Venice and Its Neighbors from the 8th to 11th Century (Medieval Mediterranean) 9004352406, 9789004352407

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Venice and Its Neighbors from the 8th to 11th Century

The Medieval Mediterranean Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 400–1500

Managing Editor Frances Andrews (St. Andrews) Editors Tamar Herzig (Tel Aviv) Paul Magdalino (St. Andrews) Larry J. Simon (Western Michigan University) Daniel Lord Smail (Harvard University) Jo Van Steenbergen (Ghent University) Advisory Board David Abulafia (Cambridge) Benjamin Arbel (Tel Aviv) Hugh Kennedy (soas, London)

VOLUME 111

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/mmed

Venice and Its Neighbors from the 8th to 11th Century Through Renovation and Continuity Edited by

Sauro Gelichi Stefano Gasparri

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Drawing of a fragment of mosaic from the monastery of Sant’Ilario and Benedetto di Mira (9th century?), Southern Venetian Lagoon. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov lc record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2017040756

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0928-5520 isbn 978-90-04-35240-7 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-35361-9 (e-book) Copyright 2018 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents List of Figures  vii Notes on Contributors ix Introduction 1 Stefano Gasparri and Sauro Gelichi 1 The First Dukes and the Origins of Venice 5

Stefano Gasparri

2 Archival Documents as Narrative: The Sources of the Istoria Veneticorum

and the Plea of Rižana 27 Annamaria Pazienza

3 The Waterfront of Istria: Sea and Identity in the post-Roman

Adriatic 51 Francesco Borri

4 Disputes and Connections: Venice’s Affairs in the Regnum Italiae 68

Chiara Provesi

5 The Insula Equilus: A Lagoon Community in

the Early Middle Ages 90 Silvia Cadamuro, Alessandra Cianciosi and Claudio Negrelli

6 Setting the Scene: The Role of Sant’Ilario Monastery in Early Medieval

Venice in Light of Recent Landscape Studies 116 Elisa Corrò, Cecilia Moine and Sandra Primon

7 Comacchio: A Liminal Community in a Nodal Point during the Early

Middle Ages 142 Sauro Gelichi

Conclusion 168 Sauro Gelichi and Stefano Gasparri Bibliography 173 Index 182

List of Figures 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9 5.10 5.11 5.12 5.13 5.14 5.15 5.16 5.17 5.18 5.19 5.20 5.21 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7

Jesolo in relation to Venice 91 Aerial photograph of the Jesolo coast (1977) 92 Jesolo and Eraclea lagoons before the 16th century 94 A comparison between ancient cartography (a): the map drawn by Angelo dal Cortivo (1532) and (b) photo-interpretation by Sandra Primon 95 The map by Nicolò dal Cortivo (1539), interpreted by Sandra Primon 96 Aerial photograph (ReVen, Venice, 2005) 97 Archaeological evaluation, interpreted by Paolo Mozzi and Sandra Primon 98 Interpretation of landscape around Jesolo during the Middle Ages 99 Jesolo, Le Mura: archaeological excavations (2013–2015) 101 Jesolo 2014: excavation of the late ancient settlement: thick yellow sandy fills prepare ground for the construction of buildings 101 Jesolo 2015: orto-photo of the late ancient building (5th century) 102 Plan of the 7th-century cemetery: 48 tombs excavated (three examples shown) 103 Jesolo 2015: African and Oriental imported finds during excavation 105 Jesolo 2015: One of the structured fireplaces that equipped the 5th-century building 106 Jesolo 2014: Interpretation of buildings and workshops used for iron-working activities 107 The Cathedral of Jesolo: a comparison between historical photo, before 1903 and today’s ruins 108 Jesolo 2015: A recent orto-photo of the Cathedral’s ruins 109 Interpreted plan of older religious buildings 109 A fragment of geometric patterned mosaic floors from the Basilica 110 North African Red Slip ware from Jesolo 112 The iron-working activities in the site are attested by carbon layers (a), forges (b), and a well (c) 113 Location of the ancient site of Sant’Ilario monastery 117 Diagram of the area controlled by the monks when they moved to Sant’Ilario 121 Distribution of religious institutions during the 9th century 121 Diagram of the present landscape around the ancient site of Sant’Ilario monastery 124 Geomorphologic structure of the area around the monastery of Sant’Ilario 127 Paleoenvironmental reconstruction of Sant’Ilario: Early Middle Ages 129 Distribution of farms outside Saint’Ilario boundaries in the 9th century 132

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6.8 Diagram of the area controlled by the monks of Saint’Ilario after Pladano 133 6.9 Geomorphologic structure of the area around the monastery of Sant’Ilario: the Early Middle Ages 133 6.10 Geomorphologic structure of the area around the monastery of Sant’Ilario after the arrival of the Brenta River 136 6.11 Diagram of the landscape of Saint’Ilario after the arrival of the Brenta River 136 6.12 Distribution of farms between the 11th and 12th centuries 139 7.1 Location of Comacchio 143 7.2 Plan of Comacchio and the main excavation areas: (1) Piazza xx Settembre, (2) Villaggio San Francesco 145 7.3 Reconstruction of the territory of Comacchio during the Early Middle Ages (land and lagoons) 147 7.4 The inscription of the first bishop of Comacchio (about 723?) 149 7.5 The inscription of Exarch Isacius 150 7.6 Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Workshop in Comacchio 154 7.7 Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Small necropolis (second half of 8th century) 155 7.8 Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Evidence of glassmaking 156 7.9 Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Matrix for glass cameos and related cameo on the capsella from Cividale 157 7.10 Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Matrix for bronze letter 158 7.11 Comacchio, unglazed ware (8th–9th century) 159 7.12 Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Spolia from the early medieval episcopal church 165 7.13 Comacchio, cathedral. Sarcophagus of Stefanus (9th century) 166 7.14 Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Early medieval decorative stone from the episcopal church 167

Notes on Contributors Francesco Borri is Lecturer at the University of Vienna and Research Fellow at the Institute for Medieval Studies of the Austrian Academy of Sciences. Among his most recent publications: Alboino: Frammenti di un racconto (vi–xi secolo) (Rome: Viella, 2016). Silvia Cadamuro holds a Masters Degree in Medieval Archaeology. Her researches are mainly focused on the study of Late Roman and early medieval pottery, but also in the development of settlements between Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. She has worked particularly in Northern Italy sites, but also in Montenegro (Archaeological Research in Stari Bar) in 2006 and 2009. Alessandra Cianciosi who holds a Ph.D. in Medieval History, is a post-doc researcher in the Department of Humanistic Studies, University Ca’ Foscari of Venice. Her research area focuses on the landscape archaeology and the development of settlements ­between Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. She has joined archaeological projects in Northern Italy, managing different steps of research, from the excavation to the conception of museum exhibitions and workshops. An additional experience is in student training in field-archaeology and as a ­museum-based educator for children. Elisa Corrò received a m.s. degree in archeology from Ca’ Foscari University of Venice (2010), a p.m. degree in preventive archaeology and archaeological risk management from Luiss Business School of Rome (2013) and a Ph.D. in geoarchaeology from Ca’ Foscari University of Venice (2016). Her experience is in risk modeling and mining, and in various aspects of landscape archaeology, environmental geology, palaeohydrological, and extreme events of the Po delta (Northern Italy). Stefano Gasparri is a Full Professor of Medieval History at the University of Ca’ Foscari. He has published monographs and many articles on Italian history of the Early Middle Ages. He is co-founder of the website “Reti Medievali. Iniziative on line per gli studi medievistici,” director of the Centro interuniversitario per la storia

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e l’archeologia dell’alto medio (saame), and president of sismed (Società degli storici medievisti italiani). Sauro Gelichi is a Full Professor of Medieval Archaeology at the University of Ca’ Foscari. He has been director of many archaeological researches both in Italy and outside (Tunisia, Syria, Turkey, Montenegro) and has published monographs and many articles on archaeological and historical subjects. He is the main editor of the Journal Archeologia Medievale. Cecilia Moine received a masters in Medieval Archaeology form Ca’ Foscari University of Venice (2009) with a dissertation concerning the convents of the northern lagoon and their relationship to landscape (which was awarded the Premio ­Ottone d’Assia and published). She received a Ph.D. (2014) on the identity of late medieval convents through material culture. Experienced in Venetian studies, from 2014 to 2016 she developed the landscape analysis project of Sant’Ilario as a post-doctoral researcher at Ca’ Foscari University. Claudio Negrelli has received degrees in Ancient History (University of Bologna) and from the Graduate School of Medieval Archaeology Late Antiquity-Early Middle Ages (University of Pisa). He teaches Medieval Topography at the University Ca’ Foscari of Venice and at the Graduate School in Archaeology “sisba,” as well as Medieval Archaeology at the University of Ferrara. He has experience both in archaeological excavations and in surface survey in Italy and in general in Mediterranean area (Turkey, Montenegro). His researches are on archaeological artifacts, Roman, Late Antique, and early medieval and medieval pottery. Annamaria Pazienza who received a Ph.D. (2009) in Medieval History from the University of ­Padua, is a research fellow at Ca’ Foscari University, Venice. Her main interests of study are the history and archaeology of the Lombards in Italy and the early medieval history of Venice, on which she has published several articles. Sandra Primon received a master in Geological Sciences form the University of Padova (1988) and is now a freelance geologist, with expertise in the geology of plains, remote sensing, and photo-interpretation applied to the geomorphology of coastal

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­areas and to geoarcheology. Her main scientific interests are the geomorphological evolution of the Veneto-Friuli plain and of the Venice Lagoon. Chiara Provesi graduated in medieval history at the University of Padua and achieved her Ph.D. at Ca’ Foscari University in Venice, where she’s working as a post-doc. She has studied early medieval rituals concerning horses and warriors. Over the last years she has investigated the history of Venice during the early centuries of the Middle Ages, through a comparative analysis of both documentary and narrative sources.

Introduction Stefano Gasparri and Sauro Gelichi In demic settlement terms, the northern Adriatic Arc was undoubtedly one of the most dynamic areas in Italy during the early medieval period. Not only because it was then that the foundations were laid for the birth of ­Venice, the world-famous city whose fortunes would influence the history of the entire ­Italian peninsula, but also because it was here—along the coasts in ­particular—that a series of new settlements would spring up, apparently out of nothing and in apparently unfavourable sites. These new settlements gave rise to new communities, therefore involving colonization strategies and the development of forms of power. These spaces are a particularly rich resource for anyone wishing to explore issues relating to the formation of early medieval Italian societies. For this reason, studying the Venetian lagoon, especially within the northern Adriatic context, still makes sense today. Although the vast body of Venetian historiography has dedicated countless pages to the formative moments of these settlements, and ­therefore, of their communities, it has done so exclusively on the basis of written ­sources.  There are huge unexplored areas for anyone wishing to ­exploit other sources, such as archaeological sources, provided they are properly interpreted and oriented. When material data is interpreted superficially, or merely to confirm knowledge obtained from written documentation, the results are always disappointing, not only because this subordinates archaeology to a sort of ­ancillary role, but above all because it fails to extend the heuristic area of knowledge. At the same time, we can improve our approach to written sources by stripping them of the deposits (words, meanings, or even interpretations) that have built up upon them in time, and by contextualizing them in the ­political and cultural environment in which they were originally produced. This volume contains a series of essays that seek to move in this direction. It uses a fairly traditional organizational structure to bring together a set of writings that are exclusively historical (in the sense that their main references are written) with another series of more overtly archaeological essays. Although this distinction is more nominal than real—given that the essays draw upon data and results originating from both source areas—the dominant source plays a decisive role in orienting the critical reflection. So while it is only natural that each group of texts tends to share the same interpretative approach, they construe it according to the particular meanings focalized by these sources. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_002

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Early Venetian history is characterized by a series of features that are continuously referenced in historiography, features that will also be analysed here. The first concerns the very nature of the surviving written sources, which will be examined in detail by more than one author in this collection. For example, a better understanding of the sources that may have been drawn upon by John the Deacon in writing of the “monument” of historic Venetian narration known as the Istoria Veneticorum would be decisive in allowing us to set about a necessary deconstruction of the source (and, for that matter, of the whole infra-text representing its aims and objectives). Establishing links and dependencies among the little that survives plays a key role in throwing light on the forms of organization of the early Venetian community, consolidating the traditional list of Venetian dukes (and eliminating others), which in turn helps us to better establish dependencies or analogies between the forms of self-government that the lagoon societies undertook to develop, as well as the contemporary organizational forms of the Italian kingdom and of Byzantine Italy (Gasparri). Any attempt to redefine the setting of Venetian society between the 8th and 10th centuries must consider its relations with the inland territories, a ­dimension that has been examined here by focusing on the strategies of 10th-­ century dukes within a context that, yet again, saw them as active protagonists of politics in line with orientations of the western and Italian aristocracies of the ­period (Provesi). The retrieval of the dimension of landowners, which is at odds with the traditional vision overtly aimed at underlining an ab antiquo mercantile and commercial activity, helps counter the tendency to interpret the history of Venice and of its society with the benefit of hindsight. Nevertheless, we should neither overlook Venice’s relation with the sea, nor consider it to be episodic or marginal, as the written sources often seem to suggest. A glance at a neighbouring territory, Istria, producing one of the most intriguing documents related to early Venetian history—the Plea of Rizan, ca. 804— may offer the opportunity to redefine an Adriatic maritime identity (Pazienza, Borri): the sea is no longer just a means of communication and trade but also a connecting space in which a specific identity can be defined. Such a situation, which tends to focus on the formative moments of Venetian society at the time of its greatest experimentation (9th–10th century), but also of the greatest conservation of written documentation, is balanced by an archaeological dimension that seeks not only to recover Late Antique postulates but also a more territorially oriented vision of the processes involved (the neighbouring communities of Jesolo and Comacchio, the sphere of action of a major ducal monastery such as San Benedetto di Gambarare). Moreover, through its adoption of a necessarily greater chronological scale and

Introduction

3

­interpretation of processes resulting from long-term actions, archaeology includes in its field of survey other categories of context and materials, offering a more geographically and socio-economically oriented perspective. The ensuing interpretations indicate trajectories of settlements and communities such as Jesolo (Cadamuro et al.), note functions (economies) of institutions like the monastery of Gambarare (Corrò et al.), and underline characteristics (identities) in the case of Comacchio (Gelichi). The provisional nature of the material sources should not mislead us (unlike the potential increase in those written ones); although the opportunity may result in uncertain boundaries requiring constant adjustments it represents a value-added element rather than an area of concern. While the archaeology in this volume makes considerable use of territorial and spatial analyses, it also introduces a fully geological approach whereby physical space is not a mere corollary to human events but an agent playing a decisive role in the choices made by communities and in their economic and settlement strategies. It is only by using this type of approach that we will be able to understand long-term settlement solutions and choices that might at first sight seem singular or dictated by circumstantial motives. Reading the history of the origins of Venice and its lagoon by including its periphery (the Istria of the Plea of Rizan, the communities of Jesolo, and the more far-flung community of Comacchio, or the history of an important yet suburban monastery) may appear singular or even unprofitable, there are good reasons why this is not the case. The first involves the intrinsic weakness of documentation on Venice. We have already mentioned written sources. With regard to archaeological sources we can only add that their quality is directly proportional to their use. The Venetian lagoon is one of the most investigated areas of the past twenty years but is also the least known. Moreover, most of the excavation has taken place without the guidance of an overarching project, and archaeology that is not problem-oriented is like an empty vessel. There are other valid reasons for looking beyond the lagoon boundaries and they are the reasons that cause us to observe the interlocutors, if not the peripheries, of the communities that we wish to study. In fact, these alternative spaces for experimentation can provide us with interesting analogies, reveal characteristics that Venetian documentation may not have preserved, or even help reconstruct models of archaeological investigations in the Venice lagoon. This is possible for relatively distant areas and explains why this volume dedicates space (both directly and indirectly) to another community, the community of Comacchio: a community whose trajectory was too fleeting for the formation of a historical narrative tradition aimed at defining its identity a posteriori. But maybe this is exactly why (or perhaps why) Comacchio provides such a good

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vantage point for increasing our understanding of the phases prior to the institutionalization (and therefore crystallization) of the duchy’s functional structures. Moreover, it is for these same reasons (but also because of the higher degree of conservation of its archaeological deposits) that investigations of Comacchio, and of its surrounding area, are proving to be extremely valuable in helping us understand over what periods of time and how lagoons were colonized, and which exchange mechanisms could have been activated during those obscure yet decisive phases preceding the consolidation of the duchy in the 9th and 10th centuries. This volume aims to study and increase our understanding of new communities, seeking to do so using traditional (and less traditional) sources, but above all by investigating unconventional methods and less travelled routes. The outcome is not a new coherent and integrated vision of the history of the northern Adriatic communities (and of the Venetian one in particular) during the early medieval period, but an attempt to read those stories from a different point of view by opening new connections and links: the mainland, on the one hand, the Adriatic, on the other. This is the arena in which the future Queen of the Adriatic would be made. Despite the rivers of ink that have flowed, we believe that much remains to be said and done (differently). This volume, which is the result of a joint research project and a collegial discussion in one of the annual congresses at Leeds, hopes to make a step in that direction.

chapter 1

The First Dukes and the Origins of Venice Stefano Gasparri At the end of the seventh century, a large part of the ancient Roman province of Venetia et Histria was conquered by the Lombards. Besides the cities occupied in the first years after the invasion, Monselice and Padua had fallen into the hands of the Lombard king Agilulf around 602; later, between 640 and 670, first Rothari and then Grimoald conquered Oderzo, causing the transfer of the command centers of the Byzantine province to the edge of the lagoon, at Eraclea.1 The dismembering of the province continued in the silence of the sources, to the point that Paul the Deacon—the historian who provides us with all these reports—could write that in his time (the end of the eighth century), Venetia was reduced to “a few islands.”2 The Venetian lagoon, however, was not absorbed by the Lombard kingdom and remained linked to the Exarchate of Ravenna, whose story it shared for as long as the latter survived, i.e., the middle of the eighth century. The story of the Exarchate is far from well-known, due to the sources being very scarce. In particular, in Byzantine Italy, the role and importance of local military commanders, who were subordinate to the Exarch of Ravenna but, most likely, were in possession of a greater or lesser degree of autonomy, remains obscure. Moreover, even on the Exarchate itself we are poorly informed, so that we know neither the exact number nor the name of all the exarchs.3 The origins of the Exarchate and the office of Exarch are also unclear: they are linked to the discussion—central to the history of early medieval ­Byzantium—on the organization of the themes, with which too often the Exarchate was confused. Instead, the hypothesis that seems more plausible is that the Exarchate of Ravenna was formed, not as the result of a precise design by the imperial side, but on an experimental basis, locally determined by the needs for a military defensive response against the Lombard offensive.4 1 Paolo Delogu, “Il regno longobardo,” in Storia d’Italia i (Turin, 1980), pp. 38–39, 60–61, 95. 2 Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, ed. Georg Waitz, mgh, ss rer. Lang. (Hanover, 1878), ii, 14, p. 81. 3 A prosopography of the exarchs of Italy is in Giorgio Ravegnani, Gli esarchi d’Italia (Rome, 2011). 4 Francesco Borri, “Duces e magistri militum nell’Italia esarcale (vi–viii secolo)”, Reti Medievali Rivista 6/2 (2005), pp. 3–5.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_003

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It is within such a vague framework that we must research the origins of the political and institutional structure of what would later become medieval Venice. These origins are certainly related to the Byzantine defense strategy. The duchies born in the lagoon and elsewhere in Italy were the local nodes of the Exarchate but, at the same time, they descended directly from the military Byzantine structure pre-dating the Lombard invasion in 569. For example, in the geographical area of north-eastern Italy, a magister militum was probably set up in Aquileia in 559; other Byzantine units were quartered in Forum Iulii (then known as Cividale), Treviso, and Verona. Part of these troops, after the Lombard invasion, retreated to Ravenna, but others remained in the regions: in 579 three imperial regiments were present in Grado.5 Because of the highly incomplete character of the Lombard conquest, the Byzantine commanders who had remained at the forefront were close to ­Lombard leaders—the dukes (duces)—who carried titles much like theirs.6 Moreover, at the end of the sixth century, in the hierarchy of the Byzantine army, the difference between duces and magistri militum was not very ­distinct—they were both high-ranking officials, who could hold or not a territorial command—and between the seventh and eighth centuries there was an almost complete overlap of the two charges.7 The Lombard dukes also probably ­commanded mixed troops not entirely different from those that were ­dependent on the imperial commanders. The Lombards’ federated nature in Pannonia favored the similarity between the two military structures; accordingly, when the first two Lombards kings in Italy, Alboin and Clefi, were killed, many dukes, being left without a central command, returned for several years under the Byzantine authority. This was in particular the case, in the NorthEast, of the dukes of Friuli, who had their base in Cividale.8 The origins of the Venetian duchy therefore lie within this confusing framework, as it developed from the end of the sixth century onwards. To reconstruct these origins, we will use the few Venetian sources we have and compare them to those that we have available for another center of Byzantine Italy: Comacchio, south of Ravenna. Based on the data they provide, these sources will allow us to make assumptions, even though these relate to a period after the beginning of the eighth century. Comacchio had many traits in common 5 Giorgio Ravegnani, L’esercito bizantino e l’invasione longobarda, in I Longobardi e la guerra. Da Alboino alla battaglia sulla Livenza (secc. vi–viii) (Rome, 2004), pp. 68–75. 6 On the Lombard dukes, see Stefano Gasparri, I duchi longobardi (Rome, 1978). 7 Borri, “Duces e magistri militum,” pp. 5–7. 8 Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, ii, 28, 31–32, pp. 87–89, 90–91. On the dukes of Friuli: Gasparri, I duchi longobardi, pp. 65–66.

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with Venice: it was a small town, equally new—it was not a civitas of Roman times—was located in an area similar to the Venetian lagoon, and had a clear commercial vocation.9 Its fate became intertwined several times with that of Venice. So the mutual exchange of information on these two new cities can be very useful for historians. Much less useful, however, is the comparison with other Byzantine duchies of Italy. As I have already said, even the duchies themselves, the central structure of the Exarchate, are little known: some of them were short-lived, such as the duchy of Liguria; of others, such as the duchy of Pentapolis, we know little or nothing. Apart from Venice, the most important duchies were those of Rome and Naples. The first had a difficult time because it had to deal, from the late sixth century on—the first duke of Rome is mentioned in 592—with the authority of the pope, which was becoming stronger. We know a dozen names of dukes, sometimes hostile to the pope, sometimes collaborators. Towards the end of the eighth century, some of the last dukes of Rome came from the same families that provided the popes. The duchy of Naples is also different from the Venetian one, because in Naples the same ducal dynasty ruled from 840 until the Norman conquest.10 Another important point that one needs to underline is the strong militarization of the society of Byzantine Italy after the Lombard invasion. Almost everywhere the military leaders were at the head of the society; officers and soldiers from the East settled in large numbers in the Italian peninsula.11 The process of militarization was accentuated by the fact that during the seventh century, in ways we can not fully understand, the recruitment of troops was increasingly effected on a local basis. As a result, in a clear parallel with the evolution of Lombard Italy, in the part of Italy that remained linked to the empire the majority of the free male population had the title of miles and were associated in numeri and bandi, i.e., military units of the Byzantine army.12 Similarly, in the Lombard Kingdom, free men bore the title of exercitalis or arimannus, always with the meaning of “soldier” in the public army.13 ­Throughout the 9 10 11 12

13

See below, text and note 66. Bernard Bavant, “Le duché byzantin de Rome. Origine, durée et extension géographique,” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome. Moyen-Age, Temps modernes 91/1 (1979), pp. 41–88. Thomas S. Brown, Gentlemen and Officers. Imperial Administration and Aristocratic Power in Byzantine Italy a.d. 554–800 (Rome, 1984), pp. 61–108. Francesco Borri, “Towns and Identities in the Italian Eastland: 790–810,” in Urban Identities in Northern Italy (800–1100 ca.), ed. Cristina La Rocca and Piero Majocchi, Seminari del Centro saame 5 (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 91–93. Stefano Gasparri, “La questione degli arimanni,” Bullettino dell’Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo e Archivio Muratoriano 87 (1978), pp. 121–153.

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eighth century, in the documents of Ravenna we find men defined as milites, who are linked to certain regiments. Next to them there are, to a lesser extent, others that are called domestici and tribuni, which have to have been officers: the latter in particular were placed in the military hierarchy immediately below the duces and the magistri militum.14 What do we know about the Venetian military and political organization before the birth of the city of Venice, which is to say not earlier than the late Carolingian period? As previously shown, within our sources for the reconstruction of the origins of the Venetian duchy, though fairly difficult to trust, we must focus on the fundamental institution of the duchy: the duke. We need to use this institution as a kind of fossil-guide. Compared to the duke, in fact, the other institutions of the duchy are sketchy. So we will go in search of the “first Venetian duke,” i.e., the first doge, meaning the first duke the Venetians elected independently from Byzantium, because this election was a fundamental moment in the history of Venice. However, we must emphasize the fact that, as early as the late sixth century, duces or magistri militum had to be at the head of the Venetian duchy, just as in the other Byzantine duchies of Italy. The seventh century offers us the first useful information. On the epigraph conserved in Santa Maria di Torcello, dated between 1 September and 5 O ­ ctober 639, it is written that the church was founded by Mauricius, gloriosus magister militum, “who resides in his place.”15 This means that the church was built on land owned by Mauricius, who obviously had roots in that place. We can suppose that he is the oldest Byzantine commander of the lagoon of whom traces remain in the sources. The other interesting information of the epigraph is that the foundation of the church had been ordered by the exarch Isaac. We do not know if Isaac had personally traveled to the lagoon, but the epigraph is a clear trace of his interest in what was happening in the Venetia. Mauricius had executed the order, dedicating the church “for his (Isaac’s) merits and those of his army.”16 This could suggest a direct involvement of Isaac in the defense 14 15

16

Ruggero Benericetti, Le carte ravennati dei secoli ottavo e nono (Faenza, 2006), nn. 1, 4, 5, 6, pp. 3–4, 8–15; Bavant, “Le duché byzantin de Rome,” pp. 67–70. Agostino Pertusi, “L’iscrizione torcellana dei tempi di Eraclio,” in id., Saggi veneto-­bizantini, ed. G.B. Parente (Florence, 1990), pp. 1–31. On Isaac: Salvatore Cosentino, Prosopografia dell’Italia bizantina (493–804) ii (G-O) (Bologna, 2000), pp. 225–226, and Ravegnani, Gli esarchi d’Italia, pp. 71–75. “In nomine Domi Dei nostri Iesu Christi, imperante domno nostro Heraclio perpetuo augusto, anno xxviiii indictione xiii facta est ecclesia sancte Marie Dei genetricis ex iussione pio et devoto domno nostro Isaacio excellentissimo exarcho patricio et Deo volente dedicata pro eius meritis et eius exercitu. Hec fabricata est a fundamentis per bene meritum Mauricum gloriosum magistro militum provincie Venetiarum resedentem in

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of the lagoon, which—as previously said—was under attack by the Lombard king Rothari, who in fact took Oderzo for the first time in the same period.17 The Armenian Isaac was a very active exarch on the military level: beyond that of Torcello, two other inscriptions remind us of the military merits of the exarch, one in Ravenna and another found in Comacchio.18 Isaac finally opposed Rothari, during the offensive launched by the king against Liguria, and was defeated and probably killed in 643 at the battle of Scultenna, which was the most important fight in the whole history of the conflicts between the Byzantines and the Lombards.19 The presence of Isaac in Venice is therefore p ­ robable and confirms the value of the military defense of all that remained of the ancient Venetia et Histria. After Isaac, we find in the Venetia the patrician Gregory, who around 650 caught in a trap in Oderzo (temporarily back in Byzantine hands) the two Lombard dukes of Friuli, Taso and Cacco, killing them.20 Paul the Deacon, who recounts the episode, is usually quite accurate in his use of titles, so it is likely that Gregory too was an exarch (ordinarily a patricius) and not the magister militum or dux of Venice, even if the latter cannot be entirely excluded: in fact, an officer called dux and patricius is found in Rome in the next century.21 ­Finally, a lead seal was found in a tomb in the territory of Eraclea, near Venice, and dated to the seventh century. This belonged to the patrician Anastasios: the latter, who bore the same title of Gregory, may have been another highranking representative of Byzantium in the Venetia.22 There are no other traces of the presence of a magister militum or a duke in the lagoon up to the beginning of the eighth century. The story concerning the election of the first doge belongs to the latter period; it is narrated in the oldest

17 18

19 20 21 22

hunc locum suum, consecrante sancto et reverendissimo Mauro episcopo huius ecclesie feliciter” (ed. by Pietro Rugo, Le iscrizioni dei secoli vi, vii e viii esistenti in Italia, ii: Venezia e Istria (Citadella, 1975), n. 1, p. 17). Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, iv, 45, p. 135. See above, n. 15, and Stefano Gasparri, Un placito carolingio e la storia di Comacchio, in Faire lien. Aristocratie, réseaux et échanges compétitifs. Mélanges en l’honneur de Régine Le Jan, ed. Laurent Jegou, Sylvie Joye, Thomas Lienhard and Jens Schneider (Paris, 2015), pp. 179–189. See above, n. 17; Delogu, “Il regno longobardo,” p. 61. Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, iv, 38, pp. 132–133. Bavant, “Le duché byzantin de Rome,” p. 77. According to Giorgio Ravegnani, Anastasios was an exarch: Ravegnani, Gli esarchi d’Italia, p. 39; see also Salvatore Cosentino, Prosopografia dell’Italia bizantina, i (A-F) (Bologna, 1996), p. 139, and Wladimiro Dorigo, Bolle plumbee bizantine nella Venezia esarcale, in Studi in memoria di Giuseppe Bovini (Ravenna, 1989), pp. 223–235.

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Venetian chronicle, which is attributed to John the Deacon (even if the text is anonymous), a close collaborator of the duke Pietro ii Orseolo, and was written around 1000. Despite many general problems that this chronicle raises, and which have been studied by myself and by others, it remains the main source we have for the 8th–10th centuries: but it is always necessary to exercise very strict criticism of this text to use it properly.23 In the first part of the chronicle—the part that raises major problems of attribution24— John writes that, during the reign of Anastasios ii in Byzantium, and the reign of the Lombard Liutprand in Italy, all Venetians, assembled in Eraclea together with the patriarch of Grado and the bishops, established that, from now on, it would be more honorable for them to be subjected to dukes instead of tribunes. Therefore, after a careful discussion, they elected as duke a certain Paulicius, to whom they promised fidelity. According to John, Paulicius was a righteous man, governed with justice and signed a major peace treaty with the Lombard king Liutprand, whose provisions were still in force in John’s time. The chronicler adds that Paulicius also established the boundaries of the territory of Cittanova.25 Overlaying the years of government of Anastasios and Liutprand, we obtain as a possible date of Paulicius’ election a year between 713 (the date that is traditionally accepted) and 715. In previous chapters John, recounting a story modelled on Paul the Deacon’s Historia Langobardorum, told the stories of the Roman population’s escape to the lagoon fleeing the barbarian invasions, and that of the patriarch of A ­ quileia who had also fled to the lagoon to Grado.26 Also according to John, in those distant times the province of the Venetia was governed by the tribunes, that is by Byzantine army officers. The picture that John presents, which is characterized by the harsh struggles of the local population against the barbarians (the Lombards), is very vague, and he gives no information about what actually happened. Paulicius’ election is the foundation stone on which he builds the story of the city of Venice: hence it derives its exceptional importance. John’s story is largely a tale of fantasy, which deliberately ignores the fact that Venice until then had been a Byzantine duchy, and presents its history 23

24 25 26

See the introduction of Luigi Andrea Berto to his edition of the chronicle: Giovanni ­Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum (Bologna, 1999), pp. 7–25 (hereafter cited as Istoria Veneticorum), and Stefano Gasparri, The formation of an early medieval community: Venice between provincial and urban identity, in Three Empires, three cities: Identity, material culture and legitimacy in Venice, Ravenna and Rome, 750–1000, ed. Veronica West-Harling, Seminari del Centro saame 6 (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 35–50. Istoria Veneticorum, pp. 12–21 (Berto’s introduction). Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 2, p. 94. Istoria Veneticorum, i, 5, 11, 38, pp. 52, 62, 82, ii, 1, p. 94.

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as if it had always been completely independent from any external power.27 Similarly fantastic is that it was the news reported by the Byzantine Emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus. Fifty years before John, Constantine also wrote that the first duke, unnamed, had been elected at a meeting of the Venetian people, but this meeting could in fact only have happened after the victorious resistance of the Venetians to the attempt of the Frankish king of Italy, Pippin, to take possession of Venice.28 In the story of Constantine, which is legendary although probably built on information coming from Venice, the first election took place a century later than in John the Deacon’s story. Despite the required criticism, the elements regarding the election presented by John must be examined carefully. The first description of the ducal election, apart from this one, is that of Giovanni ii Particiaco, which occurred much later, in 887: in this case the presence of the clergy is not mentioned.29 However, the claim of John about their presence in 713 is not entirely far-fetched, because the first surviving Venetian document, written in 819, a donation of duke Agnello Particiaco and his son Giustiniano, tells us that the decision was taken in the presence of the highest ecclesiastical authorities and the Venetian people (i.e., the secular elite of the duchy).30 It’s possible then to admit the existence of an already highly structured ducal assembly at the beginning of the ninth century, but it remains difficult to think that the same assembly could have been so well articulated a hundred years before, when, according to John, Paulicius was elected. Nevertheless, the existence of local assemblies in the 8th century seems at least plausible, as I shall discuss below; the character of these meetings would have been basically military. As for the tribunes mentioned by John, this social layer is certainly present in ancient Venetian sources and in the sources for the whole Byzantine area: a famous example is an epigraph of Jesolo (7th–8th centuries), which recalls a tribune Antoninus.31 Tribunes are mentioned, but as members of a past class of landowners, in the will of the doge ­Giustiniano ­Particiaco (829);32 other tribunes are remembered as landowners in the 27

28 29 30 31 32

Another source used by John the Deacon was the Translatio Sancti Marci, an anonymous text written in the tenth century, edited by E. Colombi, “Translatio Sancti Marci Evangelistae Venetias [bhl 5283–5284],” Hagiographica 17 (2010), pp. 112–139. Constantine Porphyrogenitus, De Administrando imperio, ed. Gyula Moravcsik, in Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae, i, 2nd ed. (Washington, 1985), col. 28, pp. 118–121. Istoria Veneticorum, iii, 32, 35, pp. 147, 149. Ss. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio (819–1199), ed. Luigi Lanfranchi and Bianca Strina ­(Venice, 1965), n. 1, pp. 8–12. Pietro Rugo, Le iscrizioni, n. 17, p. 24. Ss. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio (819–1199), n. 2, pp. 17–24.

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c­ harters of Ravenna of the 8th and 9th centuries.33 The tribunes mentioned in the ­famous dispute-settlement (placitum) held at Rižana in Istria in 804, would have also likely been landowners. From this placitum emerges a vivid picture of the characteristics of the class of the Istrian tribunes, which would have been, if not identical, at least very similar to their Venetian and Ravenna counterparts. The nature of the powers exercised by this class on the rural population in 804,  the date of placitum, was hovering between its original public function and the private domain. But in the 8th century their nature of public officials was ­probably still widely prevalent; and in Venice in the 7th and 8th centuries too the tribunes would have had a public function.34 Of great interest, as a comparison with the story of John the Deacon, are also the hints in the placitum of Rižana of the persistence of municipal assemblies, called communiones or congressus. The oldest lagoon congregation is thus given an indirect but valuable visibility: it too would have had a strong military nature. The tribunes and other members of the assemblies constituted the intermediate levels of the local army (militia), and had led from the general militarization of the political structures to the government of cities and castles. There must therefore have been an assembly in the lagoon Venetia of the eighth century, but its role in the ducal election and its degree of autonomy from Byzantium are unknown. It seems difficult to imagine that it had a stable role in such elections, at least in normal times; however its role could have been different in revolutionary times. Moreover, John the Deacon explains the election of the duke by saying that the Venetians decided that from then on it was “more honorable” to be under the authority of the dukes than under that of the tribunes, and therefore they elected Paulicius.35 This information is obviously false, since we know that the tribunes were not at the head of the Byzantine military regions: the head of the latter were always the duces or magistri militum. However, to understand how John the Deacon worked, it is interesting to note that this passage, though perhaps not literally, reminds one suspiciously of a similar one of Paul the Deacon, who, along with Bede (and the Translatio sancti Marci), is the main source of 33 34

35

Some examples above, note 14 (in Benericetti, Le carte degli archivi ravennati). Francesco Borri, “L’Istria fra Bisanzio e i Franchi: istituzioni, identità e potere,” in L’heritage byzantin en Italie (viiie–xiie siècle), ii, Les cadres juridiques et sociaux et les institutions publiques, ed. Jean-Marie Martin, Annette Peters-Custot, and Vivien Prigent (Rome, 2012), pp. 297–323. Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 2, p. 94: “omnes Venetici, una cum patriarcha et episcopis convenientes, communi consilio determinaverunt quod dehinc honorabilius esse sub ducibus quam sub tribunis manere.”

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all the first part of John’s chronicle. Paul wrote that the Lombards, “in the likeness of other peoples” (and, by implication, to reach these peoples’ superior level of government, claimed that it was more honorable), decided to abandon the government of the dukes and to elect a king.36 This passage of the chronicle was built specifically by John in order to reuse the information that he had gained from a different source—we will see soon after which source—and which he wanted to include in the narrative of the chronicle, up to that point relying on Paul the Deacon and Bede. Its purpose was to begin an independent political history of the Venetian community in a lofty manner. The source John relied on referred to Paulicius and to the pact with Liutprand but did not speak about the election of a duke. John’s source was part of a text, the pact of Lothar of 840, which John had seen and which, fortunately for us, is still extant.37 This document has always been considered of great ­importance, and has long been interpreted as the first official recognition of Venetian independence. In fact it was the text of a pact between the Venetians and their neighbours, i.e., the inhabitants of the neighbouring territories of the Italian kingdom; a pact that the Frankish emperor Lothar had ordered to be put in writing at the request of duke Pietro Tribuno. But it was clearly not an agreement between two powers of the same level; on the contrary, it was the act of an emperor who, from the height of his power, brings order in the border areas of his empire.38 The pact contains two chapters, 26 and 28, that refer to the question that interests us here. According to Roberto Cessi, who had devoted extensive studies to the pact, the two chapters belong to two different periods: Chapter 28 to the age of the peace of Aachen, or immediately after, that is around 812–814; Chapter 26 to the age of Lothar.39 This is certainly a text with several strata, with a layer of the 8th century, represented precisely by the same content as these two chapters. Chapters 26 and 28 deal with the boundaries between the territories of the Lombard kingdom and Cittanova-Eraclea, which was part of the Venetian duchy. Chapter 26 mentions in general terms the ­establishment 36 37 38

39

Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, i, 14, p. 54: “nolentes iam ultra Langobardi esse sub ducis, regem sibi ad ceterarum instar gentium statuerunt.” Pactum Hlotharii i, ed. Alfred Boretius and Victor Krause, mgh Capitularia regum Francorum 2 (Hanover, 1897), n. 233, pp. 130–135. This is the opinion of G.B.V. West, “Communities and pacta in early medieval Italy: jurisdiction, regulatory authority and dispute avoidance,” Early Medieval Europe 18/4 (2010), pp. 367–393. Roberto Cessi, “La « terminatio » liutprandina per la definizione del territorio di Cittanova,” and id., “Paulicius dux,” in id., Le origini del ducato veneziano (Neaples, 1951), pp. ­149–153 and 155–173.

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of boundaries (terminatio) made in king Liutprand’s time between the duke Paulicius and the magister militum Marcellus, and which must have remained valid in the terms established by King Aistulf when he bestowed it “to you ­inhabitants of Cittanova.” Chapter 28 says that the flocks “from your side” (Lothar’s) can graze undisturbed up to the boundary appointed by the duke ­Paulicius with the inhabitants of Civitanova, i.e., between the two branches of the Piave, “as we read in the pact.”40 It is evident that John, who, as part of his duties as collaborator of Pietro ii Orseolo frequented the ducal palace—the chancery and the archives—had before him nothing but this text, and that, by rearranging the information that it provided him, he built on it the whole of Paulicius’s election story, pretty much inventing it. This explains the anachronisms and inconsistencies that I   have stated. But the fact remains, that in the pact a duke Paulicius is appointed, and is mentioned at the time of Liutprand: was he really the first independent Venetian duke, the first doge? On this point, i.e., the historical reality of Paulicius as the first Venetian duke, local historiography was divided in the past and in part remains divided today. Roberto Cessi, already many years ago, put most strongly in doubt that Paulicis was the first duke, and I agree with him on this point. It’s on the rest of his reasoning that it’s impossible to agree. To understand his reasoning we must leave aside for a moment the ducal problem and focus on the pact between Paulicius and Liutprand mentioned by John. Cessi states that an overall political agreement between the Lombards and the Venetians at the time of Liutprand, as mentioned by John the Deacon, would never have existed. The terminatio mentioned in the Lothar pact of 840 would have been simply the memory of the establishment of borders between the Venetian and Lombard territories, coinciding with the area of Cittanova, an act that was carried out independently by two Byzantine authorities of the lagoon and only later confirmed by the Lombard king Aistulf, who in this way gave to it legal validity for the Lombard kingdom. We would thus be simply in the presence of a material drawing up of borders, which was followed by a subsequent bestowal (largitio) by Aistulf. The two authorities involved in the affair would have been the duke Paulicius, who for Cessi was the exarch of 40

Pactum Hlotharii i, cap. 26, p. 135: “De finibus autem Civitatis novae statuimus, ut, sicut a tempore Liutprandi regis terminatio facta est inter Paulitionem ducem et Marcellum magistrum militum, ita permanere debeat, secundum quod Aistulfus ad vos Civitatinos novos largitus est”; cap. 28, p. 135: “Peculiarumque vestrarum partium greges pascere debeant cum securitate usque in terminum, quem posuit Paulitius dux cum Civitatinis novis, sicut in pacto legitur de Plave maiore usque in Plavem siccam, quod est terminus vel proprietas vestra.”

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Ravenna Paul (his name, according to Cessi, was a corrupted form of Paulus patricius) who, before becoming exarch, had been duke and had perhaps kept his old title, and the magister militum Marcellus, commander in chief of the Byzantine lagoon with a title that, according to Cessi, expressed dependence on Byzantium and not autonomy.41 Thus John, when presenting Paulicius as the first duke, intended instead to emphasize the autonomy of the origins. The main objective of Cessi, in harmony with the more traditional trends of Venetian historiography, was to deny any link between the mainland (first Lombard and then Frankish) and Venice, but I believe this to be an erroneous view. On the contrary, we now know very well that the links between the Venetian duchy—and Byzantine Italy in general—and the Lombard (then Carolingian) kingdom were very close and that the influence of the mainland on the lagoon society was remarkable.42 Nevertheless, Cessi was right about many things: the overall agreement between Liutprand and Paulicius was an invention of John the Deacon; Paulicius was not the first doge; the mention of Liutprand in Chapter 26 was only an element of dating, that is a reference to the fact that the deal was struck while Liutprand reigned. But the rest of Cessi’s reasoning can not be accepted: above all, it is not necessary to think about the derivation of the name of Paulicius from that of an alleged Paulus patricius (so reconnecting to the exarch Paul). In fact, the name Paulicius existed in the Lombard area.43 The purpose of Cessi’s strained interpretation stemmed from the scholar’s will to reduce the Lombard intervention to the mere confirmation by Aistulf of an autonomous Byzantinelagoon act, in which only two Byzantine officials, Paulicius and Marcellus, appear, but no Lombards. Italy in the 8th century, however, was a very different world from the one sketched by Cessi, which focused on the hostile opposition between Romans and barbarians. In fact, we are facing two closely interrelated societies, especially in those border areas where the population of the Byzantine and ­Lombard lands was often mixed. In addition, the meaning of the definition of the borders between Cittanova and the kingdom can be understood only if we consider it within a complex set of other local accommodations made at the time of Liutprand—and then continued by later sovereigns—both internal to 41 42

43

Above, note 39. Stefano Gasparri, “Venezia fra l’Italia bizantina e il regno italico: la civitas e l’assemblea,” in Venezia. Itinerari per la storia della città, ed. Stefano Gasparri, Giovanni Levi, and Pierandrea Moro (Bologna, 1997), pp. 61–82. Codice Diplomatico Longobardo, ii, ed. Luigi Schiaparelli, in Fonti per la storia d’Italia 63 (Roma, 1933), nn. 136 (759) and 246 (770), pp. 28 and 322.

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the kingdom, and with the neighboring political entities, the most important of which was that with Comacchio in 715, of which more later.44 In summary, we have here two different acts; both involve the Lombards and deal first with the establishment of the borders, and then with the confirmation of Aistulf. The first act, which interests us most, was a Lombard-Byzantine bilateral pact. In it, Liutprand’s name was just one element of dating, he did not intervene at all in the stipulations of the agreement. Locally, there were two actors: Marcellus, the Venetian magister militum, and Paulicius. Since one has to have two parties in order to give validity to the boundaries, Paulicius was definitely a Lombard duke of a north-central Italy duchy, perhaps the duke of Treviso, which was the Lombard duchy nearest to the border. It may be useful, at this point, to make a comparison between the Venetian agreement of 713 and the pact with Comacchio of 715.45 The latter contains the confirmation of the conditions under which the Comacchiesi, i.e., the inhabitants of Comacchio (a small center south of Ravenna), called milites, were allowed to trade in a series of ports (Mantova, Brescia, Cremona, Parma, ­Piacenza, and others) of the Lombard kingdom, located along the Po river and its tributaries, paying taxes in cash or in kind. Among the products subject to tax, in addition to salt and oil, there were pepper and garum, which prove the existence of an import trade flow from the East run by the merchants of Comacchio. The pact is defined in the text, which is unfortunately mutilated at several points, “chapter granted by us Lombards, faithful” (to the king):46 the king is Liutprand, who in this case is remembered again at the beginning as a dating element (“at the time of king Liutprand”). The agreement was issued in Pavia, where evidently the people of Comacchio had gone to ask the king for recognition of their customs, which could then have gone back to the late seventh century, perhaps after the peace of 680. In the pact of 715 the priest Lupicinus, Bertari magister militum and the comites Maurus and Stephen appear as representatives of all the inhabitants (habitatores) of Comacchio. This suggests the existence of a politically structured community according to the model of Byzantine Italy, i.e., under a military commander who also held with civilian power, the magister militum; then

44 45 46

Stefano Gasparri, “Venezia fra i secoli viii e ix. Una riflessione sulle fonti,” in Studi veneti offerti a Gaetano Cozzi (Venice, 1992), pp. 6–7. Ludo Moritz Hartmann, Zur Wirtschaftgeschichte Italiens im frühen Mittelalter. Analekten (Gotha, 1904), p. 74. Loc. cit.: “capitulare porrectum a nobis cunctis fidelibus Longobardorum.”

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there are the comites, which are always part of the group of the tribunes.47 The situation in Venice had to be more or less the same: the analogy between the command structure of the two centers, which emerges from the two pacts, is evident. The real difference is that next to the magister militum in Comacchio is mentioned a presbiter. Instead in Venice in 713, despite the existence in the lagoon of the patriarch of Grado, no ecclesiastical figure is mentioned in the agreement. The difference may be due to a greater weakness, of the political and military structures of Comacchio compared to those of Venice: thus Comacchio had to lean on the church hierarchy, although in the pact no bishop or even an archpriest or archdeacon are mentioned, or any element that could suggest the existence of a bishop and a bishopric. Soon, however, the similarity between Venice and Comacchio was to be ­restored from that same point of view. In fact a bishop may well have e­ xisted in Comacchio from a time perhaps not much later than the pact, in 723.48 ­Excavations carried out around the cathedral of Comacchio, however, have identified traces of a cult building only from the late eighth century,49 and this coincides with the first reliable evidence of the presence of a bishop in C ­ omacchio, which is 781: in that year, a diploma issued by Charlemagne for Vitalis bishop of Comacchio confirmed to the inhabitants of Comacchio, ­represented by the bishop, the right to carry out their business in ­accordance with the rules that were in force with the previous kings (of which only ­Liutprand is mentioned).50 The comparison, even chronologically, with Venice holds even more if we consider that in 776 was founded the first bishopric in the heart of the lagoon, in the archipelago of Rialto, on the island of Olivolo (now Castello).51 At this point, if we compare as a whole the pacts of 713 and 715, we see that in the latter—unlike in the Venitian pact—only one side, that of Comacchio, is presented in detail, but the other is still there: the names of Liutprand’s officers may have disappeared at the time of the copying of the original. As in 47 48

49 50 51

Bavant, “Le duché byzantin de Rome,” pp. 67–70, and Brown Gentlemen and Officers, p. 57, note 34. Sauro Gelichi, “Lupicinus presbiter. Una breve nota sulle istituzioni ecclesiastiche comacchiesi delle origini,” in Ricerca come incontro. Archeologi, paleografi e storici per Paolo Delogu, ed. Giulia Barone, Anna Esposito, and Carla Frova (Roma, 2013), pp. 48–52: according to an epigraph in the cathedral of Comacchio, Vincentius primus episcopus would have built the church of S. Cassiano in the year 723. L’isola del vescovo. Gli scavi archeologici intorno alla Cattedrale di Comacchio, ed. Sauro Gelichi (Florence, 2009). Pippini, Carlomanni, Caroli Magni Diplomata, ed. Engebert Mühlbacher, mgh, dd Karolinorum 1 (Hanover, 1906), n. 132, pp. 182–183. Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 19, p. 104.

