 Vita Sancti Martini, 1

William of Volpiano, abbot of Saint-Germain-des-Près, 13 William the Breton, 12 William the Conqueror, 15, 20, 22

Walter of Guisborough, chronicler, 66 William of Auvergne, bishop of Paris, 81 William of Champeaux, 17

Yevele, Henry, 181 Yves de Chasant, 95 Yves de Vergy, 95

246