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the Chapter 26 of Lothar’s pact, here Liutprand provides an element of dating and his officers are the actors. The difference is that we are not faced with an agreement, but with a concession made by the Lombard side to the Comacchio merchants: from this point of view, the capitulare of 715 recalls Lothar’s pact, which in turn has included the previous pact of 713. With the interpretation we have proposed, the figure of Paulicius as the first independent duke of Venice vanishes. The second doge of the traditional catalogue, identified as such by John the Deacon, Marcellus, is much in doubt, despite his (albeit uncertain) mention in a papal letter of 723, concerning the conflict between the sees of Aquileia and Grado.52 It is indeed very likely that Marcellus is listed as second duke by John for the same reasons that had inspired the imaginative reconstruction of Paulicius’ election, i.e., the need to fill gaps in the ancient ducal catalogues and to highlight the first steps of the history of Venice. To this end, John used the second name, after that of ­Paulicius, that he had available from Lothar’s pact, that of the magister militum Marcellus.53 The latter was certainly at the head of the Venetian duchy, but it is very unlikely that he was elected in an autonomous way. The institutional break came later. With Orso, the third doge mentioned by John and then by all Venetian sources after him, we are on less uncertain ground.54 It is believed that Orso was elected in 726 or 727, at the time of the general uprising of Byzantine Italy against the emperor Leo iii, a supporter of the iconoclastic heresy. We know from the Roman Liber Pontificalis that in that year the armies of the B ­ yzantine duchies of Italy, among which is expressly mentioned the exercitus Venetiarum, rebelled against Byzantium and elected autonomous dukes.55 Leaving aside for the moment the duke’s name, the first and most important here is the chronology, which tells us that around 730 an independent duchy was emerging in the Venetian lagoon. Around 735, according to John the Deacon, the exarch went to Venice for help to free Ravenna, the capital of the Exarchate and of the whole Byzantine Italy, which had been occupied by the Lombards.56 While Byzantine Italy 52

53 54 55 56

Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 10–11, p. 98; Epistolae Langobardicae collectae, ed. Ernest Dümmler, in mgh, Epp 3 (Berlin, 1892), n. 9, pp. 699–700: in the intitulatio of the letter, “et Marcello duci” could be an interpolation. See above, note 40. Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 11, p. 98; Gherardo Ortalli, “Venezia dalle origini a Pietro ii Orseolo,” in Storia d’Italia, i (Turin, 1980), pp. 366–367. Vita Gregorii ii, in Liber Pontificalis, ed. Louis Duchesne, i (Paris, 1886), p. 404. Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 12, pp. 98–100.

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f­ altered, the Venetian duchy began to be distinguished by its military strength: the Venetian fleet intervened and drove away the Lombards.57 We must not exaggerate the strength of this fleet, given that the Venetians were defeated at sea by both the Slav pirates and the Saracens until the second half of the ninth century.58 But there is no doubt that the Venetians already owned, in the eighth century, a war fleet, with which they reconquered Ravenna on behalf of the exarch. This is also demonstrated by a letter (726 or 735) of Pope Gregory ii or iii, who asked a duke Orso for help for the exarch Eutychius, a refugee in the lagoon (apud Venecias), to recapture Ravenna.59 This is a significant point because it is with the rising military role of the Venetians that we could ­explain the election of Orso as autonomous duke of Venice by the local army. The general uprising of Byzantine Italy in 726/7, the political and military instability of the subsequent years, and the weakening of the Exarchate offered the Venetians the possibility of greater autonomy than in the past: the result was the election of Orso as dux Venetiarum. So Orso could have been the first independent duke from Byzantium, the first doge. On the contrary, in the context of the previous ten years an independent election of a duke in Venice seems totally implausible. In this framework of political and military growth of the duchy, the Venetian trade of the eighth century remains almost undocumented. This confirms the idea that the first progresses of Venice were not directly in the commercial field, but in the military one. We can certainly pick up some signs of Venetian trade. The Liber Pontificalis, for the pontificate of Zacharias (mid-eighth century), tells us that the Venetians were slave traders, and that they bought slaves in Rome to resell in Africa; therefore they were present in the western Mediterranean, in the Thyrrenian see.60 The Venetians had also clearly traded in the Eastern Mediterranean for a long time, since at the very beginning of the ninth century they were able to procure relics in Egypt for the Frankish count of Treviso.61 Finally, in 787 Charlemagne, already master of Italy, ordered Pope Hadrian i to eject the Venetians from Ravenna and the whole Adriatic area: again a clear proof of the military and strategic importance of the duchy, but at the same time a proof of the fact that the latter, which at the time was hostile

57 58 59 60 61

Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, vi, 54, pp. 183–184. Gherardo Ortalli, “Il ducato e la « Civitas Rivoalti » tra Carolingi, Bizantini e Sassoni,” in Storia di Venezia, i (Rome, 1992), pp. 739–745. Epistolae Langobardicae collectae, n. 11, p. 702. Vita Zachariae, in Liber Pontificalis, p. 433. Miracula sancti Genesii, ed. Georg Waitz, mgh, Scriptores 15 (Hannoverae, 1887), p. 170.

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to Charlemagne and allied with Byzantium, could be hard hit commercially through the closing of the Adriatic ports.62 It remains to explain the lack of sources related to Venetian trade. If this absence is partly to be explained by the Venetian commercial traffic on smaller rivers, which would have had to be of a local nature and thus at a rather modest level, the question remains about the presence of Venice on the Poaxis, the center of Northern Italy’s internal trade. The attempt to fill this gap means recalling again the pact signed in 715 between the Lombard kingdom and the inhabitants of Comacchio. Northern Italian sources of the eighth and ninth centuries mention repeatedly commercial convoys of ships, the naves militorum; milites is a generic name for the Byzantines in Italy, which does not allow to distinguish between Comacchiesi, Venetians, or inhabitants of other ­Byzantine cities.63 But the existence of the pact of 715, which is the oldest document on the Po river trade of the 8th–9th centuries, and which is mentioned several times in the sources, has led historians to interpret all the milites as Comacchiesi. On the contrary, it is virtually certain that under this label Venetians were also included. For example in Lothar’s pact, in a chapter that goes back to the time of Charlemagne, it is said that royal Frankish officers must collect the duties owed by the Venetians “according to the ancient custom for our ports and rivers.”64 The mention of the custom could refer precisely to the old pact between the Lombards and the Comacchiesi. This pact almost certainly served as the basis for all the business relations in the ports of the Po between Lombards and Byzantines in Italy. For this reason it also applied to the earliest commercial relations with the Venetians, which would have been similar to those required of the Comacchiesi, meaning a mixture of cash, in-kind payments, and meals to be provided to port officials. The relations between the kingdom and Venice were regulated in written form for the first time only in the age of Charlemagne, in the text just mentioned, and which was then inserted into Lothar’s pact. The strategic location of the lagoon therefore offered to the duchy the opportunity to play a significant military role during the eighth century, especially after the whole of Adriatic Italy was devastated by the fall of Ravenna and the Exarchate at the hands of the Lombard king Aistulf in 751. Moving on from this military role, from the end of the eighth century onwards the duchy built its fortunes by developing its trading activity, which, even if dimly lit by 62 63 64

Codex Carolinus, mgh, Epp 3, n. 86, pp. 622–623. See above, note 12. Pactum Hlotharii i, cap. 17, p. 133; on the capitulare, see Gasparri, “Venezia fra i secoli viii e ix,” pp. 8–13.

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the written sources, existed already from the beginning of the eighth century, or even before: we shouldn’t forget that in 680 a general peace between the Byzantine Empire and the Lombard kingdom had been concluded, which no doubt stimulated the commercial recovery in the whole Adriatic area and in the Po valley.65 The wars of Aistulf probably didn’t upset this development, on the contrary the Lombard conquest of the Exarchate, by politically joining the Adriatic coast to the kingdom, made business contacts between the coast and the interior easier. As we have seen, it is impossible to understand the early history of Venice without considering the entire Adriatic coast area, at least as far as Comacchio. Excavations carried out in Comacchio revealed that the beginning of the port of Comacchio’s growth can be traced back to the second half of the seventh century, perhaps in connection with the aforementioned peace of 680. Consequent port facilities have been excavated (quays and traces of wooden warehouses), in a center located in an area of channels, very similar to the area in which Venice was developing, and with a development plan divided into districts with different functions (ecclesiastical, artisanal, portual). Amphorae from the East (from the Aegean Sea, Palestine), dating to the 8th–9th centuries were also found in Comacchio in large quantities, proving the existence of a long distance trade flow, and not only of a local activity of the transportation of salt.66 These amphorae were found everywhere in the northern Adriatic coastal area: Cervia, Rimini, Grado, and Venice, as well as in the Po valley.67 All this confirms the testimony of the pact of 715 and shows how the Venetian duchy at that time was certainly part of the commercial movement that the pact regulated. We know from the Liber Pontificalis that Aistulf took possession of Comacchio, probably when he occupied Ravenna; the Comiaclum castrum then passed to the pope through Frankish intervention, was temporarily taken over by king Desiderius, and finally returned to the pope—this time contending 65 66

67

Delogu, “Il regno longobardo,” pp. 99–100. Sauro Gelichi, “The eels of Venice. The long eight century of the emporia of the northern region along the Adriatic coast,” in 774. Ipotesi su una transizione, ed. Stefano Gasparri, Seminari del Centro saame 1 (Turnhout, 2008), pp. 81–117; Sauro Gelichi, Diego Calaon, Elena Grandi, and Caudio Negrelli, “History of a forgotten Town: Comacchio and his archaeology,” in From one sea to another. Trading places in the European and Mediterranean Early Middle Ages, Seminari del Centro saame 3 (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 169–205. Gelichi, “The eels of Venice,” pp. 90–92; Claudio Negrelli, “Towards a definition of early medieval pottery: amphorae and other vessels in the northern Adriatic between the 7th and 8th centuries,” in From one sea to another, pp. 393–415.

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with Ravenna—in 774.68 This shows that in the eighth century Comacchio was an important pawn in the political game in the Emilia and north Adriatic area, so that there was no doubt about the interest of the central powers toward it. Interest and play that were also of a military nature: in 809, according to the Annales regni Francorum, a part of a Byzantine fleet, originally coming from Constantinople, but which had wintered in Venice, attacked in vain the Comiaclum insulam, i.e., the “isle” of Comacchio, and, rejected by the garrison that had been installed there by the Franks, took refuge again in Venice.69 This time Comacchio is presented in military terms, as a stronghold which, moreover, in the eyes of the distant chronicler, appeared set on an island. Apart from the geographical approximation, the mutual role—rival and symmetrical—of Comacchio and Venice, is striking. The relationships and intersections of the two parallel stories of Comacchio and Venice in the 7th–9th centuries are really very frequent. In both centers, the same exarch (Isaac) placed a commemorative epigraph (mid-seventh century). The exarch Eutychius who takes refuge in Venice (mid-eighth century) is the same exarch who issued a iudicatum for Comacchio (the only one we know of that was issued by an exarch). Both in Comacchio and in Venice there is a magister militum. Finally, almost in the same year, at the beginning of the 8th century, both centers receive a grant from king Liutprand (it does not matter here whether it was a pact or a capitulare).70 The parallels had different outcomes, because the golden age of Comacchio was brief: the written sources tell us about the Saracen and Venetian raids that took place during the ninth century, and the archaeological evidence proves that the port facilities of Comacchio were abandoned in the 9th century, no later than the first half.71 Comacchio never became a city, Venice instead became a city and then a Mediterranean commercial and political power. Reflecting on the relations between Venice and Comacchio and the parallels that they draw, further underlines the unlikely possibility that the lagoon communities should have been able to give themselves an autonomous duke at a time when the richer Comacchio was not able to do so: in fact, in the pact of 715 Comacchio appears to be headed by a magister militum, who was 68 69 70

71

Vita Stephani ii, in Liber Pontificalis, pp. 453–454; Codex Carolinus, nn. 49 and 55, pp. 568, 579 (Adrian i to Charlemagne). Annales Regni Francorum, ed. Friederich Kurze, mgh, ssrg 6 (Hanover, 1895), p. 127. Stefano Gasparri, “Un placito carolingio e la storia di Comacchio,” in Faire lien. Aristocratie, réseaux et échanges compétitifs. Mélanges en l’honneur de Régine Le Jan, ed. Laurent Jegou, Sylvie Joye, Thomas Lienhard, and Jens Schneider (Paris, 2015), pp. 179–189. See above, note 66.

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­undoubtedly a Byzantine official, precisely in the same years in which traditionally the less important Venetian community is alleged to have elected an independent doge, the fabled Paulicius. Furthermore, the Venetian institutional development during the eighth century was slow and uncertain. According to John the Deacon, who is our only source about it for those years, because we no longer have the (albeit distant) help of the chronicle of Paul the Deacon and there are as yet no Venetian archival sources, the Venetians killed the first autonomous duke, Orso, and after him for five years, “wanted to remain subject only to the magistri militum,” each of whom ruled for a single year.72 Apart from the chronology, which is very uncertain, the meaning of this change as narrated by John remains obscure. Historians have interpreted it in two completely opposite ways, either as a return of the control of Byzantium or as a greater assertion of autonomy by the local aristocracy. According to these interpretations, the return of the dukes to the government of Venice, after five years, meant either the restoration of an autonomous way, or more control on the part of Byzantium (or Ravenna).73 It’s impossible to understand John’s account about the magistri militum, which is likely to have been constructed like his previous story, that is by integrating information from the ducal palace archives with personal reflections. For example, John certainly knew what Paul Deacon had written about the period of ten years that the Lombards had spent without a king after the assassination of king Clefi: and he may well have wanted, in this case, to reuse the prestigious model of the narrative suggested by Paul.74 The parallel is further increased by the fact that the first duke after five magistri militum, Deusdedit, was the son of the murdered duke Orso, just as Autari, elected king in 584 after ten years of “ducal anarchy,” was the son of the murdered king Clefi.75 In any case, even if John has not copied Paul, he did mix the little ­information he had, to the point that we cannot reconstruct everything that ­happened. However, it seems unlikely that there should have been a B ­ yzantine  ­intervention in the lagoon between 726 (the year of the revolt of the Byzantine armies of Italy) and 751, when Ravenna fell into the hands of the Lombards, because at this period the Exarchate was getting weaker and Byzantium was virtually 72 73

74 75

Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 11, 14, 17, pp. 98, 100, 102. Ortalli, “Venezia dalle origini a Pietro ii Orseolo,” p. 367; Agostino Pertusi, “L’impero bizantino e l’evolversi dei suoi interessi nell’alto Adriatico,” in Le origini di Venezia (Florence, 1964), p. 69. Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, ii, 32, pp. 90–91. Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, iii, 16, pp. 100–101, and Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 17, p. 102.

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absent from Italy.76 Perhaps the story told by John must be interpreted in light of domestic policy, like the memory of an attempt by the Venetian elite to control the duke’s power, limiting his government to one year. The attempt failed, because afterwards the duke’s office remained for life. A consequence of this feature, and the lack of clear rules of succession, was that most of the first dukes died a violent death or were blinded and deposed. Deusdedit himself was blinded around 742 by Galla, who met the same fate. With the following duke, Domenico Monegario, according to John, tribunes under the duke’s command appeared on the political scene, perhaps another form of control by the aristocracy of the autocratic power of the duke (tribunes appeared again with Agnello Particiaco, half a century later).77 It’s hard to say more about this other political change: at any rate, it indicates that, about the middle of the eighth century, the political structure of the duchy, through various experiments— carried out locally and autonomously—was becoming more complex. Not by chance, these are also the years of the collapse of the Exarchate. In the period that saw the fall of the Lombard kingdom under Charlemagne and the beginning of Frankish rule in Italy, the internal situation in Venice remained stable: none of the forces that were confronting each other in Italy had either the strength, or a real interest, in dealing with the duchy. With the long rule of Maurizio Galbaio, perhaps elected in 764, which is mentioned both by John the Deacon and in a letter (768–772) from the patriarch of Grado to Pope Stephen iii, as well as in the later testament of the doge Giustiniano Particiaco (829), the institution of coregency appears for the first time, a first attempt to solve the problem of an orderly succession and, at the same time, to set up the seeds of hereditary rule. After Maurizio, his son and his grandson were dukes.78 Later, the turbulences of the early ninth century, when Franks and Byzantines fought over the possession of the Venetian duchy, broke this first dynastic experiment.79 Once the struggles between the two empires ended with the peace of Aachen in 812, there was the foundation on the Rialto islands of the ducal palace, the church of San Marco, and San Zaccaria monastery by the Particiaci

76 77 78 79

Stefano Gasparri, Italia longobarda. Il regno, i Franchi, il papato (Roma-Bari, 2012), pp. 8­ 5-89 and 100-103. Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 17–18, 30, pp. 102, 104, 114; Ortalli, “Venezia dalle origini a Pietro ii Orseolo,” pp. 367–372, 374–375. Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 19, p. 104; Epistolae Langobardicae collectae, n. 19, p. 713; for the duke’s testament, see above, note 32. Ortalli, “Il ducato,” pp. 725–732.

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family, between 811 and 829: thus the first nucleus of the civitas Rivoalti, i.e., the city of Venice, was born.80 The choice of the Particiaci—the first Venitian ducal dynasty—of the Rialto archipelago definitively closes a period when cities like Eraclea, or other islands, had alternated as the seat of the central power; a period in which it’s impossible for us to identify different “parties”—for or against Byzantium, or against the mainland powers—which fought against one another: the impression is that they were internal struggles for power and nothing else, without big connections with what was going on outside the duchy.81 According to all the historians, with the building of Rialto, the Particiaci dukes (Agnello and his two sons, Giovanni and Giustiniano) moved the political center of the duchy towards the Grand Canal, definitively marginalizing Olivolo and other even more remote islands, such as Torcello and Malamocco.82 A change that could not have been painless, given that the Particiaci’s family interests were originally far from Rialto: we know that they owned lands, with a small family church, on the mainland, in the area of the river Brenta.83 This shows the revolutionary impact of the changes of the years 811–812. The construction of the palace led to the establishment of a chancery and an archive, and in fact the first Venetian document preserved, albeit in a copy, was issued in 819. This document records that Agnello and his son Giustiniano, called solemnly “by God’s grace dukes of the Venetian province,” gathered in Rialto together with the patriarch of Grado, Fortunatus, Christopher, bishop of Olivolo, and “all the people of Venice” to found the ducal monastery of Sant’Ilario on the land the Particiaci owned next to the course of the river Brenta.84 In thus balancing the public and private, this document testifies to the existence and the functioning of a real political assembly within the duchy: an assembly John the Deacon had anticipated by a century with respect to the reality. To conclude, it must be stressed that the history of the trade and the economic growth of the Venetian duchy coincides with the maturing of its institutional structures: only if analyzed together, are the two processes u ­ nderstandable. 80 81 82 83

84

Sauro Gelichi, “La storia di una nuova città attraverso l’archeologia: Venezia nell’alto medioevo,” in Three Empires, pp. 51–89. West, “Community and pacta,” p. 373. Ortalli, “Il ducato,” pp. 732–735. Ss. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, n. 1, p. 9: “nos quidem Agnellus et Iustinianus per divinam gratiam Venecie provincie duces […] ad nostram devenit memoriam ut capellam condam in honore Beati Yllarii Confessoris Christi super flumine qui dicitur Une ad iura proprietatis nostre cum suo territorio constructam.” Above, notes 30 and 83.

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At the beginning of the ninth century, once the peace of Aachen was signed, Venetian trade was heading toward its first takeoff: at the same time, in the duchy a political assembly existed, and next to it the ducal power appears solidly built, surrounded by the highest ecclesiastical offices and by the tribunes, all subordinated to it,85 and settled in the first nucleus of the civitas Rivoalti. In every sense, the prehistory of the Venetian duchy was over. 85

Crisis of the tribunes: Ortalli, “Il ducato,” pp. 734–735.

chapter 2

Archival Documents as Narrative: The Sources of the Istoria Veneticorum and the Plea of Rižana Annamaria Pazienza Introduction Since it is the oldest Venetian chronicle to have come down to us, the Istoria Veneticorum—so entitled in modern editions—represents without doubt a unique and exceptional source of evidence.1 Attributed to John the Deacon and composed in the first half of the 11th century, it narrates the history of Venice from the arrival of the Lombards in Italy (568/569) up to the end of the rule of Pietro ii Orseolo (991–1008).2 Scholarship has always recognized it of crucial importance both as a factual account of the so-called period of the origins, otherwise very little known due to the almost total lack of contemporary documents,3 and as a manifesto of the duchy’s political ideology in the years around 10004 when Venice started to oversee the political and economic international scene.5 Yet, as is known, the Istoria can be considered controversial from several points of view and, thus, the text should be used with caution and 1 The most recent edition of the chronicle that I will use in the article is Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ed. Luigi Andrea Berto, Fonti per la Storia dell’Italia medievale. Storici italiani dal Cinquecento al Millecinquecento ad uso delle scuole 2 (Bologna, 1999). 2 Giuseppe Gullino, “Orseolo, Pietro ii,” in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani 79 (Rome, 2013), pp. 588–590. Concerning the period of the rule of the Venetian dukes, I will refer to Appendix 2 in Luigi Andrea Berto, In search of the first Venetians. Prosopography of Early Medieval Venice (Turnhout, 2014), pp. 309–361. 3 On the scanty documentation of the early centuries of the history of Venice see Stefano Gasparri, “Venezia fra i secoli viii e ix. Una riflessione sulle fonti,” in Studi Veneti offerti a Gaetano Cozzi (Venice, 1992), pp. 3–18. 4 See the classic work of Gina Fasoli, “I fondamenti della storiografia veneziana,” in La storiografia veneziana fino al secolo xvi. Aspetti e problemi, ed. Agostino Pertusi (Florence, 1970), pp. 11–44 and Antonio Carile, “Le origini di Venezia nella tradizione storiografica,” in Storia della cultura veneta i: Dalle origini al Trecento (Vicenza, 1976), pp. 135–166. 5 The history of Venice in the early Middle Ages is outlined in Gherardo Ortalli, “Il ducato e la «civitas Rivoalti»: tra carolingi, bizantini e sassoni,” in Storia di Venezia. Dalle origini alla caduta della Serenissima i: Origini-Età ducale, ed. Giorgio Cracco and Gherardo Ortalli (Rome, 1992), pp. 725–790.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_004

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as critically as possible whatever the approach or purpose. For this very reason, it is necessary to go back to the sources on which the first part of the chronicle is based, which reports events so distant in time that John the Deacon—or whoever he may be—knew of them only thanks to the written documentation in his possession or, at most, to popular tradition. The last extensive study on this subject dates back more than a century ago, the learned essay written in 1890 by Giovanni Monticolo, one of the most renown experts of the Istoria, as well as its editor.6 Since then new data have, of course, been brought to light. Firstly, it is now clear that the other Venetian chronicles in our possession, that is, the Cronica de singulis patriarchis nove Aquileie, the Chronicon gradense, and the Chronicon altinate are much later.7 Secondly, we are now certain that the Translatio sancti Marci, or rather its hagiographical section, was written in the 10th century, which is why it must be counted among the texts that the author of the Istoria had at his disposal,8 along with the De sex aetatibus mundi by Bede and the Historia Langobardorum by Paul the Deacon. Indeed, entire passages have been copied almost verbatim from these last two works. Moreover, an excerpt of the acts of the Council of Grado in 579, according to the interpolation made at the time of the Synod of Mantua,9 and part of two papal letters, otherwise not attested,10 6

Giovanni Monticolo, “I manoscritti e le fonti della cronaca del Diacono Giovanni,” Bullettino dell’Istituto storico italiano per il Medio Evo 9 (1890), pp. 37–328. 7 The Cronaca de singulis patriarchis nove Aquileie should date to the years 1045–1053; instead the Chronicon gradense is considered a fragment of the Chronicon altinate, written between 1081 and sometime in the 13th century. These texts are published in Cronache, ed. Giorgio Fedalto and Luigi Andrea Berto, Scrittori della Chiesa di Aquileia xii.2 (Rome, 2013), pp. 151–269. 8 Over time, different dates have been attributed to the Translatio. The last study restricts the time of its composition to the end of the 10th century. Emanuela Colombi, “Translatio Marci Evangelistae Venetias [bhl 5283–5284],” Hagiographica 17 (2010), pp. 73–139. See also Emanuela Colombi, Storie di cronache e reliquie nella Venetia altomedievale (Trieste, 2012), pp. 77–93. More complex and still open is the issue of the relationship between the first part of the same Translatio, which is known as “historical prologue,” and the incipit of the Istoria. Also see the indications in note 48. 9 Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, i, 11, pp. 62–63. For the edition of the Council of Grado see the bibliographical reference in note 25. According to Emanuela Colombi, the same Synod of Mantua (827) may be counted among the available sources. See Colombi, Storie di cronache, pp. 117–118 and 145–146. 10 These are first a letter by Gregory ii, or more probably iii, to the Patriarch of Grado, Antoninus, and a second by Gregory ii to the Patriarch of Aquileia, Serenus. See Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 13 and 15, pp. 100–103, and Epistolae Longobardicae collectae, ed. Ernest Dümmler, in mgh Epistolae 3 (Berlin, 1892), n. 8, p. 699 and n. 12, p. 702.

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have been transcribed in the same way. The relationship between the Istoria and other sources, however, still remains uncertain. Among these latter sources are a catalogue of the patriarchs, an annalistic work, and an ecclesiastical chronicle of local character, now lost,11 as well as several archival documents, especially public ones which contain precious information on the political and ecclesiastical history of the duchy.12 As the title of my article suggests, in the following pages I will not linger on the analysis of all the sources of the Istoria, whether real or alleged—an excessively ambitious task. Instead, I shall confine myself specifically to the last category listed, namely, the archival documents. I shall concentrate in particular on these documents in an attempt to cast new light on the use—and in certain cases the misuse—that had been made of this material by the author of the chronicle in writing his account. Moreover, I am including the well-known Plea of Rižana as highly significant among these documents. This act was, in fact, drawn up in Istria between 800 and 810, probably in 804, and is commonly used in comparative studies to illustrate the transition in the Venetiae from the socalled regime of the tribunes to the rule of an autonomous duke.13 Yet, before going to the heart of the question, it is necessary to clarify what we currently know—and above all do not know—about the Istoria Veneticorum. The Istoria Veneticorum: State of the Art Among the various points of the Istoria that are still debated, two, in particular, stand out as the most controversial: the manuscript tradition and the author. The oldest manuscript that includes the Istoria—together with other texts—is 11

12

13

On the so called Annales venetici, see Enrico Besta, “Sulla composizione della cronaca veneziana attribuita al diacono Giovanni,” Atti del reale Istituto veneto di scienze lettere ed arti 73 (1914), pp. 775–802. But see also the remarks by Emanuela Colombi in Colombi, Storie di cronache, pp. 100–101. On the ecclesiastical chronicle which, in particular, is thought to have narrated the struggle between Duke Orso i Particiaco and the patriarch of Grado over the election of the bishop of Torcello, see Monticolo, “I manoscritti,” pp. 109–130. A recent suggestion has been made to include the Carmen de Aquilegia numquam restauranda, written sometime between 844 and 855 by an anonymous author, perhaps of Venetian origins, among the sources of the Istoria. See Stefano Gasparri, “The formation of an early medieval community: Venice between provincial and urban identity,” in Three Empires, Three Cities: Identity, Material Culture and Legitimacy in Venice, Ravenna and Rome, 750–1000, ed. Veronica West-Harling (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 35–50. Andrea Castagnetti, La società veneziana nel Medioevo i: Dai tribuni ai giudici (Verona, 1992), pp. 18–34.

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the Vatican Codex Urbinate 440, now in the Vatican Library in Rome. Identified as the autograph by some scholars, or as a direct copy of the original by others, the part that contains the chronicle has unanimously been dated to the first decades of the 11th century. The codex is acephalous. Indeed, the early pages have been lost and, as a consequence, the account starts with Chapter 19 of the second book,14 namely, with the appointment of Duke Maurizio Galbaio (764–797). All the previous parts, instead, which includes the election of the first Duke Paulicio (at the beginning of the 8th century) and covers the period up to the death of Domenico Monegario (756–764), has been passed down in another later codex: the Vatican Codex 5269, which derives from the Urbinate—either directly or indirectly via an intermediate copy—and dates back to the second half of the 13th century.15 A debate has long been underway concerning the text missing from the ­Codex Urbinate. In fact, while some scholars consider it original, according to others this part has been interpolated,16 if not entirely added at a later date.17 So far, no decisive proof that puts an end to the question has been found and, ultimately, any opinion on the matter is based de facto on mere personal conviction. Thus, caution is mandatory and probably the most traditional hypothesis that sees only one hand and a coherent narrative and conceptual structure behind the entire work is, at present, the most accredited. The chronicle is anonymous and has no dedication. Only in the 19th century was it attributed to John the Deacon, whose existence is historically attested by archival documents from 995, or maybe from 967, up to 1018.18 More ­specifically, he figures as chaplain (cappellanus) and ambassador (nuntius) of 14

15

16

17

18

The division of the chronicle into books and chapters is conventional. This division has been adopted by the editor but does not appear in the Codex Urbinate. Nonetheless, in the article I will refer to it for the sake of convenience. For these themes compare the introductions of the above mentioned edition by Luigi Andrea Berto and of the 19th-century editions by Georg Heinrich Pertz and Giovanni Monticolo. Iohannis Diaconi, Chronicon Venetum, ed. Georg Pertz, in mgh Scriptores 7 (Hannover, 1846), pp. 1–37 and Cronache veneziane antichissime, ed. Giovanni Monticolo, Fonti per la storia d’Italia 9 (Rome, 1890), pp. 59–171. According to some scholars the passages copied from Bede and Paul the Deacon would seem to be interpolated, especially those where these two writers speak in the first person, giving details on their biography. The most convinced supporter of this thesis is Luigi Andrea Berto who states that the part missing in the Codex Urbinate is characterized by a different vocabulary, especially in the words used to describe ducal government and dignities. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, p. 9. Luigi Andrea Berto, “Giovanni Diacono,” in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani 56 (Rome, 2001), pp. 8–10.

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Duke Pietro ii Orseolo in some diplomas of the Emperor Otto iii.19 On the other hand, a certain deacon, John, plays a major role in the final part of the Istoria Veneticorum as an ambassador of this duke. In the fourth and last book, in fact, one can read that John was put in charge of organizing the secret visit of Otto iii to the lagoon in 1000 or 1001.20 Given that the encounter is described in great detail—including the journey by boat from Pomposa to San Servolo, the visit in disguise to San Zaccaria, as well as the private meeting between the two rulers in the eastern tower of the ducal palace—it has been assumed that the author was necessarily a direct witness of the event and could well be identified with the same character named John.21 Although this is clearly conjecture there is no doubt—given the dating of the Codex Urbinate—that the author of the Istoria, whoever he is, was contemporary to the last events he narrates. This certainly applies to the period of the rule of Pietro ii Orseolo, as can be evinced from the fact that in describing the dispositions of this duke’s will in favour of his sons and daughters, the writer explicitly declares that he relied on memory (ut rite recordor).22 The same can, perhaps, apply to the nearest predecessors of Orseolo, if not to the more distant ones, up to Pietro iv Candiano (959–976), and even to his father ­Pietro iii (942–959),23 if one imagines the chronicler to be writing at a venerable old age.24 Instead, it is certain—not to say obvious—that neither his 19

20

21

22 23 24

They are three privileges through which Otto iii (1) confirms the territories of CittanovaEraclea to the Venetians (Aachen, 1 May 995); (2) gives them landing and market rights in three ports of the kingdom (Ravenna, 1 May 996); (3) exempts them from paying the pallium (1001). Ottonis ii. et iii. diplomata, ed. Theodor Sickel, in mgh Diplomata regum et imperatorum Germaniae 2.2 (Hannover, 1893), n. 165, pp. 577–578; n. 192, pp. 600–601 and n. 397, p. 830. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, iv, 55–61, pp. 194–201. Scholars have much speculated about the reasons for this visit. Roberto Cessi was convinced that Otto iii had tried to obtain the collaboration of Pietro ii Orseolo for his Italian projects, whereas Mathilde Uhlirz suggests that the emperor had wanted to guarantee access, via the Adriatic sea, to Hungary, which had recently been conquered. See Roberto Cessi, Venezia ducale i: Duca e popolo (Venice, 1963), p. 363 and Ortalli, “Il ducato e la «civitas Rivoalti»,” p. 777, and Mathilde Uhlirz, “Venezia nella politica di Ottone iii,” in Storia della civiltà veneziana i: Dalle origini al secolo di Marco Polo (Florence, 1979), pp. 131–137. The fact that the author speaks about himself in the third person is considered a rhetorical technique. See Bruno Rosada, “Il «Chronicon Venetum» di Giovanni Diacono,” Ateneo Veneto 178 (1990), pp. 79–94 and in particular p. 83. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, iv, 77, pp. 210–211. For the biography of these two dukes, see Paolo Bertolini, “Candiano, Pietro,” in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani 17 (Rome, 1974), pp. 761–772. In truth, this conjecture is indirectly confirmed by the Codex Urbinate. In fact, from the two Candianos onwards, the text is divided into graphically distinct paragraphs,

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memory nor that of older and well-informed persons, helped him to reconstruct the earlier periods that go back to the 8th and 9th centuries. As already said, for these early periods the chronicler evidently had to resort to older literary and historiographical texts, as well as to archival documentation of a public character, if preserved.

How and Where the Venetian Public Documents Have Been Preserved

It is a well-known fact that the archival documents of Venice prior to 1000 form a rather slim body of charters and that their state of preservation is far from ideal,25 with only two original parchments.26 The rest are copies, some even very late—dating to the 15th and 16th centuries, if not later27—and mostly handed down by the Codex Trevisaneus, which was compiled in this very period.28 Of these documents a considerable part is represented by public acts or acts of public interest:29 first and foremost, the famous Venetian placiti;30

25 26 27

28 29

30

c­ orresponding to the rule of each duke. This suggests that the author was much better informed about these years and the following periods. Since I have not been able to analyze the Codex Urbinate first-hand, my observations have been made on the basis of a microfilm copy. All the early Medieval Venetian documents are collected in Documenti relativi alla storia di Venezia anteriori al Mille, i–ii, ed. Roberto Cessi (Venice, 1991). See notes 41 and 42. Of course, this gives rise to many doubts about partial or complete falsifications. Recently Marco Pozza has questioned the authenticity of the will drawn up by Bishop Orso Particiaco dated to 853 and of the ducal privilege dating 919, or perhaps 935, granted in favour of the monastery of Santi Felice and Fortunato of Ammiana. Marco Pozza, “Il testamento del vescovo Orso (853 febbraio): un documento genuino o falsificato?” in Historiae. Scritti per Gherardo Ortalli, ed. Claudio Azzara, Ermanno Orlando, and Marco Pozza (Venice, 2013), pp. 49–58, and Marco Pozza, “Un falso placito per il monastero dei Santi Felice e Fortunato di Ammiana (935 febbraio),” in In uno volumine. Studi in onore di Cesare Scalon, ed. Laura Pani (Udine, 2009), pp. 503–512. On the codex see note 47. I have borrowed this definition from Andrea Castagnetti in Andrea Castagnetti, “Famiglie e affermazione politica,” in Storia di Venezia, i, pp. 613–644, in particular p. 643. It is a label that covers a large spectrum of documents, including those that cannot be defined as public acts from a diplomatic point of view as, for instance, the will of Duke Giustiniano i Particiaco or the so-called Legacies of Fortunatus. I will take these into consideration further on. In the Venetian case the word placitum indicates the governmental acts issued by the duke together with the assembly of the prominent citizens of the city, both clerics and

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­secondly, the so-called imperial pacta31 originally housed in the chancellery of the ducal palace or, as was more probable in this period, in the annexed Palatine Chapel of St. Mark.32 Both these buildings were destroyed—together with the churches of San Teodoro and Santa Maria Zobenigo and more than three hundred civil edifices— during an uprising in 976 which led to the assassination of Pietro iv Candiano and his infant son.33 Narrated in dramatic tones by the Istoria Veneticorum,34 this episode is also recalled by a document dated 12 October 977: the confirmationis carta through which Count Sicardus and the citizens of Capodistria stipulated a peace agreement with Venice and Pietro i Orseolo (967–978). In this carta it is claimed that the renewal of the contract had been made necessary because all the previous papers had been destroyed in a fire shortly after the death of Candiano, predecessor to the duke in charge (post decessum antecessoris, Petri Candiano ducis, constet cunctas esse cartulas ab igne cremata).35 Rightly, such an event is considered the main factor—together with the unfavourable conditions of the lagoon environment36—responsible for the loss of documents in Venice in the early Middle Ages.37 Additionally, it has given rise to the commonplace that the author of the Istoria could not have used the old archival documentation because, by then, it had completely disappeared. Yet, if on that occasion almost all the originals were undoubtedly destroyed,

31

32

33 34 35 36

37

lay people. On the Venetian assembly, see Stefano Gasparri, “Venezia fra l’Italia bizantina e il regno italico: la civitas e l’assemblea,” in Venezia. Itinerari per la storia della città, ed. Stefano Gasparri, Giovanni Levi, and Pierandrea Moro (Bologne, 1992), pp. 61–82. On the Venetian pacta with the Western Empire the bibliography is vast. See Annamaria Pazienza, “Venice beyond Venice. Commercial Agreements and Pacta from the Origins to Pietro ii Orseolo,” in I tempi del consolidamento. Venezia, l’Adriatico e l’entroterra tra ix e x secolo, ed. Stefano Gasparri, viii Seminario internazionale del saame, pp. 151–180. Marco Pozza, “La cancelleria,” in Storia di Venezia. Dalle origini alla caduta della Serenissima i: L’età del comune, ed. Giorgio Cracco and Gherardo Ortalli (Rome, 1995), pp. 349–368, in particular p. 363. Luigi Andrea Berto, “Pietro iv Candiano, un doge deposto perché era troppo virtuoso o perché era troppo autoritario?” Studi veneti 40 (2000), pp. 163–168. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, iv, 12–13, pp. 162–163. Documenti relativi alla storia di Venezia, ii, n. 56, pp. 105–108. Since the earliest Venetian public acts were drawn up on papyrus, besides fires, the damp climate of the lagoon has played a crucial role in their loss. Concerning the papyrus trade see Michael McCormick, Origins of the European Economy. Communications and Commerce ad 300–900 (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 704–708. On the production, preservation and loss of documents in Venice during the early Middle Ages, see Federica Parcianello, Documentazione e notariato a Venezia nell’età ducale ­(Padua, 2012), pp. 47–64.

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we must nonetheless admit that some copies must have survived elsewhere, unless we wish to believe all the charters issued during the first centuries of the duchy to be subsequent falsifications. In Venice, as in the rest of Italy and Europe, the churches belonging to the monasteries of earliest foundation38 and to the episcopal seats of the duchy39 were foremost in absolving the task of the safe-keeping of documents.40 Not without coincidence, the only two original acts that have survived for the period under scrutiny come from the archives of the monastery of San Zaccaria and the Cathedral of Santi Maria and Donato of Torcello. These documents are the will drawn up by the Marquis of Verona, Milo, dated 95541 and the oath sworn by the priest Michael Monetarius dated 999.42 Yet, beside housing their own charters, the Venetian churches were also important for their function of commendacio, which is the custom of temporarily—or forever in the best of cases for us—keeping documents that belonged to lay people, including landowners and business men.43 38 39 40

41

42

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Marco Pozza, “Per una storia dei monasteri veneziani nei secoli viii–xii,” in Il monachesimo nel Veneto medioevale, ed. Francesco Trolese (Cesena, 1998), pp. 17–38. Daniela Rando, “Le strutture della chiesa locale,” in Storia di Venezia, i, pp. 645–675, in particular pp. 655–658. It is what Paolo Cammarosano has called “l’egemonia della tradizione ecclesiastica.” Paolo Cammarosano, Italia medievale. Strutture e geografia delle fonti scritte (Rome, 2005), pp. 49–61. The will of Milo is published in Codice diplomatico veronese del periodo dei re d’Italia, ed. Vittorio Fainelli (Venice, 1963), n. 255, pp. 392–398. Thanks to the Progetto Divenire of the State Archives of Venice, a digital reproduction in high definition is now available at the following website . It is not clear whether or not the document published by Fainelli, and at that time in the hands of the heirs, is the same parchment now housed in Venice. Indeed, it is possible that we are either in the presence of two coeval acts or that the document has changed its collocation. The oath sworn by priest Michael is the oldest parchment drawn up in Venice that has come down to us in original. Until recently, it was thought to be an unfinished act, lacking the subscriptions of the witnesses and the roboratio of the notary. The examination of the document that I personally made in the patriarchal Archives of Venice, where it is currently housed before returning to Torcello, has allowed me to verify that this assumption was incorrect. A new transcription of the oath is now available in Documenti veneziani, in Fonti e Documenti, ed. Centro Inter-universitario per la Storia e l’Archeologia dell’Alto Medioevo, . On the commendacio, see Attilio Bartoli Langeli, “Documentazione e notariato,” in Storia di Venezia, i, pp. 847–864, in particular pp. 849–851. As is known, the oldest lay archive, which has survived in this way, is the archive of the Da Molin family which was kept among the papers of the monastery of San Zaccaria where, as one might expect, one of

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Thanks to this practice, common not only in the lagoon,44 but particularly widespread45 in this area, some of the oldest official public documents of the duchy are thought to have been preserved in time. In fact, they would have been given in custody to churches by private citizens, in the form of copies or abstracts—some lengthy, some shorter—often as guarantees for the regular implementation of patrimonial and commercial activities, especially abroad.46 Hereafter, on the basis of these copies or abstracts, under the impetus of the Venetian state, a parchment codex was compiled, probably in the 14th century. It is the so-called Liber Egnatii, now lost but from which, ultimately, the above mentioned Codex Trevisaneus derived—at least in its initial part—sometime between the 15th and the 16th century. Kept in the State Archives of Venice, it is this latter manuscript that represents by far the most prominent documentary collection for the early medieval history of Venice, since it has handed down a great number of public acts prior to 1000, including the Plea of Rižana to which I will return later.47 Although it is impossible to deny that several exemplars of the old official documents of the duchy, of whatever interest for public life, circulated in one way or another outside the palace and St. Mark’s Chapel, it must, however, be clear that we cannot realistically establish which and how many acts among those in circulation the author of the Istoria Veneticorum was effectively able to consult. Above all, it would be incorrect to exclude the possibility that the chronicler handled more material than has come down to us or, conversely, to presume that he inspected all the documentation that we know today. Nonetheless, by cross-examining the data of the chronicle with the available

44 45

46

47

the nuns came from this family. See the introductory pages of the book Documenti del commercio veneziano nei secoli xi–xiii, i, ed. Raimondo Morozzo della Rocca and Antonio Lombardo (Turin, 1940). Warren Brown, “When documents are destroyed or lost: lay people and archives in the early Middle Ages,” Early Medieval Europe 11.4 (2002), pp. 337–366. Unlike what happened in other Italian cities, the commendacio lasted longer in Venice, up to the middle of the 13th century, owing to the fact that the breviaria of the notaries only became legal in 1242. On the relationships between Venice and the Italian kingdom, see the classic work Gerhard Rösch, Venezia e l’Impero. 962–1250. I rapporti politici, commerciali e di traffico nel periodo imperiale germanico (Rome, 1985). Guida generale degli Archivi di Stato, 4. (S-Z) (Rome, 1994), p. 907 and p. 916. The codex has been given the name of Bernardo and Francesco Trevisan, the men in whose possession it was. Due to its precarious state of preservation, it is not freely available today. In the State Archives of Venice there is a microfilm copy which I have consulted.

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­documentary evidence and paying particular attention to the archival tradition of the documents, a number of hypotheses may be made.

Use and Misuse of the Archival Documents

The part of the Istoria Veneticorum that covers the first two books in the modern edition and goes from the origins to the rule of Pietro Tradonico (836–864), is the section that reveals with greater certainty the sources the author had access to. These books, in fact, and especially the first, are made up largely by passages from other recognizable works. The famous incipit on the two Venetiae, namely the old and larger continental region and the maritime one of more recent formation, could be based either on the first part of the Translatio sancti Marci or alternatively on a source common to both of them.48 Several excerpts concerning the patriarchs of Aquileia and Grado and the Byzantine emperors up to Leo iii Isaurian have, instead, been copied from the De sex aetatibus mundi by Bede and the Historia Langobardorum by Paul the D ­ eacon.49 The 48

49

Although it is certain that the hagiographical nucleus of the Translatio was made at the end of the 10th century, the epoch of composition and the authorship of the first part of the text, i.e., the so called historical prologue, has not yet been fully clarified. Emanuela Colombi, “Alcune riflessioni sull’Istoria Veneticorum del diacono Giovanni e il prologo della Translatio Marci evangelistae (bhl 5283–5284),” Studi veneziani 64 (2011), pp. 15–54 and again Colombi, Storie di cronache, pp. 97–132. See also Giorgia Vocino, who cites Francesco Veronese on this point: Giorgia Vocino, “Caccia al discepolo. Tradizioni apostoliche nella produzione agiografica dell’Italia settentrionale (vi–xi secolo),” in Urban identities in Northern Italy (800–1100 ca.), ed. Cristina La Rocca and Piero Majocchi (Turnhout, 2016), pp. 357–402. As of now, an up-to-date study of the manuscripts of the Historia Langobardorum and of the De sex aetatibus mundi, which could have been used as sources by the author of the chronicle, is still missing. As already said by Giovanni Monticolo, as far as the first text is concerned it is likely that the exemplar used belonged to the class C1 by Georg Waitz (Pauli Historia Langobardorum, ed. L. Bethmann and George Waitz, in mgh Scriptores rerum Langobardicarum et Italicarum 1 (Hannover, 1888), pp. 12–187 and in particular p. 32). A prestigious manuscript that has given origin to this class is the Codex of Verona, also known as Epitome Phillipsiana, dating to the middle of the 9th century. It is necessary to note that this does not contain the Historia Langobardorum as a whole, but only a selection of chapters related to the Eastern emperors, the popes, and the Franks. Walter Pohl has talked about this version as a real “Storia dei Longobardi senza Longobardi.” See Walter Pohl, “Paulus Diaconus und die Historia Langobardorum: text und tradition,” in Historiographie im frühen Mittelalter, ed. Anton Scharer and Georg Scheibelreiter (Wien, 1994), pp. 375–405 and in particular, pp. 389–392 and note 99. See also Walter Pohl, “Paolo

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criterion behind the choice and the transcription of these excerpts seems to have depended on the extent to which the information contained was relative to Venetian local history and, more generally, to Byzantine history. In other words, a Byzantine cultural50 and chronological framework51 was set up, inside of which the earliest centuries of Venice and the duchy were progressively pictured. By contrast, the logic—if there ever was any—with which the archival sources were selected and used is not so obvious. What makes any study along this line difficult is the status of the Venetian documents that have come down to us—as already stated—in a rather obscure manner. However, for the part of the chronicle under scrutiny it is possible to identify at least four passages that are almost certainly based on as many documents. These are Chapters 36, 39, and 28 of the second book, in which the chronicler limits himself to registering the information obtained from the charters that he knew directly—or perhaps indirectly.52 In Chapter 2, instead, he construes a fictional tale around the source. Chapter 36 narrates the move of Abbot Johannes and his community of monks from the monastery of San Servolo to the church of Sant’Ilario. Chapter  39 focuses on the construction of the churches of San Zaccaria and Sant’Ilario by Duke Giustiniano i Particiaco (827/828–829), as well as the ­beginning of works on the Basilica of St. Mark, where the relics of the saint

50

51

52

Diacono e la costruzione della identità longobarda,” in Paolo Diacono. Uno scrittore tra tradizione longobarda e rinnovamento carolingio, ed. Paolo Chiesa (Udine, 2000), pp. 413–426 and in particular, p. 426. On the Epitome and Chapter 17 of the Historia Romana by Paul the Deacon, which contains a similar selection of excerpts from the Historia Langobardorum, see Laura Pani, “La trasmissione dell’Historia Langobardorum di Paolo Diacono tra Italia e Regnum Francorum nel ix secolo,” in Paolino d’Aquileia e il contributo italiano all’Europa carolingia, ed. Paolo Chiesa (Udine, 2003), pp. 373–403. On the concept of “bizantinità latina” see Gherardo Ortalli, “Realtà veneziana e bizantinità latina,” in L’Adriatico dalla tarda Antichità all’età carolingia, ed. Giampietro Brogiolo and Paolo Delogu (Florence, 2005), pp. 309–320. Furthermore, see Francesco Borri, “Neighbours and Relatives: The Plea of Rižana as a Source for Northern Adriatic Elites,” Mediterranean studies 17 (2008), pp. 1–26, who highlights that the whole high Adriatic area, and also the Venetian lagoon, was characterized by a similar social structure and a common cultural background throughout the early Middle Ages. More recently Antonio Carile, “Venezia e Bisanzio,” in Le relazioni internazionali nell’alto Medioevo, ed. Centro (Spoleto, 2011), pp. 629–688. On the dating method of Venetian documents, see Marco Pozza, “Gli usi cronologici nei più antichi documenti veneziani (secoli ix–xi),” in Studi in memoria di Giorgio Costamagna, ed. Dino Puncuh (Genoa, 2003), pp. 801–848. See note 59.

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were to be housed.53 All this content is confirmed both by a ducal grant ­allocated by Agnello Particiaco (810/811–827/828) and by his son Giustiniano, dated May 819, and by the will of this latter, dated 25 December 828 or more probably 31 August 829.54 In fact, these documents attest to the donation in favour of the monks of San Servolo of a new site near to a chapel dedicated to Sant’Ilario belonging with its annexed territory to the ducal family,55 as well as a commitment made to the duke’s wife to complete the works at Sant’Ilario itself and to proceed with the construction of St. Mark’s.56 Both the grant and the will, which were originally drawn up on papyrus (tummo/iummo vetere), have survived as copies dating to the 14th century and are today housed in the State Archives of Venice among the papers of the monastery of San Gregorio. They have come down to us through a sequence of intermediate exempla,57 namely authenticated copies, which were well kept during the period when the chronicle was written. In particular, we can be sure that one copy of the grant drawn up in 908 by a certain subdeacon Petrus, was still extant between 1107–1127, for a second exemplar was based on it. Similarly, there is no doubt that between 1007 and 1025 Giustiniano’s will was available— even if in the form of a 10th-century copy—since it was again transcribed in those very years by the priest and notary Dominicus (iv) Mengoni.58 Therefore, on one hand the archival evidence suggests that the author of the chronicle did have such documents before him—or at least that he had read 53 54

55

56

57

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Govanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 36 e 39, pp. 116–119. Both documents are published in Ss. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, ed. Luigi Lanfranchi and Bianca Strina, Fonti per la storia di Venezia, sez. ii. Archivi ecclesiastici, diocesi castellana (Venice, 1965), nn. 1 and 2, pp. 5–24. The site of the chapel and nearby monastery has been located at Dogaletto of Mira in the province of Venice. See Diego Calaon, Margherita Ferri, and Corinna Bagato, “SS. Ilario e Benedetto (ix secolo). Un monastero del nascente dogado veneziano tra terra e laguna,” in v congresso nazionale di archeologia medievale, ed. Giuliano Volpe and Pasquale Favia (Borgo San Lorenzo, 2009), pp. 498–504. Both wills are analyzed and compared with wills of the same period from the Italian kingdom in Stefano Gasparri, “I testamenti nell’Italia settentrionale tra viii e ix secolo,” in Sauver son âme et se perpétuer. Transmission du patrimoine et mémoire au haut moyen âge, Françoise Bougard, Cristina La Rocca, and Regine Le Jan (Rome, 2005), pp. 97–113. On the exempla, see Marco Pozza, “Gli «exempla» nei documenti veneziani dei secoli x–xiii,” in Sit liber gratus, quem servulus est operatus. Studi in onore di Alessandro Pratesi per il suo 90 compleanno, ed. Paolo Cherubini and Giovanna Nicolaj (Vatican City, 2012), pp. 183–202. For these themes, read the introductions of the already cited edition of the documents (above note 54). A list of the Venetian notaries from the origins up to 1150 has been made by Parcianello, Documentazione e notariato, pp. 133–136.

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them previously—while he was writing the chapters under scrutiny. On the other, the author does not mention them explicitly, as he does for Chapter  28 which, therefore, stands out as an interesting and unique passage. Dedicated to the many works of art and architecture commissioned by Patriarch Johannes and by his successor Fortunatus ii for the city of Grado, Chapter 28 narrates in detail how the latter decorated the altars of urban churches with silver plates and built ex-novo the church of Sant’Agata where the relics of 42 martyrs were placed. Furthermore, in a rather curious note which opens the description, we are informed that these were not the only works undertaken by the prelate. Indeed, the chronicler confesses that he cannot tell us everything, but only what he himself had taken from a report of others (corrundam relatione, read quorumdam).59 This report should be identified as the document known as the “Legacies of Fortunatus,” dated around 825 and traditionally—even if not properly—­ interpreted as the Patriarch’s will. More correctly, however, a recent study ­explains the text as an excerpt from the judicial acts of a trial in which the ­patriarch was involved at the end of his career and life.60 Accused of having stolen several goods from the church of Grado, during the trial he tried to ­defend himself by listing the numerous maintenance and construction works he had personally undertaken in favour of his metropolitan see. Among these works were the rebuilding of the altars of the cathedral of Sant’Eufemia— and p ­ erhaps other oratorios—and the founding of the new Sant’Agata ubi ­requiescunt 40 et duo martyres.61 59

60 61

Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 28, pp. 112–113. Giovanni Monticolo translates the word relatio as oral tradition. Instead, Luigi Andrea Berto gives translations that differ according to the context. In general, he assigns the meaning of (oral) account to the word. Personally I do not believe that it is necessary to attribute a meaning that has so much to do with orality. In the Middle Ages, more than one relatio was sent and, therefore, written down. In any case, it makes no difference if the author of the chronicle read a report or listened to an account. In fact, a document that refers the exact works undertaken by Fortunatus ii has been handed down to us. Moreover, any considerations on the state of the patriarchal archive of Grado at the end of the 11th century, lead us to believe that the document was kept there and that the chronicler therefore had, either directly or via an informer, access to its contents. The biography of Fortunatus ii is outlined by Daniela Rando, “Fortunato,” in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani 49 (Rome, 1997), pp. 235–239. An extensive discussion on the very nature of the “Legacies of Fortunatus” is in Giordano Brunettin, “Il cosiddetto testamento del patriarca Fortunato ii di Grado (825),” Memorie storiche forogiuliesi 71 (1991), pp. 51–123, who gives the edition of the text with commentary.

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This document belongs to a group of texts of varied nature, handed down by the Codex Trevisaneus and linked to the history of Grado and Istria—of which the city was the metropolitan see—between the 9th and 10th centuries. Quite clearly, they come directly from the patriarchal archive62 which seems to have been in very good condition in the middle of the 11th century when it still had a significant wealth of older documents.63 In particular, there is no doubt that among these documents there were a number of charters from the private archive of Fortunatus ii as, for instance, the privilege of concession of the palium granted by Pope Leo iii (privilegium cum benedictione pallei) and several diplomas by Charlemagne (plurima precepta), which are explicitly quoted by the anonymous author of the Cronica de singulis patriarchis nove Aquileie64 and whose text has indeed come down to us.65 62

63

64 65

In this group there are some documents that are attested only through the Codex Trevisaneus. In addition, some other documents have been copied both in the Codex and elsewhere. However, it should be noticed that in this last case the archival traditions are, almost certainly, different and, thus, the version in the Codex should be considered independent. They are: (1) the Papal Bull of Leo iii who gives the pallium to Fortunatus ii (803); (2) the diploma by Charlemagne who confirms the estates of Fortunatus ii in Italy (803); (3) the diploma by Charlemagne who gives Fortunatus ii (803) immunity for four boats; (4) the Plea of Rižana (804 circa); (5) the privilege of Louis the Pious who confirms the deliberations taken on the occasion of the Plea of Rižana (814–820); (6) the peace agreement between the Patriarch of Aquileia, Gualpertus, and the duke of Venice, Orso i Particiaco (880); (7) the oath of Marquis [of Istria], Winterius, to the duke of ­Venice, Pietro ii Candiano (933); (8) the treaty of non-aggression between the Patriarch of ­Aquileia, Lupus, and the Duke of Venice, Pietro iii Candiano (944). All these documents are collected in Documenti veneziani, i, nn. 37, 38, 39, 40, 43, pp. 56–67 and pp. 70–71 and Documenti veneziani, ii, nn. 15, 36, 38, pp. 19–20, pp. 55–59 and pp. 60–62. On the relationship between the first part of the Codex Trevisaneus and the figure of the Patriarch Fortunatus ii, see, besides the already cited Brunettin (previous note) also Harald Krahwinkler, “Patriarch Fortunatus of Grado and the Placitum of Riziano,” Acta Histriae 13.1 (2005), pp. 63–78. The anonymous author of the Cronica de singulis patriarchis nove Aquileie tells us that, in his times, the will drawn up by Patriarch Severus (?–608) was still deposited in the church (testamenti cartula apud ecclesiam Gradensem manet). See Cronache, pp. 156–157. In addition, he copied the acts of the Council of Grado which were reported in the Istoria as well as the text of two letters of Gregory ii, among which one was already in the Istoria. See Cronache, pp. 160–163. He also mentions several documents whose texts have, in some cases, survived. Cronache, pp. 162–163. For the edition, see note 62.

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In the examples we have singled out above, the chronicler does nothing but insert into his own account a number of brief annotations taken from the sources to which he had access. Different and evidently more interesting is the case of Chapter 2, which relates the election of the first duke of Venice, Paulicio, and where the relationship archival documents-narration seems more complex and articulated. In this very famous passage, the author states that, at the time of the Emperor Anastasius ii and of the Lombard King Liutprand— around 713—all Venetians together (communi consilio) took the decision to be ruled henceforth by the dukes rather than by the tribunes. They then elected a very experienced nobleman called Paulicio to this position. Paulicio—one can read—did two important things: he stipulated a peace (pacis vinculum) with Liutprand and obtained from him confirmation of the possession of the territory of Cittanova (Eraclea), which lay between the Piave Maggiore and the Piave Secca.66 Reading these few lines, one cannot fail to realize that they recall two clauses of the well-known pact issued by King Lothar i to Duke Pietro Tradonico in about 840.67 Indeed, by means of the first clause the emperor established that the demarcation of the boundaries (terminatio) of Cittanova was to remain the same as the one agreed upon by Duke Paulicio and a certain Marcellus, magister militum (master of soldiers), during the reign of Liutprand. The second clause, instead, gave the Venetians permission to pasture their flocks right up to the borderline that the same Paulicio had fixed together with the inhabitants of Cittanova, i.e., moving it from the Piave Maggiore to the Piave Secca.68 In other words, we have the Lombard King Liutprand who, as the highest authority, guarantees an agreement between a duke named Paulicio on one hand and the magister militum Marcellus on the other. And, since a frontier is usually established between different political areas, the territories we are talking about must surely correspond to the Lombard kingdom and to the Byzantine province of Venice. It thus goes without saying that Paulicio was a Lombard 66 67

68

Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 2, pp. 94–95. Stefano Gasparri, “Anno 713. La leggenda di Paulicio e le origini di Venezia,” in Venezia i: giorni della storia, ed. Uwe Israel (Rome, 2011), pp. 27–45. In addition, see the article by Stefano Gasparri in this volume. They are clauses 26 and 28. The pact is published in Pacta et precepta Venetica, ed. Alfred Boretius and Victor Krause, in mgh Capitularia regum Francorum 2 (Hannover, 1897), pp. 130–135. A detailed study of the text can be found in Geoffrey B. West, “Communities and pacta in early Medieval Italy: Jurisdiction, Regulatory Authority and Dispute Avoidance,” Early Medieval Europe 18 (2010), pp. 367–393.

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duke, perhaps the duke of Treviso, whose district was in the vicinity of the ­Venetian lagoon, then ruled locally by the above-mentioned Marcellus.69 No peace agreement was ever concluded between King Liutprand and Venice,70 nor was Paulicio ever the duke of the lagoon city, as the chronicler states, misinterpreting—if deliberately or not it is difficult to say71—the evidence at his disposal: the pactum Lotharii or its following renewals. As is well-known, Lothar’s pact is, in fact, the first document—or maybe the first whose text we possess—of a long series of agreements periodically granted in favour of Venice by the Western emperors, first every five years and then each time a new ruler took office.72 As the author of the chronicle informs us these ­agreements—and above all the already mentioned clauses—were still valid at the time he was writing (pacti statuta que nunc inter Veneticorum et Langobardorum populum manent).73 For this reason, the chronicler most certainly knew of these documents, if not all of the papers, at least some of the later agreements as, for instance, the pacts stipulated by Otto i (Rome, 2 December 967) and by Otto ii (Verona, 7 June 983),74 which had been handed down in unison by means of a parchment dating to the end of the 10th century or early 11th

69

70

71

72 73 74

This identity is hypothesized by Stefano Gasparri in Stefano Gasparri, “Dall’età longobarda al secolo x,” in Storia di Treviso ii: Il Medioevo, ed. Daniela Rando and Gian Maria Varanini (Venice, 1991), pp. 3–39 and in particular pp. 15–17. The existence of a peace agreement between Liutprand and Venice had been already denied by Roberto Cessi, in Roberto Cessi, “La terminatio «liutprandina» per la definizione del territorio di Cittanova,” in Roberto Cessi, Le origini del ducato veneziano (Naples, 1951), pp. 149–153. Roberto Cessi thought that Paulicio was the Exarch of Ravenna, Paulus, and that the boundaries of Cittanova had been established between the latter and the local magister militum, Marcellus. Therefore, he was convinced that John the Deacon had voluntarily misused the sources, with the aim of negating the dependency of Venice on Byzantium and of attributing political autonomy to the city from the 8th century on. See Roberto Cessi, “Paulicio dux,” in Roberto Cessi, Le origini, pp. 155–173. On these pacts, see the bibliographical reference at note 31. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 2, pp. 94–95. Ottonis i. constitutiones, ed. Ludewic Weiland, in mgh Constitutiones et acta publica imperatorum et regum 1 (Hannover, 1893), n. 14, pp. 30–36 and Ottonis ii. constitutiones, ed. Ludewic Weiland, in mgh Constitutiones, n. 18, pp. 37–43, or alternatively Conradi i. Heinrici i. et Ottonis i. diplomata, ed. Theodr Sickel, in mgh Diplomata regum et imperatorum Germaniae 1 (Hannover, 1879–1884), n. 350, pp. 478–483 and Ottonis ii. et iii. diplomata, ed. Theodr Sickel, in mgh Diplomata regum et imperatorum Germaniae 2.1 (Hannover, 1888), n. 300, pp. 352–356.

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century.75 This parchment which is today kept in the State Archives of Venice, could perhaps be identified as one of the copies of the official government acts circulating—as said—outside the ducal palace. In conclusion, while it is difficult to deny that the author of the Istoria had first-hand access to Lothar’s pact or of one of the subsequent renewals, it is equally true that there can be no doubt about the identity of Paulicio, who was a Lombard duke and not the first duke of Venice. Accordingly, we shall not be taking a step away from reality if we assume that the chronicler, in order to begin the history of the Venetian duchy in a conveniently solemn manner, started out by writing a fictional tale with information contained in the archival documentation at his disposal, material to which he added other details drawn from his own cultural background76 and from popular tradition77— the extent to which he mixed them up is hard to tell—and maybe even taken from other written sources.

The Plea of Rižana and Duke Johannes

One of the details contained in the account of the election of Paulicio concerns the government of the tribunes mentioned in Chapter 2 of the second 75

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In the past the pacts of Otto i and Otto ii were at the core of a heated debate. To date, the issue is still open. Both documents have been handed down in three copies: B which is the oldest, dating between the 10th and 11th century; C and D which are much later. These latter, in particular, contain the texts of the last clauses in a shorter form, as is the case of the clause concerning the boundaries of Cittanova. Some scholars like Adolf Fanta consider the B version to be more correct; others, like Roberto Cessi, prefer the C and D versions. The problem is partially reconsidered by Gerhard Rösch in Rösch, Venezia e l’Impero, pp. 277–280, who deals with the pact of Otto ii, concluding that the B version is preferable. Instead, as regards the pact of Otto i, studies do not go beyond what has already been affirmed by Roberto Cessi, who accepts the B phrasing up to clause 19 and then prefers to follow the C writing. The passage of the Istoria that narrates how the first Venetians chose the dux Paulicio, because it was more honourable to stay under the dukes rather than under the tribunes, resembles the phrase from the Historia Langobardorum where Paul the Deacon narrates that the Lombards decided to abandon the government of the dukes and to elect a king. See Gasparri, “Anno 713,” p. 32. The account of the free election is already present in the De Administrando imperio of Constantine vii Porphyrogenitus (mid-10th century) that apparently recalls a local tradition already attested in his times. See Gasparri, “The formation,” p. 37.

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book and elsewhere in the chronicle.78 Tribunes were military officers of minor rank who, without actually ruling the Byzantine provinces of Italy as the chronicler says, did, nonetheless, exercise some form of administrative power and of control over the local population.79 Attested in the 7th and 8th centuries in all the Italian territories of Byzantine tradition, including the Northern Adriatic area, we also find them mentioned in Venice as witnesses in the ducal grant dating 819 and in the will drawn up by Duke Giustiniano i Particiaco80 where tribunes figure as landowners—whose properties, vineyards, and water mills were acquired per documenti cartulam by the same duke who later donated them to the monastery of Sant’Ilario—at Equilo (Jesolo) and Torcello.81 As previously pointed out, both these documents were almost certainly known by the author of the Istoria Veneticorum. However, they say nothing about the public functions of the tribunes which can be inferred, though vaguely, from another text: the so-called Plea of Rižana, one of the most famous and most studied documents of early medieval European history. This Plea is the transcript of a judicial assembly held near the river Rižana in about 804 in a place in Istria that can no longer be identified, during which three envoys sent by Charlemagne listened to the complaints made by representatives of the towns and castles of the region against the Patriarch of Grado, ­Fortunatus ii, the Istrian bishops, and Duke Johannes.82 Originally Byzantine, 78 79

80

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Castagnetti, “Famiglia e affermazione,” pp. 617–618. On the military and administrative organization of the Byzantine province of Italy where the tribunes were active, see the classic Thomas S. Brown, Gentlemen and officers. Imperial Administration and Aristocratic Power in Byzantine Italy. A.D. 554–800 (London, 1984), pp. 46–60 and also Francesco Borri, “Duces e magistri militum dell’Italia esarcale (vi–viii secolo),” Reti medievale Rivista 6.2 (2005), pp. 1–46. On these documents see notes 54–56. Tribunes are also attested in the will of the B ­ ishop of Olivolo (Castello), Orso Particiaco (853), and in the peace agreement between the Patriarch of Aquileia, Gualpertus, and Duke Orso i Particiaco (880). Both these acts are published respectively in S. Lorenzo (853–1199), ed. Franco Gaeta, Fonti per la storia di Venezia, sez. ii. Archivi ecclesiastici, diocesi castellana (Venice, 1959), n. 1, pp. 5–11 and in I patti con il patriarcato di Aquileia, 800–1255, ed. Reinhard Härtel, Pacta Veneta 12 (Rome, 2005), n. 1, pp. 25–27. A fragment of a sarcophagus, maybe dating to the 7th or 8th century, which recalls a certain Antoninus tribunus and his wife, Agnella, comes from Jesolo. See Franco Sartori, “Antoninus Tribunus in una epigrafe inedita di Jesolo (Venezia),” in Adriatioa Praehistorica et Antiqua. Zbornik radova posvečen Grgi Novaku, ed. Duje Rendić-Miočević, Vladimir Mirosavljević, and Mate Suić (Zagreb, 1970), pp. 587–600. The exact date is still controversial. See the article by Cadamuro, Cianciosi, and Negrelli in this volume. The Plea of Rižana has been edited several times. The most recent edition is Haral Krahwinkler, …in loco qui dicitur Riziano…, Zbor v Rižani pri Kopru leta 804, Die Versammlung in

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Istria, probably after a brief period of subjection to the Lombards, had passed to the Franks in about 788, when, in all likelihood, it had been incorporated into the March of Friuli.83 Yet, even after that date, its bishops, with their churches and estates, continued to depend on Grado and therefore on Venice, at least until the Synod of Mantua in 827.84 Indeed, in this very period both the church of Grado and the palatium of Venice still held the position of very large landowners in the area.85 Owing to the co-existence of different jurisdictions on the territory, the document mentions both the Patriarch of Grado, Fortunatus ii, and Duke ­Johannes who, not otherwise qualified, is traditionally identified with a Carolingian duke.86 Both are accused of unlawful encroachment against the locals, but Johannes was charged with greater force for having abolished the office of tribune (actus tribunati) which the Istrian elites had held ab antiquo, namely, since they had been subjected to the Byzantine Empire and thanks to which they presided over the municipal assemblies (congressus). Moreover, the duke had re-distributed the peasants previously assigned to the tribunes to the

83

84

85

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Rižana/Risano bei Koper/Capodistria im Jahre 804 (Koper, 2004), pp. 67–81. A translation is in Anamari Petranovic and Anneliese Margetic, “Il placito del Risano,” Atti del Centro di Ricerche Storiche Rovigno 14 (1983/84), pp. 55–70. Due to the scanty documentary evidence, the history of Istria in the early Middle Ages is most incomplete. A synthesis can be found in Giuseppe Cuscito, “Medioevo Istriano. Vicende storiche e lineamenti storiografici,” Atti del centro di ricerche storiche Rovigno 22 (1992), pp. 147–176, in particular pp. 157–167. See also Jadran Ferluga, “L’Istria tra Giustiniano e Carlo Magno,” Arheološki vesnik 43 (1992), pp. 175–190; Peter Štih, “L’Istria agli inizi del potere franco. L’influenza della politica globale sulle condizioni regionali e locali,” Atti del Centro di Ricerche Storiche Rovigno 37 (2007), pp. 91–112. On the very complex history of the birth of the Patriarchate of Grado, see Daniela Rando, Una chiesa di frontiera. Le istituzioni ecclesiastiche veneziane nei secoli vi–xii (Bologna, 1994), pp. 13–20. This emerges quite clearly from the so-called promissio Wintherii. Indeed, in the prologue of the document one can read that Duke Pietro iii Candiano ordered a trade bloc on Istria owing to a raid undertaken by Marquis Winterius against the estates (and riches) of the church of Grado and of the Venetian duchy at Pula and in Istria. On the edition of this document, see note 62. We know little about the biography of this duke. He is traditionally interpreted as a Carolingian duke. Some scholars identify him with the dux de Histria who, with his ­followers (cum suis hominibus), took part in the military campaign of Charlemagne against the ­Avars in 791. See the classic Bernardo Benussi, Nel Medioevo. Pagine di Storia istriana (­Trieste, 2004), pp. 135–142. More recently, Haral Krahwinkler has suggested that Johannes could have local origins, Istria or the duchy of Venice, given the Roman tradition of his name and the fact that he appears rooted in the territory thanks to his family ties.

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­advantage of his own sons and relatives and, last but not least, he had forbidden the tribunes from keeping free men and excusati (settlers free of taxes) among their followers.87 Although no one has mentioned this, it is almost certain that the author of the Istoria was familiar with this source. The Plea had, in fact, been issued on the request of Patriarch Fortunatus (ex iussione dominis Fortunatus) and, therefore, a copy was necessarily kept either in the ducal palace or, even more likely, in the patriarchal archive where the “Legacies of Fortunatus,” consulted by the chronicler (as he himself informs us), could also be found.88 If this were correct—it is unlikely we will ever have definitive proof—it would confirm the importance of the Plea of Rižana as an indirect source for the early history of Venice, as has been repeatedly underlined by historians in comparative studies. In this case, we should admit that the author of the Istoria used the Plea to describe, even if in a summative and succinct manner, early Venetian society, when the class of tribunes played a major role in the provincial administration. A further point needs to be made. As a recent study on the political vocabulary of the Istoria has highlighted, there are two specific instances in which the author does openly manifest his personal disapproval of the behaviour of the dukes. One is the famous case of Pietro iv Candiano, whose rule dates to the period immediately preceding the one when the chronicler was actually writing. The other is that of Giovanni Galbaio (797–805) who rose to the ­Venetian duchy more than two centuries before.89 Concerning the first, the narrative affirms that Pietro forced his wife to become a nun and oppressed his subjects with an authoritarian government (virtutis rigore), which was why he was ultimately deposed and killed.90 Instead, little is said about the second duke, except that he killed a saintly and innocent man, namely the Patriarch of

87

88 89 90

See Giuseppe Albertoni, “Si nobis succurrit domnus Carolus imperator: legge ed esercizio della giustizia nell’età di Carlo Magno: alcuni casi a confronto a partire dal Placito di ­Risano,” Acta Histriae 13 (2005), pp. 21–44, who analyzes the document in the larger context of the workings of justice during the reign of Charlemagne. See the previous section. Luigi Andrea Berto, The political and social vocabulary of John the Deacon’s ‘Istoria Veneticorum’ (Turnhout, 2013), pp. 1–17. As regards the death of Pietro iv Candiano, see notes 33 and 34. On the episode of the repudiation of his first wife and the second marriage with Waldrada, see Chiara Provesi, “Le due mogli di Pietro iv Candiano (959–976): le donne e i loro gruppi parentali nella Venezia del x secolo,” Reti Medievali Rivista 16.2 (2015), pp. 21–51.

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­ rado, Johannes, predecessor of Fortunatus ii.91 In this case, however, of greatG er interest than the episode of the murder in itself, is the note that precedes it in which the chronicler states to have not learnt from either a document or a report (neque scripto neque relatione) that Giovanni Galbaio had acted for the good of his homeland. It would seem the chronicler wished to express the exact opposite, that is, that the written sources at his disposal testified to the duke’s misrule.92 All in all, this is a rather cryptic phrase which scholars have repeatedly questioned. In the author’s hands, in fact, the sentence suggests the existence of much documentation, albeit unknown; otherwise, it could be taken merely as referring to the Plea of Rižana and to Duke Johannes who is effectively mentioned in the text. Indeed, we do learn from the document that the latter, as well as abolishing the office of tribune and subjecting the peasants to his ­relatives—crimes which we have already recalled—perpetrated other misdeeds by impeding the Istrians from exploiting the common woodlands, by housing the Slavs on their lands, by taking possession of their cattle and horses, by obliging them to provide services that they had never carried out before, by retaining for himself the money allocated to public administration, by increasing taxes and, last but not least, by imposing new tariffs.93 In brief, as had already occurred with the Lombard Duke Paulicio in Lothar’s pact whom the author had transformed into the first duke of Venice, one might also suppose that the same had happened in the case of the Carolingian Duke Johannes in the Plea of Rižana whom the chronicler, by misinterpreting the source, transforms into the eighth duke of Venice, namely into Giovanni Galbaio. After all, the political situation in Istria lent itself to such misunderstandings94 owing to the dual civil and ecclesiastical jurisdiction and the extensive patrimonial and commercial interests of Venice in the region, both in its early

91

92 93 94

In reality, the duke ordered his son, Maurizio, to kill the prelate; moreover, it was the latter who went to Grado with the fleet. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 22, pp. 106–107. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ii, 19, pp. 104–105. See the text of the Plea of Rižana. On the edition of the document, see note 82. The author of the Istoria did not have a clear idea of the institutional profile of Istria. This applies not only to early times, but also to later periods. Indeed, in some parts of the work he describes the region as a comitatus and elsewhere as a marchia. Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, iv, 25, pp. 174–175 and iv, 33, pp. 180–181.

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days95 and later on, up to the time when the chronicle itself was written and after.96 Conclusions The Istoria Veneticorum, traditionally attributed to John the Deacon, is the oldest literary source that narrates, even if more than two hundred years later, the birth and development of Venice and its ducal power, i.e., the political core of the city. However, the chronicle, especially when dealing with the origins, has often been considered an untrustworthy text, if not in its entirety, at least in a large number of details.97 Indeed, as highlighted above, the comparison with several archival documents evinces that the chronicler has sometimes attributed identities and behaviours to his characters which do not correspond to historical facts. This is the case of Duke Paulicio and perhaps also of Duke Giovanni Galbaio. Owing to the fragmentary nature of the documentation, it is, in any case, practically impossible to verify all the information reported in the account in a systematic manner. Nonetheless, even if this were feasible, it would not add or detract anything from what we already know about Venice in the 8th and early 9th century. Furthermore, it would not question the value of the work 95

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It is worth noting that a letter dated about 772, which has been handed down by the Codex Trevisaneus and probably comes from the patriarchal archive of Grado, testifies to the fact that the Duke of Venice, Maurizio, father of Giovanni Galbaio, and the Patriarch of Grado, Johannes, predecessor of Fortunatus ii, acted together in Istria against the Lombards and the local bishops. In this same letter, the treaty among Romans, Franks, and Lombards, according to which the province of Istria had been annexed to Venice, is mentioned. On this letter see Francesco Borri, “L’Adriatico tra Bizantini, Longobardi e Franchi. Dalla conquista di Ravenna alla pace di Aquisgrana (715–812),” Bullettino dell’Istituto storico italiano per il Medio Evo 112 (2010), pp. 1–56, in particular pp. 20–25. After the Synod of Mantua in 827, the conflict between Aquileia and Grado over metropolitan rights and ecclesiastical jurisdiction in Istria was not resolved. On the contrary, there were intermittent outbursts of this conflict at least up to the mid-11th century. See the synthesis in Rando, Una chiesa di frontiera, pp. 73–83. On this, see what Sauro Gelichi says about the walls which, according to the Istoria, Duke Pietro Tribuno had built from the area of Castello to the church of Santa Maria Zobenigo. Sauro Gelichi, “La storia di una nuova città attraverso l’archeologia: Venezia nell’alto medioevo,” in Three Empires, Three Cities: Identity, Material Culture and Legitimacy in Venice, Ravenna and Rome, 750–1000, ed. Veronica West-Harling (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 51–89 and in particular pp. 80–84.

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as a whole, for the text does not constitute—or at least not entirely—direct evidence of the early centuries of Venetian history. In fact, the Istoria Veneticorum is, first and foremost, an expression of its times, namely, of the early years of the 11th century, when the community on the lagoon and its dukes reached a high level of economic growth and political maturity thanks to which they could start reflecting on their origins and identity and, therefore, give voice to their historical memory. However, it should be recalled that historiographical tradition has, all too often and sometimes deliberately, witnessed the use, misuse, and even alleged omission of sources by the author of the Istoria, as indicative of the wish to promote a specific political agenda: to deny the original dependency of Venice on Byzantium and all collusions of the ducal power with Constantinople. It is in this perspective, for instance, that Roberto Cessi, and with him the scholars who came later, interpreted both the Istoria in general98 and, more specifically, the passages dedicated to Paulicio and Giovanni Galbaio.99 Yet, the threat of a direct restoration of Byzantine sovereignty on the lagoon islands at the beginning of the 11th century was very remote indeed. In fact, the last naval intervention of the Byzantine fleet in the Adriatic sea dates back to 810. And, in the decades around 1000 other problems afflicted Venice.100 Framing the chronicle in its contemporary historical and political context may give scholars new and more significant insights into the meaning and into the very nature of the text. Regardless of the name that one wishes to attribute to the author—whether he is or is not John the Deacon does not ­really ­matter—the fact that, on the one hand, he attended the city archives and had an in-depth knowledge of public charters (as he demonstrates in writing), leads us to assign him to the circle of officers and collaborators of the duke. Yet, 98

Girolamo Arnaldi and Lidia Capo, “I cronisti di Venezia e della marca Trevigiana dalle origini alla fine del secolo xiii,” in Storia della cultura veneta 1: Dalle origini al Trecento (Vicenza, 1976), pp. 387–423 in particular pp. 391–393. 99 As far as Paulicio is concerned, see note 71. As regards Giovanni Galbaio, Roberto Cessi thought that the chronicler had avoided narrating about his government in detail, given the fact that he would have belonged to the so-called pro-Byzantine party. See Luigi Andrea Berto, “La «Venetia» tra Franchi e Bizantini. Considerazioni sulle fonti,” Studi veneziani 38 (1999), pp. 189–202. 100 I am talking about the attacks against the Venetian estates on the mainland from 996 up to 1018 which, confirmed by archival documents, characterized the relationship between the dukes of Venice (and the monastery of San Zaccaria), the inhabitants of the Italian kingdom, and the Western emperors. These events, which occupy a large space in the last book of the Istoria, are outlined by Chiara Provesi in this volume.

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on the other hand, this evidence does not tell us anything about the equally nodal issues of the audience whom the chronicler was addressing and the purpose of his account which, in fact, are by now still mostly unexplored.101 101 Scholars assert that John the Deacon wrote the Istoria Veneticorum to celebrate the duchy and especially Pietro ii Orseolo, who led Venice to its highest level. New insights may come from a further study of the Codex Urbinate 440 which, besides the Istoria, has handed down other texts such as two important excerpts from judicial documents dated to the first half of the 11th century. These excerpts point to a practical use of the manuscript. For these documents see Cronache veneziane antichissime, pp. 175–187.

chapter 3

The Waterfront of Istria: Sea and Identity in the post-Roman Adriatic Francesco Borri* According to the Translatio s. Marci, two tribunes of the province of Venetia, Bonus and Rusticus, sat in the harbor of Umag hesitating to enter the lagoons out of fear of Duke Justinian’s wrath.1 It was the year 827 and the two men had sailed to Alexandria against their master’s ban, where they had stolen the body of the evangelist Mark. After adventurously escaping the Sultan’s men and surviving a perilous sail, they finally came to Istria with their precious loot.2 There they waited for the inevitable happy ending to come. The episode is well known and has been told dozens of times; two things must be considered here. First, the story may have never happened, at least in the form told by the anonymous author of the narrative. The two main characters’ names, Bonus and Rusticus, the good and the simple, are rather revealing of their roles and are seldom attested.3 They could have been agnomina given to real characters, or even allegories for their function in the narrative.4 Second, even if the story was only a fictional account, it is very revealing of the environment of its composition. The two protagonists, whereas story bound, are aristocrats of a certain standing, whose title (tribunus) went back to the commander of a legion in the army of Diocletian and Constantine. Though the honor had lost its traditional meaning in the ninth century, it maintained a prestige able to evoke the ancient awe of Rome. In the author’s mind, Bonus and Rusticus may have been armed landowners, as many European aristocrats were at the time, but they were also seamen, a much more remarkable position. Indeed, their stop in Umag made sense not only because of the duke’s * This article was prepared and written thanks to the fwf Project 24823: The Transformation of Roman Dalmatia. 1 Translatio s. Marci 16, i, ed. Emanuela Colombi, Storie di cronache e reliquie nella Venetia altomedievale, Antichità Altoadriatiche: Monografie 6 (Trieste, 2012), pp. 16–63, at p. 61. 2 Patrick Geary, Furta sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages (Princeton, 1978), pp. 88–94. 3 Luigi A. Berto, In Search of the First Venetians: Prosopography of Early Medieval Venice, Studies in the Early Middle Ages 41 (Turnhout, 2014), pp. 62, 211. 4 I am indebted to Cinzia Grifoni, who greatly helped me with this.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_005

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policy, but also in terms of the Adriatic sea-lanes, Istria being the gateway to Venice for the travelers sailing from the east. The Adriatic Sea was generally navigated counterclockwise. The rocky and jagged eastern coast granted shelter from the strong winds from the northwest, while the skyline of the Dinaric Alps offered the fundamental orientation points in pre-modern navigation. The difference to the other shore could not be more striking, where it was much harder to find good harbors, with the exception of Mount Gargano, Conero, and the lagoons between Ravenna and Istria, known in antiquity as the seven seas, the septem maria.5 The flat sandy coastline of the western Adriatic was busy as well, as archaeological finds may prove, but it was the eastern coast that constituted the main route of communication for the sailors aiming to reach the wealthy towns of the Po Valley. Istria, therefore, became an important stopover in the Adriatic exchange. Information on early medieval Istria is scant, being confined to scraps of chronicles, a few letters, and inscriptions.6 However, the lengthy Plea of Rižana provides ample details.7 From the charter, we learn that in 804 in an unknown place not far from the river Rižana, somewhere in today’s Slovenia, the Istrian aristocrats, called capitanei in the text, gathered in front of duke John and the Frankish authorities lamenting the worsening of their social and economic condition in the aftermath of Charlemagne’s takeover of their homeland. In the document, we find rich evidence on the base of social power and on the habits and identity of the Istrian aristocrats. We read that the Istrian highborn could make their living off the land, possessing vast estates and collecting the products of forests and meadows. Moreover, like the aristocrats of imperial Italy, they exploited public authority.8 Finally, the capitanei extracted the resources from the sea, undertaking long maritime journeys on the Adriatic and the broader Mediterranean. While lamenting their present condition, the Istrians offered an invaluable comparison between the Roman past and the Frankish present, which have been studied on many occasions, particularly in 5 Michel Sivignon, “Le cadre naturel,” in Histoire de l’Adriatique, ed. P. Cabanes (Paris, 2001), pp. 13–22; Alfred Philippson, Das Mittelmeergebiet: seine geographische und kulturelle Eigenart (Berlin, 1914), pp. 40–41. 6 On early medieval Istria, see: Jadran Ferluga, “L’Istria tra Giustiniano e Carlo Magno,” Arheološki Vestnik 43 (1992), pp. 175–187; Antonio Carile, “L’Istria tra Bisanzio e Venezia,” in Istria e ­Dalmazia: Un viaggio nella memoria, ed. Giovanni De Vergottini (Bologna, 1996), pp. 37–52. 7 Plea of Rižana, ed. Harald Krahwinkler, … in loco qui dicitur Riziano … Zbor v Rižani pri ­Kopru leta 804/Die Versammlung in Rižana/Risano bei Koper/Capodistria im Jahre 804, Knjižnica ­Annales 40 (Koper, 2004). 8 Thomas S. Brown, Officers and Gentlemen: Imperial Administration and Aristocratic Power in Byzantine Italy a.d. 554–800 (Rome, 1984), p. 205.

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insightful contributions published by Harald Krahwinkler, Stefan Esders, and Matthew Innes.9 Even in this new Frankish world, the Istrian aristocrats cared to present themselves according to the fashion of the old Roman army. As we saw, ­Bonus and Rusticus also used ancient Roman titles, and the same may have been similar among the imperial aristocrats of Dalmatia.10 This early medieval ­Romanness of Italy and the Adriatic was rather different from the one linked to intellectual otium, spent in the lavish villas, which had disappeared decades earlier.11 Concurrently it was an identity contiguous to it, rooted in the same tradition: the actors embracing this medieval Roman identity were eager to stress continuity with the ancient and glorious past, as seems to have been the case in the city of Rome.12 Different outcomes were possible, as Gaul or Africa may show. There, individuals claiming a Roman heritage negotiated different strategies in order to survive.13 In Istria, Roman identity was mostly linked to the army, with its values of masculinity, service, and, most importantly, hierarchy.14 It seems to have implied a comprehensive set of attitudes, values, and outlooks echoing an ideal model of the imperial gentleman. Therefore, men of 9

Krahwinkler’s work is mentioned in note 7; Stefan Esders, “Regionale S­ elbstbehauptung zwischen Byzanz und dem Frankenreich: Die Inquisitio der Rechtsgewohnheiten ­Istriens durch die Sendeboten Karls des Großen und Pippins von Italien,” in Eid und ­Wahrheitssuche: Studien zu rechtlichen Befragungspraktiken in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit, ed. idem and Thomas Scharff, Gesellschaft, Kultur und Schrift: Mediävistische ­Beiträge 7 ­(Frankfurt am Main, 1999), pp. 49–112; Matthew Innes, “Framing the ­Carolingian Economy,” Journal of Agrarian Change 9 (2009), pp. 42–58. 10 Brown, Officers and Gentlemen, pp. 130–143; Giorgio Ravegnani, “Dignità bizantine dei dogi di Venezia,” in Studi veneti offerti a Gaetano Cozzi, ed. Gino Benzoni, Mario Berengo, and Gherardo Ortalli (Venice, 1992), pp. 19–29. 11 Simon Esmonde Cleary, The Roman West, ad 200–500: An Archaeological Study ­(Cambridge, 2013), pp. 395–454. 12 Paolo Delogu, “Il passaggio dall’Antichità al Medioevo,” in Roma medievale, ed. André ­Vauchez (Rome and Bari, 2001), pp. 3–20, at p. 23. 13 Jonathan Conant, Staying Roman: Conquest and Identity in Africa and the Mediterranean, 439–700 (Cambridge, 2012); Ralph W. Mathisen, Roman Aristocrats in Barbarian Gaul: Strategies for Survival in an Age of Transition (Austin, 1993). See also the monographic issue of Early Medieval Europe 22/4 (2014), pp. 387–502, dedicated to Being Roman after Rome. 14 Edward James, “The Militarization of Roman Society, 400–700,” in Military Aspects of Scandinavian Society in European Perspective, ad 1–1300, ed. Anne Nørgård Jørgensen and Birthe L. Clausen (Copenhagen, 1997), pp. 19–24; Dick Harrison, “The Development of Élites: From Roman Bureaucrats to Medieval Warlords,” in Integration und Herrschaft: Ethnische Identitäten und Soziale Organisation im Frühmittelalter, ed. Walter Pohl and Maximilian Disenberger, Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 3 (Vienna, 2002), pp. 289–300.

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a certain standing affirmed their local identity and authority with names and symbols stemming from the Roman past: Jonathan Conant recently remarked “empires can survive as an identity long after they disappear as polities.”15 Looking to the capitanei’s sources of power and identity, two considerations become necessary. On the one hand, the exploitation of land and the allegiance with public authority were features of many early medieval aristocracies.16 On the other, the intense relationship with the seascape was much less usual.17 Gaining insight in this aspect is problematic, because the great majority of literary sources often neglect the maritime element. Authors seldom recorded sea journeys, together with routes, the identity of the travellers, and the nature of the things that were transported.18 More revealing is the absence of the sea in narratives where we would have expected the maritime element to be present for the protagonists. Also in the Istoria Veneticorum written in the aftermath of Peter ii Orseolo’s victorious expedition in Dalmatia, and in the same years that allegedly saw the beginning of the traditional marriage of the sea, the Adriatic is openly mentioned only two times. A suggestive comparison comes from the Northern hagiography, such as in Ireland or Friesland where the waves in all their breath-taking beauty and violence are omnipresent.19 This discrepancy is suggestive. In contexts dramatically different from ours, Carl Schmitt read this difference in literature as the reflection of factual, diverse approaches to the maritime element, which were grounded in cultural, if not ethnic, differences between the Northern and Southern peoples.20 This odd reading was symptomatic of the spreading discourse, which saw the Northerners as sharing 15 Conant, Staying Roman, p. 1. 16 On this Chris Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 4­ 00–800 (Oxford, 2005), p. 154; Michael Mann, The Sources of Social Power i: A History of Power from the Beginning to ad 1760 (Cambridge, 1986), pp. 506–507. 17 On the subject see now the monographic issue of World Archaeology 35/3 (2002), pp. ­323–495, dedicated to Seascapes. Moreover on the identity of the seamen see now Danijel Dzino, “Aspects of Identity-Construction and Cultural Mimicry among the ­Dalmatian Sailors in the Roman Navy,” Antichthon 44 (2010), pp. 96–110; and, although concerned with a much later time, Neill Atkinson, Crew Culture: New Zealand Seafarers under Sail and Steam (­Wellington, 2001). 18 Michael McCormick, The Origins of European Economy: Communication and Commerce, ad 300–900 (Oxford, 2001), pp. 12–15. See, however, the rich collection of evidence in ­Dietrich Claude, Der Handel im westlichen Mittelmeer während des Frühmittelalters, Untersuchungen zu Handel und Verkehr der vor- und frühgeschichtlichen Zeit in Mittel- und Nordeuropa 2 (Göttingen, 1985). 19 Thomas O’Loughlin, “Living in the Ocean,” in Studies in the Cult of Saint Columba, ed. Cormac Bourke (Dublin, 1997), pp. 11–23. 20 Carl Schmitt, Land und Meer: Eine weltgeschichtliche Betrachtung (Leipzig, 1942), pp. 24–25.

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a preferential relationship with the maritime element. This impression would be misleading, and the difference in literature, although difficult to explain, remains just that. Perhaps it was a legacy of the ambiguous Roman perceptions of seas and oceans, but I believe that, for the moment, any explanation must remain a matter of opinion.21 While the Roman past formed a depository of meaning and signifiers that could be displayed and performed in order to make a difference, maritime connection forged community and exclusiveness among the people facing the Adriatic.22 Landward aristocrats looked with suspicion to the coast and its inhabitants. They were strange men inhabiting unbounded, untamed, and unholy places.23 Some authors commented on this intense relationship between the Adriatic aristocracies and the sea: Godescalsc depicted the Venetians as “intra mare degentes homines Latini,” while the Dalmatians seem to have shared a similar destiny.24 Even more direct is a famous passage of the Honorantiae civitatis Papiae, where the Venetians figure as elusive and outlandish characters, strangers to the more common human activities, such as farming.25 In the medieval imagination, the shores, far from being the pleasant recreational location they are now, were the place of liminality where the water met the land.26 There, women and men could gaze at the mysteries of life and death.27 Not far 21

22

23

24

25

26 27

John Mack, The Sea: A Cultural History (London, 2011), pp. 91–95; Salvatore Cosentino, “Mentality, Technology and Commerce: Shipping amongst the Mediterranean Islands in Late Antiquity and Beyond,” in The Insular System of the Early Byzantine Mediterranean: Archaeology and History, ed. Demetrios Michaelides, Philippe Pergola, and Enrico Zanini, bar is 2523 (Oxford, 2013), pp. 65–76. See the reflections of Jonathan Shepard, “Bunkers, Open Cities and Boats in Byzantine Diplomacy,” in Byzantium, its Neighbours and its Cultures, ed. Danijel Dzino and Ken Parry, Byzantina Australiensia 20 (Brisbane, 2014), pp. 11–44. Peter Coates, Nature: Western Attitudes since Ancient Times, 2nd ed. (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, 2000), pp. 57–58. See also Dries Tys, “Maritime Environment and Social Identities in Medieval Coastal Flanders,” in Maritime Societies of the Viking and Medieval World, ed. James H. Barrett and Sarah J. Gibbon, Society for Medieval Archaeology Monographs 37 (Leeds, 2015), pp. 122–137. Godescalc of Orbais, De praedestionatione ix, 6. ed. Cyrille Lambot, Œuvres théologiques et grammaticales de Godescalc d’Orbais, Spicilegium sacrum Lovaniense: Études et documents 20 (Louvain, 1945), pp. 180–258, at p. 208. Honorantie civitatis Papiae 57–58, ed. Carl-Richard Brühl and Cinzio Violante, Die “Honorantiae civitatis Papiae;” Transkription, Edition, Kommentar (Cologne and Vienna, 1983), p. 18: et illa gens, non arat, non seminat, non vindemiat. On changing attitude toward seashores, see Alain Corbin, Le territoire du vide: L’occident et le désir du rivage 1750–1840 (Paris, 1990). John R. Gillis, The Human Shore (Chicago and London, 2012), p. 62.

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from the shore, below the waves, lay people and objects cast away from society that were not meant to return.28 Moreover, the waters hid monstrous creatures like the Leviathan, waiting in the dark depths.29 Stories featuring horrific sea creatures, such as that of Saint Brendan or Within Piscator, may have circulated also in the Adriatic.30 Facing the sea, the Istrians shared similarities with the inhabitants of further Adriatic enclaves of Roman tradition.31 Although part of a face-to-face based society, the aristocrats of eighth-century Istria presented themselves as part of an encompassing Adriatic community.32 Peculiar anthroponomy, dignities, habits, and rituals clustered around the major knots of Adriatic ­communication in the Venetiae, the Romania (the coast of Ravenna), and the Dalmatian harbor towns. They were a symptomatic expression of an allegiance and an affective relationship to the empire as well as a will to belong. This Adriatic community was constructed around a network of routes, harbors, and ships: it was the movement of men by water, with its subsequent share of ideas and wares that cemented this identity.33 If we overlook the role of seafaring, sometimes dismissed as a secondary or even pedestrian aspect of history, we would fail to understand the unitary character of this vaster Adriatic horizon. Seafaring as a way of crossing space enabling the transportation of people, materials, and artifacts was also the reason for the sharing of knowledge and ideas in communication nodes many nautical miles away from each other. A decade ago, Helen Farr pointed out that the similarities in material culture of the Neolithic Adriatic, particularly 28 29

30

31

32 33

Astrid Lindenlauf, “The Sea as a Place of No Return in Ancient Greece,” in Seascapes (=World Archaeology 35 [2003]), pp. 416–433. Job. 41, xxiii. On the dangers of the sea: Paolo Squatriti, “I pericoli dell’acqua nell’alto ­Medioevo italiano,” in L’acqua nei secoli altomedievali, Sett. 55 (Spoleto, 2007), pp. 583– 618; George T. Dennis, “Perils of the Deep,” in Novum Millenium: Studies on Byzantine History and Culture dedicated to Paul Speck, ed. Claudia Sode and Sarolta Takàs (Aldershot, 2001), pp. 81–88. Lethaldus of Micy, Within Piscator, ed. Ferruccio Bertini (Florence, 1995); Navigatio s. Brendani, ed. Giovanni Orlandi and Rossana E. Guglielmetti, Navigatio sancti Brendani: Alla scoperta dei segreti meravigliosi del mondo, Per Verba 30 (Florence, 2014). See also the reflection, based on the Channel’s evidence: Chris Loveluck and Dries Tys, “Coastal Societies, Exchange and Identity along the Channel and southern North Sea Shores of Europe,” Journal of Maritime Archaeology 1 (2006), pp. 140–169, at p. 162. Francesco Borri, “Gli Istriani e i loro parenti: Φράγγοι, Romani e Slavi nella periferia di Bisanzio,” Jahrbuch der österreichischen Byzantinistik 60 (2010), pp. 1–26. On maritime networks: Irad Malkin, A Small Greek World: Networks in the Ancient Mediterranean (Oxford, 2011).

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the distribution of obsidian objects along the shores of the Strait of Otranto, denote social allegiances and human exchange.34 Although early medieval authors recorded sails rarely and poorly, we have to keep in mind that any kind of transaction described in the literary sources and all the archaeological finds from the broader Mediterranean implied sea travel.35 The Plea of Rižana recorded men coming to Istria from Constantinople in order to collect taxes, Istrians travelling for dignities all the way to Constantinople, together with an overabundance of shorter moves, which seem to have implied cabotage.36 Venetian charters confirm this picture of buzzing seashores with people on boats and ships moving on the water. More importantly, in every single move, men had to work on the sails and mast, sharing water, food, and the everyday hardships of dangerous journeys. Furthermore, they could not do it alone. They needed a network of relationships to meet the need for fresh water, food, and shelter. All of this offered the opportunity for intense social activities, which must have cemented allegiance. These invisible men were the backbone of Adriatic connectivity. Watched from the hull of a boat sailing the Adriatic, the surrounding shores became a different space when confronted with an inland perspective. The fringes of the inland polities of Italy and South-Eastern Europe became the extreme edges of a kingdom made of water. A world delimited by river mouths, streams, dangerous straits and safe channels, cliffs on which to repair boats from storms and the savage winds of the north-east, and creeks organized according to revealing lines of sight. They became fundamental orientation points to guide the traveller in this boundless place.37 If, as Fernand Braudel frequently remarked, Mediterranean navigation was made up of journeys where land was in sight, this is particularly true for the long and narrow Adriatic, dominated by the mountains on its eastern side. This must have generated mental maps meant to create order in this unruly space. Men seem to have Christianized landscape features in order to make sense of and catalogue the environment 34 35

36 37

Helen Farr, “Seafaring as Social Action,” Journal of Maritime Archaeology 1 (2006), pp. 85–99. Literature is now very extensive. See: La circolazione delle ceramiche nell’Adriatico tra tarda Antichità e Altomedioevo, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Claudio Negrelli, Documenti di Archeologia 43 (Modena, 2007); and From one Sea to Another: Trading Places in the European and Mediterranean Early Middle Ages, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges, saame 3 (Turnhout, 2012). Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell, The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History (Oxford, 2000), pp. 137–143. On line of sight see Horden and Purcell, The Corrupting Sea, pp. 124–132.

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surrounding them. It was part of the broader process of anthropization of the coasts.38 This world of routes and orientation markers survives only in tiny fragments. John the Deacon’s Istoria Veneticorum shows the mons Scavorum, the mountain of the Scavi or the Slavs, as it seems they were called in eleventhcentury Venetiae.39 John’s readers would have probably recognized this place as part of a wider topography. Lighthouses from antiquity may have still been functional. The unexpected darkness surrounding the pharus of Populonia inspired the melancholic Rutilius Namazianus to write his most famous verses.40 Ancient structures were sometimes repaired: in the Royal Frankish Annals we read that Charlemagne ordered the lighthouse of Boulogne to be restored, so that the flames on its top could brighten the night.41 From Agnellus’ narrative, we know that a place not far from the walls of Ravenna was called Ad Farum. There, King Theodoric was buried. The t­ oponym was apparently still in use in the ninth century, as a possible clue for a continuity in the lantern’s usage.42 It may have been a memorable view: Pliny the Elder recorded the great lighthouse of Ravenna, which bore resemblance to the one in Alexandria in Egypt.43 Men going by sea may have developed a set of knowledge distinctive of ­sailing people.44 They may have known the habits, language, and lore of distant countries and cultures. They certainly shared knowledge of the tides and soils, the changes brought by the seasons, and the ability to make forecasts of the ­weather. Men living on the coast must have observed the night-sky for navigating in darkness: in the Greek East, we see an effort to Christianize the stars.45 As 38

Robert Van de Noort, North Sea Archaeologies: A Maritime Biography, 10,000 bc–ad 1500 (­Oxford, 2011), pp. 98–124. 39 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iii, 33, ed. Luigi A. Berto, Fonti per la storia dell’Italia medievale 2 (Bologna, 1999), p. 146. 40 De redito suo vv. 403–405. 41 Annales regni Francorum 811, ed. Friedrich Kurze, mgh, ss rer. Germ. [6] (Hanover, 1895), p. 135: ipse autem interea propter classem, quam anno superiore fieri imperavit, videndam ad Bononiam civitatem maritimam, ubi eaedem naves congregatae erant, accessit farumque ibi ad navigantium cursus dirigendos antiquitus constitutam restauravit et in summitate eius nocturnum ignem accendit. 42 Agnellus, Liber pontificalis ecclesiae Ravennatis 39, ed. Deborah Mauskopf Deliyannis, ccsl cm 199 (Turnhout, 2006), p. 197: quod usque hodie vocamus Ad Farum. 43 Hist. Nat. xxxvi, 18. Deborah Mauskopf Deliyannis, Ravenna in Late Antiquity ­(Cambridge, 2010), p. 28. 44 Van de Noort, North Sea Archaeologies, p. 93. 45 Gilbert Dagron and Jean Rougé, “Trois horoscopes de voyage en mer,” Revue d’études b­ yzantine 40 (1982), pp. 117–133.

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perhaps well known, Mary was known as stella maris.46 Even common memories may have created a vision of the past specific to the sea-dwellers. Abnormal tides and other threats from the sea may have marked their remembrance. John the Deacon recalled the days when the Adriatic covered the islands.47 Years later, a violent storm destroyed Ragusa and the threatening news must have spread along the harbors of the Adriatic.48 Harsh winters could also become quite visible on the water’s surface. In the Annales Fuldenses we read that in 860 the temperature dropped to an unusual low, so that the Adriatic froze and the merchants travelled with chariots instead of boats.49 Due to the seasonality of seafaring, the Adriatic could have dominated the life of an entire coastal community. We know that early medieval navigation followed the pattern of ancient seafaring, even if it is possible that medieval sailors showed a keener bravado than their ancient colleagues.50 Although celestial navigation was practiced, as just mentioned, sailing was mostly a day activity with the crew spending the nights in the coastal towns or camping on the shores, as shown by the description of Peter ii Orseolus’ cruise to Dalmatia.51 Moreover, winter break brought the men together, who apparently may have spent long months at home, all watching the same winter sea.52 It seems that aristocratic households on the Adriatic used to own ships. This is rarely mentioned. An exception could be the prior Andreas of Zadar, who, in 918, explicitly recorded the possession of (at least) one vessel.53 Although 46

John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iv, 69, ed. Berto, p. 140: statim futurum sanctę Mariae auxilium, que stella maris interpretatur; Agnellus, Liber pontificalis ecclesiae Ravennatis 55, ed. Deliyannis, p. 224: Maria interpretatur “domina,” siue “stella maris,” siue “illuminatrix.” 47 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum ii, 19, ed. Berto, p. 104: temporibus quorum apud Veneciam adeo excrevit mare, ut omnes insulas ultra modum cooperiret. 48 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum ii, 53, ed. Berto, p. 126: fertur quoque tunc Ragusiensem civitatem maris et venti impetu maxima ex parte cecidisse. 49 Annales Fuldenses 860, ed. Friedrich Kurze, mgh, ss rer. Germ. [7] (Hanover, 1891), p. 54: mare etiam Ionium glaciali rigore ita constrictum est, ut mercatores, qui nunquam antea nisi vecti navigio, tunc in equis quoque et carpentis mercimonia ferentes Venetiam f­ requentarent. Also recorded by John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum ii, 56, ed. Berto, p. 128. 50 McCormick, Origins, p. 468. See, however, John Beresford, The Ancient Sailing Season (Leiden, 2012), p. 5. 51 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iv, 45–55, ed. Berto, pp. 186–194. 52 On the winter break, see now the reassessment of Beresford, The Ancient Sailing Season. 53 Testament of Andreas, ed. Marko Kostrenčić, Diplomatici Zbornik kraljevine Hrvatske, Dalmacije i Slavonije 1 (Zagreb, 1967) n. 21, pp. 25–28, at p. 27: et nave venundetur et detur pro anima mea. On the text, which survives only in a seventeenth-century transcript:

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­ ndreas was perhaps the highest-ranking officer in his town, men of lower A standing must have had boats too. The capitanei complained how the bishops’ men cut their fishing nets, causing them great financial damage.54 The mention of retia is a very rare glimpse of the structure of everyday life.55 We may imagine that the Istrians shared and jealously guarded tools and skills that helped them in various activities. Sources hardly mentioned them, but they must have been important markers of identity and cohesion. Leaving these aspects aside for the moment, the mention of fishing nets immediately recalls the presence of watercrafts. It seems that the Venetian tribuni also owned boats. A certain Andreas stole the body of Duke Peter Tradonicus from Mucles, perhaps today Makarska in Croatia, to ship it to Grado.56 We know that in distant societies such as Kent, many women and men owned vessels.57 In this given milieu, the significance of ships exceeded their functional role, acquiring cultural and religious meanings.58 Literature on the topic is immense, suggesting that boats could have become a sign of distinction. Moreover, they may have represented identity too. I will return to this topic below. The capitanei mourned being forced to cruise for Duke John and his family to Ravenna, Dalmatia, and Constantinople, and along the river ways.59 The obligation must have been heavy, and Duke John, talking the Istrians into an agreement, relieved them of their cruising duties.60 Moreover, the capitanei recalled how, before the Frankish takeover of the region, they used to sail to Constantinople in order to obtain dignities.61 Similar voyages are indirectly attested also for Dalmatia and the Venetiae.62 They resembled old “prestige good economy,” with the young aristocrats travelling to boost their role in

54 55 56 57 58

59 60 61 62

Radoslav Katičić, ­Literatur- und Geistesgeschichte des kroatischen Frühmittelalters, öaw: Schriften der Balkan-Kommission, philologische Abteilung 40 (Vienna, 1999), pp. 317–320, ­386–392; Jadran Ferluga, L’amministrazione bizantina in Dalmazia, Miscellanea di studi e memorie 17 (Venice, 1978), pp. 188–189. Plea of Rižana, ed. Krahwinkler, p. 72: et retia nostra concidunt. Fernand Braudel, Civilisation matérielle, économie et capitalisme i: Les structures du quotidien xve–xviiie siècle (Paris, 1979). John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iii, 34, ed. Berto, p. 146. Robin Fleming, “Elites, Boats and Foreigners,” in Città e campagna prima del Mille, Sett. 56 (Spoleto, 2009), pp. 393–425. Chris Ballard, Richard Bradley, Lise Nordenborg Myhre, and Meredith Wilson, “The Ship as Symbol in the Prehistory of Scandinavia and Southeast Asia,” in Seascapes (=World Archaeology 35 [2003]), pp. 385–403; Van de Noort, North Sea Archaeologies, pp. 152–160. Plea of Rižana, ed. Krahwinkler, pp. 76–78. Plea of Rižana, ed. Krahwinkler, p. 79: de opera vel navigatione seu pluribus angariis si vobis durum videtur, non amplius fiat. Plea of Rižana, ed. Krahwinkler, pp. 75–76. Borri, “Gli Istriani,” pp. 23–24.

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l­ocal societies. From distant milieus, we know that young leaders of maritime ­communities would have acquired foreign knowledge and prestigious objects through dangerous journeys by sea.63 The dignities that the capitanei recalled having once collected may have played a similar role. Further narratives confirm this impression and we know that prestigious goods also reached the harbors of the Adriatic thanks to the ships of courageous navigators. A further focal point, almost invisible in the sources, is that aristocrats were able to raise crews. Their makeup is largely unknown because of our limited knowledge of the early Adriatic ships.64 John the Deacon narrated that around 850 the Dukes Peter and John Tradonicus equipped two vessels called ­chelandiae.65 This brief entry gave origin to fanciful forgeries being debated at length.66 The chelandiae were rather well-known warships.67 From the eleventh-century witness of Thietmar of Merseburg we know that they were large vessels able to carry one hundred and fifty men.68 In this context, John let his audience understand that those kinds of big ships did not exist before, and Jonathan Shepard linked the new technology to the presence of the imperial patrician Theodosius.69 This may have been the case, but warships are attested almost continuously in the early medieval Adriatic. Nevertheless, they seem to have been used in particular moments only. The crews that granted the Adriatic connectivity must have been much smaller. In one occasion, John wrote that a small ship was operated by fourteen men.70 When the Slavs attacked the boat Duke Peter was sailing, they killed him along with seven other men.71 Further evidence seems to confirm these suggestions.72 63 64

Van de Noort, North Sea Archaeologies, p. 191. On the tonnage of early medieval ships: John H. Pryor, Geography, Technology, and War: Studies in the Maritime History of the Mediterranean, 649–1571 (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 26–28. 65 John the Deacon, Istoria Venetiorum ii, 55, ed. Berto, p. 126. 66 Reinhold Müller, “Venetian Ships and Shipbuilders before the Millennium: Jal’s chelandia or the Fortunes of a Fake,” in Le technicien dans la cité en Europe occidentale, 1250–1650, ed. ­Mathieu Arnoux and Pierre Monnet, Collection de l’École Française de Rome 325 (Rome, 2004), pp. 61–76. 67 John H. Pryor and Elizabeth M. Jeffreys, The Age of the ΔPOMΩN: The Byzantine Navy ca. 500–1204, The Medieval Mediterranean 62 (Leiden and Boston, 2006), pp. 188–189. 68 Thietmar of Merseburg, Chronicon iii 23, ed. Robert Holtzmann, Die Chronik des Bischofs Thietmar von Merseburg und ihre Korveier Überarbeitung, mgh, ss rer. Ger. N.S. 9 (Berlin, 1935), p. 126: Haec est, ut prefatus sum, navis mirae longitudinis et alacritatis et utroque latere duos tenens remorum ordines ac centum quinquaginta nautas. 69 Jonathan Shepard, “The Rhos Guests of Louis the Pious: Whence and wherefore?” Early Medieval Europe 4 (1995), pp. 41–60, at p. 57. 70 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iii, 7, ed. Berto, p. 132. 71 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iii, 33, ed. Berto, p. 146: ibidem interfectus est cum aliis septem. 72 McCormick, Origins, p. 417.

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Crews seem to have been formed by a handful of men, linked by family and neighborhood and perhaps locally enlisted. We know that when the Venetian lagoons were ravaged by internal conflict at the beginning of the ninth century, fleets and armies were recruited in the settlements of Malamocco and Cittanova respectively. On the other hand, it is possible that some of the ships sailing the early medieval Adriatic had the well-known cosmopolitan character of the larger ships of later centuries. In the middle of the ninth century, the inhabitants of Cremona recalled that in the past they had begun to sail with the people of Comacchio, in order to trade in salt and spices, and, we may suppose, to learn the job.73 Navigators having expertise in challenging coastal straits, such as the Strait of Otranto or the Bosporus may have shortly served on different ships.74 Out of speculation, it is clear that powerful men must have had a retinue that sailed with them for trade or prestige. They must have also been able to compensate them properly in order to maintain support. The experience of seafaring itself must have been an important factor of cohesion. We know less about early medieval sailing than for more recent ­periods, but it seems that early medieval men perceived going by sea a hard, extenuating, and risky business. Once at sea, sailors lived in a self-contained floating world. In the middle ages, stops on land were frequent, but when crossing blue waters, seamen had to remain in the vessel for days. Amalarius of Metz in his (rather obscure) Versus Marini, expresses the hardships of a sea cruise.75 It was commonly agreed that every sail could become a life-threatening experience. The fear of storms seems to have been ubiquitous.76 The author of the Translatio s. Heliani depicted a massive storm not far from the shores of A ­ pulia

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We know this from a plea from 856 in Pavia, edited in I placiti del regnum Italiae i, ed. ­ esare Manaresi, fsi 92 (Rome, 1955), n. 56, pp. 196–197: memoro. xii. annos, ante quam C domnus Karolus in Italiam ingressus fuisset, numquam sibi istos homines nec suos parentes suas habere naves ad negotium peragendum, nisi cum Comaclenses communiter sale aut alias speties adducebant in istum portum, et de communiter ipsum ripaticum et palificaturam dabant iuxta istud pactum. 74 J. Mack, The Sea, p. 29. 75 Amalarius of Metz, Versus marini, ed. Ernst Dümmler, mgh, Poetae 2 (Berlin, 1881), pp. ­426–428. On this: Reinhard Düchting, “Amalar, Versus marini,” in Lateinische Kultur im viii. Jahrhundert: Traube-Gedenkschrift, ed. Albert Lehner and Walter Berschin (St. ­Ottilien, 1989), pp. 47–58. 76 McCormick, Origins, pp. 403–404.

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t­ hreatening the life of an entire crew.77 In the Translatio s. Marci we read of the ship rapidly sailing in the night while a storm was approaching.78 The ­almost certain tragic outcome of a night squall became the perfect setting for a miracle story. Therefore, setting out to sea became a highly ritualized practice. John the Deacon recorded the numerous religious functions that Peter ii and his army attended during the sail to Dalmatia of the year 1000.79 Finally, living before the mast must have meant living in a largely masculine world. Members of the crews may have been different ages and experience levels, but must have been mostly male. We do not know too much about the lifestyle of the sailors, whether their drinking habits and bad tempers were notorious as in the following centuries, but in one of the very few portraits of life on the seventh-century docks we learn of the brutality and perhaps macabre humour of the seamen, who are dismissed as lupaces.80 Therefore, sharing a long and dangerous journey together in life on the sea, the common adventure and mutual dependency must have created or enforced communal bonds of solidarity, perhaps friendship and respect. If these aspects are somehow elusive due to the nature of the evidence, I­ stria may have represented a partial exception. Rich information stems from the Cosmography of Aethicus Ister. It is a very obscure narrative, which has ­become well known in the last years thanks to a new edition and ­English ­translation by Michal Herren.81 The title of the text suggests it to be a ­description of the world, but the narrative is more an account of the adventurous and marvellous travels of the Hellenistic philosopher Aethicus. The text that we possess is allegedly a Latin epitome compiled by a certain Jerome (which the reader is s­upposed to identify as the fourth-century Church father) of the 77 78 79

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Translatio s. Heliani, ed. Georg Waitz, mgh, ss rer. Lang. (Hanover, 1878), pp. 581–582, at p. 581. Translatio s. Marci 15, i, ed. Colombi, p. 60. John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iv, 46–48, ed. Berto, pp. 188–190. For inspiring perspective see Christer Westerdahl, “Seal on Land, Elk at Sea: Notes on and Applications of the Ritual Landscape at the Seaboard,” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 34 (2005), pp. 2–23. Anastasius the Librarian, De furore hereticorum in Martinum Papam, pl 129, ed. Jaques P. Migne (Paris, 1879), cc. 591–604, at c. 592: accedebant enim varii homines, quos propter ferales mores lupaces dixerim, et subrogati, ut conjicio, talia contra sanctum papam agebant, qualia Christianis dici non oportet. McCormick, Origins, p. 425, described lupaces as pimps and male prostitutes. Cosmography of Aethicus, ed. Michael Herren, The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister: Edition, Translation, and Commentary, Publications of the Journal of Medieval Latin 8 (Turnhout, 2011).

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lost Greek original. However, we know this to be a brilliant piece of ­literary ­fiction and the text was composed by an anonymous author in the eighth century, perhaps during the second quarter of it. The epithet Ister, which could ­immediately evoke the Danube, seems to have referred to an alleged Istrian origin of the Aethicus instead. The ego narrator Jerome showed some relationship and knowledge of the Northern Adriatic. With more certainty, the story’s ­protagonist Aethicus had strong bonds with the same waterscape. The two characters’ proximity to the Adriatic must have been a reflection of the author’s origin. Ian Wood, maintaining that the text could inform the modern historian of the perceived nature of the Other, suggests that the fixed point against which this was constantly assessed was the Adriatic peninsula of Istria.82 I would like to add that some of the Cosmographer’s comments point to genuine knowledge of the eighth-century Adriatic, as I will show below. Nevertheless, the text is convoluted, in some sections to the point of unintelligibility. It must have been comprehensible in given literary circles, but not to us. This hopelessly compromises what could have been a greatly important witness. Some things can still be said. A maritime perspective, like the one that the capitanei may have shared, dominates the entire Cosmography, which describes a world of shores and communication nodes watched by the sea. The Cosmography of Aethicus is by no means isolated in this literary ­achievement, but it is almost unique in the Mediterranean early middle ages. The author attached great importance to the islands both of the North and the South, which he inhabited with different amusing, sometimes humorous barbarians. Moreover, he shows a deep knowledge of the winds, the stars, the seasons of n ­ avigation, and, most importantly, of the classical t­erminology of seafaring and shipbuilding, on one occasion even praising the shipwrights.83 Notwithstanding its peculiar aspects, even the Cosmography of Aetichus is not an island, to quote an important lesson of critical theory.84 Narrative elements hidden in different sections of the work reach out to a broader textual community, perhaps gathered around the early medieval Adriatic. In one ­passage the Cosmographer described a fascinating cycle of the sea. In his ­interpretation, the waters penetrated the cracks of the sea bottom in order to 82

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Ian N. Wood, “Aethicus Ister: An Exercise in Difference,” in Grenze und Differenz im frühen Mittelalter, ed. Walter Pohl and Helmut Reimitz, Forschungen zur Geschichte des ­Mittelalters 1 (Vienna, 2000), pp. 197–208. On the winds, Cosmography of Aethicus 112, ed. Herren, p. 214; stars and season, ibid. 36c, ed. Herren pp. 38–40; on shipwrights, ibid. 36b, ed. Herren, p. 38. I.e. Roberta Frank, “Germanic Legend in Old English Literature,” in: The Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature, ed. Malcolm Godden and Michael Lapidge (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 88–106, at p. 101.

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travel to the mountains’ springs and flow down to the seas and oceans, only to start the cycle once again.85 This scientific explanation was widespread: ­writing in the seventh century, Isidore described the vast obscurity of the Abyssus, which bears clear resemblances to the Cosmographer’s picture.86 More interesting is that Paul the Deacon, an author who may have had some affection for the Adriatic Sea, narrated a lengthy account of a sailor captured in the great maelstrom raging north of the Lofoten Islands. Concluding the story, Paul recalled that the Adriatic also has similar although less imposing tides, which originated from the discharge of the maritime waters.87 A further, revealing redundancy concerns the ships and their representation. In the central section of his narrative, the Cosmographer adds a long and obscure catalogue of ships.88 At first sight the section is mostly a curiosity: the nature of some vessels is clearly imaginative and magical. One ship is called Lamia, like the child-devouring daughter of the god Poseidon in Greek mythology (Λάμια), which was able to tear the enemies’ vessels into pieces thanks to complex machinery.89 Yet, beyond the author’s taste for a good story, ships appear to characterize given populations. Most are active in certain regions only, being operated just by given groups of humans (or monsters). Therefore, in the social logic of the text and in the discourse alive in the Cosmographer’s literary circle, people were recognizable by the ships they were sailing. This may have well been an Adriatic perspective. One of the most famous warships of the ancient Mediterranean was the Liburna, probably named after a people, perhaps the Adriatic Liburnians, although some authors suggested that the name might have originated from the Libyans as recorded by Isidore and later reported by the Cosmographer as well.90 85 86

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Cosmography of Aethicus 112, ed. Herren, p. 214. Paolo Squatriti, Water and Culture in the Early Middle Ages: ad 400–1000 (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 160–161. Isidore of Seville, Eymologiae xiii, 20, i, ed. Wallace M. Linsay (Oxford, 1911): Abyssus profunditas est aquarum inpenetrabils, sive speluncae aquarum latentium, e quibus fontes et flumina procedunt; vel quae occulte subter eunt, unde et abyssus dictus. Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum i, 6, ed. Ludwig Bethmann and Georg Waitz, mgh, ss rer. Lang. (Hanover, 1878), pp. 12–187, at pp. 50–51. In the same passage Paul calls the sea Nostrum quoque, id est Adriaticum, mare, ibid. p. 51. On this: Walter Pohl, “Paulus Diaconus between Sacci und Marsuppia,” in Ego Trouble: Authors and their Identities in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Richard Corradini, Matthew B. Gillis, Rosamond McKitterick, and Irene van Renswoude, Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 17 (Vienna, 2010), pp. 112–123, at p. 116. Cosmography of Aethicus 44–57, ed. Herren, pp. 104–112. Cosmography of Aethicus 50, ed. Herren, p. 108. Isidore of Seville, Etymologies xix, 1, xii, ed. Lindsay; Cosmography of Aethicus 47, ed. Herren, p. 106. On the relationship between the Liburna and the Liburnians: Silvio Paniciera,

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Here I will limit myself to adding that the Cosmographer describes hide boats as typical of the Northern peoples such as Scythians, Hircanians, and Saxons as well as other fantastic gentes.91 Ian Wood and George ­Indruszewski recently noted that: “hide boat technology belongs to the northern side of the known world.”92 Contemporary witnesses also mention the existence of hide boats in the northern seas. In the Vita Columbae, Adamnán of Iona ­mentioned that Cormac travelled north, ultra humani excursus, in a boat made of hide.93 Brendan sailed in a similar vessel too, and, in the report of his journeys, we can find one of the most famous descriptions of s­ hipbuilding.94 As argued by Robert Van de Noort, the mention of these frail vessels may have served the purpose of highlighting the abandonment of the holy men in God’s hands.95 It is also probable that, in the context of the Cosmography, these ­watercrafts may have represented a further element of barbarity in the ­already rich plethora of monstrosities that the great Aethicus met in the North. Even Caesar and Pliny described hide boats as characteristic of the barbarians living in the British islands.96 The case is not isolated: in ancient ­ethnography, the monoxila or logboats, vessels carved from a hollowed-out tree trunk, served a similar purpose being also considered characteristic of the barbarians.97 John the Deacon gave some importance to the ships. We already saw the two chelandiae and, on the occasion of Otto iii’s night visit to Venetiae, he lingered

“­Liburna,” Epigraphica 18 (1956), pp. 130–156; Lionel Casson, Sea and Seamanship in the Ancient World (Princeton, 1971), pp. 141–142. 91 On hide-boats: Ole Crumlin-Petersen, Archaeology and the Sea in Scandinavia and Britain, Maritime Culture of the North 3 (Roskilde, 2010), p. 47; Van de Noort, North Sea Archaeologies, pp. 149–152. 92 Ian N. Wood and George Indruszewski, “An 8th-Century Written Source on Ships and Navigation: The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister,” in Wulfstan’s Voyage: the Baltic Sea region in the Early Viking Age as seen from Shipboard, ed. Anton Englert and Athena Trakadas, Maritime Culture of the North 2 (Roskilde, 2008), pp. 220–234, at p. 231. 93 Adomnán of Iona, Vita Columbae ii, 42, ed. Alan O. Anderson and Marjorie O. Anderson, Oxford Medieval Texts (Oxford, 1991), p. 168: pellicium tectum nauis. Mark Stansbury, “The Composition of Adomnán’s Vita Columbae,” Peritia 17–18 (2003–4), pp. 154–182. 94 Navigatio Sancti Brendani 4, ed. Orlandi and Guglielmetti, p. 12. 95 Van de Noort, North Sea Archaeologies, p. 152. 96 Bell. Civ. i, 54; Nat. Hist. iv, 104. Barry Cunliffe, Facing the Ocean: The Atlantic and Its People (Oxford, 2001), pp. 66–67. 97 Crumlin-Petersen, Archaeology and the Sea, pp. 48–49. Moreover, Pietro Janni, Il mare degli antichi (Bari, 1996), pp. 304–307.

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on describing the beauty of the Venetian vessels.98 Reporting on the scourge of the Hungarians in Italy, around 900, he narrated their attack on the Venetian lagoons. The Hungarians, described as the quintessential barbarians, took to sea on their ships, which John described as pelliciis navibus, the same hide boats of the Cosmographer’s northern barbarians.99 This could have been a fragment of a broader discourse on alterity alive in the harbors of the Adriatic, where ships became meaningful signifiers to distinguish civilization and barbarity. In conclusion, we saw that the aristocracies controlling some of the major harbors of the Adriatic prided themselves on a Roman heritage while sharing a maritime identity and culture. It may be helpful to point out that in the famous Pact of Comacchio, the men sailing and trading the river ways of Northern Italy were evocatively called milites, a label perhaps including the inhabitants of further Adriatic harbors, which triggered an association with the Roman past.100 In the Italian charters from the eighth, ninth, and tenth century, we find the occurrence of the expression naves militorum, which, I believe, acquires a deeper meaning in this enriched context. The concept of the “ships of the soldiers,” in fact, wonderfully conflates the Roman heritage and the maritime vocation of its actors.101 Therefore, in order to understand the habits and culture that the Istrians shared with their distant Adriatic neighbors, we have to put the sea at the center of our investigation and cross it with shipping lines and crowded boats moving along them. Observed from one of these watercrafts, the shores of ­Istria were the northernmost fringes of a vaster maritime horizon extending to the Venetian lagoons and the Dalmatian archipelago. This Adriatic seascape, where Istria played a pivotal role, was, to quote the powerful words of Artemis Leontis: “a world not of boundaries that separate but of routes that connected. As its centre is not a sovereign power that subordinates pockets of differences, but dark, fluid waters, the medium of dangerous yet fruitful passages.”102 98 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iv, 43, ed. Berto, p. 186. 99 John the Deacon, Istoria Veneticorum iii, 37, ed. Berto, p. 148. 100 Pact of Comacchio, ed. Ludo M. Hartmann, Zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte Italiens im frühen Mittelalter (Gotha, 1904), pp. 123–124. On the milites in Venice: Stefano Gasparri, “Venezia fra l’Italia bizantina e il regno italico: la civitas e l’assemblea,” in Venezia: Itinerari per la storia della città, ed. idem, Giovanni Levi, and Pierandrea Moro (Bologna, 1997), pp. 61–82, at pp. 67–70; in Dalmatia: Francesco Borri, “La Dalmazia altomedievale tra discontinuità e racconto storico (vii–viii sec.),” Studi Veneziani 58 (2009), pp. 15–51, at pp. 44–45. 101 The “ships of the soldiers” are mentioned in Codice diplomatico longobardo iii, ed. ­Carl-Richard Brühl, fsi 64 (Roma, 1973), pp. 84, 87; Inventari altomedievali di terre, coloni e redditi, ed. Andrea Castagnetti, Michele Luzzati, Gianfranco Pasquali, and Augusto Vasina, fsi 104 (Rome, 1979), p. 84. 102 Artemis Leontis, “Mediterranean Topographies before Balkanization: On Greek Diaspora, Emporion, and Revolution,” Diaspora 6 (1997), pp. 179–194, at p. 189.

chapter 4

Disputes and Connections: Venice’s Affairs in the Regnum Italiae Chiara Provesi Introduction The duchy of Venice in the early Middle Ages represents an interesting case study: while it was located in a territory under Byzantine jurisdiction, it adjoined the Italic-Lombard kingdom. It was, therefore, situated in an area of frontier between the East and the West. In Byzantium, Venice sought its own legitimacy and the possibility of inserting itself into the commercial trades in the Adriatic. However, it was susceptible to the political and cultural influences that came from the different kingdoms (Lombard, Carolingian, Ottonian) that followed one after the other in Italy. For this reason, the city on the lagoon found itself at the center of a system with multiple contacts. Recent studies have shown how the Venetian duchy was involved in a dense network of relationships that connected it, on the one hand, with its hinterland and, on the other, with the other Upper Adriatic towns.1 Venice was surely a city with a mercantile vocation. The historical research of the last decades has shown that commercial trade had been the main characteristic of the lagoon since the 8th century; nevertheless, there is still heated discussion about the actual volume of these exchanges before the 11th century, when the presence of Venice in the Mediterranean Sea became stronger and more evident.2 1 Veronica West-Harling, “«Venicie due sunt»: Venice and its grounding in the Adriatic and North Italian background,” in Italia, 888–962: una svolta. Atti del iv seminario internazionale, Cassero di Poggio Imperiale a Poggibonsi (Siena), 4–6 dicembre 2009, ed. Marco Valenti and Chris Wickham (Turnhout, 2013), pp. 237–264; Sauro Gelichi, “Venice, Comacchio and the Adriatic emporia between the Lombard and Carolingian ages,” in Dorestad in an international framework: new research on centres of trade and coinage in Carolingian times; proceeding of the First Dorestad Congress, held at the National Museum of Antiquities Leiden, the Netherlands, June 24–27, 2009, ed. Annemarieke Willemsen and H. Kik (Turnhout, 2010), pp. 149–157. 2 Micheal McCormick, Origins of the European economy. Communications and commerce, a.d. 300–900 (Cambridge, 2002); Florin Curta, “East central Europe,” Early Medieval Europe 12 (2003), pp. 283–291.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_006

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A long historiographic tradition3 interprets the particular trading vocation of the lagoon as a logical consequence of its belonging to the Byzantine Empire. According to this line of thought, Venice stood out from the stagnant world that surrounded it and consistently connected itself with the Roman legacy, which was still represented by the Eastern Empire. Thus, in this case, the frontier is interpreted as the impenetrable boundary between two antithetical entities which considered themselves enemies.4 This almost Manichean dualism is embodied by two dukes in the second half of the 10th century: Pietro iv Candiano (doge from 959 to 976) and Pietro ii Orseolo (doge from 991 to 1008). The former, seduced by the charm of the West, would have renounced the authentic nature of Venice for the purpose of interfering in the shady affairs of the kingdom: his ambitions, which induced him to marry the daughter of the Marquis of Tuscia, also brought about his terrible end: he was murdered during a bloody conspiracy in 976.5 Pietro ii Orseolo, on the other hand, led a successful expedition in Dalmatia against the Croats and thanks to this military achievement, he achieved the title of “Dux Veneticorum et D ­ almaticorum” and fame as the one who, having emancipated himself from the dynamics of the hinterland, brought Venice back to its original identity, that of a trade city steadily connected with the Eastern Empire. Roberto Cessi, in 1944, wrote that doge Orseolo “satisfied the imperious necessities of the national spirit, beyond the aspirations and the intrigues of clientelism, of faction and of men, to elevate himself as the symbol of the general interest of the nation.”6 Cessi, therefore, interpreted the Venetian events of the 10th century under the light of what happened during the following centuries, when Venice became a maritime republic. In this paper, I will separate the political personalities of the two doges from such an interpretation, and show how the trade business of the upper Venetian aristocracy did not hinder an osmosis between the lagoon society and the elite of the surrounding milieu of the hinterland and of the northern Adriatic. A similar cross influence was not contradictory to the presumed authentic nature of Venice but, on the contrary, it was part of its foundations; for this 3 Henri Pirenne, Storia d’Europa dalle invasioni al xvi secolo, trans. M.L. Paradisi (Florence, 1956), pp. 141–144. 4 About the concept of frontier, Stefano Gasparri, “La frontiera in Italia (Sec. vi–viii). Osservazioni su un tema controverso,” in Città, castelli, campagne nei territori di frontiera (secoli ­v i–viii). Quinto seminario sul tardo antico e l’alto medioevo in Italia centrosettentrionale, M ­ onte Barro-Galbiate (Lecco), 9–10 giugno 1994, ed. Giampietro Brogiolo (Mantua, 1995), pp. 11–21. 5 Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.12, ed. Luigi Andrea Berto (Bologna, 1999), p. 163; Carlo Guido Mor, L’età feudale, vol. 2 (Milan, 1952), pp. 223–224. 6 Roberto Cessi, Storia della repubblica di Venezia, vol. i (Milan-Messina, 1944), p. 84.

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reason, the fact of considering the societies and the politics of the hinterland did not represent a specific feature of one doge or another, but instead it was the fundamental prerequisite for any type of political choice in 10th-century Venice.7 The figure of Pietro ii Orseolo, in this sense, is exemplary: under his government, Venice made its active presence felt in the eastern scenario;8 nevertheless, it is necessary to remember that doge Orseolo could not know—as we know now—how the history of Venice would develop during the central and the Late Middle Ages. Thus, it would be unlikely to see behind his conduct the awareness of an already fully formed civic identity, distinct from the hinterland and from the kingdom. Indeed, exactly like Pietro iv Candiano, he tried to establish relations of power and of alliance with the different social actors in the kingdom and in the neighbouring territories.

The Dukes Orseolo and Candiano and Their Historical Context

The case of Venice is a very particular one, marked by important differences that distinguish it from the other societies of its hinterland: for example, in Venice land is very scarce and, for this reason, here the relationships of ­vassalage did not develop in the same way as with the aristocrats holding castles in the 10th century. However, upon closer inspection, it would also appear that in Venice the élite seemed to use the same strategies used by the aristocracy in the hinterland for the purpose of permanently emerging: they tried to guarantee to their own members the exclusive management of the ducal office; through alliances and buying and selling, as the documents testify, they tried to secure for themselves—often in vain or for a short time—a land over which to exercise their power. If, therefore, we should not exaggerate the difference between ­Venetian ­society and that of the kingdom, it seems necessary also to soften the ­irreconcilable contrast that supposedly divided the two families of Candiano and Orseolo—two important family groups which succeeded each other on the ducal throne for more than a century, from 931 to 1032—and in particular between their two members I mentioned earlier; indeed, as explained above, it is in 7 About the relationships between Venice and the Western power: Geoffrey V.B. West, “Communities and pacta in early medieval Italy: jurisdiction, regulatory authority and dispute avoidance,” Early Medieval Europe 18, 4 (2010), pp. 367–393. 8 Stefano Gasparri, “Dagli Orseolo al comune,” in Storia di Venezia i: Dalle origini alla caduta della Serenissima, ed. Lellia Cracco Ruggini (Rome, 1992), pp. 791–826.

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this contrast that is generally found the most evident example of the presumed separation between Venice and the political affairs of its hinterland. As noted by Andrea Castagnetti, who made an extensive study of the ­prosopography of the documents of the Veneto, a son of Pietro i Orseolo—­ Dominicus Ursiulus—married a niece of Pietro iv Candiano, Imelda.9 The ­competition for the ducal throne that undeniably pitted the two families against each other did not prevent John the Deacon—the author of the earliest Venetian c­ hronicle, the Istoria Veneticorum—from maintaining his own eminent role both at the court of Pietro iv Candiano and in that of Pietro ii Orseolo—as Luigi Berto has shown through an astute analysis.10 Moreover, the political choices of the two previously mentioned doges, Pietro iv Candiano and Pietro ii Orseolo, who were at the head of Venice within a few decades of each other, were not so different, nor do these choices seem totally alien from the t­ endencies of the élites of the kingdom. The Italic kingdom in the 10th century saw the constitution of great family groups that often tied their own destiny to the fortunes of the central power: by attempting to appropriate a public office and to make it their own property, reserved exclusively for their family members. After the end of the Carolingian dynasty, the throne of Italy was contended for a long time among several aspirants who often stayed in charge for a short time. A number of these family groups were able to take advantage of this fluid and, in a sense, chaotic situation; they succeeded in periodically re-negotiating the positions they had obtained and to maintain them. In order to manoeuver better, in the incessant precariousness of the situation, the aristocrats tried to create territorial lordships which had to be solid and consistent.11 In obtaining control of the territory and the management of the properties, an important role was played by the monastic institutions. These monasteries, which were controlled by particularly powerful family groups, often their founders, were stable footholds for patrimonies because their continuation was protected from the fluctuations typical of biological progeny. They were charismatic connection centers for alliances with other families or other social actors of the land through pious

9

10 11

Andrea Castagnetti, La società veneziana nel medioevo ii: Le famiglie ducali dei Candiano, Orseolo e Menio e la famiglia comitale vicentino-padovana di Vitale-Ugo Candiano (secoli x–xi) (Verona, 1993), pp. 45–47. As the scholar explains in his introduction to the Istoria Veneticorum: Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, pp. 1–12. For a synthesis, Luigi Provero, L’Italia dei poteri locali. Secoli x–xii (Rome, 1998).

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bequests and oblations.12 A general transformation of the idea of wedlock is also typical of the aristocratic culture and society of the 10th century: as has been extensively studied, the idea that husband and wife were bound into a consortium accompanied by the increased potential of the women to legitimize. Particularly in Italy, the highest aristocracy yearned to unite their family members through a marriage with women belonging to the imperial Carolingian dynasty. Women, therefore, could legitimately inherit the prestige of their original family and bring that prestige into their husband’s family.13 Just like the Italic aristocracy of the 10th century, both Pietro iv Candiano and Pietro ii Orseolo sought a legitimizing relationship with the central power of the West. Candiano, who had tied himself to a Berengarian family and who had even fought for Berengar ii, hurried to re-negotiate his own position with Otto i, when this latter, wearing the imperial crown, defeated the ex-marquis of Ivrea in San Leo and put an end to his brief reign.14 Orseolo, for his part, was proud of a strong link with Otto iii, who joined him in Venice in 1001—a “surprise” visit that was very important for the lagoon—and he was also godfather of a son of Pietro ii, who was significantly named Otto.15 The increased importance of the marital bond was perceived by both the doges, who carefully organized the marriages of their own family groups, choosing brides who were foreign to the Venetian context and who brought prestigious alliances: Pietro iv married Waldrada, the daughter of the marquis of Tuscany, Hubertus, after having first married Iohanna of Ravenna, who was later repudiated;16 Pietro ii arranged a marriage of one of his sons with Maria an aristocratic Byzantine woman belonging to the prestigious family of Argiropuli.17

12 13

14 15 16 17

Simon McLean, “Queenship, nunneries and royal widowhood in Carolingian Europe,” Past and Present 178 (2003), pp. 3–38. Paolo Delogu, “«Consors regni»: un problema carolingio,” Bullettino dell’istituto storico italiano 76 (1964), pp. 46–98; Patricia Skinner, Women in medieval italian society, 500–1200 (Harlow, 2001); Cristina La Rocca, “Liutprando da Cremona e il paradigma femminile di dissoluzione dei Carolingi,” in Agire da donna. Modelli e pratiche di rappresentazione (­ secoli vi–x), ed. Cristina La Rocca (Turnhout, 2007), pp. 291–307. As we can assume from the presence of the first wife and of the brother of Pietro iv in San Leo in 963: mgh, dd Otto i, 257, pp. 366–367; 358, pp. 367–368. Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.34, p. 180. Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.11, pp. 160–162. Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.71, p. 206; Cristina La Rocca, “Foreign dangers: activities, reponsabilities and the problem of women abroad,” Early Medieval Europe 23 (2015), pp. 410–435.

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Furthermore, neither of the doges hesitated to insert themselves into the patrimonial dynamics of the kingdom, with an aim to obtaining and defending a territory over which to exercise their economic and political power. On the one hand, Pietro iv Candiano might have chosen Waldrada from Tuscany as his second wife not because of his interest in the future of the Italic kingdom, but rather for the purpose of getting his hands on the important region of Polesine—south of Venice, along the river Adige—where the family of the Tuscia marquises could assert some right.18 For the links between Pietro iv and the families of the kingdoms see my recent study.19 On the other hand, Pietro ii Orseolo did not consider it useless to meddle in the affairs of the hinterland and, in this sense, he had to do with patrimonial problems that were very concrete. This is clear, in particular, if we consider a very complex event that set him against the bishop of Belluno, Iohannes.

The Case of Iohannes, Bishop of Belluno

According to a historiographical current, which arose in the 1970s, the study of conflicts in the early Middle Ages allows us to examine the internal balance of the local communities and the relations between these communities and the central power.20 The settlement of a conflict, indeed, restored a lost balance because it mended a disjunction that had occurred in a system, as explained by Frederic Cheyette.21 For this reason, whoever infringed the rules of the system not only had to pay a penalty and to submit himself to the appropriate punishment, but above all he lost the social position that he had held previously; the purpose of the judges was to make a chaotic situation return to a 18

About the authoritarian policy of Pietro iv Candiano and about his murder, Luigi Andrea Berto, “Pietro iv Candiano, un doge deposto perché era troppo virtuoso o perché era troppo autoritario?” Studi Veneziani 40 (2000), pp. 163–168. 19 Chiara Provesi, “Le due mogli di Pietro iv Candiano (959–976): le donne e i loro gruppi parentali nella Venezia del x secolo,” Reti Medievali Rivista 16, 2 (2015), pp. 21–51. 20 John Nicholas Sutherland, “Aspects of continuity and change in the Italian placitum, 962–972. The nature and significance of courtroom procedures,” Journal of medieval history 2 (1976), pp. 89–118. Patrik J. Geary, “Extra-judicial means of conflict resolution,” in La giustizia nell’alto medioevo, secoli v–viii (Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo), xlii (Spoleto, 1992), pp. 569–605; Warren Brown and Piotr Górecki, eds., Conflict in Medieval Europe: changing perspectives on society and culture (Ashgate, 2003). 21 Frederic L. Cheyette, “Suum cuique tribuere,” French historical Studies 6 (1970), pp. 287–299.

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precise balance of powers, all of which required a patient and efficient activity of negotiation. The resolution of a conflict always entails the deployment of powers hidden within each single case discussed during a legal trial and the involvement of a network of interests and relationships variously connected to the affair submitted to judgment, a network that often conditions the conclusion of the case. The placitum is but a phase—and not always the definitive one—of a long process of negotiation, of dialogue, of competition among different powers and of definition of the reciprocal responsibilities; this process has often already ended at the moment of the trial, and the new social structure almost totally defined.22 Thus, if the placitum or any settlement of a dispute—even an informal one—represents a re-distribution of roles among the actors ­involved—whether they are accuser, accused, witness, or member of the jury—it appears therefore fundamental to identify the people present during a trial and to recreate their social networks and their territorial interests. This allows us to recognize the purposes, the power relations, and, ultimately, the political choices. Consequently, it is according to this interpretation that I propose the analysis of the case that led to the competition between Pietro ii Orseolo and Iohannes, bishop of Belluno. The story is told by John the Deacon in his Istoria Veneticorum, which was written during the early years of the 11th century.23 When Tribuno Memio was doge (979–991), in the period preceding Pietro ii Orseolo, the bishop of Belluno, Iohannes, illegitimately appropriated the rights of Venice over the region located between Oderzo and Cittanova-Eraclea which had been established by the pact. These latter were bilateral agreements, that were meant to regulate the commercial relationships, but also the main economic and political ones between Venice and the surrounding territories belonging to the Italic kingdom. The aggressive initiative of Iohannes was not news for Venice: indeed, during the above mentioned siege in San Leo, when Pietro iv Candiano was endeavouring to obtain Otto i’s goodwill, the bishop of Belluno gained jurisdiction over Oderzo. After a while, as the Istoria tells us, the doge Candiano razed and burned the city.24 Thus, the competition with Iohannes was another aspect that Pietro iv and Pietro ii Orseolo had in common. The difference between the two lies in their different reactions to the bishop’s provocations: if Candiano chose to intervene through an act of force, Orseolo, instead, decided to confide in his stronger bond with Otto iii. The doge at first directed his r­ equest 22 23 24

Wendy Davies and Paul Fouracre, eds., The settlement of disputes in Early Medieval Europe (Cambridge, 1986). Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.33–34, pp. 178–180. Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.11, pp. 160–162.

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to the duke Henricus, who was at the head of the March of Verona; however, when Henricus did not take action, Pietro ii went directly to the young emperor. Not only did Iohannes of Belluno presumably cause problems for Venice: indeed, as the author of the Istoria wrote, other persons were involved in this case to the detriment of the Venetian interests. Otto iii, who had already renewed the pact with Venice in 992,25 in 99526 confirmed the boundaries of Cittanova-Eraclea. In spite of the intervention of the central power, however, the situation for Venice did not improve. At this point the Venetians decided to cut off all connections with Belluno, March of Verona, and Istria. Put in serious difficulty— overall because of the lack of salt—the enemies of Pietro ii Orseolo finally capitulated. After a final attempt by the bishop of Belluno to gain the sympathies of Otto iii for his cause, the emperor intervened in favour of the doge and ratified his preference through the creation of a spiritual parenthood with the doge: in fact, he became godfather to one of Pietro’s sons, who, as I mentioned before, had the significant name of Otto. That is what John the Deacon reports, probably exaggerating the trading power of Venice, who could make an entire March capitulate with an embargo.27 However, we must consider that the actors involved in this case were not only the bishop of Belluno, his anonymous accomplices, and the reticent duke Henricus. From the sources, indeed, a complex network of intertwined and overlapping interests emerged, that acted as a background and conditioned the development of the case. A network of this kind becomes clear from the documents that testify to the long legal dispute, which was resolved in four trials that ended the conflict against Belluno favourably for Venice. On the basis of what was discussed about the settlement of disputes, it appears useful to investigate what the underlying dynamics were in this case and how they were in some way influenced by it. On March the 25th 996,28 in Verona, the doge, represented by his lawyer, showed to the messengers of Otto and to the court the imperial privilege of the preceding years that denied the claims of the bishop of Belluno over Cittanova-Eraclea: the trial, in effect, ratified the content of the—previously m ­ entioned—imperial diploma of 995, which defined the boundaries of Eraclea. These boundaries were located in the region of Ceneda (the m ­ odern 25 26 27 28

mgh, dd Otto iii, 100, pp. 511–512. mgh, dd Otto iii, 165, pp. 577–578. This idea is affirmed by Luigi Andrea Berto in a note to the edition of the Istoria: Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, p. 259. Cesare Manaresi, ed., I placiti del “Regnum Italiae,” ii/1 (Rome, 1957), 224, pp. 319–325.

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Vittorio Veneto) and included part of the area near the rivers Piave and L­ ivenza. After this first session, two years passed before another occurred; the embargo that Venice imposed because of the obstinate resistance of Iohannes probably took place in this period. Eventually, in May 998,29 in Staffolo—near Ceneda— the whole scene was repeated; Iohannes once again had to recognize the content of the Ottonian diploma about Cittanova. In July of the same year, first in Verona30 and then in the modern town of Bassano del Grappa,31 two more trials were held that did not directly involve the bishop of Belluno (even if he appears to have been present), but Artvich, who in the document is defined as the “vassal of the patriarch Iohannes” and a woman, Izza, and her nephew, Teudaldus, who on this occasion performed the role of mundoald. Like Iohannes, they had to recognize the validity of the definition of the Venetian jurisdiction in the Ceneda region. Later, I will propose a hypothesis concerning their participation in the trial. As previously mentioned, those involved in the various phases of the case, most likely should be linked in some way to the social actors who had a role in it: in this case, with Venice. Indeed, a prosopographical analysis of the adstantes and of the judges allows us to identify the different levels of relationship that connected these characters with the fortunes of Venice, and therefore reveals the various connecting points between the Byzantine territory and its post-Carolingian context.

The Adstantes at the Trials against Iohannes of Belluno

At the trial there were some social actors who held interests over lands adjacent to the contested territories, or near to an area essential for the lagoon, that of Polesine and the Brenta river—in the southern Veneto; they appear to be linked to Venice, overall, through the ducal monastery San Zaccaria; there were also members of the Candiano family and their allies. Since they were part of the jury, these people took a stand in favour of Pietro ii Orseolo. Let us briefly examine who these characters were and what their bond with Venice consisted of. The count of Treviso, Rambaldus,32 from whom the family of Collalto descends, attended only the first trial: the sources testify to a close connection 29 Manaresi, I placiti, 238, pp. 378–381. 30 Manaresi, I placiti, 240, pp. 384–388. 31 Manaresi, I placiti, 241, pp. 388–393. 32 Gerolamo Biscaro, “Le temporalità del vescovo di Treviso dal secolo ix al xiii,” Archivio Veneto 5, 18 (1936), pp. 1–72, at pp. 2–4; Andrea Castagnetti, “Vicenza nell’età del

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with the Ottonian dynasty, which granted and confirmed to his family a number of lands scattered around the region of Treviso, Rovigo, and Istria.33 In 1001 he accompanied Otto iii to Venice.34 Egelricus,35 count of Verona, was a descendant of the renowned count Milo,36 from whom he received, in 955, the castle of San Bonifacio, in the heart of the property of the family, which took its name from San Bonifacio and that prospered until the 13th century in Verona. He was substituted momentarily by Riprandus in 998, but he was count of Verona again in 1001. His family, which was close to Berengar ii, fell out of favour after the success of Otto i; but Egelricus succeeded in maintaining his possessions and he was even admitted to the imperial entourage. Egelricus was tied to Venice through the last will of the previously mentioned Milo: the deceased count, indeed, obliged his ­descendants to pay an expensive rent to the Venetian monastery of San ­Zaccaria.37 If the tribute was not paid, the monastery could raise claims over one of the family’s castles, that of Ronco (near Verona). San Zaccaria was a convent closely

33 34 35

36 37

­particolarismo: da comitato a comune,” in Storia di Vicenza ii: L’età medievale, ed. Giorgio Cracco (Vicenza, 1988), pp. 25–58, at p. 31; Andrea Castagnetti, “Dalla distrettuazione pubblica di età longobarda e carolingia al particolarismo politico di età post-carolingia,” in Il Veneto nel medioevo. Dalla “Venetia” alla Marca Veronese, ed. Andrea Castagnetti and Gian ­Maria Varanini, vol. 2 (Verona, 1989), pp. 1–85, at pp. 59–60; Stefano Gasparri, “Dall’età longobarda al secolo x,” in Storia di Treviso, 2, ed. Daniela Rando and Gian Maria Varanini (Venice, 1991), pp. 3–39, at pp. 20–21; Castagnetti, La società veneziana, pp. 82–83; Andrea Castagnetti, “Le famiglie comitali della Marca Veronese (secoli x–xiii),” in Formazione e strutture dei ceti dominanti nel medioevo: marchesi conti e visconti nel regno italico (secc. ix–xii), ii (Rome, 1996), pp. 85–111, at p. 91; Andrea Castagnetti, “Da Verona a Ravenna per Vicenza, Padova, Trento e Ferrara,” in La vassallità maggiore del Regno Italico. I capitanei nei secoli xi–xii, ed. Andrea Castagnetti (Rome, 2001), pp. 345–491, at pp. 349–350; Luigi Provero “Apparato funzionariale e reti vassallatiche nel regno italico (secoli x–xii),” in Formazione e strutture dei ceti dominanti nel medioevo: marchesi, conti e visconti nel regno italico (secc. ix–xii), ed. Amleto Spicciani, iii (Rome, 2003), pp. 175–232, at p. 185. See note 56. Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.57, pp. 196–198. Andrea Castagnetti, “Le due famiglie comitali veronesi: i San Bonifacio e i Gandolfingidi Palazzo (secoli x–inizio xiii),” in Studi sul medioevo veneto, ed. Giorgio Cracco, Andrea Castagnetti, and Silvana Collodo (Torino, 1981), pp. 43–94; at pp. 45–51; Castagnetti, “­Vicenza nell’età del particolarismo,” pp. 26–31; Castagnetti, “Dalla distrettuazione pubblica,” p. 59; Castagnetti, La società veneziana, p. 83; Castagnetti, “Le famiglie comitali della Marca Veronese,” pp. 87–88; Provero, “Apparato funzionariale e reti vassallatiche,” pp. 44–45. François Bougard, “Milone,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 74 (Rome, 2010), pp. 541–544. Vittorio Fainelli, Codice Diplomatico Veronese. Dalla caduta dell’impero romano alla fine del periodo carolingio, ii (Venice, 1963), p. 255.

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c­ onnected to the ducal palace (since women belonging to the doges’ families often were nuns there); it tried for a long time to acquire the castle.38 Albertus/Azeli,39 count of Vicenza, afterwards became count of Ceneda. He probably was connected to the family of Vitalis Hugo, brother of Pietro iv Candiano, and count of Vicenza and Padua beginning in the 970s: in this placitum, in fact, he appears near Domenico Candiano, who, according to Andrea Castagnetti, was the son of Vitalis Hugo;40 in 995,41 in a case in which the monastery of San Zaccaria opposed the monastery of Santa Giustina in Padua, Albertus/Azeli shared with Hubertus, another descendant of Vitalis Hugo, the office of count of Vicenza. Starting in 998, Hugo, who probably belonged to the Gandolfingi, an emerging family from Piacenza,42 appears in the documents of the trials. At the placitum he is defined count of Vicenza, as his son was afterwards. The family of Gandolfingi was allied to the Canossa, another very important family group holding interests over lands near the area of the rivers Adige and Brenta, which is near the possessions of San Zaccaria.

Behind the Trials: A Trade Issue?

Now that we have defined the network that involved the people who participated in the legal case in a unique social and political context, we can proceed to investigate the other cases and interests that were strictly connected to it. First of all, at the heart of the contrast between the Venetian doge and the bishop of Belluno there was a matter of trade strategies. The region involved was crossed by numerous communication routes. On the one hand, we must consider the Postumia route, which connected Veneto to Friuli and Germany.43 This route seems to have been maintained even in

38

Karol Modzelewski, “Le vicende della «pars dominica» nei beni fondiari del monastero di San Zaccaria di Venezia (Sec. x–xiv),” Bollettino dell’istituto di storia della società e dello stato veneziano, iv (1962), pp. 42–72, at pp. 42–43. 39 Castagnetti, La società veneziana, p. 83. 40 Castagnetti, La società veneziana, pp. 42–43. 41 Manaresi, I placiti, 220, pp. 307–310. 42 Vito Fumagalli, “Vescovi e conti nell’Emilia Occidentale da Berengario i a Ottone i,” Studi Medievali xiv (1973), pp. 137–204, at pp. 174–175; Castagnetti, “Le due famiglie comitali veronesi”; Castagnetti, “Da Verona a Ravenna,” pp. 350–351. 43 Remi Simonetti, Da Padova a Venezia nel medioevo. Terre mobili, confini, conflitti (Rome, 2009), p. 15.

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the Middle Ages: for example, it is quoted in a diploma of 1000 a.d.44 Furthermore, in some later documents, to indicate some segments of the Ongaresca, a route mentioned in documents starting in 1120 and connecting Conegliano in Friuli with the region of Treviso, they used the archaic term “Postoyma.”45 The Postumia route passed through the modern city of Oderzo (Opitergium): this town happened to be the first site for the conflict between bishop Iohannes and the Venetian doge, as explained earlier.46 Therefore, on that occasion, the contrast between Pietro iv Candiano and the bishop of Treviso already involved a center strategically located along a communication route. On the other hand, the area involved in the case is crossed by three fundamental rivers (Livenza, Sile, and Piave) which are important communication and commercial routes to the hinterland and Europe.47 The rivers, indeed, represent—in my opinion—the most evident element that required Venice to take interest in the hinterland’s affairs: rivers were the safest and fastest way to acquire the raw materials that the lagoon lacked (for example, timber), because of the environment of the site.48 A clear demonstration of the importance of the rivers is the privilege issued by Otto iii in 996,49 with which he conferred to doge Pietro Orseolo three harbours on three different rivers: the Sile, the Quarto, and the Piave. To give three harbours allowed him to benefit, without paying, from a docking base along the river, that Venice, evidently, was already using. The document dated May 1st and was consequently issued just before the first trial against Iohannes of Belluno. Maybe this chronological and spatial proximity is not accidental. Indeed, in March of the following year, the bishop of Ceneda, Sichardus, granted Settimo harbour, on the river Sile, “in libellario nomine” to the doge Orseolo.50 We must consider that the bishop didn’t appear in any of the trials about Eraclea: this action, which is in accord with the imperial wishes, seems to be due to the desire to insert himself—a posteriori—in a mutual 44 45

46 47 48 49 50

mgh, dd Otto iii, 380, pp. 807–808. Gian Maria Varanini, “Appunti sul sistema stradale nel Veneto tardomedievale (secoli xii–xv),” in Die WeltdereuropäischenStraßen. Von der Antike bis in die Frühe Neuzeit, ed. Thomas Szabó (Köln, 2009), pp. 97–117, at p. 101. Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.11, pp. 160–162. Wladimiro Dorigo, Venezie sepolte nella terra del Piave: duemila anni fra il dolce e il salso (Rome, 1994). Gerhard Rösch, Venedig und das Reich. Handels und verkehrspolitische Beziehungen in der deutschen Kaiserzeit (Tübingen, 1982). mgh, dd Otto iii, 192, pp. 600–601. Roberto Cessi, ed., Documenti relativi alla storia di Venezia anteriori al Mille, ii (Padua, 1942), 78, pp. 156–158.

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r­ edistribution of responsibilities, negotiated and ratified during the trial of the previous year, from which the bishop of Ceneda had either been excluded by others—or voluntarily excluded himself. At the end of the whole legal case, when Pietro ii Orseolo had already secured recognition for some territories in the Ceneda comitatus and of some docks on the major rivers in the area, another agreement was reached to facilitate Venetian circulation in the hinterland. On September 22nd 1000,51 in fact, the bishop of Treviso, Rozo, and the Venetian doge stipulated a rent contract that allowed the Venetians to use the third part of Mestre harbour. The link with the case of Iohannes of Belluno is given, besides the chronological and geographical proximity of the areas involved (one should note that Mestre is located in the comitatus of Treviso), by bishop Rozo, who had participated in all the phases of the legal case. Moreover, the document of the year 1000 testifies indirectly to the range of commercial trades conducted in the area in which the doge was showing such interest and the intersection of the inland waterways and the overland communication route, heir to ancient Postumia. The text, in fact, states: ­“Except only the ripaticum of the Germans, that is entitled to me, lord bishop Rozo, and to my episcopacy.”52 Thus, the bishop of Treviso reserved for himself the ripaticum—that is, a tribute connected to the trade movement on a river—of the German merchants. The overland traffic route that touched the ­Friuli-Treviso area and that in the 12th century became the so called Ongaresca, indeed, reached as far as Germany:53 the brief allusion by the bishop Rozo, as Stefano Gasparri has properly noted,54 testifies to the vivacity of the trade that is contextual to this agreement. The possibility of benefiting from Mestre harbour seems all the more significant when one considers that only about twenty years earlier a serious internal crisis in Venice had profoundly upset the balance of power among the aristocratic families of the city. This was the flight of some of the people linked to one of the most important Venetian aristocrats, Stefanus C ­ oloprinus, 51

52

53 54

Luigi Lanfranchi, ed., Codice Diplomatico Veneziano (secc. xi–xiii), Venice, Archivio di Stato, b. 210, r. 396, c. 40, doc. i.1; Giampaolo Cagnin, “Vie di comunicazione tra Veneto continentale e Friuli,” in Per terre e per acque. Vie di comunicazione nel Veneto dal medioevo alla prima età moderna, ed. Donato Gallo and Flaviano Rossetto (Padua, 2003), pp. 119–164, at p. 137. Luigi Lanfranchi, Codice Diplomatico Veneziano, doc. i.1: «excepto solummodo ripatico de illo Teutonicorum, sicut ad me ipsum dominum Rozzonem episcopum vel ad meum episcopatum pertinet aut pertinere debet». Ermanno Orlando, Strade, traffici, viabilità in area veneta. Viaggio negli statuti comunali (Rome, 2010), pp. 15–19. Gasparri, “Dall’età longobarda al x secolo,” p. 21.

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and to his sons who, after having sworn to exterminate the whole aristocratic family of the Maureceni, brutally murdered one of them, Dominicus Maurecenus, and then escaped, fearing the revenge of the dead man’s relatives. This complex story, again recounted by John the Deacon, starts in the lagoon and develops, as we have said, in the hinterland: Stefanus Coloprinus and his allies scattered to some key points for procuring raw materials and for trading—first of all Mestre—in an attempt to suffocate the city by cutting off every connection with the surrounding region. The adventure ended tragically for the besiegers and the crisis was concluded.55 However, it is fundamental to remember the role played by Otto ii (then emperor) who, according to John the Deacon, not only supported the faction of Stefanus Coloprinus, but even participated actively in the conflict against Venice, with a siege that proved unsuccessful. Equally interesting is the role that the chronicler attributes to Otto’s wife, Theophano, and to the previously mentioned Hugo of Tuscia, who acted as intermediaries to the doge Tribuno Memio with Stefanus’s plea: defeated and on his deathbed, he requested the doge to grant immunity for his sons. As it turned out, his plea was useless because after the two Coloprinus sons returned to Venice, they were killed by their political enemies. What is interesting here is the involvement in the case of Hugo who, as explained above, had patrimonial interests in an area, the Polesine, near the Venetian properties of San Zaccaria. In this intricate muddle of expectations and fears, in the midst of a drastic re-negotiation of the internal relationships of the Venetian aristocracy, and of the control over the hinterland territory, the center of Mestre, which was in the comitatus of Treviso, was directly involved. Therefore, it is likely that Pietro ii Orseolo, perhaps thanks to a more stable situation in the duchy, wanted to secure for himself the control of the same area and at the same time obtain the possibility of further connections. In this regard, the fact that it was the imperial authority of Otto iii to whom he addressed his plea to see his own rights granted can be read as a reaction to the role played by Otto ii in the case of Coloprini; this is all the more likely if placed in a context of the 10th century, when, as previously mentioned, the aristocratic families rested the legitimacy of their own claims on the central power.

Side Effects: The Competition between Rozo and Rambaldus

The rent agreement between the bishop Rozo and Pietro ii Orseolo, quoted above, allows us to focus on another event, secondary to the case of Iohannes 55

Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.20, pp. 168–170; iv.24, pp, 172–174; iv.25, p. 174; iv.26, p. 174; iv.27, p. 174; iv.28, pp. 174–176.

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of Belluno. A few years ago, Stefano Gasparri, writing about the history of Treviso, had already supposed a conflict between the bishop of Treviso and the count of the same city, Rambaldus. From the analysis of the trial documents, the subject of this study, and of the documents contemporary to them, I think it is possible to support that hypothesis. Rambaldus ii succeded his father, Rambaldus i, in the office of count: the legitimizing link with the royal power was also characteristic of his father, who acquired territory in the locality of Lovadina in the Treviso region. Rambaldus ii, who inherited the patrimonial interests and the office of his father, went on, under the Ottonian dynasty, to cultivate a close relationship with the central power and with the court: that is, in fact, what is shown by some imperial diplomas and some reports of the legal trials.56 After 996, however, he seems to disappear from the sources, only to reappear in the year 1000 (except for his signature to a foundation act in 997, which I will comment on later). During the three most decisive trials regarding Iohannes of Belluno, he seems to be absent. However, for chronological and territorial proximity I believe that the imperial envoy, who presided over the session in May 998,57 Wangerius, can be identified as the brother of Rambaldus, who had been mentioned in documents since 997. On the contrary, bishop Rozo who had greatly benefited by the emperors, starting from Otto i, with a series of properties in the region of Treviso, 56

In 958, in fact, he received Lovadina, near Spresiano in the region of Treviso from Berengar ii: Luigi Schiaparelli, ed., I diplomi di Ugo e di Lotario, di Berengario ii e di Adalberto (Rome, 1924), xii, pp. 328–330; Biscaro, “Le temporalità del vescovo di Treviso,” p. 2; Castagnetti, “Le famiglie comitali nella marca veronese,” p. 91. In 980 this donation was confirmed to Rambaldus i’s sons—Byanzenus, Rambaldus ii, and Gaymbertus—from Otto ii, who added other goods in the region of Ceneda: mgh, dd Otto ii, 220, pp. 248–250. The count obtained other lands in the region of Treviso from Otto iii in 991, with the intercession of the empress Theophano: mgh, dd Otto iii, 70, pp. 477–478. In 993, if the identification made by Andrea Castagnetti is to be accepted—as it seems likely—Rambaldus participated in a placitum officiated by duke Enrico in Verona: Manaresi, ed., I placiti, 218, pp. 302–395; Castagnetti, “Dalla distrettuazione pubblica,” p. 84. The successive year, a privilege of the same emperor Otto iii granted to Rambaldus the forest of Montello (near Lovadina) and five royal manor farms along the river Piave; in this privilege, as Andrea Castagnetti has noted, the benefited is defined as comes for the first time: mgh, dd Otto iii, 154, pp. 565–566. Castagnetti, La società veneziana, pp. 89–90. His proximity with the imperial court is clear even because of his participation, in the entourage of Otto iii, in a placitum in Ravenna in 996: Manaresi, I placiti, 227, pp. 334–337. In the same year, Rambaldus obtained other lands in the civitas of Treviso from the emperor: mgh, dd Otto iii, 213, pp. 624–625. 57 Manaresi, I placiti, 238, pp. 378–381.

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e­ specially in the center of Asolo, participated regularly and in person at the trials.58 As mentioned, according to the story of John the Deacon, the bishop had accompanied the bishop of Belluno to Otto iii, to ask, in vain, for his support.59 This would seem to have been a primitive attempt to contain the Venetian claims. The strategy was a failure, since the imperial favour in this event, from the aforementioned diploma of 995,60 seems to have been inclined toward the doge Orseolo. After the first session when, two years later, it was necessary to reaffirm the judgment with a new trial, the position of Rozo seems to be drastically tending in favour of the Venetian cause: indeed, he not only judged in favour of the doge’s interests but, as mentioned, agreed with him about the exploitation of Mestre harbour. From these negotiations, therefore, Rambaldus seems to have been excluded. This is probably due to the decision to not deal directly with the resolution of the case of Iohannes of Belluno after the episode of the Venetian embargo. The advantage obtained instead by Rozo and derived from his presence at three important appointments like the placiti against the bishop of Belluno in which they re-defined the territorial jurisdictions and the reciprocal power of some important social actors of the region of Treviso, is further evidenced from the decision to found the monastery of Mogliano in the comune of Treviso, in 997;61 this decision gained imperial ratification in 998.62 At the act of foundation, Rozo gave the religious institute a court and kept control of it for himself by requiring that the choice of the abbot be submitted for his approval. It is an important act, which shows how the episcopal authority was, in that moment, strong, while the count participated in the event only as a mute underwriter of the act, together with his brother Wangerius. The competition between the bishop and the count, however, did not end with the clear supremacy of the former against the latter. Rambaldus, indeed, together with his family group, seems to have maintained a close legitimizing link with the central power. As said, indeed, it is probable that his brother played the role of imperial envoy in 998. One should also remember that, according to John the Deacon, Rambaldus followed Otto iii to Venice. Some 58

59 60 61 62

Rozo was bishop of Treviso from 969 to 1001. In August 996 he participated in a placitum in Verona: Manaresi, I placiti, 229, pp. 340–343. Otto i gave him the castle of Asolo and three chapels in 969: mgh, dd Otto i, 378, pp. 518–520. Three privileges from Otto iii—from 991 to 998—confirmed his possessions: mgh, dd Otto iii, 69, pp. 476–477; 225, p. 639; 271, pp. 690–691. Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.35, p. 182. mgh, dd Otto iii, 165, pp. 577–578. Ferdinando Ughelli, Italia Sacra, 10 (Venice, 1717–1722), v, coll 503, doc 997. mgh, dd Otto iii, 271, pp. 690–691.

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diplomas, in the year 1000, confirm the count’s ownership of a large estate between Rovigo and the route to Asolo as well and some trade facilitations.63 As mentioned, in Asolo it was Rozo who held property. Perhaps these events convinced the bishop to agree with the Venetian doge about Mestre harbour. In this context, then, it is significant that Rambaldus decided to donate, in 1005, some lands in Brendole, near Mestre, to the monastery of San Z ­ accaria.64 The following year, Rodalda, widow of Wangerius, gave some properties in ­Zelarino, a locality near Brendole, to the same Venetian monastery.65 According to Stefano Gasparri, the deceased husband of Rodalda may perhaps be identified with the brother of Rambaldus ii, underwriter of the foundation document of the monastery of Mogliano and, probably, imperial envoy in 998. He, indeed, is called count, maybe referring to the office held by his brother, as if it were an honorary title that concerned the whole family; moreover, at that time, the count of Treviso was still Rambaldus ii. Even if, therefore, Rambaldus did not participate in three of the four trials against the bishop of Belluno, he was still involved. The sources so far reported seem to show the presence of a competition between the count and the bishop in order to seize control of the trades and the lands in the area. The count’s family, by means of their proximity to the emperor and a careful policy of pious donations of their lands, constantly tried to recover the positions they had lost and create a role for themselves in the political and economic landscape during a process of drastic redefinition, and ultimately also sought a connection with Venice.

Another Possible Scenario: Friuli and Istria

Some of the interests involved in the case of the bishop of Belluno and Pietro ii Orseolo seem to concern Friuli and Istria. First of all, it must be kept in mind that the regions in which the confine of the Venetian duchy were located, are in a border area between the territory of Treviso and Friuli. In particular, the Livenza river, which is mentioned in the definition of the boundaries of Eraclea, constituted the separation line between these two areas. The most eloquent link between the case of Iohannes of Belluno and Friuli is to be found in the defendants of the legal sessions held in July 998. Izza, as mentioned, was indeed the daughter of an inhabitant of the comitatus of 63 64 65

mgh, dd Otto iii, 379, pp. 806–807; 380, pp. 807–808. Modzelewski, “Le vicende della «pars dominica»,” p. 62; Ingrid Fees, Le monache di San Zaccaria a Venezia nei secoli xii e xiii (Venice, 1998), pp. 9–10. Luigi Lanfranchi, Codice Diplomatico Veneziano, doc. i.8.

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Friuli, although she resided in the comitatus of Belluno. Artvich was defined as a vassal of the patriarch Iohannes. Cesare Manaresi, who masterfully edited the placiti of Italy in the 1950s, believes that the version “patriarchae” is to be amended with “episcopi,” because, in his opinion, it referred to the bishop of Belluno. Nevertheless, in July 998, a certain Iohannes actually sat on the episcopal throne of Aquileia. If we believe that the lesson preserved by the manuscript is correct,66 then the network of relationships involved in this complex legal case extends to include the Istrian territories. The patriarch Iohannes, in fact, starting in the 70s of the 10th century, had been planning an extension of his own territorial power.67 Before 977, he acquired Isola near Koper.68 Furthermore, for purposes of this study, the confirmation that Iohannes of Aquileia obtained it from the emperor in July 996 appears interesting: in addition to the control of the monasteries of Sesto and of Santa Maria in Organo in Verona, of Santa Maria in Valle in Cividale, and of the dioceses of Concordia and Udine, the dioceses of Cittanova, Rovinj, Pedena, and Tarsica were confirmed to him.69 Also, another document, now lost and confirmed later by Henry ii, guaranteed to Aquileia the property of Pedena and Pazin.70 It is, therefore, an important recognition of the supremacy of the patriarch over some of the Istrian centers. In 1001, then, Iohannes received half of the localities of Solkan and Gorizia, in Istria.71 The other half was given to the count of Friuli, Vuerihen: he later asked that the imperial donation be ratified publicly.72 Moreover, some of the persons involved in the case of the bishop of Belluno had property interests in Istria. One of these was Dominicus Candianus, son of Vitalis Hugo, who was count of Vicenza and Padua and brother of the doge Pietro iv Candiano. In 96373 a certain Vitale Veneticus who was probably Vitalis Hugo, obtained a court in Musestre, on the border with Friuli, from 66 The Codex Trevisaneus (Archivio di Stato in Venice), which contains the most ancient source of this document, is very late, dating from the 16th century. Its text, therefore, is not to be considered as free of errors. However, this lesson was hardly due to a mistake made by the copyist—who would have confused the term “episcopi” with “patriarchae,” since the word “patriarcha” does not appear in any other setting of the document, while the word “episcopus” is often repeated. 67 Harald Krahwinkler, Friaul im Frühmittelalter. Geschichte einer Region vom Ende des fünften bis zum Ende des zehnten Jahrhunderts (Wien-Köln-Weimar, 1992), pp. 291–305. 68 mgh, dd Otto ii, 154, pp. 174–175. 69 mgh, dd Otto iii, 215, pp. 626–627. 70 mgh, dd H ii, 243, pp. 279–280. 71 mgh, dd Otto iii, 402, pp. 835–836. 72 mgh, dd Otto iii, 412, pp. 846–847. 73 mgh, dd Otto i, 257, pp. 366–367.

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Otto i; in 97274 from the emperor he received the locality of Isola near Koper, which he gave, five years later, to the patriarch of Aquileia. It does not seem, however, that the descendants of Vitalis Hugo Candiano, after the passage of the property of Isola in 977, no longer had any property in Istria: indeed, in May 998,75 that is in the same month when the trial of Iohannes of Belluno was re-opened, Dominicus Candianus, in Rome, received the confirmation of his unspecified properties in that area from Otto iii. If we consider that the embargo implemented by Venice probably after the first legal session had to strike not only the March of Verona and the territory of Treviso, but also Istria, it is interesting to note the fact that, when a more stable settlement of the dispute was about to be reached, Dominicus asked the emperor to guarantee his properties. Rambaldus himself obtained the castrum of Valle in Istria from Otto iii.76 If, then, it seems likely that behind the quarrel between the doge of Venice and the bishop of Belluno there was the desire to control the two commercial routes, namely the one on the river that from Venice led into the kingdom and the overland one, represented by the remnants of the Postumia route, which connected Germany and Friuli to Veneto, we now must add to the interests involved in this case the control of both the route that from Istria directed by sea to Venice and of the lands touched by this course. This itinerary was already frequented in the 6th century, according to the testimony of ­Cassiodorus.77 Moreover, as the recent studies of Francesco Borri78 have shown, it is possible that Istria represented an intermediate landing place for the longer range business directed to the East: indeed, navigation proceeded very close to the coast and hardly ever ventured out to the open sea, where travel was made particularly dangerous because of the lack of accurate and reliable navigational equipment. To see the story as a whole, in March 996,79 at the request of Pietro ii Orseolo, Iohannes bishop of Belluno was on trial to force him to publicly recognize the boundaries of the Venetian duchy, as they were defined by the imperial 74 75 76 77

mgh, dd Otto i, 407, p. 554. mgh, dd Otto iii, 293, pp. 718–719. mgh, dd Otto iii, 380, pp. 807–808. Cassiodorus Senator, Variarum libri duodecim, in mgh, aa, xii, ed. Theodor Mommsen (Berlin, 1844), xii.24, pp. 379–380. 78 Francesco Borri, “Neighbours and relatives: the plea of Rizana as a source for northern Adriatic elites,” Mediterranean Studies 17 (2008), pp. 1–26; Francesco Borri, “L’Adriatico fra Bizantini, Longobardi e Franchi dalla conquista di Ravenna alla pace di Aquisgrana,” Bullettino dell’Istituto storico italiano per il Medioevo 112 (2010), pp. 1–52. 79 Manaresi, I placiti, 224, pp. 319–325.

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diploma of 995, and which contained an area of passage traversed by several different commercial and communication routes. In July of the same year, the patriarch of Aquileia had solemnly confirmed his jurisdictions in Veneto, in Friuli, and in Istria. The bishop of Belluno, however, did not abandon his attempts to take power illegally in the Venetian territories. Venice, therefore, stopped sending supplies to Veneto and Istria.80 It seems, thus, that the stakes involved concerned the contacts between these areas. It was necessary to find a compromise: specifically, it was necessary for Iohannes of Belluno to abandon his plans. In this context, perhaps because he felt threatened, Dominicus, a member of a wealthy family group related to the Candiano, and with territorial base along the Brenta River (south of Venice) and between Friuli and Istria, hastened to have the imperial authority confirm his Istrian properties.81 This is a further proof that leads us to suppose that part of the underlying problems with the placiti against Iohannes of Belluno concerned Istria. Moreover, the fact that a vassal of the patriarch of Aquileia was required to recognize the borders of Eraclea82 appears to be consistent with a redefinition of territorial jurisdictions in the area of Treviso, corresponding to the river, overland, and nautical communication routes that touched Venice. This redefinition, as we have seen, collaterally caused the reactions of social actors some of which were only indirectly involved: they hastened to redefine their own role of power, to an audience both within and outside their community and tried whenever possible to improve the position they had previously ­enjoined. Among them, therefore, it is likely that there was also the patriarch of Aquileia, who from the very start of the long legal procedure, wanted to have his own authority guaranteed over some Istrian centers. In 1000, the doge Orseolo left for an expedition in Dalmatia.83 The exact causes that moved Pietro in so acting still elude historical researchers. According to the report of the Istoria Veneticorum the Venetian duke was induced to depart by the appeals for help for aid that the Dalmatians addressed to him ­because of the vexations they suffered at the hands of the Croats. The likelihood of such an interpretation has long been questioned. As Gherardo Ortalli rightly pointed out in a recent study,84 it would be anachronistic to interpret 80 Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.33, pp. 178–180. 81 mgh, dd Otto iii, 293, pp. 718–719. 82 Manaresi, I placiti, 240, pp. 384–388. 83 Iohannes Diaconus, Istoria Veneticorum, iv.46, p. 188; iv.47, p. 188; iv.48, pp. 188–190. 84 Gherardo Ortalli, “Pietro ii Orseolo dux veneticorum et dalmaticorum,” in Venezia e la Dalmazia. Anno Mille. Secoli di vicende comuni, ed. Nedo Fiorentin (Treviso, 2002), pp. 13–27.

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the expedition of Pietro ii as an act of autonomy and—so to speak—of challenge to the Byzantine authority, which in this period was firmly recognized in the coastal areas of Dalmatia. Ortalli, however, supposes, with convincing arguments, that the doge moved in accordance to the Byzantine emperor, Basil ii (976–1025). For purposes of this paper, however, I would rather see if on the basis of the famous Orseolian expedition there were also any strategic considerations about the balance of power in the hinterland. Besides the role played in this venture by the concerns about the Croatian abuses or the desire to be aligned with the policy of Constantinople, what is important to remember here is that the doge went not directly to Dalmatia, but stopped initially in Istria. The report that John the Deacon offers of the events is filled with highly symbolic ritual moments which emphasize the ducal authority. Pietro left from Olivolo, where he attended Mass and received the triumphal banner from the bishop. He then stopped in Grado, whose patriarch consigned to him the emblem of St. Hermagora. The journey continued towards Poreč, Pula, Osor, and Zara, before proceeding to the final destination, Dalmatia. In each of the Istrian stages, Pietro received the respectful reception of high-ranking prelates, who also came from neighboring towns. The doge attended the religious services, visited the most important monastic institutions and graciously welcomed the demonstrations of loyalty that the local élites showed to him. Consequently, an important part of the Orseolian shipment, as described to us by John the Deacon, consisted of these significant episodes in Istria. From this point of view, if we accept the hypothesis that the settlement of the dispute with the bishop of Belluno concerned trade matters and also involved some centers in Istria, gateway region to Venice, then we can assume that the decision of the doge Orseolo to stop in Istria, and the propagandistic description of these events provided by the Istoria Veneticorum are all part of the same strategy of consolidation and leadership. Conclusion The expedition to Dalmatia, as stated, is considered the most eloquent expression of the newfound commercial identity that Venice acquired under the charismatic personality of Pietro ii Orseolo. Unlike Pietro iv Candiano, he would have disdained meddling in the affairs of the Italic kingdom and looked to the East, by reinforcing the links with the court of Byzantium and acting directly on the political and commercial scene of the Adriatic. But it would be anachronistic to attribute such a clear stance and the degree of political awareness that it would represent to the doge Orseolo. On the one hand, indeed, it is

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far fetched to think that Venice was acting in this context following a policy of independence and self-affirmation, to the detriment of the interests of Byzantium: in fact at that time the Byzantine court, after a period of dynastic crises and coups, was firmly led by Basil ii and had therefore the opportunity to make its authority felt over the territories within its jurisdiction.85 On the other hand, Byzantium was not the only political actor involved in the preparation of the expedition other than Venice. It is undeniable that, from this moment, the role of Venice in the Adriatic Sea, which also seems to have been important since the 8th century, took on a stronger configuration. However, as is clear from what has been said, the famous expedition to Dalmatia took place at the end of a laborious process of consolidation of the Venetian ducal territories in the hinterland. In addition to the dispute against the bishop of Belluno, it is useful to remember that in 995,86 in the comitatus of Vicenza, the monastery of San Zaccaria, controlled by the Orseolo family, was able to obtain recognition in a public placitum of the property of the Petriolo court, in Monselice, which was part of the patrimony that the Venetian monastery had amassed in the previous decades in the area traversed by the river Brenta. In this context, duke Orseolo did not act differently than the other aristocratic families of his time; by taking advantage of the public office which was assigned to him and his closeness to the imperial power, he tried to secure for himself a coherent territorial domination and to emerge from the family groups and the religious institutions surrounding him. In this case, the territories over which the doge attempted to extend his control in the hinterland were a strategic junction along the trade routes that followed the river itineraries. In conclusion, it is useful to interpret the conflict between Iohannes, the bishop of Belluno, and the doge Pietro ii Orseolo within a wider context of relationships among lands and peoples. This, as we have seen, allows us to understand the foresight and the rational planning with which the doge was negotiating, step by step, an advantageous position from the point of view of trade links with the social actors in the hinterland. On the other hand, this interpretation sheds light on how the local élites of different levels redefined their jurisdictions and relationships with other social actors. 85 Jean-Claude Cheynet, Pouvoir et contestations à Byzance (963–1210) (Paris, 1990), pp. ­331–337; Mario Gallina, Potere e società a Bisanzio (Torino, 1995), pp. 198–227. 86 Manaresi, I placiti, 220, pp. 307–310.

chapter 5

The Insula Equilus: A Lagoon Community in the Early Middle Ages Silvia Cadamuro, Alessandra Cianciosi and Claudio Negrelli* Introduction The aim of this paper is to examine the preliminary results of an ongoing archaeological project that started in 2011, through a survey in the countryside around the present-day town of Jesolo (NE Italy). This project, led by Prof. Sauro­Gelichi, focuses on the archaeological site of the ancient Jesolo-Equilo. Its location is attested by the presence of a Romanesque cathedral built over two older churches, and an early medieval monastery, San Mauro, founded probably in the 9th century1 (both sites were excavated during the second half of the 20th century). The archaeological survey was conducted by an interdisciplinary team composed of archaeologists and geologists. The goal of this research was not only to identify the ancient settlement, but also to recreate the past environment and its historical transformations.2 Today the site is located inland, but during the Roman period and Middle Ages it was an island, and its importance is strictly related to the development of the Venice lagoon during Late Antiquity.3 After three seasons of excavation (2013–2015) in the area between the cathedral and the monastery, we have collected a large amount of data regarding the

* We would like to thank Prof. Paolo Mozzi (Department of Geosciences, University of Padua) and his team for the fruitful collaboration within the framework of “Project Jesolo,” and the Administration of Jesolo that supported our research. 1 We have little information about this monastery: Wladimiro Dorigo, Venezie sepolte nella terra del Piave. Duemila anni fra il dolce e il salso (Rome, 1994), pp. 157–160. 2 See in this volume the important results of this interdisciplinary approach for the environmental study in the southern lagoon by Elisa Corrò, Cecilia Moine, and Sandra Primon. 3 Paolo Mozzi and Claudio Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi e potenziale archeologico,” in Archeologia e paesaggio nell’area costiera veneta: conoscenza, partecipazione e valorizzazione, ed. Sauro Gelichi, Paolo Mozzi, Fabrizio Panozzo, Domenico Patassini, and Matelda Reho (Venice, 2013), pp. 19–86.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_007

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period spanning the 4th to 7th centuries. The case of Jesolo is a clear example of how the interdisciplinary approach that we used, encompassing the study of the archaeological and geological records, can contribute to the historical interpretation of the site in relation to the development of coastal settlements in the northern Adriatic basin. In addition, the good degree of preservation of the archaeological deposits and the large surface area that was exposed allowed a wider perspective of research4 (Fig. 5.1).

Italy

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Jesolo/Equilo Venice

Adriatic Sea

0

Figure 5.1

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Jesolo in relation to Venice.

4 Part of this paper has been already been published in Italian: Silvia Cadamuro, Alessandra Cianciosi, and Claudio Negrelli, “Nuove comunità lagunari tra l’età di transizione e l’altomedioevo: i casi di Jesolo e Cittanova,” Reti Medievali Rivista 16–2 (2015), pp. 151–195. For more information regarding the preliminary results of this project, see also Sauro Gelichi, Silvia Cadamuro, Alessandra Cianciosi, and Claudio Negrelli, “Vivere la laguna nella Tarda Antichità: il caso di Equilo,” Notizie di Archeologia del Veneto 2 (2013), pp. 82–90.

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Environmental Context

At present, the countryside around Jesolo is a vast expanse of cultivated fields located on reclaimed land. Until the early 20th century, it was dotted with ­lagoon lakes. The ancient Roman coastline was further inland compared to the modern one, meaning that in Roman times the area now occupied by the town of Jesolo would have been situated immediately inland, behind the barrier of sand dunes protecting the interior from the sea (Fig. 5.2). No trace survives of the ancient sand dunes, which were approximately three kilometres long and followed the course of the ancient coastlines which approached the sea over the centuries. In the Middle Ages, these dunes were

Figure 5.2

Aerial photograph of the Jesolo coast (1977). The traces of ancient coastlines over the centuries are evident.

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home to pinewoods, relicts of which were still visible at the beginning of the last century. Being the most elevated ground in the area, they were the preferred locations for settlements, as well as for enabling the cultivation of the adjoining lands by protecting them from the action of water.5 Although this area is mainly known in relation to the geomorphology of ­lagoons—it is home to both the Jesolo and Eraclea lagoons—and coastal zones, it is actually located in a vast alluvial plain. The settlement of Jesolo developed on a “morphological high,” identified by an ancient fluvial ridge connected to the Piave River. This river represents the main driving force that influenced the establishment of settlements. In fact, today we can see two branches of the river (Piave Vecchia and Piave di Cortellazzo), but geologists identified at least four river ridges, which from San Donà flowed in different directions: Piave Vecchia, Taglio da Re, Piave di Cortellazzo and Piveran-Cittanova. The area occupied by the Jesolo settlement is crossed by the Piave Vecchia ridge, originally produced by a branch of the Piave Vecchia (dated by peat studies to a.d. 530–680). This branch runs along the edge of the lagoon, rising above its low-lying surroundings. In 1684, the Sile River flowed into this branch through a new cut created by the ruling of the Serenissima (Venice’s Water Magistracy), with the aim of diverting the river to Porto Santa Margherita to prevent the lagoon from silting up. So the Piave Vecchia (retraced by the modern Sile) did not fill the present river-bed until the 6th–7th centuries onwards, and its mouth was considerably further inland compared to the modern one, which was formed during the following centuries through the sedimentation of the river bedload6 (Fig. 5.3). The most recent geomorphological studies carried out by the group of geologists from University of Padua (the team led by Prof. Paolo Mozzi collaborated with us at the Jesolo site) revealed the presence, beneath the Late Antique and Middle Imperial Roman settlements, of fluvial sands probably belonging to an older buried river system of the Piave, whose course cannot be established using the data currently available.7 The geologists also found numerous traces of minor marsh or lagoon channels in the area between the main river courses. The Canal d’Arco and Canale 5 Mozzi, Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi,” pp. 52–56. 6 Aldino Bondesan, Mirco Meneghel, eds., Geomorfologia della provincia di Venezia. Note ­illustrative della Carta geomorfologica della provincia di Venezia (Venice-Padua, 2004), pp. 147–150. 7 Sandra Primon and Paolo Mozzi, “Torcello e la morfologia della laguna tra l’età romana e il medioevo,” in Torcello scavata, Patrimonio condiviso 2: Lo scavo 2012–2013, ed. Diego Calaon, Elisabetta Zendri, and Guido Biscontin (Venice, 2014), pp. 105–122.

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Figure 5.3

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Jesolo and Eraclea lagoons before the 16th century (after Mozzi and Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi,” fig. 18, p. 44).

Revedoli, two of the most important canals, were connected in the late Middle Ages through the Cava Zuccherina: although of natural origin, they were later straightened and embanked for the purpose of navigation and hydraulic exchange flows. The Canal d’Arco started south of the town of Jesolo and continued in a north-easterly direction before flowing into two further canals south of the modern settlement of Eraclea: to the south, the Canal Revedoli, which flows east along the coastline towards the Livenza River and the region of Friuli Venezia Giulia and to the north, the canal going to Cittanova, known as Canale del Doxe (that is “Canal of the Doges”). A third waterway was the Fossa Vecchia, identified by means of core samples taken during surveys carried out in 2011. This canal was characterized by a meandering course that started in the area south of Jesolo and headed eastwards towards its outlet to the sea, which was still indicated as Portexin in 16th-century maps (Figs. 5.4, 5.5).

Figure 5.4

DOS SO L’AR DETTO ZER ON

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A comparison between ancient cartography (a): the map drawn by Angelo dal Cortivo (1532) (Archivio di Stato di Venezia = ASVE, SEA Piave, 129) and (b) photo-interpretation by Sandra Primon (after Mozzi and Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi,” figs. 22–23, pp. 46–47).

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The Insula Equilus

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Figure 5.5

Cadamuro, Cianciosi and Negrelli

The map by Nicolò dal Cortivo (1539) (asve, Misc. Mappe, ds. 1440), interpreted by Sandra Primon: the main canals (Canal d’Arco = Cava Zucarina, Canal de Revedoli, Canale del Doxe, and Fossa Vechia), the ancient pinewood (pineda), and the ruins of Equilo (S. Moro and Murazze de Jesolo) (after Mozzi and Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi,” fig. 30, p. 54).

Another important communication route was the Canale di Caligo, whose modern course follows its ancient course without major changes and flows into the lagoon just a few kilometres west of the town of Jesolo, creating a direct link between this area and the Venice lagoon. Obviously, in addition to these water routes joining Equilo and nearby centers, there were also other lagoon channels, only a few stretches of which can be identified by means of aerial photography. These channels were used by people moving around the lagoon, especially for fishing or hunting.8 Therefore, the main fluvial routes, i.e., the Piave and its palaeochannels, played a major role in the development of the Jesolo settlement. The ancient settlement known as Equilo in the written sources is situated on the edge of the modern town of Jesolo, in an area that is now farmland9 (Fig. 5.6). 8 Bondesan and Meneghel, Geomorfologia, pp. 225–226; Dorigo, Venezie sepolte, pp. 10–23. 9 Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ed. Luigi Andrea Berto, Fonti per la Storia dell’Italia medievale. Storici italiani dal Cinquecento al Millecinquecento ad uso delle scuole 2 (Bologna, 1999), i, 6 (1999), p. 54: “Quinta insula Equilus nuncupatur, in qua dum populi illic manentes episcopali sede carerent, auctoritate divina novus episcopatus ibi ordinatus est.”

The Insula Equilus

Figure 5.6

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Aerial photograph (ReVen, Venice, 2005). The traces of medieval Jesolo are evident in the northern fields beside the present settlement along the river Sile (that is Piave Vecchia).

For this reason, photo-interpretation and remote sensing represent useful tools for preliminary studies, along with surveys, provided that one keeps in mind their limitations.10 Only very few sites, in the area surrounding the lagoon and immediately beyond, can match the archaeological potential of this settlement (one of the best examples is Altinum):11 as an “abandoned town” (the modern town has shifted or shrunk compared to the ancient settlement), 10

11

With regard to the methodology of survey applied to Italian medieval settlements, see Medioevo, paesaggi e metodi, ed. Nicola Mancassola and Fabio Saggioro (Mantova, 2006). For a multidisciplinary example see Mozzi and Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi.” Altino dal cielo: la città telerivelata, lineamenti di Forma Urbis, eds. Giovannella Cresci Marrone, Margherita Tirelli (Rome, 2011).

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Archaeological evaluation, interpreted by Paolo Mozzi and Sandra Primon (after Mozzi, Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi,” fig. 44, p. 64).

Jesolo (like the nearby town of Cittanova) represents an exemplary case study for the development of models of early medieval urbanisation12 (Fig. 5.7).

Topographic Context and Infrastructures

The original town of Jesolo was undoubtedly a lagoon settlement: small plots of land surrounded by valleys and channels used for communication and transportation. Archaeological and palaeo-environmental data (proved by core samples) allows us to establish the exact location of the main insula that was the site of ancient Equilo. Further evidence from the late 18th and early 19th century permits the identification in a wider area of additional inhabited nuclei corresponding to monasteries, currently invisible in surveys. In fact, the extensive reclamation carried out at the beginning of the 20th century ­completely erased the archaeological deposits related to these nuclei. These 12

Gian Pietro Brogiolo, Sauro Gelichi, La città nell’alto medioevo italiano (Bari, 1998), pp. 46–53.

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works also eliminated the ruins of several religious buildings shown in historic maps, such as the ruins of some monasteries (for example the monastery of San Giorgio del Pineto, whose ruins were mentioned until 1840, but also the monastery of SS. Vito e Modesto and the church of San Giovanni Battista)13 (Fig. 5.8). Therefore, the available archaeological data is limited to the main island, which was occupied by the Church of Santa Maria and the surrounding ­settlement.14 The importance of this island is determined not only by the ­presence of Equilo’s basilica and subsequent cathedral, but also by its strategic position favouring links between the northern lagoon and the hinterland. This

CANAL DEL DOXE

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Interpretation of landscape around Jesolo during the Middle Ages.

There is a record about the ruins of San Giorgio del Pineto by Giovanni Battista Guiotto, Cenni storici sull’antica città di Jesolo e sull’origine della Cava Zuccherina (Venice, 1855): Guiotto wrote that during the construction of some rural buildings, near the monastic site, some sarcophagi, columns, and other marble architectural elements were found. For more information regarding these churches, see Dorigo, Venezie sepolte, pp. 237–241. About past archaeological studies in the site: Pierangela Croce da Villa, “Osservazioni sulle due chiese precedenti la Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta di Jesolo (Venezia),” in … ut … rosae … ponerentur. Scritti di archeologia in ricordo di Giovanna Luisa Ravagnan, ed. Elodia Bianchin Citton and Margherita Tirelli (Treviso, 2006), pp. 213–225; Michele Tombolani, “Jesolo (ve)—Loc. Le Mure. Saggi di scavo nell’area della basilica di Santa Maria Assunta,” Aquileia Nostra lvi (1985), cc. 474–475.

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gives weight to the hypothesis, confirmed by tradition, of the presence of a port in Equilo or in the immediate vicinity.15 Unfortunately, the historical information available is scarce and dates to a later period; moreover, our ability to identify the port is hindered by the massive urbanization that has taken place in the area, lying between modern Jesolo and the coast, over the past fifty years. On the other hand, the location of the site and data gathered by the archaeological surveys, including recent ones, make the presence of a trading center here (since the 5th century at least) extremely probable. The early medieval port, which would have been equipped with infrastructures made from perishable materials, as in other settlements in the northern Adriatic basin, probably was connected to the nearby Piave Vecchia. Future environmental and geomorphological studies (due to be carried out in the peripheral areas surrounding the central settlement) will interpret the evidence of possible port facilities. In order to do so, they should focus on the presence of several major canals— some of which reaching the periphery of the settlement—that formed a complex system intended to secure Jesolo’s key role in lagoon routes. Field research carried out in Jesolo from 2013 onwards uncovered a series of indicators that can be interpreted in terms of infrastructure, that is, as a consequence of the actions of a unitary planned organization (Fig. 5.9). In particular, it was possible to identify major earth fills (mainly sandy silt) that appear to be the result of actions intended to level, raise, maintain, and prepare basements for the construction of new buildings. In fact, large earth fills marking a depositional break on top of layers dated to the Roman Empire (from the 1st century a.d.) seem to correspond to the base of what appears to be the first phase—in the sequence studied so far, which has reached significant dimensions—in a site where there are considerable traces of buildings. The center that developed between the late 4th and early 5th centuries was characterized by structures partially set on a socle made from reused materials and built with load-bearing elements set directly on piles.16 It seems that there was a continuous intense building activity from the very first occupation of the site, characterized by several construction phases (Figs. 5.10, 5.11).

15 16

A port in Equilo is attested in the 10th century: Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, iv, 461, p. 188. New data gathered during the last season (2015) shows a more complex situation: in fact, it seems that at least a portion of the 5th-century settlement was based on an older sand bar.

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Figure 5.9 Jesolo, Le Mura: archaeological excavations (2013–2015).

Figure 5.10

Jesolo 2014: excavation of the late ancient settlement. Thick yellow sandy fills prepare ground for the construction of buildings.

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Figure 5.11

Cadamuro, Cianciosi and Negrelli

Jesolo 2015: orto-photo of the late ancient building (5th century).

The occupation sequence was interrupted when the area was used for burials, which indicate a different form of land exploitation that seems to suggest a hiatus starting in the 7th century (Fig. 5.12). Later geomorphological studies, carried out in 2014 together with the team of geologists from the University of Padua in a site situated at a considerable distance from the area currently under investigation, revealed further traces of earth fills. These suggest they may have occupied extensive portions of land. Finally, it should be pointed out that these fills may also result from the excavation or reengineering of canals that further defined the “infrastructure” of the site. In broader topographical terms, we should also mention the data resulting from remote sensing that has been the focus of several studies in recent times. Although this data can be interpreted in numerous ways, we would like

Figure 5.12

Plan of the 7th-century cemetery: 48 tombs excavated (three examples shown).

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to mention the illustration drawn up in the “Parsjad project” report by way of example.17 It is far too early to picture a general outline, because it is advisable to first create an “interpretative key” (on the relationship between traces and buried evidence) based on excavation data. Here, we wish to point out the correspondence between the constant orientation of the neighbourhood north of the cathedral (and the cathedral itself) until Late Antiquity, as we saw from the reported excavation data, and a system of major lines that seem to be related to another series of orientations present well beyond the area included in the excavation.

Residential Areas and Monumental Areas

Going back to the excavation data, the archaeological evidence reveals that from the late 4th century onwards there was continuous and progressive use of the area, which was densely inhabited and exploited for both house construction, and production and storage (Fig. 5.13). In the 5th century there were buildings constructed on a basement made from brick rubble, cemented with earth, and equipped with structured fireplaces; the “material culture” is mainly represented by ceramics imported from North Africa and the Near East. The building layout is continuous, and for the moment it is possible to distinguish courtyard spaces alternating with smallroomed buildings (Fig. 5.14). During the course of the 5th century there was an initial phase of production, when peripheral structures were used for iron-working activities. Later, probably between the 5th and 6th centuries, there was a new phase of construction marked by more earth fills and structures made entirely from perishable materials, probably for residential use (Fig. 5.15). Either at the end of this century or in the early 7th century, there was a major change in the use of the entire area, which was transformed into a cemetery. Only a few hundred meters from the excavated area there are the remains of the Romanesque cathedral, studied several times during the second half of the

17 Graziano Serra, “Nuove evidenze archeologiche da ‘remote sensing’ sul territorio dell’antica Equilum (Jesolo, Venezia),” Aquileia Nostra lxxxii (2011), pp. 325–382; idem, “Nuovi dati per l’archeologia di Jesolo (ve) attraverso l’aerofotointerpretazione,” Archeologia Veneta xxxvi (2013), pp. 224–303. With regard to the “Parsjad project,” see Mozzi and Negrelli, “Paesaggi antichi,” pp. 60–62.

The Insula Equilus

Figure 5.13

Jesolo 2015: African and Oriental imported finds during excavation.

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Jesolo 2015: One of the structured fireplaces that equipped the 5th-century building.

20th century.18 Prior to the construction of the cathedral, two religious buildings from the 5th and 6th centuries stood on this same site (Figs. 5.16, 5.17). The little surviving evidence of the older building mainly consists of robber trenches. The remnants of the 6th-century basilica are more significant and consist of geometrically patterned mosaic floors, characterized by dedicatory epigraphs containing the name of the donors who funded sections of the floor (the exact floor area funded by each donor is given in feet in various mosaic panels)19 (Figs. 5.18, 5.19). The front of the sarcophagus, discovered near the cathedral and traditionally dated to the 7th or 8th century, belonged to a certain Antonino Tribuno, 18 Croce da Villa, “Osservazioni sulle due chiese,” pp. 213–225. 19 Dorigo, Venezie sepolte, pp. 141–157; Giuseppe Cuscito, L’impianto paleocristiano di Jesolo e i suoi mosaici. Una rilettura critica del monumento dopo gli scavi stratigrafici del 1985–1987 e del 1990 (Venice, 2007).

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Jesolo 2014, uts 3000 5th-6th century a.d. Medieval Archaeology Dep. Humanistic Studies University Ca’ Foscari - Venice

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Figure 5.15

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Jesolo 2014: Interpretation of buildings and workshops used for iron-working activities.

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Figure 5.16

Cadamuro, Cianciosi and Negrelli

The Cathedral of Jesolo: a comparison between historical photo, before 1903 (above) (after Wladimiro Dorigo, Venezie sepolte nella terra del Piave. Duemila anni fra il dolce e il salso (Rome, 1994), fig. 257, p. 274) and today’s ruins (below).

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Figure 5.17

Jesolo 2015: A recent orto-photo of the Cathedral’s ruins.

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Chapel, 5th c. Mosaic floor, 6th–7th c. Basilica, 6th–7th c. Cathedral, 11th c. Bell tower, 11th c. 0

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Interpreted plan of older religious buildings (after archaeological excavations in the 20th century).

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Figure 5.19

A fragment of geometric patterned mosaic floors from the Basilica.

documenting the presence of a high-ranking official.20 Although these finds are related to individuals with an important role in society or considerable wealth, it is impossible to define the social structure of the community as a whole in greater detail on the basis of the archaeological record. In fact, current studies do not allow us to go beyond the most basic and obvious level of differentiation, that is, the one based on the distinction between monumental building (coinciding with episcopal and ecclesiastic centers) and residential building, with the latter currently perceived in terms of diachronic depth, but not in terms of the different possible synchronic social analyses.

20

The traditional chronology is based on the study of Franco Sartori, “Antoninus Tribunus in un’epigrafe inedita di Jesolo (Venezia). Separatum,” Adriatica praehistorica et antiqua, ed. Vladimir Mirosavljević, Duje Rendić-Miočević, and Mate Suić (Zagreb, 1970), pp. ­587–600. The sarcophagus is dated to the 8th century in Andrea Castagnetti, “Insediamenti e populi,” in Storia di Venezia i: Origini-età ducale, ed. Lellia Cracco Ruggini (Rome, 1992), pp. 588–589. Recently, the inscription was proposed to date even to the 9th century.

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The Settlement as Emporium

Equilo (as well as neighbouring sites such as Cittanova) stands out for the remarkable quantities of imported finds present in the relative depositional sequences. The large amounts of African and oriental imports recovered during the excavations at Jesolo show that since Late Antiquity this site seems to have played an important role in Mediterranean trade routes (Fig. 5.20). Although the early medieval phases are harder to identify, there were various indicators such as objects made from soapstone, early medieval amphorae and coarse ware, as well as imported materials dating between the 11th and 13th centuries. In general terms, we can state that, from the time of the foundation of these settlements to the early medieval period of consolidation, a component related to trade, and therefore to a possible role as emporium, was present. The formation of this civic community and its development in the early medieval period was strongly influenced by these aspects, as has been repeatedly pointed out in other northern Adriatic sites, such as Comacchio and Torcello.21 Another key aspect is the link with production-related activities. In Jesolo there were forges and possibly an iron-smelting site (5th and 6th centuries); similar remains dating to the early medieval phases have also been found in

21

With regard to Comacchio, see the paper in this volume by Sauro Gelichi. Previous publications are: Sauro Gelichi, “Flourishing places in North-Eastern Italy: towns and emporia between late antiquity and the Carolingian Age,” in Post-roman Towns, Trade and Settlement in Europe and Byzantium 1: The Heirs of the Roman West, ed. Joachim Henning (Berlin-New York, 2007), pp. 77–104; Sauro Gelichi, “The eels of Venice. The long eighth century of the emporia of the northern region along the Adriatic coast,” in 774. Ipotesi su una transizione, ed. Stefano Gasparri (Turnhout, 2008), pp. 81–117; Sauro Gelichi, Diego Calaon, Elena Grandi, and Claudio Negrelli, “…Castrum igne combussit … Comacchio tra tarda antichità ed alto medioevo,” Archeologia Medievale xxxiii (2006), pp. 19–48; Sauro Gelichi, Diego Calaon, Elena Grandi, and Claudio Negrelli, “Il quartiere episcopale di un emporio altomedievale. Gli scavi nel centro storico di Comacchio e la sequenza dei materiali,” in Terre di mare. L’archeologia dei paesaggi costieri e le variazioni climatiche, ed. Rita Auriemma and Snjezana Karinja (Trieste-Piran, 2008), pp. 416–426; Sauro Gelichi, Diego Calaon, Elena Grandi, and Claudio Negrelli, “History of a forgotten town: Comacchio and its archaeology,” in From one sea to another. Trading places in the European and the Mediterranean Early Middle Ages, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 169–206. With regard to Torcello see this recent publication and bibliography therein: Diego Calaon, E. Zendri, G. Biscontin, eds., Torcello scavata, Patrimonio condiviso. 2—Lo scavo 2012–2013 (Venice, 2014), pp. 105–122.

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Figure 5.20

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North African Red Slip ware from Jesolo (drawn by Silvia Cadamuro).

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Cittanova.22 Although it might be a rather premature conclusion, it is likely that the manufacturing activities carried out at sites like this one were not merely local in scope; this evidence may be one of the typical characteristics of trade centers, such as emporia23 (Fig. 5.21).

a

b

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Figure 5.21

22 23

The iron-working activities in the site are attested by carbon layers (a), forges (b), and a well (c).

“Ricerche archeologiche a Cittanova (Eraclia) 1987–1988,” ed. Sandro Salvatori, Quaderni di archeologia del Veneto v (1989), pp. 77–114. Richard Hodges, “Adriatic Sea trade in an European perspective,” in From one sea to another. Trading places in the European and the Mediterranean Early Middle Ages (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 207–234.

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With regard to the establishment of social distinctions between the different groups that composed the community on the basis of the ceramic indicators or other material culture (imports/local products), we believe that the common difficulties inherent to this task are emphasized in this type of settlement, precisely because of the occurrence of allochthonous materials, which end up creating a kind of “background noise.” All the goods recovered at this site, which were produced in remote areas and widely traded around the Mediterranean, are not as clear indicators of social differentiation as those found in far smaller quantities at inland sites. Conclusions We would like to resume our discussion about the ancient settlement of Jesolo, focusing on some key points, which obviously require further analysis: 1)

The formation or reorganization of the settlement, which may “boast” traces of a Roman past, coincides with a Late Antique period largely limited to the 5th century. This formative phase is further emphasized by the fact that the previous Middle Imperial phase was overshadowed, poorly represented and in strong decline. 2) It seems that between the 6th and 7th centuries, during the subsequent early medieval phase, the community underwent another period of reorganization that impacted upon several aspects, in particular the modification and functional redefinition of spaces. In fact, this period was marked by the creation of artisan workshops followed by a cemetery in an area that was previously residential. 3) These transformations seem to be linked, directly or indirectly, to the development of major religious centers featuring elaborate architectural and monumental complexes. It seems that such efforts resulted in modifying or creating focal points exerting a significant influence upon the functions of the surrounding areas. The case of Jesolo is very interesting in this regard; the site of the cemetery (if we accept the suggested correlation with a nearby 6th-century church) seems to date to the 7th century, occupying spaces that did not seem to have a particularly elevated social status given the quality of the construction work and artisan character of at least part of the neighbourhood. 4) The maintenance of infrastructures and landscape, a constant in the life of lagoon communities such as Jesolo, can be inferred from the archaeological surveys and can be studied through further geoarchaeological

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5)

115

surveys that are capable of analyzing the countryside in all its complexity and breadth. It is also our belief that the economic and commercial aspect of the settlement can be dealt through such an analysis, especially through the study of communication networks, given the type of material culture characterizing Jesolo’s buildings, which feature considerable quantities of imported goods. Finally, we would like to briefly take into consideration the territorial dimension of these northern Adriatic communities, which has slipped into second place in our report. Traces revealed by remote sensing, in particular the presence of various types of canal, are indicative of territorial interests that cannot be detached from the urban dimension. In addition to its “aqueous” dimension, Jesolo also possessed a “land-based” dimension, related to the settlement of the inland sand bars.

chapter 6

Setting the Scene: The Role of Sant’Ilario Monastery in Early Medieval Venice in Light of Recent Landscape Studies Elisa Corrò, Cecilia Moine and Sandra Primon Introduction In a.d. 978, Pietro Orseolo, the doge of Venice, escaping from his homeland, sailed from Rivo Alto to the monastery of Sant’Ilario, and from there he and his companions continued on horseback to the city of Vercelli. The episode was reported in the Istoria Veneticorum, one of the most ancient chronicles of Venice, written by John the Deacon in the early decades of the 11th century.1 This anecdote effectively summarizes some of the most problematic issues of the early medieval history of Venice: the relationship between the political center of Rivo Alto and the surrounding land, the role of religious ­communities in ducal policies, and the connections between lagoon and mainland, in this case in terms of transport but also significant in matters of control, resources, and cultural and economic contacts. The monastery of Sant’Ilario, one of the main religious institutions sponsored by the early ducal families, was a well known intersection between different environments—lagoon and m ­ ainland— and different modes of transportation—boats and horses (Fig. 6.1). Today, where the monastic buildings once stood, cultivated fields extend over a wide and fertile plain; nothing remains of the medieval settlement. Furthermore, the landscape itself fundamentally differs from its description in the chronicle where the countryside directly faced salt water and artificial embankments completely separated mainland from lagoon. The aim of this research is to frame the role of the monastery of Sant’Ilario in the Early Middle Ages, considering the environment and its numerous changes 1 Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ed. Luigi Andrea Berto, Fonti per la Storia dell’Italia medievale. Storici italiani dal Cinquecento al Millecinquecento ad uso delle scuole 2 (Bologna, 1999), pp. 166–167; Stefano Gasparri, “The formation of an early medieval community: Venice between provincial and urban identity,” in Three empires, three cities: identity, material culture and legitimacy in Venice, Ravenna and Rome, 750–1000, ed. Veronica West-Harling (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 35–50, in particular p. 36.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_008

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Setting the Scene

Venice

Venice

Rivo Alto (ducal palace) Sant’Ilario chapel

Figure 6.1

Location of the ancient site of Sant’Ilario monastery.

as key factors in understanding the social and political network in which it functioned. Firstly, the monastery will be contextualized in the early history of Rivo Alto, with particular attention to monasteries and convents funded and sponsored by ducal authority. Secondly, a brief methodological summary will describe the strategies adopted for landscape analysis, listing limits and potentialities of the study area. Then the role of the monastery of Sant’Ilario during the Early Middle Ages will be analyzed in detail in light of our reconstruction of the landscape. Finally, the period of main environmental changes, represented by the resumption of flow of the Brenta river, will be described, highlighting issues of chronology and land exploitation. (E.C.)

Early Medieval Monasteries of Venice

The traditional description of the origins of lagoon settlements describes Rivo Alto, the ancient name of Venice, as the end point of successive moves within the lagoonal and perilagoonal area. The legendary narration of the so-called migration of the capital from Cittanova, in the north, to Malamocco, somewhere in the south, and eventually to Rivo Alto, can be read as the c­ onsolidation of

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political power in the heart of the lagoon.2 The site was characterized by its proximity to one of the passages from the open sea to the lagoon, between the coastline of Lido and that of Sant’Erasmo, today a lagoon island but in the past a coastal island directly facing the Adriatic Sea. The archaeological data from the city of Venice indicated that the group of lagoon islands around Rivo Alto had been affected by human intervention at least from Late Antiquity, as indicated by land reclamations recognized in urban excavations.3 In particular, the island of Olivolo, located north-east of the city, presents a stratigraphic sequence that suggests an organized exploitation of the area, with traces of waterfronts, paths, and buildings, at least from the 6th and 7th centuries.4 Furthermore, probably in the 8th century, the episcopacy of Saint Peter would be founded in Olivolo. Unfortunately, the 8th century represents a real gap in historical and archaeological information. In this period, in several areas of the lagoon and even in the city center, stratigraphic sequences and spread of materials are frequently interrupted, and written records are almost non-existent.5 Moreover, the information and contexts are so scanty that it is not possible to understand if it was a dramatically critical period for the lagoon, or if scholars have just not yet identified the proper sources for an understanding of this phase. In any case, the situation preceding the consolidation of political power in Rivo Alto is hypothetical and highly conjectural: the only main site that has emerged from the fragmentary historical and material data is the episcopacy in Olivolo. 2 About the legendary history of origins, see, i.e., Origo civitatum Italie seu Venetiarum (Chronicon Altinate et Chronicon Gradense), ed. Roberto Cessi (Rome, 1933). 3 Ca’ Foscari. Storia e restauro del palazzo dell’Università di Venezia, ed. Giuseppe Maria Pilo, Laura De Rossi, Domizia Alessandri, and Flavio Zuanier (Venice, 2005); Stefano Tuzzato, “Venezia. Scavi a San Pietro di Castello (Olivolo). Nota preliminare sulle campagne ­1986–1989,” Quaderni di archeologia del Veneto 7 (1991), pp. 92–103; Stefano Tuzzato, “San ­Pietro di Castello a Venezia. Nota Preliminare dopo la campagna 1992,” Quaderni di archeologia del Veneto 9 (1993), pp. 72–80; Maurizia De Min, “Venezia. Chiesa di San Lorenzo di Castello: un esempio di scavo correlato al restauro architettonico,” in Ritrovare Restaurando, rinvenimenti e scoperte a Venezia e in laguna (Venice, 2000), pp. 41–47. 4 Sauro Gelichi, “La storia di una nuova città attraverso l’archeologia: Venezia,” in Three empires, three cities: identity, material culture and legitimacy in Venice, Ravenna and Rome, 7­ 50–1000, ed. Veronica West-Harling (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 51–89, in particular pp. 72–75. 5 “Isole fortunate? La storia della laguna nord di Venezia attraverso lo scavo di San Lorenzo di Ammiana,” ed. Sauro Gelichi and Cecilia Moine, Archeologia Medievale 39 (2012), pp. 9–56; Sauro Gelichi, Claudio Negrelli, Margherita Ferri, Silvia Cadamuro, Alessandra Cianciosi, and Elena Grandi, “Adriatico altomedievale (vi–xi secolo): Scambi, porti, produzioni,” in Importare, produrre e consumare nella laguna di Venezia dal iv al xii secolo: Anfore, vetri e ceramiche, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Claudio Negrelli (Venice, 2017), pp. 1–92.

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However, habitation and political development of Rivo Alto is clearly dated back to the early 9th century, and seems to have been driven by the activity of the ducal family of the Particiaci, which played a significant role in shaping the early settlement.6 The principal feature of the new site was the ducal palace, the real center of power and the political heart of the archipelago. It was built relatively distant from the episcopacy, in front of the San Marco basin. The location was further from the harbour mouth than Olivolo; however, it was probably at the junction of important lagoon canals, not far from the passage to the Adriatic and in a protected cove, all these characteristics allowing it to exploit its potentialities as a natural harbour. Although the lack of sources affects the early medieval history and archaeology of Venice, a consideration of religious communities is suggested as fundamental clues to the control and exploitation of the territory. As Sauro Gelichi has underlined in several works, the laudatory intent of late medieval and early modern chronicles of the Serenissima tends to overestimate the antiquity of a large number of religious institutions, most of all churches, but also ­monasteries and convents.7 Thus, any attempt to rely on their chronology and distribution should not overlook a critical analysis of their origins. Thus, the communities considered below have been selected only from among those directly or indirectly mentioned in archival records in 1000 or in the Istoria Veneticorum, written in the early 11th century.8 Before the ducal capital was moved to Rivo Alto, traditionally in 810, documented monasteries are almost absent, and were located at the extreme edges of the lagoonal and perilagoonal area. San Michele Arcangelo considered to be the first male religious community attested has been documented since 6 Stefano Gasparri, “The formation of an early medieval community: Venice between provincial and urban identity,” in Three empires, three cities, pp. 35–50; Annamaria Pazienza in this volume. 7 Fulvio Baudo, Stato degli studi, linee di ricerca e prospettive future per l’archeologia dell’edilizia religiosa altomedievale nella laguna di Venezia, Ph.D. thesis, unpublished (Ca’ Foscari University, Venice, 2006); Sauro Gelichi, “Venezia tra archeologia e storia: la costruzione di un’identità urbana,” in Le città italiane tra la Tarda Antichità e l’Alto medioevo, Atti del Convegno (Ravenna 26–28 February 2004), ed. Andrea Augenti (Florence, 2006), pp. 151–183; Sauro Gelichi, “L’archeologia nella laguna di veneziana e la nascita di una nuova città,” Reti Medievali Rivista 9 (2010/12), pp. 2–32; Sauro Gelichi and Cecilia Moine, “Peregrinazioni in sconfinati deserti—Quale archeologia per i monasteri della laguna veneziana?” Hortus Artium Medievalium. Journal of the International Research Centre for Late Antiquity and Middle Ages 19 (2013), pp. 133–154. 8 Istoria Veneticorum, iv, 17–18, pp. 166–167; Gasparri, “The formation of an early medieval community,” pp. 35–50, esp. p. 36.

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800 and, according to John the Deacon, at that time already boasted a long and prestigious tradition.9 The monastic site was in Brondolo, in the southern lagoon, today close to the town of Chioggia. In the Early Middle Ages, it was probably located on a coastal island, near to the ancient outlet of the Brenta river.10 It should be noted that not only was the location relatively far from Venice, but also the benefactors of the institution were not close to the early ducal families.11 The monastery of San Servolo is the second institution mentioned in written records. Unfortunately, it appears in charters only in 819, when it moved to a new site12 (Fig. 6.2). The community, which inhabited a small island south-east of the San Marco basin, requested of the doge a place more suitable for their needs, and obtained the ducal chapel of Sant’Ilario (Saint Hilarius) on the mainland, from which they took the title of the community. The monks had justified their request by the inadequate area of the place and the presence of swamps. The consistency of donations and the prestige accorded by the doges to the monastery, however, implies a political and functional significance. The other early ducal foundations were both occupied by female communities: San Zaccaria, close to the ducal palace, which dates back to 829,13 and the convent of San Lorenzo, between San Zaccaria and the episcopacy of Olivolo, which was probably built around the middle of the century14 (Fig. 6.3).

9

10

11 12 13 14

Giovanni Spinelli, “I primi insediamenti monastici lagunari nel contesto della storia politica e religiosa veneziana,” in Le origini della chiesa di Venezia, ed. Franco Tonon (­Venice, 1987), pp. 151–166; Marco Pozza, “Per una storia dei monasteri veneziani nei secoli ­v iii–xii,” in Il monachesimo nel Veneto medioevale. Atti del convegno di studi in ­occasione del Millenario di fondazione dell’Abbazia di S. Maria di Mogliano Veneto (Treviso), 30 november 1996, ed. Francesco G.B. Trolese (Cesena, 1998), pp. 17–38; Bianca Lanfranchi Strina, ed., SS. Trinità e S. Michele Arcangelo di Brondolo, documenti 800–1199, 2 vols. (­Venice, 1981). See below. Aldino Bondesan and Mirco Meneghel, eds., Geomorfologia della provincia di Venezia. Note illustrative della carta geomorfologica della provincia di Venezia (Padua, 2004), p. 283. See note 9 above. SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio. 819–1199, ed. Luigi Lanfranchi and Bianca Strina (Venice, 1965), pp. 7–17. Documenti relativi alla storia di Venezia anteriori al Mille, secoli v–ix, vol. 1, ed. Roberto Cessi (Padua, 1942), p. 98. Documenti relativi alla storia di Venezia anteriori al Mille, secoli v–ix, vol. 2, ed. Roberto Cessi (Padua, 1943), pp. 116–117.

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ia Ann Un a

Ducal palace (Rivo Alto)

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e rout

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o uc

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Figure 6.2

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Diagram of the area controlled by the monks when they moved to Sant’Ilario.

Olivolo

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Figure 6.3

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Churches Male religion institutions Female religion institutions

Distribution of religious institutions during the 9th century.

In the second half of the 9th century, Santo Stefano appears in the medieval documentation.15 It was a monastery near Altino, the Roman city, which at this time had probably been largely abandoned. It is not possible to determine if the community had had a longer tradition. However, a direct interest of the doges in this community emerged only at the end of the century, when, in 15

Istoria Veneticorum, iii, 11, pp. 134–136.

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900, they allowed the abandonment of the monastery, destroyed by Hungarian invasions, and the relocation to the church of Santi Felice e Fortunato on an island in the archipelago of Ammiana in the northern lagoon.16 For another ducal foundation it was necessary to wait until the last quarter of the 10th century, when a community of monks received the chapel of San Giorgio, on an island directly facing the San Marco basin.17 Finally, there is a short list of religious institutions, all documented in the 11th and 12th centuries, but it is possible that they were founded earlier, perhaps even before 1000.18 However, they do not seem to have influenced the distribution of monasteries during the Early Middle Ages. Indeed, it is rather clear that in the early stages all the religious communities closely linked to ducal power were concentrated near the palace, around the basin of San Marco, in the middle of the lagoon, and, presumably, at a significant intersection of water routes to the sea. The only exception is the monastery of Sant’Ilario, today clearly located on the mainland in a marginal countryside. What were the features of landscape in the past? Why did the doge choose that area for one of the earliest and most important religious communities? (C.M.)

Methodology: From Landscape to History

In our view, history cannot be understood without a consideration of environmental factors. Distribution of settlements and exploitation of land are clear only if they have been properly drawn from a careful reconstruction of the past landscape, which provides the ability to explain resources, connections, and obstacles. It is certainly a universally valid assumption, but is even more significant in an unstable environment, subjected to natural and artificial transformations, such as is the lagoon of Venice. Firstly, the methodology adopted by the project represents an attempt to reconstruct a proper historical and environmental framework. Indeed, a multidisciplinary approach can provide the best tools to understand the palaeogeographic setting of the territory of Sant’Ilario. A second strategy concerns the consideration of medieval and modern written records in order to enhance the understanding of transformations in this unstable area. Among the strengths shown by post-antiquity 16 17 18

Documenti relativi alla storia di Venezia, vol. 2, pp. 33–36. San Giorgio Maggiore, documenti 982–1159, ed. Luigi Lanfranchi (Venice, 1968), pp. 15–16. Gelichi and Moine, “Peregrinazioni in sconfinati deserti,” pp. 133–154.

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studies, for example in the Po Plain, are the encouraging results provided by the analysis of changes in the river network that evidently affected the evolution of that area.19 Natural events and human activities are often crucial factors when determining strategies.20 These anthropogenic landscape transformations can be extreme, for example, when maintaining a strategic position in the river network. These kinds of change can make a fundamental difference. The Sant’Ilario area is key to understanding the general transformation of the environment and its relationship with Venice and its inhabitants, especially during the Early Middle Ages. An in-depth analysis of the territory of Sant’Ilario was begun in 2014 under the direction of Sauro Gelichi, in a “Project of Relevant National Interest-prin” (2010–2011, Ca’ Foscari University of Venice), thanks to the funding support of the Fondazione Ca’ Foscari. The two-year research project involved professionals of Provincia di Venezia (Geological sector, Valentina Bassan), University of Padua (Dept. Of Geoscience: Aldino Bondesan, Paolo Mozzi, and Alessandro Fontana),21 and Ca’ Foscari University of Venice (Dept. Of Humanistic Studies, Laboratory of Medieval Archaeology: Sauro Gelichi). The sample area was studied through shallow corings, geological data, radiocarbon datings, aerial photo interpretation, surveys, and the analysis of archaeological and historical data. The possibility of using a large amount of public data (from public institutions and previous university projects) initially suggested that good results could be achieved inexpensively and in a short period of time, but the lack of systematization and the sector-based storage of data have demanded a detailed coordination between sources in order to attain a global view. 19

20

21

Michele Campopiano, “The evolution of the landscape and the social and political organization of water management: the Po Valley in the Middle Ages (fifth to fourteenth centuries),” in Landscapes or seascapes? The history of the coastal environment in the North Sea area reconsidered, ed. Erik Thoen, Guus J. Borger, Adrian M.J. de Kraker, Tims Soens, Dries Tys, Lies Vervaet, and Henk J.T. Weerts (Turnhout, 2013), pp. 313–332; Paolo Squatriti, Water and society in Early Medieval Italy, ad 400–1000 (New York, 1998). Elisa Corrò and Paolo Mozzi, “Water Matters. Geoarchaeology of the city of Adria and palaeohydrographic variations (Po delta, Northern Italy),” Journal of Archaeological Science Reports (2016). Geomorfologia della provincia di Venezia. Note illustrative della carta geomorfologica della provincia di Venezia, ed. Aldino Bondesan and Mirco Meneghel (Padua, 2004); Aldino Bondesan, Sandra Primon, Valentina Bassan, and Andrea Vitturi, Le unità geologiche della provincia di Venezia (Sommacampagna di Verona, 2008); Paolo Fabbri, Pietro Zangheri, Valentina Bassan, Erico Fagarazzi, Andrea Mazzucato, Sandra Primon, and Chiara Zogno, Sistemi idrogeologici della provincia di Venezia—Acquiferi superficiali (Sommacampagna di Verona, 2013).

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However, this was not the main obstacle: the real challenge has been in reconstructing the general transformation of the environment over time, human exploitation, and the continuous changes in the territory until the present (Fig. 6.4). The process of change continues today. The development of the petrochemical hub of Marghera and the complex road infrastructure are still ­modifying this landscape, making it more and more unrecognizable. Furthermore, s­ everal areas of the district have been reclaimed, almost completely hiding archaeological deposits. In the northern and eastern areas there are evident problems of “false positive” because 16th- and 17th-century land reclamations were undertaken using urban waste, including pottery. From the 12th century on, fluvial deposits of the Brenta river have literally covered the landscape in the eastern part of the sample area. During the 15th century, the area underwent extensive changes due to the reorganization of properties by the Valier family, mainly focused on land reclamation and the establishment of new drainage systems. Major changes in the hydraulic network were made during the 14th century, when water management became essential in order to protect the city from the advance of the lagoon. Moreover, lagoonal mud, as well as waste, was deposited in the same area.22 Furthermore,

Petrochemical hub Fluvial deposits Sant’Ilario Submerged area

ba

r ive

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Figure 6.4

22

nk

Not preserved water routes

Venice

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Diagram of the present landscape around the ancient site of Sant’Ilario monastery.

Luigi Conton, Le antiche ceramiche veneziane scoperte nella laguna (Venice, 1940), p. 8.

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road connections built by the Foscari family led to the construction of the famous Palladian estate, the Villa Foscari—La Malcontenta.23 Written sources of this period suggest that inhabitants were not able to adapt to rapid changes in the environment. A common problem in the study was the difficulty in consistently describing the characteristics of the land, especially the names of rivers. Such widespread incomprehension represents a major obstacle in landscape reconstruction, since these sudden changes caused the memory of original features of the landscape to be lost. New approaches were needed to properly coordinate historical, geological, and archaeological events. As a result, this territory and its rich historical background are now being analyzed with a multidisciplinary approach, which aims to remove inconsistencies and fill gaps in what has been lost to human memory. This methodology has effectively adopted a fundamental guide for each step of the research. It became clear that only from a reconstruction of landscape would it be possible to construct an accurate framework for the historical developments of the Early Middle Ages. The importance of the site of Sant’Ilario to Venetian history, and the radical transformation of the fluvial network over time, makes this study fundamental to better understand its role in the Venetian lagoon. The area is continuously changing, characterized by a road network well integrated with rivers and canals. The main fluvial system is determined by a branch of the Brenta river—the Naviglio Brenta—which flows through an intensively cultivated countryside, directly overlooking the shore of the lagoon. Setting the Sant’Ilario area in its past allows us to better understand how the evolution of a waterway system may affect human exploitation. In other words, the monastery represents an important protagonist in the lagoon’s ecosystem, combining human ecology and social economic organization. (E.C.)

The Early Medieval Landscape, an Overview

Rivers are major features of landscape, especially in a lagoonal ecosystem, mainly based on the interchange between fresh and salty waters. Today, the main watercourse of the area is the Brenta river. It has appeared and disappeared, and its course has shifted through the sample area several times, from 23

Elisa Corrò, Cecilia Moine, and Sandra Primon, “Reazioni uguali e contrarie. Evoluzione paleoambientale e trasformazioni storiche intorno al monastero dei Sant’Ilario e Benedetto (Dogaletto di Mira),” Reti Medievali Rivista 16 (2015), pp. 1–48.

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the Bronze Age to the Middle Ages.24 Geological analyses allow us to verify that during the Roman period its main branch flowed toward the north-eastern outskirts of Padua, passing southward through the villages of Noventa and Camin (Fig. 6.5). During the Roman period, the presence of a branch of the Brenta in the sample area has also been identified near the village of Sambruson, where it is clearly recognizable as a fluvial ridge, crossed by the relief of the Annia consular route. Traditionally it is interpreted as Medoacus Maior, one of the oreseea listed in the Peutinger Table.25 Three corings carried out in the lagoonal basin in this area have intercepted levels of peat, compatible with a freshwater marsh, confirming the past proximity of a river. All the 14th-century datings are closely related, and attest to the presence of a fluvial route between the end of 3rd and the beginning of the 4th century a.d., although it is not definitely ascribable to the Brenta river.26 However, all the data suggest that the activities of this branch were limited in time, and did not last beyond Late Antiquity.27 Around the hamlet of Villatora, near Saonara, several radiocarbon datings attest to the activity of the river from 1000 b.c. to a.d. 860.28 There, a main branch (the Saonara ridge) moved toward the lagoon, through the cities of ­Piove di Sacco, Arzergrande, and Vallonga, while a secondary branch (Legnaro ridge) merged with the Bacchiglione river through the Pontelongo canal, crossing the cities of Legnaro and Polverara. Thus, in the Early Middle Ages, all the 24

25 26

27

28

Sandra Primon, Paola Furlanetto, and Paolo Mozzi, “Schema cronologico riassuntivo dei percorsi antichi del Brenta,” in Geomorfologia della provincia di Venezia. Note illustrative alla Carta geomorfologica della provincia di Venezia, ed. Aladino Bondesan and Mirco Meneghel (Venice, 2004), p. 283. Richard J.A. Talbert, Rome’s World: The Peutinger Map Reconsidered (Cambridge, 2010). Motte di Volpego: Enrico Bonatti, “Late-Pleistocene and postglacial stratigraphy of a sediment core from the lagoon of Venice (Italy),” Memorie di Biogeografia Adriatica 7 (1968), pp. 9–26; Torson di Sotto: Paolo Antonio Pirazzoli, Nadine Planchais, Marie Rosset-­ Moulinier, and Jean Thommeret, “Interprétation paléogéographique d’une tourbe de Torson di Sotto (Lagune de Venise, Italie),” Niedersächsischen Landesamt in Hannover 18 (1979), pp. 1–18; Valle Averto: Luigi Tosi, Federica Rizzetto, Maurizio Bonardi, Sandra Donnici, Rossana Serandrei Barbero, and Franco Toffoletto, Note illustrative della Carta Geologica d’Italia alla scala 1:50.000. 148–149—Chioggia-Malamocco (Rome, 2007). Sandra Primon, Paola Furlanetto, and Paolo Mozzi, “Schema cronologico riassuntivo dei percorsi antichi del Brenta,” in Geomorfologia della provincia di Venezia. Note illustrative alla Carta geomorfologica della provincia di Venezia, ed. Aladino Bondesan and Mirco Meneghel (Venice, 2004), p. 283. G.B. Castiglioni, A. Girardi, and G. Rodolfi, “Le tracce degli antichi percorsi del Brenta per Montà e Arcella nei pressi di Padova: studio geomorfologico,” Memorie Società Geologica 39 (Padua, 1987), pp. 29–149.

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Noventa Anni

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Legend

Main geomorphologic elements: Coastal deposits Pleistocene deposits Holocene deposits Pleistocene fluvial ridge Holocene f luvial ridge Historical cartography: Lagoonal margin Road Centuriazione

Figure 6.5

Sambruson

Sant’Ilario

Villatora

Saonara

Present city Water course

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Piove di Sacco Arzergrande Bacch

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Geomorphologic structure of the area around the monastery of Sant’Ilario.

branches of the Brenta river flowed south and southeast to Padua, quite far from the territory of the Sant’Ilario monastery. Stratigraphical analyses are not enough to identify the course of the Brenta for certain after 1000 a.d. A detailed written source analysis enabled us to supplement the lack of geological data. For example, an 11th-century document about donations of properties in the area of Padua suggests that at that time the Brenta flowed close to the city of Noventa.29 Two important elements appear clear. First, the course of the Brenta returned to the east of Padua in the Late Middle Ages. From the 11th century it is attested in Noventa, quite close to the city. Secondly, in the 12th century, as is well known from Venetian history, 29

Francesco Dondi, Dall’Orologio, Dissertazione terza sopra l’Istoria Ecclesiastica Padovana, Seminario (Padua, 1844); Wladimiro Dorigo, “Mestre medioevale,” in Venezia Arti 5 (1991), pp. 9–28, in particular pp. 19–21.

km

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it flowed through the area of Sant’Ilario, and several harbours were established along its course. (S.P.)

The Early Monastic Estate

To summarize, during the Early Middle Ages, the perilagoonal border of the central area was not intersected by the outlet of the Brenta river. However, the area granted by the doges to the religious community was clearly characterized by a remarkable number of watercourses. Even in the first donation, the boundaries of the monastic territory were principally identified by sweet water canals.30 Their toponyms have not been preserved; however, 16th-century cartography allows us to locate some of them to a good approximation, especially those located in the south.31 Despite the fact that the remains of the ancient church of Sant’Ilario have never been located with any certainty, the area of the monastic precinct has been clearly identified: in the Napoleonic cadastral survey, a parcel in a larger area named “Sant’Ilario” showed the presence of a ruined church.32 It was located in the south-west of the hinterland of Venice, near the present hamlet of Dogaletto in the district of Mira. The subsequent fieldwork of archaeological surveys and excavations confirmed the presence of a significant amount of early medieval materials (especially pottery) and sepulchral evidence, reasonably linked to a religious institution.33 Using this site as a reference point, and reading written records and geological information together, we have proposed a reconstruction of the early monastic territory (Fig. 6.6). The monastic buildings lay along the Una river, which crossed the whole property from west to east. The northern border was marked by the Clarino river, and the southern one by a sequence of canals (Gambararia, Ruga, Luva, 30 SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, pp. 7–17. 31 ASVe, sea, Brenta, dis. 1A; ASVe, sea, Brenta, rot. 24, dis. 2; ASVe, sea, laguna, dis. 5, ­Archivio ire, dis. der, E, 39, n. 4. 32 ASVe, Censo Stabile, Napoleonico, Gambarare, 38, ii. 33 Diego Calaon and Margherita Ferri, “Il monastero dei Dogi. Ss. Ilario e Benedetto ai margini della Laguna veneziana,” in Missioni archeologiche e progetti di ricerca e di scavo dell’Università Ca’Foscari—Venezia, 6th giornata di studio, 12 May 2008, ed. Sauro Gelichi (Venice, 2008), pp. 185–197; Diego Calaon, Margherita Ferri, and Corinna Bagato, “Ss. Ilario e Benedetto (ix secolo). Un monastero del nascente dogado veneziano tra terra e laguna,” 5th congresso nazionale di archeologia medievale, ed. Giuliano Volpe and Pasquale Favia (Florence, 2009), pp. 498–504.

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ano Taglio di Mir

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521 ± 81 a.d.

Lago dei Teneri N LEGENDA fluvial deposits

883 ± 66 a.d.

Co

Torson di Sopra

rni

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i

xi Figure 6.6

se

.

.C

d c.

ix

.C.

.d

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Porto di Malamocco 2,5 5 km

lagoonal deposits coastal deposits hypotetical lagoonal border in th th the 9 - 12 c. a.d. lagoonal border th in the 16 c. a.d. radiocarbon dating

Paleoenvironmental reconstruction of Sant’Ilario: Early Middle Ages.

Seuco) that crossed marshes, salty swamplands, and eventually flowed into the lagoon. Furthermore, the southeastern limit was marked by the Avesa canal. The exact water routes could only be partially recognized; however, the general geography of the area can be reconstructed with good accuracy. Certainly, all these watercourses were canals or groundwater-fed river, that is to say, they were generally characterized by a low sedimentation rate. This feature probably guaranteed a relatively stable river network, since the scanty deposits usually reduced obstruction of riverbeds, and consequently diversions, floods, and spread of marshes and swamplands. Furthermore, these watercourses had a short course, and therefore were not long and impressive waterways for longrange communications. On the contrary, they probably comprised a low flowrate system which gradually discharged into the lagoon. At this period the landscape of the area was the natural ecosystem of a coastal lagoon. It was a countryside crossed by rivers that flowed ­progressively into swamplands surrounding river mouths, then into salty marshes, and eventually discharged into the lagoon basin. In other words, features of rivers

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­suggest that they were passages between overland routes and navigable waterways to the lagoon, rather than landing places along major waterways. Indeed, 9th-century written sources mentioned monastic rights to harbours; however, they could be more reasonably interpreted as landing places rather than as trading centers.34 Moreover, it was clearly a transitional environment, open to many different forms of exploitation. The monastic properties listed fields, vineyards, forests, and livestock in the dry areas and pastures, and fishponds and bird hunting in the wetlands. Woods could have been a more substantial resource than is recorded by historical sources. Environmental studies of this area have added to the knowledge of the position of the lagoon border over the centuries. Indeed it is not the result of an unequivocal and progressive phenomenon: on the contrary, it has been subjected to periodic changes, mainly due to fluvial deposition and to the eustatic sea level rise (eusthatism).35 Despite the lack of precision with which the lagoon border can be drawn, corings made in the submerged area next to the ancient monastic property suggest that in the past it had not only become dry land, but was probably occupied by a large and long-lasting forest. Numerous logs have been identified in their original positions and dated by radiocarbon analysis to between the 6th and 9th centuries.36 This evidence can be related to the description of an archaeological sequence, evidence of a Roman necropolis, discovered and documented by the 18th-century Venetian architect Tommaso Temanza in 1756 during excavation works in a waterlogged area near Fusina, near the monastic site of Sant’Ilario.37 According to his description, the Roman context was covered by a layer of large roots. Thus it may be assumed that when the monks moved to Sant’Ilario, the lagoon border was more to the east than today, and that a large area, now submerged by brackish waters, was occupied by a forest, at least up until the 9th century. The causes of the extinction of this forest can only be hypothesized: they could be ascribed to natural factors, such as the progressive rise of the sea level between the 9th and 12th centuries,38 as well to human activities. 34 35

36 37

38

SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio. Elisa Corrò, Cecilia Moine, and Sandra Primon, “Reazioni uguali e contrarie. Evoluzione paleoambientale e trasformazioni storiche intorno al monastero dei Sant’Ilario e Benedetto (Dogaletto di Mira),” Reti Medievali Rivista 16 (2015), pp. 1–48, in particular, pp. 6–12. Alessandro Marcello and Nicolò Spada, “Notizia di una vicenda climatica antica nella ­laguna di Venezia”, Memorie di Biogeografia Adriatica 7 (1968). Tommaso Temanza, Dissertazione sopra l’antichissimo territorio di Sant’Ilario nella diocesi di Olivolo, in cui molte cose si toccano all’antico stato della Venezia marittima appartenenti, Giambatista Pasquali (Venice, 1761), p. 24. Fulvio Zezza, Venezia città d’acqua. Le incidenze geologiche su origini, evoluzione e vulnerabilità (Padua, 2014), pp. 53–75.

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In effect, ­deforestation could have been a possible concomitant cause of the subsequent ingression of the lagoon. The potentialities of forests, in terms of biodiversity, exploitation of uncultivated areas, and supply of timber are basic to the medieval economy. In addition, arboreal species are ash and alder, recognized from coring samples, and oak, according to Temanza. In Early Medieval Venice, all of these types of timber were suitable for specific uses, which contributes to clarifying the importance of this resource. Ash and alder are largely attested in medieval buildings and land reclamation structures lagoon-wide, while oak is considered an excellent wood for shipbuilding, and is also attested for dugout boats (9th to 12th centuries) recovered in the area.39 Considering that the disappearance of the forest is dated to the 9th century, it could be a fruitful line of further research to analyze main historical phenomena in the light of similar environmental changes. Indeed, it may have been the period when the settlement of Rivo Alto was established. Furthermore, John the Deacon reports that a large war fleet had been supplied about 840, under Doge Pietro Tradonico.40 Obviously warships, according to the medieval author, the so-called chelandria, were much more technologically complex than dugout boats, but unfortunately there is almost no archaeological documentation and they are poorly known, as is all early Venetian naval technology.41 The principal estate, clearly circumscribed by watercourses, seems to have been the fundamental resource for the religious community at its early stage. From 828, a few farms outside these boundaries are attested in the monastic archive, but they were small in number and concentrated to the north-west.42 They were all in the present eastern countryside of Padua, in an area characterized by the survival of Roman centuriation. This was probably a very fertile and wholesome area, well connected to the hydrological network of the monastic area, thanks to the canals of the centuriation system (Fig. 6.7). (C.M.)

39

40 41 42

Alessandro Asta, Mauro Bon, Valentina Girotto, Stefano Medas, and Paolo Reggiani, “Reperti archeologici provenienti dai sedimenti del canale del Cornio (Campagna Lupia, laguna di Venezia): analisi degli scafi monossili ed evidenze faunistiche,” Bollettino di Storia Naturale di Venezia 65 (2014), pp. 237–252. Gelichi, “La storia di una nuova città,” pp. 51–89, at p. 87. Thanks to Carlo Beltrame for help and suggestions. SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, pp. 17–24.

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Corrò, Moine and Primon

Venice Sant’Ilario

Padua

2.5

Monastic area

0

2.5

Figure 6.7



5

7.5

10 km

Distribution of farms outside Saint’Ilario boundaries in the 9th century.

Pladano: A New Harbour

The first significant land acquisition is represented by the area called Pladano (Fig. 6.8). It was documented for the first time by the Lothair’s Privilege, a charter dated to 839 with questionable authenticity.43 However, the monastic archive proves that, within the first half of the 9th century, the area was definitely under the control of the monks. The land was contiguous with the north side of the main estate. The northern boundary was the Tergola river and the Vissignone canal to the east. The Tergola was longer and deeper than the other watercourses mentioned above, and it was probably the major river in this lagoonal sector. It flows from Onara through the countryside north of Padua, and at that period it entered the lagoon quite close to Venice. This land was characterized by fields, vineyards, and woods, similar to the other monastic area;

43

SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, pp. 25–39 and pp. vii–xxxviii; Roberto Cessi, “Un falso diploma di Lotario (839) ed il delta di Sant’Ilario,” in Atti e memorie della reale Accademia di scienze, lettere ed arti in Padova 27 (1921), pp. 133–147; Alessio Sopracasa, “Sui falsi del monastero venenziano dei Ss. Ilario e Benedetto (secc. ix–xiv),” Storia di Venezia—­ Rivista 2 (2004), pp. 127–146.

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Setting the Scene

Ducal palace (Rivo Alto)

San Pietro ?

Hypothesis concerning Tergola R.

Sant’Ilario

0

2.5

Figure 6.8

San Servolo

Main monastic ownership Pladano

Pladano (harbour?)

te ou ia r n An

5 km

Onara

Tergola

Diagram of the area controlled by the monks of Saint’Ilario after Pladano.

Zez enig o

Botte nigo

Lu

sor e

Borbiago

Aureliaco

fium

eP

Tergola

ino?

Clarin

Clar cus

ma

jor

fiume UN A

? ga

Ru

Figure 6.9

i al d can

0

Avesa

no iga le V a n ca

nce

Historical cartography Water course Lagoonal canal Lagoonal border Road Annia route Other: harbour

Finale

S. Ilario

Laro

sa

Pleistocene fluvial ridge Fluvial ridge –3rd –4th c. a.d. (a = low evidence) Paleoriverbed

?

?

Avesa

fos

LEGENDA Main geomorphologic elements

ano

isola Pisniga

go de lpa Vo

? Sambruson (Maio Meduaco)

o?

fossa Gambarara

doa

lad

Te rg ola

Vissignone

Pladano ?

Me

Sant’Ilario

Padua

2,5

llo

a Lov

5

km

canal Seuco

Geomorphologic structure of the area around the monastery of Sant’Ilario: the Early Middle Ages.

N

134

Corrò, Moine and Primon

f­urthermore, two courts—Ceresaria and Pladano—and the presence of ­settlers were attested (Fig. 6.9). Pladano was the principal one, inasmuch as it was supported by the church of San Pietro and a harbour on the Tergola river. It was this harbour, sometimes mentioned in the plural, that was probably the main resource of the area, as is emphasized by its centrality in the early medieval documentation. Today this area is almost unrecognizable; however, historical cartography and information from written records allow us to hypothesize that the course of the Tergola river ran near the present Naviglio Brenta.44 The present church of San Pietro (in Oriago) is a 17th-century building, though there is no archaeological proof that it stands in the same place as the early medieval building. However, it is quite possible to circumscribe the zone of the settlement and to propose a possible reconstruction of water routes. From the Tergola river, it was possible to travel along freshwater canals, such as the Vissignone canal, to the lagoon canals, reaching the San Marco basin in Venice, probably through the Giudecca canal. It should be noted that Tergola was not a connection between two cities, but between the countrysides of Padua and Venice. It represented a longer route than the others controlled by the monastery in its early stage. Furthermore, it is probable that it was the first direct connection between the area of Sant’Ilario and Venice, and then to the open sea. In the southern zone, passages between mainland and lagoon no longer exist, due to medieval and modern modifications to the fluvial network, but many watercourses that crossed the first land property of Sant’Ilario, such as the Gambarara, Seuco, and Volpego canals, seem to have been directed southwards to the Melison and Fisolo canals, which flow into the Malamocco ­harbour mouth in the southern lagoon. Unfortunately, at this state of the study, other water routes, such as the Una and Clarino rivers, are impossible to reconstruct, and we can only imagine a connection with Rivo Alto, via lagoonal canals. Descriptions of boundaries of Pladano always mention a road near the settlement. The presence of a terrestrial itinerary and its position are confirmed by a 15th-century map, where the remains of a brief section of road are clearly represented near where Pladano is supposed to have been located.45 Furthermore, in analyzing the microrelief of the whole territory of the district, a ridge is clearly detectable. It crosses the area in a southwest-northeast direction, and

44 Corrò, Moine, and Primon, “Reazioni uguali e contrarie,” pp. 1–48. 45 Archivio ire, dis. der, E, 39, n. 4.

Setting the Scene

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corresponds to the Roman consular Annia road. In our opinion, it is possible that parts of the ancient Roman infrastructure still existed in the Early Middle Ages, not only as simple landmarks, but also as usable roads. To summarize, in the 9th century, the religious community of Sant’Ilario controlled a wide area in a transitional landscape between mainland and lagoon, characterized by groundwater-fed rivers that guaranteed a relatively stable environment. The strategic importance of the area involved its natural resources, as well its position at a nodal point for communications within the lagoon. Initially, the monastic land was above all an intersection between different ways of moving people and goods, as is suggested by the features of rivers and the possible presence of the Annia road. Unfortunately, it is not possible to identify a preferential destination of these routes, probably directed to Rivo Alto as well as to the southern lagoon. Then, after the acquisition of Pladano, a new harbour or several docking points along the Tergola river became the main element of the communication network, due to its proximity to Venice, or to the long course of that river. (C.M.)

Changing Lands and Changing Functions: The Arrival of the Brenta River

The main environmental change in the area can be easily identified in the resumption of flow of the Brenta river. After 1000, a branch of this water course near the city of Padua was diverted to the east, toward the lands of the monastery of Sant’Ilario (Fig. 6.10). It probably became the main branch, determining the slow, but progressive, decline of the early course, which had been exploited for navigation at least until the 13th century. The immediate effect of this phenomenon certainly resulted in a devastating impact on the landscape: the flow of water caused a powerful flood, damaging cultivation and settlements. Moreover, the new river probably partially occupied the riverbeds of existing waterways, and partially crossed and interrupted the course of others. The long-term consequences were even more dramatic: the Brenta river is characterized by a significant deposition of sediments that progressively obstructed riverbeds, determining the formation of silting, diversions, and swamplands, especially near river outlets to the lagoon. In other words, the area started to be subjected to a permanent situation of hydrological instability. However, for a relatively brief period, the new river arrangement represented a strong advantage for the religious

136

Corrò, Moine and Primon

Zez enig o

Lu

Botten

sor e

igo

Borbiago

Aureliaco Pladano ?

me

ta en Br

Clar

ino

Balledello

?

o?

Finale

S. Ilario

Avesa Vo lpa de go

1084 ± 49 a.d.

LEGENDA

no iga eV l a can

Avesa

Brenta di S. Ilario ?

Br en

Main geomorphologic elements Pleistocene fluvial ridge Fluvial ridge – 3rd – 4th c. a.d. a (a = low evidence) Fluvial ridge – 3rd – 4th c. a.d.

ta

Paleoriverbed

harbour

dan

Borgo

Sambruson

Other:

Pla

?

Porto

Historical cartography Water course Lagoonal canal Lagoonal border Road Annia route

Ter go la

Vissignone

f iu

Tergola Mira Vecchia

Laro

ncell

o

Curano

va i Lo al d can

0

14

C dating

Figure 6.10

2,5

5

km

euco al S can

Geomorphologic structure of the area around the monastery of Sant’Ilario after the arrival of the Brenta River.

ta en

Br

WAY FAST

Sant’Ilario

FLUVIAL DEPOSITS

MONASTIC AREA

G

nta

Bre

W AY ?

Noventa

Figure 6.11

2.5

5 km

Venice

HARBOUR

LO N

0

N

Sant’Ilario

Padua

Diagram of the landscape of Saint’Ilario after the arrival of the Brenta River.

Setting the Scene

137

c­ ommunity, opening a new navigable route that directly connected Noventa, a place close to Padua, to the monastery, and then to Venice (Fig. 6.11). The riverbeds occupied by the Brenta river at different times are clearly detectable on the ground. The microrelief identified the elevated fluvial ridges; and geological surveys and corings confirm the presence of sandy and silty sand fluvial deposits, ascribable to the Brenta river.46 Thus, paths of water routes are relatively easy to recognize, but not the chronology of their activity and disuse. A radiocarbon dating is available only for a sedimentary unit next to the site of the monastery, indicating the activation of this branch slightly later than 1084.47 To refine the chronology we turned to historical information, with the aim of focusing on the changing patrimonial interests in the 11th and 12th centuries, attempting to understand if they could be used as a clue to environmental transformations. As is well known, the resumption of flow of the Brenta river in this area is not clearly described by medieval chronicles and other written records of the period. The first attestation is reported in a peace treaty between the Venetians and Paduans dated to 1143–1146.48 At that time, the monks of Sant’Ilario were collecting tolls along the water routes between Padua and Venice: from N ­ oventa to Sant’Ilario territory, boatmen presumably travelled along the ­Brenta river and its branches. Then, in a place called Portus,49 near the monastery, they paid a toll to have their boats hauled up across an embankment, probably to reach another waterway, directly connected to Venice. The treaty e­ stablished the amount of this toll as a refund to the monastery for the ­extensive damage suffered, due to the fluvial diversion. It describes an existing situation, but does not necessarily imply that the hydrological transformation was recent. As in many medieval agreements, it could have been the result of a long process, perhaps starting decades before. Even the responsibility of the Paduans in changing the hydrological network is doubtful: it could have been military

46

47 48 49

Geomorfologia della provincia di Venezia; Bondesan, Primon, Bassan, and Vitturi, Le unità geologiche, pp. 120–129; Paolo Mozzi et al., Paesaggi antichi e potenziale archeologico/ Starodavne pokrajine in arheološki potencial, Archeologia del paesaggio nell’area costiera veneta: conoscenza, partecipazione e valorizzazione/Arheologija in krajina na obalnem območju Veneta: spoznati, podeliti in ovrednotiti, ed. Sauro Gelichi, Paolo Mozzi, Claudio Negrelli, Tiziano Abbà, Silvia Cadamuro, Elisa Corrò, Alessandro Fontana, Cecilia Moine, Andrea Ninfo, Sandra Primon, Lara Sabbionesi, Fabrizio Panozzo, Moreno Baccichet, ­Davide Longhi, and Domenico Patassini (Cittadella-Padova), pp. 19–85. Bondesan, Primon, Bassan, and Vitturi, Le unità geologiche, pp. 120–129. SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, pp. 74–75. Portus literally means harbour.

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strategy, or collateral damage.50 Alternatively, the early diversion could have been a natural event, followed by human intervention. In addition to radiocarbon dating, other clues from written records suggest that hydrographical changes may have occurred before the 40s of the 12th century. From 1110, the harbour of Pladano completely lost the centrality from which it benefited during the Early Middle Ages.51 It seems to have been replaced by a new harbour located next to the monastery. It is highly probable that this was the place where boats crossed the riverbank, after paying a toll. In other words, Sant’Ilario monastery had become a crucial passage to Venice. At the same period, the landmarks used to describe the monastic b­ oundaries changed, and the Tergola river was no longer referred to by its own name, but was indicated with a circumlocution, such as “the river that flows along the settlements of Ceresaria and Pladano.” It is also noteworthy that in depositions concerning boundaries, collected in the second half of the 12th century, when landscape had already been transformed by significant environmental changes, the last period of stability was identified in the time of Abbot Peter, at the end of the 11th century.52 Furthermore, the monastic properties outside the main estate considerably increased in the period between the second half of the 11th and the first decades of the 12th century (Fig. 6.12). Most of the new farms were distributed in the eastern countryside of Padua, and concentrated along three main directions following water and terrestrial routes: the northern course of the Tergola; along a route of a watercourse towards the south; and along the Annia route. One of the most significant acquisitions took place in 1117.53 The authenticity of this medieval document which attested this large acquisition is questioned.54 However, even supposing that the monastery did not firmly control 50

51 52 53 54

Marco Cornaro, Scritture sulla laguna (1412–1464), 3 vols., ed. Giuseppe Pavanello (Venice, 1919), 2, iv, pp. 122–123; Tommaso Temanza, Dissertazione sopra l’antichissimo territorio di Sant’Ilario nella diocesi di Olivolo, in cui molte cose si toccano all’antico stato della Venezia marittima appartenenti, Giambatista Pasquali (Venice, 1761), pp. 35–40; Bernardino Zendrini, Memorie storiche dello stato antico e moderno delle lagune di Venezia e di que’fiumi che restano divertiti per la conservazione delle medesime, 2 vols. (Padua, 1811), p. 17; Andrea Gloria, “L’agro patavino dai tempi romani alla pace di Costanza (25 giugno 1183),” Atti del Reale Istituto di Scienze Lettere ed Arti 7, series 5, 10 (1880–1881), pp. 1225–1170; Giuseppe Marzemin, Le abbazie veneziane dei SS. Ilario e Benedetto e di S. Gregorio. Notizie storiche, artistiche, archeologiche (Venice 1912); SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, pp. vii–xxxviii. SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, p. 55 and following. SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, pp. 90–96 and pp. 49–51. SS. Ilario e Benedetto e S. Gregorio, pp. 59–66. Alessio Sopracasa, “Sui falsi del monastero venenziano dei Ss. Ilario e Benedetto (secc. ix–xiv),” Storia di Venezia—Rivista 2 (2004), pp. 127–146.

139

Setting the Scene

Tergola

ute Annia ro

Padua

Venice

Brenta

Sant’Ilario Monastic area

Route and wate

r course

2.5

0

2.5

Figure 6.12

5

7.5

10 km

Distribution of farms between the 11th and 12th centuries.

these properties, a strong interest in them by different and antagonistic political powers clearly emerges. To discharge a family debt, the sons of Rambaldo, Count of Treviso, presented the so-called curia of Porto to Sant’Ilario. This was composed of a number of land properties, distributed along the main routes, terrestrial as well as fluvial, between Sant’Ilario and the eastern countryside of Padua, from Tavo to the Cornio canal, and from Vigonza to Oriago and the so-called Riva di M ­ estre (bank of Mestre). That is to say, they were distributed along all the routes towards the lagoon. For instance, as confirmed by archaeological excavations, the Cornio canal had been a passage from Padua to the southern lagoon, continuously used from the Roman period until the 11th–12th centuries.55 The Riva di Mestre was also a fundamental docking center, controlled by families of Treviso, and probably allowed access to the Grand Canal.56 55

56

Alle foci del Medoacus Minor, ed. Giovanni Gorini (Limena-Padua, 2011); Elisa Corrò, “Valutazione delle potenzialità archeologiche della Laguna di Venezia: la frangia lagunare sud in età post antica,” Archeologia e Calcolatori 24 (2013), pp. 163–186; Alessandro Asta, Mauro Bon, Valentina Girotto, Stefano Medas, and Paolo Reggiani, “Reperti archeologici provenienti dai sedimenti del canale del Cornio (Campagna Lupia, laguna di Venezia): analisi degli scafi monossili ed evidenze faunistiche,” Bollettino di Storia Naturale di Venezia 65 (2014), pp. 237–252. Theodor Sickel, Monumenta Graphica Medii Aevi ex archivis et bibliothecis Imperii ­Austriaci collecta, 10 vols. (Wien, 1859–1882), 1, pp. 4–42; Wladimiro Dorigo, “Mestre medioevale,” Venezia Arti 5 (1991), pp. 9–28.

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Many properties were farms, forests, pastures, or other economic resources, such as water and harbour rights. However, a few of them stand out as particular infrastructures, and thus for their centrality. Several religious institutions were also mentioned in Sambruson, whereas Porto boasted a fortified structure (castrum) and the church of San Michele. Porto in particular was quite close to the boundary of the monastic estate. It is traditionally identified with the Roman settlement of the same name, and connected with the present village of Porto Menai.57 Without archaeological confirmation, the exact position of the early medieval village cannot be precisely located, above all because a 15th-century map depicts the church of San Michele slightly to the east of the traditional location.58 However, its proximity to the landscape of Sant’Ilario, and in particular its connection with routes leading to the lagoon, are evident. To conclude, despite the fact that the chronology of the existence of the Brenta river can only be conjectured, the general historical frame suggests the increasing importance of this area during the 11th and 12th centuries. This period could be interpreted as a relatively brief moment of strategic importance, before the environmental changes and hydrological instability inexorably transformed the zone into a marginal area. (E.C.) Conclusions The case of Sant’Ilario represents a good example of interaction between human and natural events involving the Venice lagoon during the Middle Ages. The medieval landscape reconstruction does not present only the theater of past events, but it is an indispensable and integrated element in considering and thoroughly understanding human activities. Furthermore, in our case study, the end of the Early Middle Ages does not represent the beginning of the research, but also a starting point for further questions and for different approaches in analyzing the relation between man and lagoon. Natural and artificial intervention in the landscape, which has characterized the area until today, started in the 11th and 12th centuries, and p ­ ermanently

57

Opere di assetto territoriale e urbano, ed. Lorenzo Quilici and Stefania Quilici Gigli, Atlante tematico di topografia antica 3 (Rome, 1995), p. 88. 58 Archivio ire, dis. der, E, 39, n. 4. Furthermore, it has been proposed that the toponym of Porto Menai derives from modern boat services, which guaranteed the passage through a waterway that was part of the 17th–18th century fluvial network.

Setting the Scene

141

changed the future of this region.59 In this period a series of hydraulic works for managing the land were started by several bodies, such as monks or Paduans. Their choices determined the development and exploitation of the area, and indirectly of Venice. A crucial point highlighted in this research is that control strategies and exploitation of land are directly connected with a series of chain reactions, which were not always forseeable. Furthermore, it should be emphasized that we cannot ignore the potential of landscape exploitation when analyzing human phenomena. Indeed, the history of Sant’Ilario has been closely connected to the environment, but not just in terms of conditioning. It has been a history of opportunities, adaptations, and interventions. In the 9th century, when Sant’Ilario was founded, it was probably an outpost of the ducal power on the mainland. It was located not far from the edge of the lagoon, and it controlled a wide area of the hinterland. It was characterized by an abundance of resources, such as vineyards, fields, and pastures, all essential for the development and well-being of rural and lagoonal settlement. Furthermore, monks could probably count on a large timber supply, an essential raw material throughout the Middle Ages. The importance of timber as fuel and building material is well known, but in lagoonal settlements it was also a fundamental resource for land reclamation and shipbuilding. Both of these were key activities in an area where man was intent on wresting new land from water and managing a lagoon. While a large forest had already been lost during the 9th century, another fundamental feature of this area—communication routes—seems to have characterized the entire history of the Sant’Ilario monastery. During the ­Early Middle Ages it was a crossing point between the mainland and the lagoon ­basin, both the southern mouth of Malamocco and the central one of Venice, and between different modes of transportation, by land and by water. To conclude, it is not possible to understand the history of a community, such as a small monastery or a more complex city, without studying the ­framework in which it was placed, both from a social and a physical p ­ erspective. This is true, taking the human dimension—the set of family and policy relationships, strategies, and purchasing alliances—into account, but it is even more true from an environmental point of view. The landscape represents the theater of these events: the resources to draw on and the obstacles to be overcome. In this case it is the diversity that has made the difference. (E.C., C.M., S.P.) 59

Corrò, Moine, and Primon, “Reazioni uguali e contrarie,” pp. 1–48.

chapter 7

Comacchio: A Liminal Community in a Nodal Point during the Early Middle Ages Sauro Gelichi Introduction Over recent years, archaeological research in Comacchio (fe), located to the south of the Po delta (Fig. 7.1), has improved our understanding of one of the most important Italian settlements of the Early Medieval Period.1 These archaeological investigations, together with a set of intrinsic data, have introduced (or re-introduced) a number of socio-historical and economical-historical themes back into the scientific debate. Some of these themes are not only relevant to Comacchio, but concern the formation of communities and their relationships with the powers-to-be in general. The aim of this study is to analyze the role and the nature of this community emerging in a liminal place, along the coast in a lagoon area. Although not an obviously favourable site, the availability of natural resources led to the development, in a relatively short time, of a community living from fishing and salt harvesting. This borderline location was key to the economic and later political success of a stable though short-lived settlement whose brief history is outlined below.

A Brief Introduction to Comacchio

In the written sources Comacchio is famous for being at the centre of a t­ reaty drawn up between the Lombards and the inhabitants of the site in ­question in relation to trading activities taking place along the Po and its t­ributaries.

1 On Comacchio and its medieval archaeology, see Sauro Gelichi and Diego Calaon, “Comacchio: la storia di un emporio sul delta del Po,” in Genti del Delta. Da Spina a Comacchio. ­Uomini, territorio e culto dall’antichità all’alto medioevo (Ferrara, 2007), pp. 387–416 (with previous bibliography).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_009

Comacchio

Figure 7.1

143

Location of Comacchio. laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

The treaty, which dates to 715 (or 730), is the first historical text to mention ­Comacchio.2 References to Comacchio are also found in the Istoria 2 On the Capitulary, see Ludo Moritz Hartmann, Zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte Italiens im frühen Mittelalter (Gotha, 1902), pp. 123–124, n. 1 and, more recently, Massimo Montanari, “Il capitolare di Liutprando: note di storia dell’economia e dell’alimentazione,” in La Civiltà Comacchiese e Pomposiana dalle origini preistoriche al tardo medioevo (Bologna, 1986), pp. 461–475.

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V ­ eneticorum attributed to John the Deacon, which describes damage to the site following an attack by the Saracens in 875. The raiders had originally set their sights on ­Grado, but after being put to flight by a fleet of Veneti, they set sail for Comacchio, sacking it.3 The community’s fate was definitively sealed in 932. Another act of war would seal the community’s fate when the Venetian duke, Peter ii Candiano, sent an army against the Comaclenses (the inhabitants of ­Comacchio) to respond to an insult. This time, the use of weapons seems to have decreed the end of the settlement. According to the Istoria Veneticorum, Comacchio was burned to the ground and its inhabitants deported to Venice.4 The archaeological excavations, carried out between 2007 and 2009 in two areas of the historical town (around the cathedral and within Villaggio San Francesco) (Fig. 7.2) brought to light a sequence of structures and layers s­ panning the time period of the settlement’s development: from its beginnings in the second half of the 6th century through its further growth in the 7th ­century to its consolidation in the 8th century.5 Most importantly, they not only r­ evealed the town’s economic and social characteristics but also c­ onfirmed that the ­settlement had been an important trading center.6 They also provided direct evidence of Comacchio’s status as an episcopal see in the 8th century and of a crisis having taken place around the 10th century, revealed by the destruction and reconstruction of the cathedral/episcopal church and by the abandonment 3 Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, ed. Luigi Andrea Berto, Fonti per la Storia dell’Italia medievale. Storici italiani dal Cinquecento al Millecinquecento ad uso delle scuole 2 (Bologna, 1999), iii, 12, pp. 136–137: “… protinus recedentes ab urbe, Comaclensem villam depopulati sunt.” The same episode is also narrated by Andrea da Bergamo (Chronicon c. 17): even more detailed than John the Deacon, telling us that the incident occurred in July 875 and that Comacchio was burned. 4 Giovanni Diacono, Istoria Veneticorum, iii, 44, pp. 152–153. 5 On these excavations, see: L’isola del vescovo. Gli scavi archeologici intorno alla Cattedrale di Comacchio, ed. Sauro Gelichi (Florence 2009); Sauro Gelichi, Diego Calaon, Elena Grandi, and Claudio Negrelli, “The history of a forgotten town: Comacchio and its archaeology,” in From one sea to another. Trading places in the European Early Middle Ages, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 169–205. 6 On Comacchio as a trading center, see: Sauro Gelichi, “Flourishing places in North-Eastern Italy: towns and emporia between late antiquity and the Carolingian Age,” in Post-Roman Towns, Trade and Settlement in Europe and Byzantium 1: The Heirs of the Roman West, ed. Joachim Henning (Berlin–New York, 2007), pp. 77–104; idem, “Venice, Comacchio and the Adriatic Emporia between the Lombard and Carolingian ages,” in Dorestad in an International Framework. New Research on Centres of Trade and Coinage in Carolingian Times, ed. Annemarieke Willemsen and Hanneke Kik (Turnhout, 2010), pp. 149–157; idem, “Local and Interregional Exchanges in the Lower Po Valley (eight–ninth century),” in Trade and Markets in Byzantium, ed. Cecile Morrisson (Washington, 2012), pp. 217–231.

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1

Figure 7.2

Plan of Comacchio and the main excavation areas: (1) Piazza xx Settembre, (2) Villaggio San Francesco. laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

of the area of Villaggio San Francesco (according to the written sources).7 This area, which lies outside the historical center, played an important role in the Early Middle Ages; in fact, as the presence of port structures and warehouses show, it was located in a transfer point between the inland waterways and sea communications. The excavations around the cathedral, however, have shown that a new church was built and life went on. Although Comacchio remained a bishopric, its economic situation changed radically as shown by the absence of imported pottery and amphorae in the layers from the 10th century onwards.

7 On the episcopal church and its chronology by the excavations, see: L’isola del vescovo; ­Sauro Gelichi, Riccardo Belcari, Diego Calaon, and Elena Grandi, “‘Spolia’ in contesto. Il riuso nell’episcopio medievale di Comacchio,” Hortus Artium Mediaevalium 17 (2011), pp. 49–59.

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Dry Lands and/or Waters?

No one disputes the fact that Comacchio was founded within a lagoon. Indeed, until the early 20th century, it was still an island. What is less certain is the type of lagoon environment in which this settlement developed. It is likely that the environmental context proposed some years ago requires some modification. In fact, recent studies of the area have revealed the presence of a larger area of dry land than previously thought, some of which was situated in the vicinity of the original site of Comacchio8 (Fig. 7.3). The few written documents referring to Comacchio provide little idea of the extension of the dry land or of its potential role in the structural development of the settlement. In addition to the so-called Liutprand Capitulary already mentioned, two texts explicitly refer to the commercial activities of the Comaclenses: one is a diploma of 781 attached to a document dated 715 and issued by Charlemagne to Bishop Vitale of Comacchio, in which the Frankish king confirmed the right of the people to carry out their trade according to their past customs.9 The other is a mid-9th-century placito (a judge’s verdict from between 850 and 859) that refers to a dispute between the Comaclenses and the Archbishop of Ravenna over the possession of a massa (area of dry ground).10 Thus, one of the texts in our possession emphasizes the strong trading activities in Comacchio from at least the second half of the 7th century, therefore specifically slanting Comacchio’s commercial history in a particular direction, while the other suggests that there was a more contained level of trading and a local aristocracy more interested in land possession. Given that ecosystems containing human settlements require farming land, it would not be surprising to find at least two macro-areas intended for agricultural purposes near Comacchio. The 9th-century placito provides evidence, not only of the presence of two such areas, but also of their use. Moreover, written documentation also provides evidence of the presence of enclosed areas designated for fishing, or perhaps even for fish-farming

8 9 10

Alessandro Alessio Rucco, Comacchio nell’alto Medioevo. Il paesaggio tra topografia e geoarcheologia (Florence, 2015). Luigi Bellini, Le saline dell’antico delta padano (Ferrara, 1962), pp. 599–600. On this document, see: Antonio Samaritani, “Un placito per Comacchio nel maggio 801,” Atti e Memorie della Deputazione ferrarese di storia patria, s. iii, xxvii (1977), pp. 43–50 and the more recent and useful Stefano Gasparri, “Un placito carolingio e la storia di Comacchio,” in Faire lien. Aristocratie, réseaux et échanges compétitifs. Mélanges en l’honneur de Régine Le Jan (Paris, 2015), pp. 179–190.

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Legend

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Linear anomalies Current wetlands Palaeohydrography Wooden structures

Po di Volano

Early medieval wetlands

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Early medieval dry lands

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Marshes and fisheries Fields

Padovetere

COMACCHIO Woods, fisheries, salterns

Motta della Girata canal

Fossa Augusta?

Figure 7.3

Reconstruction of the territory of Comacchio during the Early Middle Ages (land and lagoons) (by Rucco).

(we have perhaps archaeological evidence of this);11 if we add the existence of salt production structures (at least 11 have been identified in the written

11

Alessandro Alessio Rucco, “Dalle ‘carte’ alla terra. Il paesaggio comacchiese nell’alto medioevo,” in Costruire territori/ Costruire identità: lagune archeologiche a confronto tra antichità e medioevo, ed. Sauro Gelichi, Reti Medievali 16, 2 (2015), pp. 216–221.

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sources to date), we already have the signs of a settlement with an integrated economy. Despite the presence of such activities in Comacchio, the town owes its fortune—or the first stage of its existence—to its pre-eminence in trade. Without belabouring the point, we can safely say that the archaeological evidence for this fact is beyond doubt; although the same cannot be said about the ­Venetian  ­lagoon. The 9th-century placito could also be considered a consequence of a renewed interest in land suitable for building on and not as proof that the local aristocracy had always been fundamentally interested in real estate or in both, land and trade.12 In the second half of the 9th century, Comacchio was a dramatically different town to the settlement involved in negotiations with the Lombards just one hundred and forty years earlier.

Wild Origins or an Intermediate “Grey Zone”?

The issue of the so-called wild origins of the Venetian lagoon, a topos that fuelled Venetian mythology for many centuries,13 has recently been laid to rest, and rightly so. Comacchio has also been the subject of similarly “dangerous” discussions and interpretations. However, in this case the interpretation is based not on a paradigm bolstered by a traditional historical narrative (as in the case of Venice), but on a series of considerations deriving from both written and epigraphic sources. What is more, it takes a new direction by touching directly upon the relationship between Comacchio, Ravenna, and those we could define as the “higher powers-to-be.” Our knowledge of Comacchio’s social structure is very limited and not without ambiguity. However, we do know that when the community of Comacchio was called upon to represent itself in public documents, in one case the treaty with the Lombards, it did so by means of a group of “powerful” individuals (a magister militum, two comites, and a presbyter) while in a second case— the document from Charlemagne—their representative was the bishop. In a third case, that of the placito, the community did not seem to be formally represented. 12 13

This seems to be Gasparri’s hypothesis in “Un placito.” On the problem of the “wild origins” attributed to Venice, see: Gherando Ortalli, “Il problema storico delle origini di Venezia,” in Le origini di Venezia. Problemi esperienze proposte (Venice, 1981), pp. 87–88; Antonio Carile, “Il problema delle origini di Venezia,” in Le origini della chiesa di Venezia (Venice, 1987), p. 77; and Gherardo Ortalli, “Torcello e la genesi di Venezia,” in Torcello alle origini di Venezia tra Occidente e Oriente (Venice, 2009), pp. 26–27.

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Figure 7.4

The inscription of the first bishop of Comacchio (about 723?).

Between the Capitulary from 715 and Charlemagne’s document of 781, novelty comes in the form of the presence of the bishop. While it is highly unlikely that Comacchio was already established as a diocese in 715, if we give credence to an inscription dating to the period in office of Archbishop of Ravenna Felice (723?) that apparently certifies the foundation of the episcopal see and the construction of the bishop’s cathedral, there is the possibility that it may have become such before of the 781 (Fig. 7.4). While the elements of doubt concerning the authenticity of the inscription are, in my opinion, outweighed by the evidence in favour of its being genuine, there are no doubts concerning the fact that Comacchio became an episcopal see after (and not before) it began to flourish economically. Politically speaking, the area around Comacchio was “Byzantine” territory, remaining such with the exception of few brief periods over the course of the 8th century, until the fall of the Exarchate in 751 (the period of rule of King Astolfo). For a long time, the region came under the control, both spiritual and temporal, of the archbishops of Ravenna. Two of these archbishops were directly responsible for the foundation of two churches: Santa Maria in Padovetere, not far from Comacchio, dating back to the time of Archbishop Aureliano (540),14 and of San Giorgio d’Argenta (570), another church built

14

For a more recent review of material data from excavations of the site identified as Santa Maria in Padovetere, see Carla Corti, “Santa Maria in Padovetere: la chiesa, la necropoli e l’insediamento circostante,” in Genti del Delta. Da Spina a Comacchio. Uomini, territorio e culto dall’antichità all’alto medioevo (Ferrara, 2007), pp. 531–552.

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Figure 7.5

The inscription of Exarch Isacius. bollini, le iscrizioni

within the same territory but connected to a different Archbishop, Agnello.15 However, it is not certain that these churches functioned as “parish churches,” as references to them being pieve, or baptismal churches, date to a much ­later period. In one case this episcopal property was also connected to the use of land (for example, the Archbishop of Ravenna owned a great number of properties around the town of Argenta up until the Early Middle Ages). While the presence of these two institutions (Bishopric and Exarchate) seems to play no role in the growth and the development of Comacchio; how can we verify this? The only evidence supporting a connection with the Exarchate is the epigraph ordered by Exarch Isacius on the death of a relative (between 625 and 643)16 (Fig. 7.5). The epigraph was probably found near the site of the monastery of San Mauro in Comacchio under circumstances that are unclear.17 15

16 17

On Argenta, its territory and the church of San Giorgio (which is only documented as a baptismal church in relatively late, i.e., 11th century, written sources), see Storia e archeologia di una pieve medievale: San Giorgio di Argenta, ed. Sauro Gelichi (Florence, 1992). Maria Bollini, Le iscrizioni greche di Ravenna (Faenza, 1975), pp. 44–45. A manuscript from the 17th century, therefore contemporary with its discovery, provides more reliable information. Attributed to a certain Giovan Battista Gasparini, it is known from excerpts contained in a volume by Alberto Felletti Spadazzi, Spina senza vasi. Storia di Comacchio, vol. 1 (Ferrara, 1983). Spadazzi writes with regard to the discovery, citing from the Gasparini’s manuscript: “Gasparini provides us with an authentic, highly credible description of the event (F. 39)”: under the pontificate of Urban viii, during the so-called Barberini Wars (1640s), the church of Santo Mauro—Sant’Agostino was transformed into a stronghold; during excavations carried out as far as Valle Raibosola “they

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The text contains no reference to the monastery, meaning there is no evidence of a connection to the monastery of San Mauro or even to Comacchio itself.18 Moreover, the epigraph is not ­complete19 and there is evidence that the stone was reused at some time in the past.20 It is also difficult to imagine what type of funerary monument it originally belonged to (it measures 1.22 by 0.78 metres) and in what context it may have been used. Like other spolia found in Comacchio—see for example, the capitals and the columns of the first episcopal church in Comacchio21—it may well have originated in Ravenna. There are far more connections to the episcopal presence than to the Exarchate, but they all concern buildings with no direct links to the settlement of Comacchio. No traces of a religious building dating prior to the foundation of the episcopal church have been found in Comacchio or in its immediate suburbs;22 this bears out what we already know about the cathedral. In essence, the idea that Comacchio provided the Exarchate capital with a port following the collapse of Classe (the port of Ravenna) seems rather simplistic, and for many reasons reductive. Besides, no written source from Ravenna makes explicit mention of this (a circumstance that is in itself rather curious). Moreover, in the Capitulary dated 715, the Comaclenses themselves act as political subjects. The Capitulary makes explicit reference to past trading

18 19

20

21 22

found a large Greek marble slab bearing a eulogy that was neither ruined nor worn, worthy of esteem for its antiquity and for the quality of its letters.” It was deciphered and translated by a Jesuit father apparently living in Rome. (ibid. p. 15). Confirming the questionable connection, Felletti Spadazzi, Spina senza vasi, pp. 15–16. The inscription, now attached to a wall in the Museo Arcivescovile, Ravenna, is missing just under a quarter of the upper part (Bollini, Le iscrizioni, photos on p. 44). It seems that at the moment of its discovery the inscription was fragmentary (or was recovered in fragments), and, as Gasparini also informs us (in Felletti Spadazzi, Spina senza vasi, p. 15), it “was transported to Ravenna by Danese, the architect of the Apostolic Chamber of Ferrara, and reassembled before being set into the wall beneath the portico of his house.” I refer not so much to the fact that it was discovered in incomplete and fragmentary form (as mentioned above this may be due to the circumstances of its discovery), but to the fact that the left edge has been trimmed and several final letters are missing. Although only a small section was cut away, and the missing letters are easy to fill in, the smoothness of the left edge clearly shows that it was deliberately cut, not damaged, in the past, probably prior to its discovery, and therefore due to its reuse. On the spolia found in Comacchio and their possible provenance from Ravenna, see Gelichi, Belcari, Calaon, and Grandi, “‘Spolia’ in contesto.” On the ecclesiastical situation in the Comacchio area, with a recent bibliography and some critical reflections on a number of traditional and controversial interpretations, see Elena Grandi, “La cristianizzazione del territorio,” in Genti del Delta. Da Spina a Comacchio. Uomini, territorio e culto dall’antichità all’alto medioevo (Ferrara, 2007), pp. 417–436.

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traditions that have yet to be formalized. The context is unequivocal and borne out by the results of the archaeological research: it is one in which the Comaclenses have just begun to engage in profitable exchanges with the ­surrounding territories and the Lombards intend to exercise their rights on this trade, based on their fiscal ownership of the docking facilities along the water courses concerned. Basically, by declaring these rights, the Capitulary indirectly ratifies the existence of this community, giving it legal status. It has rightly been pointed out that the community of Comacchio (like the Venetian community) had found a form of representation that fully integrated it into the political-military structure of the Exarchate. Thus, their situation was far removed from the naive spontaneity of their “savage origins.” Nevertheless, we cannot ignore the fact that this same community, and its elite, was based in a place that was relatively distant, both geographically and, above all, politically from that of the capital of the Exarchate. As mentioned, there are no written traces indicating a clear connection with the Exarchate prior to the foundation of the new episcopal see—an act with strong political implications that marked a true turning point in the development of local society. Comacchio’s fortune may, therefore, have been linked to a series of circumstances, including the fact that it operated within a context that was politically fragmented (as was generally the case in the north of the peninsular between the 7th and 8th centuries), and, above all, in a sort of “grey zone.”

Comacchio as a Trading and Craft Center

In order to throw more light on Comacchio’s social identity in the early medieval period, it may help to briefly examine two aspects emerging from the archaeological documentation: the first concerns Comacchio’s trading role, the second its crafts role. The so-called Liutprand Capitulary is not just an interesting example of an early medieval port tax,23 but also offers indirect evidence of the type of goods available to the inhabitants of Comacchio. This text has already been examined in some detail,24 so I will limit myself to a brief description. The 23 24

On this issue, see the recent study by Neil Middleton, “Early medieval port customs, tolls and controls on foreign trade,” Early Medieval Europe 13 (2005), pp. 313–358. Montanari, “Il capitolare”; Sauro Gelichi, “Flourishing places,” pp. 77–104; Sauro Gelichi, “The eels of Venice. The long eighth century of the emporia of the northern region along the Adriatic coast,” in 774. Ipotesi su una transizione, ed. Stefano Gasparri (Turnhout, 2008), pp. 81–117.

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inhabitants of Comacchio were required to pay taxes in the form of salt (the most frequent form of payment), money, oil, garum, and pepper. This therefore means that, at the beginning of the 8th century, in addition to their local goods, the people of Comacchio also had access to products of non-local (possibly oil and garum) or even oriental origin (like pepper). However, the importance of trading activities emerges more clearly from the results of archaeological investigations. One of the key indicators for this phenomenon, visible from the archaeological record, is represented by globular amphorae, which are constantly present in deposits from the 8th and part of the 9th century in Comacchio. There is little doubt that Comacchio is the northern Adriatic site with the greatest numbers of these amphorae (adding up all available data, a hundred-odd examples).25 Shown by analyses to have differing origins, they are tangible evidence of Comacchio’s role as a terminus for goods from southern Italy and the eastern Mediterranean. Obviously, we have yet to determine which vectors and agents transported this merchandise,26 but they have no bearing on the commercial role of this center between the second half of the 7th century to the 9th century. It has been suggested that craft activities played a decisive role in the formation of permanent sites of exchange (or emporia as above, if preferred),27 and both direct and indirect traces of production activities have been found in Comacchio. The former relate to the remains of a workshop discovered in the context of the 2006–2009 excavations around the cathedral. The workshop was a fairly large building (8 × 4 meters, c. 120 square meters) combining wooden elements with brickwork and foundations made from brick rubble (Fig. 7.6).

25 26

27

The situation in the Venetian lagoon remains open; globular amphorae are present, but we have yet to establish the entity and number. For the phenomenon of Comacchio seen in the context of the political and economic evolution of the Empire, see the convincing observations of Delogu (Paolo Delogu, Le origini del medioevo. Studi sul settimo secolo (Rome, 2010), pp. 115–125). For an attempt to model various types of nodal points in connection with the presence of local vectors, see also Sauro Gelichi, “Societies at the Edge: new Cities in the Adriatic Sea during the Early Middle Ages (8th–9th centuries),” in New Directions in Early Medieval European Archaeology: Spain and Italy Compared. Essays for Riccardo Francovich, ed. Sauro Gelichi and Richard Hodges (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 298–299. See also note 6. Richard Hodges, Towns and Trade in the Age of Charlemagne (London, 2000), pp. 83–89. This characteristic is a prerogative of the centers that Hodges defines as class B emporia: Richard Hodges, Dark Age Economics: the Origins of Towns and Trade ad 600–1000 (London, 19892), pp. 51–52.

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Figure 7.6

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Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Workshop in Comacchio. laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

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There was evidence of metalworking (including iron) and glass making activities, including abundant glass waste.28 While it is impossible to demonstrate exactly when and for how long the workshop was active in this area, we can establish that it was active for a period of approximately seventy years (from the second half of the 7th to the first quarter of the 8th century). The final date is indirectly indicated by the phases of abandonment and levelling to make room for a small necropolis (Fig. 7.7). The presence of this cemetery indicates that there had been a clear change in use of the entire area, probably caused by the foundation of an episcopal church following the institution of the episcopal see (probably towards 723).29 Traces of the activities of a smith were also found in the workshop. In addition, there is direct evidence of glassmaking, and by examining the waste it was possible to establish that the workshop produced glass objects for everyday use, such as stemware (Fig. 7.8).

Figure 7.7

28 29

Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Small necropolis (second half of 8th century –9th century). laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

L’isola del vescovo, pp. 30–36. Sauro Gelichi, “Lupicinus presbiter. Una breve nota sulle istituzione ecclesiastiche comacchiesi delle origini,” in Ricerca come incontro. Archeologi, paleografi e storici per Paolo Delogu, ed. Giulia Barone, Anna Esposito, and Carla Frova (Rome, 2013), pp. 48–52.

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Figure 7.8

Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Evidence of glassmaking. laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

Nevertheless the presence of a matrix (the only one of its kind to be found in a western context) used to produce bi-colored cameos is evidence that this workshop also produced luxury items (Fig. 7.9). There is a pendant piece to the matrix, which depicts a male bust in threequarter profile, in the form of a cameo decorating a reliquary casket in the Museo Cristiano e Tesoro del Duomo di Cividale del Friuli,30 which is ­extremely similar although not identical to it. In fact, the presence of slight differences between the cameo and matrix mean it is unlikely that the Cividale cameo was produced by the Comacchio matrix. However, the resemblance is so marked that they were almost certainly based on the same model or even produced by the same workshop. Both the Cividale cameo and Comacchio matrix belong to a very small group of two-layered glass cameos, of which no more than thirteen examples exist today.31 30

31

Elisabetta Gagetti, “Magistras Romanitas? La matrice di Comacchio e la produzione di cammei vitrei a due strati a imitazione dell’antico,” in Un emporio e la sua cattedrale. Gli scavi in piazza xx Settembre e Villaggio San Francesco a Comacchio (in press). See Gagetti, “Magistras Romanitas?” for an excellent historical-critical framing of the problem.

Comacchio

Figure 7.9

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Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Matrix for glass cameos and related cameo on a capsella from Cividale. laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia and museo cristiano e tesoro del duomo di cividale del friuli

However, a second production indicator, again found during the cathedral excavations, may help us understand the type of activity being carried out by this workshop. The object in question, also a matrix and also one of a kind, was used to produce small bronze letters (c. 4 cm in height) (Fig. 7.10).32 Bronze letters were widely used in the Roman world, especially for public inscriptions, but only rare examples of their use exist for the early medieval period (such as the inscription in the palatine chapel of Arechis in Salerno dating to 770 or the monumental inscription on the facade of the basilica of Abbot Giosué in San Vincenzo al Volturno from 808).33 Given its dimensions, it seems probable that it was used to make a dedicatory inscription on a small 32 33

For a historical-critical study of this matrix, see John Mitchell, “An Eighth-Century Matrix for a Bronze Letter,” in Un emporio e la sua cattedrale (in press). See again Mitchell “An Eighth-Century Matrix.” On the inscription of San Pietro a Corte, see Paolo Peduto et al., “Un accesso alla storia di Salerno: stratigrafia e materiali dell’area palaziale longobarda,” Rassegna Storica Salernitana n.s. 5 (1988), pp. 9–63, and on the inscription of San Vincenzo al Volturno, John Mitchell, “Late antique and early medieval carved inscriptions,” in San Vincenzo al Volturno 3: The Finds from the 1980–86 Excavations, ed. John Mitchell and Inge Lyse Hansen (Spoleto, 2001), pp. 39–40, 43–40.

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Figure 7.10

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Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Matrix for bronze letter. laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

scale—for the architrave of a portal or for some sort of church furnishing such as a ciborium, or to compose a funerary epitaph. The matrix was found in a 10th-century context, but it is almost certainly a residual find, given that the palaeographical analysis suggested a chronology from the 7th to the 8th century.34 In view of its physical vicinity, it is highly probable that the object comes from the workshop described above and that it can be dated to the period of time in which the workshop was active. These two matrices provide clear proof of the existence in Comacchio of a workshop that not only produced everyday objects (glasses) but also highly refined artifacts requiring skilled workmanship that drew upon the practices of the ancient Roman world in terms of both technology and typology. The high degree of sophistication achieved by the workshops of Comacchio during this period would be further reinforced if we could confirm the provenance of another artifact, one known to us for some time and traditionally held to come 34

See again the palaeographic arguments and chronological proposal made by Mitchell in “An Eighth-Century Matrix.”

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from Comacchio: I am of course referring to the 7th-century gold fibula in the Walters Art Museum, Baltimore.35 There is other indirect evidence of craft activities in Comacchio, this time in the form of ceramics. The Comacchio excavations have unearthed numerous fragments belonging to light clay unglazed ware (Fig. 7.11): so far we have only found closed forms, almost always with two handles and sometimes decorated with incised lines running in bands, as well as horizontal motifs sometimes taking a wavy form.36 In Comacchio these ceramics are almost always found

1

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Figure 7.11

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Comacchio, unglazed ware (8th–9th century). laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

On the fibula, with a recent bibliography, see Raffaella Farioli Campanati, “Una scheda sulla fibula di Comacchio,” in La Civiltà Comacchiese e Pomposiana dalle Origini ­Preistoriche al Tardo Medioevo (Bologna, 1986), pp. 455–459. On this type of production, see Claudio Negrelli, “Towards a definition of early medieval pottery: amphorae and other vessels in the Northern Adriatic between the 7th and the 8th centuries,” in From one sea, ed. Gelichi and Hodges, pp. 309–413.

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in association with globular amphorae in 7th–9th-century contexts. Despite the similarities between this category of products and ceramics from Rome and Latium, minero-petrographic analyses have excluded that the Comacchio ceramics were imported from that area (or even from southern Italy). On the other hand, the analysis of the fabric showed that these ceramics must have been produced locally or not too far away (sub-regional area), even though we are lacking clear evidence allowing us to identify the precise production area. Moreover, given the function of this light clay unglazed ware, it seems likely that it was produced in Comacchio. Most of the containers are small flat-bottomed amphorae, about a third smaller in size than the globular amphorae. It is possible that we are seeing a specialized production of containers suited to river rather than sea transport; in fact, it is no coincidence that we are beginning to discover evidence of these containers in inland centers, such as monasteries, together with fragments of globular amphorae.37 These craft activities clearly qualify our center as a nodal point (see note 6 above). As pointed out, the nature of these productions is not so much linked to the specialization of craftsmen as to the origin of the raw materials.38 Activities connected to glassmaking or metal casting involve the consumption of raw materials imported from a distance (unlike other types of activity such as weaving, forging, or bone working, which use raw materials found everywhere). As the arrival point for goods from the eastern Mediterranean and southern Italy, Comacchio found itself in a privileged position in this regard. Moreover, these activities do not seem to be connected to a program promoted by the Church. We should not be misled by the fact that the workshop was next to the cathedral because it was active prior to the foundation of the episcopal see (and therefore did not apparently depend upon it). Although situated in another latitude to the emporia of northern Europe, Comacchio is distinguished by the same innovation and independence that made these trading settlements stand out in contemporary Christendom.39 37 38

Gelichi, “Societies at the Edge,” pp. 292–297. Søren Sindbæk, “Networks and nodal points: the emergence of towns in early Viking Age Scandinavia,” Antiquity 81 (2001), pp. 126–127. This also applies to the Venetian lagoon and, in particular, to the glass workshop discovered in Torcello, even though the date is uncertain (7th or 9th century?): Eleonora Tabaczyńska, “L’officina vetraria,” in Torcello. Scavi 1961–1962, ed. Lech Leciejewicz, Eleonora Tabaczyńska, and Stanislaw Tabaczyński (Rome, 1977), pp. 89–153; Lech Leciejewicz, “Italian-Polish researches into the origin of Venice,” Archaeologia Polona 40 (2000), pp. 51–71. On glass-making in Torcello, see also Margherita Ferri, “Reperti vitrei altomedievali dalle isole di Torcello e San Francesco del Deserto—Venezia,” Journal of Glass Studies 48 (2006), pp. 173–191. 39 Hodges, Towns and Trade, p. 86: “They (i.e., emporia) embody three features which were alien to much of later seventh and early eighth-century Latin Christendom.” And again

Comacchio



161

Comacchio from Nodal Point to Central Place?

In the debate about Comacchio (and, in some respects, about Venice), the term “emporium” is often brought up, a word infrequently used in relation to the early medieval period (and, of consequence, in our historiography).40 Conversely, and as is well known, emporium is commonly used in relation to discussions about northern Europe, where it is used to define a series of trading settlements that, in many cases, would have formed the grounds for the origin of the urbanization in these territories.41 A comparison between the emporia of northern Europe and these settlements appearing near the littoral areas of the Mediterranean has been proposed,42 not only to identify possible typological similarities (albeit on rather dangerous grounds), but also in order to help contextualize a phenomenon that has been largely ignored within the scientific debate until now. There are a number of similarities, including temporal overlapping, between the phenomena of the emporia of northern Europe and the birth of these new settlements on the North Adriatic Sea that are worth highlighting.

40

41

42

“the emporia were consciously transgressing the ethos of kin-based society, aggregating people for economic purposes.” Stephen Lebecq, “The new wiks or emporia and the development of a maritime economy in the Northern Seas (7th–9th centuries),” in From one sea, ed. Gelichi and Hodges (2012), pp. 15–16 for an interesting discussion of the meaning of the term and of the lexicon used by northern European sources to described this type of trading center. There is an extensive bibliography on northern European emporia. By way of example, in addition to the text by Hodges mentioned above, Dark Age Economics, which makes an important contribution to enlarging this debate, see Wics. The Early Medieval Trading ­Centres of Northern Europe, ed. David Hill and Robert Cowie (Sheffield, 2001); Richard Hodges, Dark Age Economics. A new Audit (London, 2012); Markets in Early Medieval Europe. Trading and “Productive” Sites, 650–850, ed. Katharina Ulmschneider and Tim Pestell (Bollington, 2003). Of course there is also much on emporia in two recent important volumes on the early medieval economic history of the Mediterranean: Michael McCormick, Origins of the European Economy: Communications and Commerce ad 300–900 (Cambridge, 2001); Chris Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages. Europe and Mediterranean, 400–800 (Oxford, 2005). For an Italian take on the phenomenon, see Ross Balzaretti, “Cities, Emporia and Monasteries: Local Economies in the Po Valley, c. ad 700–875,” in Towns in transition. Urban Evolution in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. Neil Christie and Simon T. Loseby (London, 1996), pp. 213–234, with regard to which I express my reserves in Gelichi, “The eels of Venice.” From one sea to another. Trading places in the European Early Middle Ages, ed. Gelichi and Hodges (Turnhout, 2012).

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Furthermore, there are many similarities between Comacchio and the class B emporia originally proposed by Richard Hodges (some of which are mentioned above): that it developed in a previously unsettled area (or that it did not evolve directly from an ancient city); that it was mainly based on trade, including long-distance trade; the fact that it was a place where craft activities developed; finally, the fact that it was not directly established by the central power, and that, in the initial stage at least, it had no direct link with ecclesiastical power.43 But was Comacchio also at that heart of dependent territory? Did it exercise the functions that we usually assign to a central place? In a recent article dedicated to locational principles in southern Scandinavia, Søren Sindbæk re-examined central places,44 organizing them according to a hierarchy of basic concepts (such as open access and nodal points) characterizing coastal settlements. This approach appears to be equally applicable in explaining the existence of a center like Comacchio. In an initial phase at least, Comacchio seemed to fall into the category of nodal points: favourable position for trade routes protected by a lagoon, thus offering safe landing places and berths for ships; arrival and nodal point for international goods; absence of a strong power. At the same time, until the first quarter of the 8th century at least, Comacchio does not seem to have controlled a territorial district or to have carried out a specific function of redistribution of goods in its immediate hinterland given that its trading sphere covered the entire Po plain. It was only during a subsequent phase (from the second quarter of the 8th century at least) that the presence of a bishop (directly appointed by the archdiocese of Ravenna) would introduce a figure of institutional rank and with a high political profile who would play a key role in the centuries to come. It is in this period, moreover, that the few surviving documents testify to the existence of a land-owning aristocracy (see note 4 above). Comacchio, therefore, seems to be evolving towards functions causing it to resemble a central place, while at the same time maintaining the prerogatives of a place for the long-distance redistribution of goods, also because in this circumstance “long-distance transport can be understood as a simple extension of the central place function.”45 43

44 45

In fact, as McCormick points out with regard to Venice, Comacchio was certainly not founded by a king: Michael McCormick, “Where do trading towns come from? Early medieval Venice and the northern emporia,” in Post-Roman Towns, p. 44; on the role of local actors, as the protagonists of forms of self-government in the development of Comacchio’s society, Delogu agrees (Paolo Delogu, “Questioni di mare e di terra,” in From one sea p. 460). Søren Sindbæk, “Open access, nodal point, and central places,” Estonian Journal of Archaeology 13, 2 (2009), pp. 98–99. Sindbæk, “Open access,” p. 103.

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Comacchio’s decline after the 9th century would not only lead to the collapse of a maritime trading link, but would also constrain its community within an increasingly lifeless dimension of localism. Conclusions Comacchio lies in a peripheral area that was thinly inhabited or entirely uninhabited in Antiquity and Late Antiquity, and therefore lacking settlements with a well-defined social and political profile. The Capitulary of Liutprand, the first document to mention Comacchio, can therefore be considered as a text ratifying the existence of a community and attributing to it, for the first time, a social role and legal status. I am convinced that Comacchio’s marginal position played a positive role in the development of this center and even decreed its success. Comacchio provides a good example of how some coastal sites evolve from a subsistence economy based on the exploitation of spontaneous resources (salt and fish) to a trade-oriented economy. This transition requires favourable social conditions and equally favourable locational conditions. ­Seventh-century Comacchio appears to have had both, and owes its initial success to them. This transition was relatively swift. Just over a hundred years passed from the end of an economic system based on the exploitation of the natural resources of vast fiscal properties and on a series of scattered settlements (villae, stationes?)46 mainly situated along riverbanks (5th century) to the emergence 46

As is known, no center has been documented in the area during the Roman age that could be considered a town. The only settlement with a reasonably sized population and institutional value appears to have been a vicus, the vicus Habentia, which was probably the seat of the administrator of the various saltus belonging to the imperial revenue property (Gelichi and Calaon, “Comacchio,” pp. 395–396). The settlement was probably situated on the river and coastal banks, following the main communication routes (both rivers and roads). Given the absence of large-scale farming activities, the main resources must have involved exploitation of natural resources and specialist production activities such as brick-making: Gelichi and Calaon, “Comacchio,” pp. 398–399, and, concerning these issues in general, Giovanni Uggeri, La romanizzazione dell’antico delta padano (Ferrara, 1975). Nevertheless, we need to distinguish between the area immediately adjacent to the coast and the areas lying further inland, where there were probably farming estates of some kind. Excavations carried out in a number of these settlements, defined as villae with production structures, seem to indicate the late 4th century as the period of abandonment. However, as a recent review of the materials has revealed, it is likely that there were also later phases of occupation, lasting until at least the 5th century (for example,

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of a trade-oriented center (7th century): by the early 8th century, Comacchio’s role was clearly defined. This development should be considered in the general context of the evolution of relations between the Empire and the Adriatic that was developing after the Arab conquest of North Africa and the interruption of imports from these provinces to the West and to the East. This process undeniably caused a shift in the balance of Byzantine interests, and the maintenance of lines of communication and of traffic, in a belt running north of the Mediterranean from Asia Minor to Italy.47 Moreover, during this period—7th to 8th century— direct Byzantine control, especially along the coasts, was still rather strong. Already in an early phase, Comacchio appeared to be a place where both trade and craft activities were concentrated. The latter activities, which served to produce goods closely linked to trade activities (light clay unglazed ware), bulk utilitarian commodities (glass), but also luxury goods (cameos, inscriptions with bronze letters), reveal a complex economic picture as well as a sophisticated social reality. Its social structure affirmed its links with the Roman (now Byzantine) world by perpetuating technologies, modes of communication and iconographic models evoking that world. These characteristics would be rediscovered and accentuated at a time when, following the foundation of the episcopal see and construction of its cathedral, the new power would represent itself by means of the same devices (dedicatory inscription, church with a nave and two aisles separated by columns, spolia capitals, opus sectile wall decorations and mosaic floors) (Fig. 7.12). In this initial phase, Comacchio resembled a nodal point more than a central place, sharing with the latter its favourable geographical position, the provision of a safe harbour for ships and international trade links; in addition, the river network provided a swift and safe connection to the leading towns and ports in the inland.48 It also seemed to offer a considerable investment capacity in the building of infrastructures such as the Motta della Girata ­canal that linked the Padus Vetus (possibly senescent during this period but still Salto del Lupo). We also need to reconsider the purpose of these settlements. Nonetheless, it seems likely that different settlement models emerged during the 6th century, based on a nucleated village or clustered settlement. Although they are currently only known through their necropolises (for a brief summary, see Gelichi and Calaon, “Comacchio,” pp. 402–403), the Motta della Girata represents an important site. 47 Delogu, Le origini, pp. 116–117. 48 For a preliminary evaluation of the distances and travel times of boats going from Comacchio to the hinterland, see Michael McCormick, “Comparing and connecting: Comacchio and the early medieval trading town,” in From one sea to another, ed. Gelichi and Hodges, p. 97.

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Comacchio

a

b

c

d

Figure 7.12

Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Spolia from the early medieval episcopal church (a, b) and parallel from Ravenna (c, d). laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

­ avigable) and the settlement of Comacchio.49 In this phase, the so-called n strong powers (exarch and archbishop) appear to be absent. There is no trace of the archbishop of Ravenna (or of a local bishop) until the first quarter of the 8th century, when the diocese is founded. At that time, Comacchio had already become a flourishing center and home to a relatively sophisticated society that had acquired a legal identity enabling it to stipulate a pact with the Lombards. Although officially lying in Byzantine territory, Comacchio seemed to respond to the interests of the inhabitants of the Lombard kingdom more than those of the aristocracy in Ravenna, which was losing its hold in this period. As mentioned above, towards the end of the 8th century, the situation changed, and the center’s trading functions went into decline just as a new 49

Recent studies have attempted to establish how many people would have been needed to carry out similar works, and how long it would have taken them: Elena Grandi, “Un delta in movimento. Il caso di Comacchio tra tarda antichità e alto medioevo,” in Costruire ­territori/Costruire identità: lagune archeologiche a confronto tra antichità e medioevo, ed. Sauro Gelichi, Reti Medievali 16, 2 (2015), pp. 245–248.

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center began to emerge. That center was Venice.50 There are several reasons for this downturn,51 including the shrinking markets in the hinterland following the collapse of the Kingdom, Venice’s emerging role with regard to Franco-Carolingian interests, as well as intrinsic locational reasons (like the ­ hydrogeological changes brought about by the Po di Volano).52 It is likely that this process also caused the aristocracies to strengthen their ties to their lands. The property being contended in the famous placito above can be interpreted in this sense rather than otherwise. In the 9th century, however, the settlement’s main political actor seemed to be the bishop.53 The “Stefanus” whose sarcophagus is in the cathedral of Comacchio was probably a bishop (Fig. 7.13): dating to the 9th century, the sarcophagus draws upon a type that

Figure 7.13

50 51

52

53

Comacchio, cathedral. Sarcophagus of Stefanus (9th century). curia vescovile di comacchio–ferrara

Gelichi, “The eels of Venice.” Paolo Delogu, for example, attributes it to the fact that the Frankish conquest of ­Comacchio from the Byzantine Empire, leading to a discriminatory customs system that had a negative impact on Comacchio’s access to Byzantine markets (Delogu, “Le origini,” pp. 121–122). At the level of macro-phenomenon, geographers have identified the gradual erosion of the coast, which could in turn have limited Comacchio’s access to the sea: Marco Stefani and Stefano Vincenzi, “The interplay of eustasy, climate and human activity in the Late Quaternary depositional evolution and sedimentary architecture of the Po delta system,” Marine Geology 4 (2005), pp. 222–223. However, this process would have taken place over a period of time not compatible with this contingency, and, what is more, no clear traces of the phenomenon were uncovered in the excavations at Villaggio San Francesco in Comacchio, where remains of maritime infrastructures have been found: Grandi, “Un delta in movimento.” Carver has recently expressed interesting views on the role of ecclesiastical structures in the promotion of trade (Martin Carver, “Commerce and Cult. Confronted ideologies in 6th–9th Century Europe,” Medieval Archaeology 59 (2015), pp. 1–23), but in the case of Comacchio they seem to come into play at a later stage (see note 4).

Comacchio

Figure 7.14

167

Comacchio, piazza xx Settembre. Early medieval decorative stone from the episcopal church. laboratorio di archeologia medievale università ca’ foscari di venezia

can be found from Ravenna to the Venetian lagoon and beyond.54 Moreover, he was responsible for the renewal of the liturgical furnishings in the episcopal church (Fig. 7.14). Nevertheless, the activities of the local community, including those of the bishop, seemed to have shrunk to a more local dimension. The sources continue to refer to boats from Comacchio in the ports of the Po plain, but—as Cinzio Violante pointed out—they no longer seem to transport spices (just salt) and are often replaced by boats belonging to the inhabitants of the Lombard towns.55 As suggested by the Chronicle of John the Deacon, the death blow may have taken the form of the Venetian raid of 932. However, by this time Comacchio had already gone from being a trading center receiving both local and Mediterranean goods (7th–8th centuries) to a center with an exclusively local dimension: its time as an emporium belonged to the past. 54

55

On the sarcophagus, see Stella Patitucci Uggeri, “Il sarcofago del vescovo-duca Stefano. Contributo alla storia di Comacchio nel secolo ix,” Analecta Pomposiana 5 (1980), pp. 7–23; on this category, see my recent essay, Sauro Gelichi, “Venice in the early middle ages. The material structures and society of ‘civitas aput rivoaltum’ between 9th and 10th centuries,” in Urban identity in northern Italy (800–1100 ca.), ed. Cristina La Rocca and Paolo Maiocchi (Turnhout, 2015), pp. 260–266. Cinzio Violante, La società milanese in età precomunale (Bari, 1974), pp. 9–10.

Conclusion Sauro Gelichi and Stefano Gasparri This volume contains various contributions that seek to analyze the development of various lagoon societies by means of written and archaeological sources. Its originality lies not so much in the type of source used—though the archaeology is scarcely used—but in the way that such sources have been used. Obviously this book involved the use of samples chosen on the basis of their representativity, their degree of preservation, as well as the presence and quality of the records produced by researchers—the latter applies to archaeological sources in particular. Much of the archaeology carried out in the lagoon and in the neighbouring areas has been rather poor in quality, in that choice was not always guided by quantity. The archaeological case studies analysed are linked to specific projects all employing a shared research approach and similar investigation strategies. The aim was to understand the underlying dynamics involved in the formation of new communities and to attempt, as far as possible, to trace their development in time. The shared aspects are the geographical area in which they lived— the northern Adriatic arc—and the physical space in which they moved—the lagoon or adjoining areas. The investigation strategies combine traditional methods—digs, fieldwork, and remote sensing—with more innovative geoarcheological approaches. Taking the physical environment into account when studying such settlements may seem rather obvious, less self-evident is the idea of making this approach the driving force (as in the case of the project on the monastery of Sant’Ilario). In this case, the inclusion of landscape studies does not mean paying lip service to a current trend, it represents the only way for us to acquire a deeper understanding of both the way settlement space is organized and of the socio-economic motives underlying determined choices and/or fortunes. In the case of Equilus, for example, landscape studies made it possible to acquire a better idea of timelines and settlement functions in the area, then fine-tuning it through the use of targeted archaeological excavations. Towards the end of the 4th century, liminal spaces formerly connected to activities ­involving exploitation of spontaneous resources such as fishing or production of purple dye—like the littoral dunes frequented or occupied during the ­Roman period—were gradually transformed into places linked to lagoon transit routes. In fact, a settlement would generally become established at the same time or shortly after the construction of a mansio, which generated a hamlet © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi 10.1163/9789004353619_010

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and an embryonic community whose 6th–7th-century presence is revealed through the dedications on the mosaic floor of a new church rather than the material remains of houses. In the case of the monastery of Santi Benedetto ed Ilario, the relationship that gradually grew up between the monastery and the surrounding area sheds some light on the history of a space that was political and economic as well as geographical. By studying the history of the monastery, which was closely bound up with that of the Particiaci—one of the foremost founding families of Venice—it was possible to trace and analyse the family’s land-ownership and political strategies while providing insights into the emerging center in the background of this book: Venice. Sant’Ilario would not only perpetuate the memory of the Particiaco family, it would also play a key role in communications between the mainland and the lagoon until at least the late medieval period when the deviation of the Brenta river would drastically transform its role and functions, marking the beginning of a permanent change in relations between the monastery and nearby resources. Finally, in the case of Comacchio, a geoarchaeological approach led to a better understanding of the results obtained so far by means of scattered stratigraphic excavations or surveys. While the latter investigations mainly served to define the settlement in economic terms, studies examining the morphology of the landscape helped us to place the nascent emporium in its proper ecological context. Here too, as in the case of early Venice, we were able to obtain a clearer picture of the relationship between the settlement and the surrounding area, describing it at a geoenvironmental level and in terms of its relations with resources—reconstructing, albeit with occasional difficulties, relations between local elites and their land. In archaeological terms, the history of these places is also a history of change in status: from spaces based on the exploitation of natural ­resources to commercial nodal points and then to central places. In at least two cases—Equilus and Comacchio—it seems as though the chronological chain of events involved in this transformation is relatively certain. But the history of these places is also and above all a history of powers within and outside these communities, with emperors, kings, bishops, and public officials. The real protagonists of these conflicts and events often remain in the background, only emerging intermittently in the few written documents or through material evidence: the sarcophaguses of the members of the Particiaco family buried in their chapel near the southern edges of the Venetian lagoon; the inhabitants of Equilus whose names appear in 6th- or 7th-century dedications in the polychrome mosaic floor of the new church; the humble presbyter from Comacchio­ (possibly Bishop Stefano “in disguise”?) who commissioned a sarcophagus­

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“à la mode” of the same type adopted at some distance north by the leading Venetian families. The protagonists of these events gradually come into focus the closer we get to the year 1000. The history of the settlement now known as Venice, which took its name from the ancient Roman province and later Byzantine duchy, is the history of a harsh struggle between very different powers. However, ­although providing more information on the city’s political and institutional history than the archaeological sources, the written sources are extremely unreliable when it comes to the earliest history of Venice. In order to overcome this hurdle this book carefully examines both the characteristics of archival transmission as well as the methods adopted by the author of the main chronicle of the period, John the Deacon, who, as a member of the ducal court, had access to public documentation which he used for his work: he could therefore cross-reference these two types of sources available to him. By reading the sources with a more critical eye than in the past, we can to some extent build anew the early centuries of Venetian history. The sources inform us of the conflict between the Venetian duchy and the kingdoms on the Italian mainland—initially the Kingdom of the Lombards, later the Kingdom of all Italy under the Carolingians. As the essays in this book reveal, thanks to her capacity to resist external forces and her links with the Adriatic area and with the Byzantine East, Venice managed to withstand pressures from the Italian mainland powers, maintaining her ties to Byzantium while at the same time evolving independently. The military structures of the ancient Byzantine duchy were thus co-opted for a development process that would, from the 9th century onwards, increasingly hinge upon maritime trade expansion. But an unprejudiced interpretation of the sources clearly shows that relations with the Italian mainland were very close also in the area of sea transport and trade. Although the Venetian duchy was politically independent from the kingdom, this does not necessarily imply that it created an unbreachable frontier with the mainland, looking only to the east. On the contrary, the history of Venice can only be understood by placing her at the center of a complex network of social, economic, and personal relations with the Kingdom to the west and with Byzantium to the east. The family and political ties built up between the two leading 10th-century ducal dynasties of Venice—the Candiano and Orseolo families—and a number of prominent families in the kingdom of Italy as well as with the Ottonians are extremely significant in this regard, as are the Candiano and Orseolo property interests on the mainland, interests that do not in any way conflict with the duchy’s maritime vocation. What emerges with great clarity from both the written and the a­ rchaeological sources discussed in this book is the strongly Adriatic focus of Venice.

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The duchy and later the city of Venice had deep links to that sea, which provided a shared vital space for several interrelated communities. This sea was the true home of the Istrians, Dalmatians, and Venetians who spent so much of their lives here engaged in long, arduous, and often dangerous coastal ­navigation. And it was here that Venice was forged as an Adriatic, Italian, and Byzantine community.

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Index Aachen 13, 24, 26, 31n Ad Farum, place in Ravenna 58 Adamnán, abbot of Iona 66 Adige, river 73, 78 Adriatic sea 4, 19, 21, 22, 31n, 44, 49, 37n, 52–57, 59, 61, 62, 64, 65, 67–69, 68n, 86n, 89,91, 100, 111, 113n, 115, 118, 119, 161, 164, 170 arc 1, 168 coast 21 communities 4 maritime identity 2 ports 20 site 153 Aegean, sea 21 Aethicus Ister, fictional character 63–64, 66 Africa 19, 53 Agilulf, king of the Lombards 5 Agnella 44n Agnello Particiaco, duke of Venice 11, 24, 25, 25n, 38 Agnello, archbishop of Ravenna 150 Agnellus of Ravenna, historian 58 Aistulf, king of the Lombards 14, 14n, 15, 16, 20, 21 Albertus-Azeli, count of Vicenza 78 Alboin, king of the Lombards 6 Alexandria, city of Egypt 51, 58 Altino, Altinum 97, 121 Amalarius, bishop of Metz 62 Ammiana 32n, 122 Anastasios (Anastasius) ii, Byzantine emperor 10, 41 Anastasios, patrician 9, 9n Andrea da Bergamo 144n Andreas, prior of Zadar 59–60 Andreas, Venetian tribune 60 Annales Fuldenses 59 Annales regni Francorum (Royal Frankish Annals) 22, 58 Annia, via 126, 135, 138 Antoninus, patriarch of Grado 28n Antoninus, tribune 11, 44n Aquileia 6, 10, 18, 28n, 36, 40n,44n, 48n, 85–87

Arechis, Lombard duke 157 Argenta 150, 150n arimannus, Lombard warrior 7 Artvich, vassal of the patriarch Iohannes  76, 85 Arzergrande 126 Asia Minor 164 Asolo 83, 83n, 84 Astolfo, king of the Lombards 149 Aureliano, archbishop of Ravenna 149 Autari, king of the Lombards 23 Avesa, canal 129 Bacchiglione, river 126 Baltimore 159 bandi, units of the Byzantine army 7 Basil ii, Byzantine emperor 88 , 89 Bassan Valentina 123 Bassano del Grappa 76 Beati Yllarii capella, see S. Ilario Bede 12, 13, 28, 30n, 36 Belluno 73–76, 78–80, 82–89 Berengar ii, king of Italy 72, 77, 82n Bernardo Trevisan 35n Bertari, magister militum 16 Berto Luigi Andrea 30n, 39n Bondesan Aldino 123 Bonus, Venetian tribune 51, 53 Borri, Francesco 2 Braudel, Fernand 57 Brendan, Irish monk and saint 56, 66 Brendole 84 Brenta, river 25, 76, 78, 87, 89, 117, 120, 124–128, 135, 137, 140, 169 Brescia 16 British Islands 66 Brondolo 120 Byzantium (Constantinople) 5, 8, 9, 10, 12, 15, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 25, 42n, 57, 60, 68, 88, 89, 170 Byzantine duchies 7–8, 18 Empire 21, 45, 69, 166n Italy 2, 5–7, 15–16, 18–19 territory 76, 149, 165 Byzantines 9, 20, 24

183

Index Cacco, duke of Friuli 9 Cadamuro, Silvia 3, 44n Caesar, Gaius Julius 66 Camin 126 Candiano, ducal family 70, 76, 87, 170 See also Pietro i, Pietro ii, Pietro iii, Pietro iv Candiano, Dominicus Candianus capitanei, Istrian highborn 52, 54, 60, 61, 64 See also Istrians Capodistria, see Koper Carolingian kingdom of Italy 15 Carolingians 170 Carver, Martin 166n Cassiodorus Senator 86 Castagnetti, Andrea 32n, 71, 78, 82n Castello, see Olivolo Cathedral, Comacchio, see Comacchio, Bishopric Ceneda 75, 76, 78–80, 82n Ceresaria 134, 138 Cervia 21 Cessi, Roberto 13–15, 31n, 42n, 43n, 49, 49n, 69 Charlemagne, Frankish king and emperor  17, 19, 20, 24, 40, 40n, 44, 45n, 46n, 52, 58, 146, 148, 149 chelandia, warship 61, 66, 131 Chioggia 120 Christopher, bishop of Olivolo 25 Cianciosi, Alessandra 44n Cittanova (Eraclea) 5, 9, 10, 13–15, 14n, 25, 31n, 41, 42n, 43n, 62, 74–76, 79, 84–85, 87, 93–94, 98, 111, 113, 117 Cividale del Friuli 6, 85, 156 civitas Rivoalti, see Rialto Civitatini novi 14n Clarino river 128, 134 Classe, port of Ravenna 151 Clefi, king of the Lombards 6, 23 Codex Trevisaneus 32, 35, 40, 40n, 48n, 85n Colombi, Emanuela 28n, 29n Comacchiesi, see Comaclenses Comacchio 2–4, 6, 9, 16–18, 20–22, 21n, 62, 67, 111, 111n, 142–153, 156, 158–167, 169 bishop and bishopric 17, 144, 145, 145n, 149, 151, 152, 155 capitulare 18, 20 castrum 21

insula 22 magister militum 148 merchants 18 Comaclenses, the inhabitans of Comacchio  16, 20, 144, 146, 151–153 comes, comites 16, 17, 148 Comiaclum castrum, insula, see Comacchio Conant, Jonathan 54 Concordia 85 Conegliano 79 Conero, Italian promontory south of Ancona 52 Constantine vii Porphyrogenitus, Byzantine emperor 11, 43n Constantine, Roman emperor 51 Constantinople, see Byzantium Cormac, Irish monk and saint 66 Cornio, canal 139 Corrò, Elisa 3, 90n Cosmography of Aethicus 63–66 Cremona 16, 62 Da Molin, family 34n Dalmatia 53, 54, 55, 56, 59, 60, 63, 67,69, 87–89 Dalmatians 55, 171 Danese, architect 151n Danube, river 64 Delogu, Paolo 153n, 162n, 166n Desiderius, king of the Lombards 21 Deusdedit, duke of Venice 23, 24 Dinaric Alps 52 Diocletian, Roman emperor 51 Dogaletto di Mira 38n, 128 Domenico Monegario, duke of Venice 24, 30 domestici 8 Dominicus (iv) Mengoni, notary 38 Dominicus Candianus 85–87 Dominicus Maurecenus 81 Dominicus Ursiulus 71 duces Lombard dukes 6, 6n, Byzantine dukes 8 dux (duke), of Venice 9, 14, 19, 24, 25 Venecie provincie duces 25n Eastern Empire 69 Egelricus, count of Verona 77 Egypt 19

184 Emilia 22 emporium, emporia 111, 113, 153, 153n, 160, 160n, 161, 161n, 162, 169 Episcopal church, Comacchio, see Comacchio bishopric Equilo, Equilus, see Jesolo Eraclea, see Cittanova Esders, Stefan 53 Europe 34, 57, 79, 160, 161 Eutychius, Byzantine exarch 19, 22 Exarch 5, 5n Exarchate 5, 6, 7, 18–21, 23–24, 149–152 exercitalis, Lombard warrior 7 exercitus Venetiarum 18 Fanta, Adolf 43n Farr, Helen 56 Felice, archbishop of Ravenna 149 Felletti Spadazzi, Alberto 150n Fisolo, canal 134 Fontana, Alessandro 123 Fortunatus ii, patriarch of Grado 25, 32n, 39, 39n, 40, 40n, 44–47, 48n Forum Iulii, see Cividale Foscari 125 Franks 22, 24, 36n, 45, 48n Frisia 54 Friuli 45, 78, 80n, 84–87, 94 Friuli, dukes 6, 6n, 9, 45, 78–79, 84–87, 94 Fusina 130 Galla, duke of Venice 24 Gambarara (Gambararia) 128, 134 Gambarare, Sant’Ilario e Benedetto di, monastery 2, 3, 25, 116, 117, 120, 122, 123, 125, 127, 128, 130, 134, 135, 137–141, 168, 169 Gargano, Italian promontory close to Foggia 52 Gasparini, Giovan Battista 150n, 151n Gasparri, Stefano 2, 41n, 42n, 80, 82, 84 Gelichi, Sauro 3, 48n, 90, 111n, 119, 123 Giosué, abbot 157 Giovanni Galbaio, duke of Venice 46–49, 48n, 49n Giovanni i Particiaco, duke of Venice 25 Giovanni ii Particiaco, duke of Venice 11 Giudecca, canal 134 Giustiniano (Iustinianus) Particiaco, duke of Venice 11, 24, 25, 25n, 32n, 37,38, 44, 51

Index Godescalc of Orbais, monk and theologian 55 Gorizia 85 Grado 6, 10, 17–18, 21, 24–25, 28, 28n, 29, 36, 39, 39n, 40, 40n, 44, 45, 45n, 47, 47n, 48n, 60, 88, 144 Grand Canal, Venice 25, 139 Gregory ii (or iii), pope 19, 28n, 40n Gregory, Byzantine patrician 9 Grimoald, king of the Lombards 5 Gualpertus, patriarch of Aquileia 40n, 44n Hadrian, i, pope 19 Henricus, duke of Verona 75, 82n Henry ii, emperor 85 Heraclius, Byzantine emperor 8n Herren, Michael 63 Hircanians 66 Hodges, Richard 153n, 161n, 162 Honorantiae civitatis Papiae 55 Hubertus, marquis of Tuscia 72 Hubertus Candianus 78 Hugo, count of Vicenza 78 Hugo, marquis of Tuscia 69, 81 Hungarians 67 Hungarian invasion 122 Hungary 31n Imelda Candianus 71 Indruszewski, George 66 Innes, Matthew 53 Iohannes, bishop of Belluno 73–76, 79–87, 89 Iohannes, patriarch of Aquileia 85–87 Ireland 54 Isacius (Isaac), Byzantine exarch 8, 8n, 9, 22, 150 Isidore of Seville, scholar 64 Isola, near Koper 85, 86 Istoria Veneticorum 2, 27, 29, 31, 33, 35–36, 36n, 44, 48–49, 50n, 54, 58, 71, 74, 87–88, 116, 119, 143, 144 Istria 2, 3, 12, 29, 40, 40n, 44, 45, 45n, 47, 47n, 48n, 51, 52n, 53, 56, 57, 59, 63–64, 67, 75, 77, 84–88 Istrian tribunes 12 Istrians 47, 52, 56–57, 60, 67, 171 See also capitanei Italic (Italian) Kingdom 2, 13, 35n, 38n, 49n, 68–71, 73, 74, 78, 86, 88

Index Italy 1, 6–8, 10, 11, 13n, 15–16, 18–20, 23–24, 27, 34, 40n, 41n, 44, 44n, 52–53, 57, 67–68, 70n, 71–72, 85, 90, 111n, 126n, 144n, 153, 160, 164, 170 Adriatic Italy 20 Northern Italy 20, 67 Iustinianus, see Giustiniano Particiaco Ivrea 72 Izza 76, 84 Jerome, fictional character 63–64 Jesolo 2, 3, 11, 44, 44n, 90–94, 96, 98–100, 104, 111, 114–115, 168, 169 Johannes, abbot 37 Johannes, patriarch of Grado 39, 47, 48n John the Deacon 2, 10–15, 11n, 18, 23–25, 27, 28, 30, 31, 42n, 48, 49, 50n, 58–59, 61, 63, 66–67, 71, 74, 75, 81, 83, 88, 116, 120, 131, 144, 144n, 167, 170 John (Johannes), Frankish duke of Istria 44, 45, 45n, 47, 52, 60 John Tradonicus, Venetian duke 61 Justinian Particiacus, see Giustiniano Particiaco placitum, judgment 12, 32n, 74, 78, 82n, 83, 83n, 89 Kent 60 Koper (Capodistria) 33, 85, 86 Krahwinkler, Haral 45n, 53 La Malcontenta, see Villa Foscari – La Malcontenta Lamia, mythical ship 65 Langobardi, Longobardi, see Lombards Late Antiquity 55n, 90, 93, 104, 111, 114, 118, 126, 163 Latium 160 Legnaro 126 Leo iii Isaurian, Byzantine emperor 18, 36 Leo iii, pope 40, 40n Leontis, Artemis 67 Leviathan, sea monster 56 Liber Pontificalis 18, 19, 21 Liburna, warships 65 Liburnians 65 Lido, Venice 118 Liguria, duchy 7 Liutprand, king of the Lombards 10, 13–18, 14n, 16n, 22, 41, 42, 42n, 146, 151, 152, 163

185 Livenza, river 76, 79, 84, 94 Lofoten Islands 65 Lombard Italy 7 kingdom 7, 13–16, 20, 21, 24, 41, 68 Lombards 9, 10, 13–16, 18–20, 23, 27, 43n, 45, 48n, 142, 148, 152, 165, 170 Lothar, king of Italy and Frankish emperor  13, 14, 18, 20, 41–43, 47, 132 Lothar’s pact, see Lothar Lovadina 82, 82n Louis the Pious, emperor 40n lupaces, seamen 63 Lupicinus, priest 16 Lupus, patriarch of Aquileia 40n Luva, canal 128 Libyans 65 magister militum, master of soldiers 6, 8, 9, 22, 23, 148 Malamocco 25, 62, 117, 134, 141 Mantova, see Mantua Mantua (Mantova) 16, 28, 28n, 45, 48n Marcellus, magister militum 14–16, 18, 18n, 41, 42, 42n Marghera 124 Maria Argiropula 72 Mark, evangelist 51 Mary (stella maris) 59 Mauricius, magister militum 8, 8n Maurizio Galbaio, duke of Venice 24, 30, 47n, 48n Maurus, bishop of Torcello 9n Maurus, comes 16 McCormick, Michael 162n Mediterranean sea 19, 52, 57, 64, 65, 68, 114, 153, 160, 161, 161n, 164 Medoacus Maior 126 Melison, canal 134 Mestre 80, 81, 83, 84, 139 Michael Monetarius 34, 34n miles, milites 7, 8, 16, 20, 67n the inhabitants of Comacchio 67 Milo, count of Verona 77, 77n Milo, marquis of Verona 34, 34n Mira 128 Mogliano, monastery 83, 84 monoxila, logboat 66 mons Scavorum 58 Monselice 5, 89 Monticolo, Giovanni 28, 30n, 36n, 39n

186 Motta della Girata, canal 164, 164n Motte di Volpego 126n Mozzi, Paolo 90n, 93, 123 Mucles, town in Dalmatia, perhaps today Makarska 60 Musestre 85 Namazianus, Rutilius 58 Naples, duchy 7 Napoleonic cadastral 128 Naviglio Brenta 125, 134 Negrelli, Claudio 44n North Africa 104, 164 Noventa 126, 127, 137 numeri, units of the Byzantine army 7 Oderzo 5, 9, 74, 79 Olivolo, island 17, 25, 44n, 48n, 88, 118–120 Onara 132 Oriago 134, 139 Orseolo, ducal family 10, 170 See also Pietro i, Pietro ii, Dominicus Ursiolus Orso Particiaco, bishop of Castello  32n, 44n Orso i Particiaco, duke of Venice 29n, 40n, 44n Orso, duke of Venice 18, 19, 23 Osor 88 Otranto, Strait of 57, 62 Otto i, emperor 42, 43n, 72, 72n, 74, 77, 82, 83n, 86 Otto ii, emperor 42, 43n, 81, 82n Otto iii, emperor 31, 31n, 66, 72, 74, 75, 77, 79, 81, 82n, 83, 83n, 86 Ottone Orseolo, duke of Venice 72, 75 Ottonians 170 Padua 5, 78, 85, 90, 93, 102, 123, 126, 127, 131, 132, 134, 135, 137–139 Padus Vetus, old course of the Po river  164 Palestine 21 Palladian estate 125 Parma 16 Partecipazi, see Particiaci Particiaci, ducal family 24, 25, 119, 169 See also Giovanni i, Giovanni ii, Giustiniano

Index patriarch, of Aquileia 10, 28n, 36, 40n, 44n, 86–87 patriarch, of Grado 10, 17, 24–25, 28n, 29n, 36, 39, 44–47, 48n, 88 Paul the Deacon, historian 5, 9, 10, 12, 13, 23, 28, 30n, 36, 37n, 43n, 65 Paul, exarch of Ravenna 15 Paulicio, see Paulicius Paulicius (Paulicio), pretended first duke of Venice (probably of Treviso) 10–16,    18, 23, 30, 41, 42, 42n, 43, 43n, 47–49, 49n Paulus, patricius, see Paul, exarch of Ravenna Pavia 16, 62n Pazienza, Annamaria 2, 119n Pazin 85 Pedena 85 Pentapolis, duchy 7 Pertz Georg Heinrich 30n Peter, abbot 138 Peter i Candiano, see Pietro i Candiano Peter ii Candiano, see Pietro ii Candiano Peter ii Orseolo, see Pietro ii Orseolo Peter Tradonicus, see Pietro Tradonico Petriolo 89 Petrus, subdeacon 38 Peutinger Table 126 Piacenza 16, 78 Piave Maggiore, river 41 Piave, river 76, 79, 82n, 93, 96, 100 Piave Secca, river 41 Pietro (Peter) i Candiano, duke of Venice 61 Pietro (Peter) ii Candiano, duke of Venice  40n, 144 Pietro iii Candiano, duke of Venice 31, 40n, 45n Pietro iv Candiano, duke of Venice 31, 33, 46, 46n, 69–74, 72n, 73n, 78, 79, 85, 88 Pietro i Orseolo, duke of Venice 33, 71 Pietro (Peter) ii Orseolo (Orseolus), duke of Venice 10, 14, 27, 31, 31n, 50n, 54, 59, 63, 69–76, 79–81, 83, 84, 86–89, 87n, 116 Pietro (Peter) Tradonico 36, 41, 60, 61, 131 Pietro Tribuno, duke of Venice 13, 48n Piove di Sacco 126 Pippin, king of Italy 11 placitum Risani, see Plea of Rizan (Rižana) Pladano 132, 134, 135, 138

187

Index Plea of Rizan (Rižana) 2, 3, 27, 29, 35, 40n, 43, 44, 44n, 46, 47, 47n, 52, 57 Pliny the Elder 58, 66 Po, delta 142 di Volano 166 plain (valley) 52, 123, 162, 167 river 16, 20–21 Pohl Walter 36n Polesine 73, 76, 81 Polverara 126 Pomposa 31 Pontelongo, canal 126 Populonia 58 Poreč 88 Porto Menai 140, 140n Porto, see Portus Portus 137, 137n, 139, 140 Postumia, route 78–80, 86 Pozza, Marco 32n Provesi, Chiara 2, 49n Pula 45n, 88 Quarto, river 79 Ragusa (Dubrovnik) 59 Rambaldus i, count of Treviso 82, 82n Rambaldus ii, count of Treviso 76, 81–84, 82n, 86 Rambaldus iii, count of Treviso 138 Ravegnani, Giorgio 9n Ravenna 5, 6, 8, 9, 12, 15–16, 18–23, 31n, 42n, 52, 56, 58, 60, 146, 148–151, 151n, 162, 165, 167 Museo Arcivescovile 151n Rialto (Rivo Alto, civitas Rivoalti), ancient name of the city of Venice 25, 26, 116, 117, 118, 119, 131, 134, 135 archipelago 17, 25 islands 24 Rimini 21 Riprandus, count of Verona 77 Riva di Mestre 139 Rivo Alto, see Rialto Rižana, river of today Slovenia 12, 44, 52 Rodalda, widow of Wangerius 84 Romania, costal region around Ravenna 56 Romans 15, 48n Rome 9, 19, 30, 42, 51, 53, 86, 151n, 160 duchy 7 duke 7

Ronco 77 Rösch, Gerhard 43n Rothari, king of the Lombards 5, 9 Rovigo 77, 84 Rovinj 85 Royal Frankish Annals, see Annales regni Francorum Rozo, bishop of Treviso 80–84, 83n Ruga 128 Rusticus, Venetian tribune 51, 53 Saint Hilarius, see Sant’Ilario Salto del Lupo 164n Sambruson 126, 140 San Benedetto and Ilario of Gambarare, monastery, see Gambarare San Bonifacio 77 San Donà 93 San Giorgio d’Argenta, church  149, 150n San Giorgio 122 San Gregorio, monastery 38 San Leo 72, 72n, 74 San Marco, basin 119, 120, 122, 134 San Marco, church 24 San Mauro in Comacchio, monastery 150, 150n, 151 San Michele in Porto 140 San Michele Arcangelo 119 San Pietro in Pladano 134 San Pietro a Corte, Salerno 157n San Pietro in Oriago 132, 134 San Servolo, island and monastery 31, 37, 38, 120 San Teodoro, church 33 San Vincenzo al Volturno, monastery 157 San Zaccaria, monastery 24, 31, 34, 34n, 37, 49n, 76–78, 81, 84, 89, 120 Sant’Agata, church 39 Sant’Agostino di Comacchio, monastery 150n Sant’Erasmo 118 Sant’Eufemia, cathedral 39 Sant’Ilario (Beati Yllarii capella), church and chapel 25n, 37, 38,  44, 120 Sant’Ilario, monastery, see San Benedetto di Gambarare 25 Santa Giustina, monastery 78

188 Santa Maria di Torcello, church 8, 8n Santa Maria in Organo, monastery 85 Santa Maria in Padovetere, church 149, 149n Santa Maria in Valle, monastery 85 Santa Maria Zobenigo, church 33, 48n Santi Felice and Fortunato of Ammiana, monastery 32n, 122 Santi Maria and Donato, cathedral 34 Saonara 126 Saracens 19, 144 Saxons 66 Schmitt, Carl 54 Scultenna, battle 9 Scythians 66 Septem maria, lagoons between Istria and Ravenna 52 Serenus, patriarch of Aquileia 28n Sesto, monastery 85 Settimo 79 Seuco 129, 134 Severus, patriarch of Grado 40n Shepard, John 61 Sicardus, count 33 Sichardus, bishop of Ceneda 79 Sile, river 79, 93 Sindbæk, Søren 162 Slavs 19, 47, 58, 61 Slovenia 52 Solkan 85 St. Mark, palatine chapel and basilica 33, 35, 37, 38 Staffolo 76 Stefano, bishop of Comacchio 166, 169 Stefanus, Coloprinus 80 ,81 Stephen, comes 16 Stephen iii, pope 24 Tarsica 85 Taso, duke of Friuli 9 Tavo 139 Temanza, Tommaso 130, 131 Tergola, river 132, 134, 135, 138 terminatio, establishment of boundaries  14, 41 Teudaldus, nephew of Izza 76 Theodoric, Gothic king 58 Theodosius, Imperial patrician 61 Theophano, empress 81

Index Thietmar of Merseburg, historian 61 Thyrrenian sea 19 Torcello 8–9, 25, 29n, 34, 34n, 44, 93n, 111, 111n, 160n Torson di Sotto 126n Tradonico, ducal family, see Pietro e Giovanni Translatio s. Heliani 62 Translatio s. Marci 12, 28, 28n, 36, 36n, 51, 62, 63 Trevisan, Francesco 35n Treviso 6, 16, 19, 42, 76, 76n, 77, 79–84, 82n, 83n, 86, 87, 139 Treviso, Frankish count 19 Tribuni, tribunes 8, 24, 160 Tribuno, Menio (Memmo) 74, 81 Tribuno, Antonino 106 Udine 85 Uhlirz, Mathilde 31n Umag 51 Una, river 25n, 128, 134 Urban viii, pope 150n Valier 124 Valle 86 Valle Averto 126n Valle Raibosola, near Comacchio 150n Vallonga 126 Van de Noort, Robert 66 Venetia (Venetia et Histria, Venetiae), Roman province 5, 8, 8n, 9, 12, 19, 25n, 29, 36, 51–52, 56, 58, 60, 66 Venetian duchy 6, 8, 13, 15, 18, 21, 24, 25, 26 duke (dux Venetiarum) 2, 8, 19, 24 Venetian community 4, 152 families 169 lagoon 2, 140, 142, 148, 153n, 160n, 167 historiography 1 history 2, 170 Venetians (Veneti) 8, 11–14, 19, 20, 23, 55, 144, 171 Veneto 76n, 77n, 78, 79n, 80n, 86, 87 Venice 1, 3, 6–12, 15, 17–25, 27n, 32–35, 34n, 35n, 37, 38, 38n, 40n, 41, 41n, 42n, 43–45, 45n, 46–49, 48n, 49n, 93, 96, 111n, 116–120, 122, 123, 128, 131, 132, 134, 135, 137, 138, 141, 148, 148n, 161, 162n, 166, 170, 171

189

Index Vercelli 116 Verona 6, 34, 36n, 42, 75–77, 82n, 83n, 85, 86 Veronese, Francesco 36n Versus Marini 62 Vicenza 78, 85, 89 Vigonza 139 Villa Foscari – La Malcontenta 125 Villaggio San Francesco, near Comacchio 144, 145, 166n Villatora 126 Violante, Cinzio 167 Vissignone, canal 132, 134 Vitale, bishop of Comacchio 17, 146 Vitalis Hugo, Candianus 78, 85, 86

Vocino, Giorgia 36n Volpego canal 134 Vuerihen, count of Friuli 85 Waitz, George 36n Waldrada, widow of Pietro iv Candiano  46n, 72, 73 Wangerius, brother of Rambaldus ii 82, 83 Winterius, marquis of Istria 40n, 45n Within Piscator, fictional character 56 Wood, Ian N. 64, 66 Zacharias, pope 19 Zara 88 Zelarino 84