Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond 1443843172, 9781443843171

Citation preview

Medieval Urban Planning

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond Edited by

Mickey Abel

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond Edited by Mickey Abel This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Mickey Abel and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-4317-2 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-4317-1

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond Mickey Abel Chapter One ................................................................................................. 8 Water as the Philosophical and Organizational Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: The Case of Maillezais Abbey Mickey Abel Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 46 Decoding the Planning Rules of the Monastic Urban and Rural Forms around Samos Abbey Estefanía López Salas Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 75 Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley: Glastonbury Abbey’s Canals and Rivers as Definitions of Urban Space Sarah Rose Shivers Chapter Four ............................................................................................ 100 “Any Place I Hang My Hat Is Home”: The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs Janet Snyder Chapter Five ............................................................................................ 121 Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides Catherine Barrett Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 148 How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany? Erik Gustafson

vi

Table of Contents

Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 174 A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism: Francesch Eiximenis and Urban Planning in the Crown of Aragon Shelley E. Roff Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 196 Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi Samuel D. Gruber Bibliography ............................................................................................ 218 Contributors ............................................................................................. 246

INTRODUCTION MEDIEVAL URBAN PLANNING: THE MONASTERY AND BEYOND MICKEY ABEL, EDITOR UNIVERSITY OF NORTH TEXAS

“Can We Call it Medieval Urban Planning?” was the title of a session presented at the 2014 meeting of the Society of Architectural Historians, which posited the notion of medieval urban planning against the modern job description of an Urban Planner. Distilling modern definitions of these concepts, the session adopted the foundational stance that urban planning is therefore half design and half social engineering. It is a process that evolves over time and considers not only the aesthetic and visual product, but also the economic, political, and social implications, as well as the underlying or over-arching environmental impact of any given plan. In other words, it is multifaceted, dynamic, and quite resistant to static codification. And thus the challenge of the session became the detection of something with the potential to be quite nebulous in an historical era known for its similarly multifaceted, dynamic, and codification-resistant characteristics. While archaeologists point to evidence of “urban planning” that corresponds to the modern descriptions as early as the Mesopotamians, it is more widely accepted that the Romans set the standard for well-planned urban environments.1 By comparison, it is generally thought that the allencompassing process defined above as “urban planning” did not take place in the Middle Ages until at least the thirteenth century. It can be argued, however, that this is primarily a case of lack of tangible evidence or the documentation associated with traditional historical research—the maps, the drawings, the legal codes, or the commercial reports—that would illustrate a concerted process being carried out by an identifiable 1

Lewis Mumford, The City in History: Its Origins, Its Transformations, and Its Prospects (New York: Wiley & Sons, 1961).

2

Introduction

entity. Recent scholarship employing the methodological lens of Cultural Geography suggests otherwise, purposing new ways to “view” cultural or sociological developments.2 Scholars such as David Nichols, in his 1997, Growth of the Medieval City, have challenged the static nature of the Roman model, opening the possibilities for innovative insight into the ways in which a planning process can be discerned.3 This type of work amplifies and expands on that of monastic historians, archaeologists, and art historians who have long demonstrated, on the basis of the well-known plan of St. Gall, that monasteries,4 particularly those of the Cistercian order, were very much concerned with “planning,” albeit in the rural sense.5 From the intricacies of the water infrastructure, to the ordered logic of the space, to the esoteric qualities of metaphysical light, to the seasonal inter-dependence of pigs and pollarded oak trees, there is ample evidence to support a claim that the various components of a “community plan” were understood within the monastic realm during the Middle Ages. But what of the integration of these various parts and their impact on the non-monastic realm? Or the foresight into a particular plan’s future potential, incorporating growth and new social institutions? The 2014 Architectural Historians session sought to explore and expand not only the breadth of the evidence available for the comprehension of a planning process, but also the depth of the thought guiding any particular plan or 2

Denis Cosgrove, Social Formation and Symbolic Landscape (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1984); Keith Lilley, Urban Life in the Middle Ages, 10001450 (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002); John Blair, ed., Waterways and CanalBuilding in Medieval England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Stephen Rippon, Beyond the Medieval Village: The Diversification of Landscape Character in Southern Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 3 David Nichols, The Growth of the Medieval City from Late Antiquity to the Early Fourteenth Century: A History of Urban Society in Europe (New York: Longman, 1997); and David Nichols, Urban Europe, 1100-1700 (New York: Palgrave, 2003). 4 Walter Horn and Ernest Born, The Plan of St. Gall: A Study of the Architecture and Economy of, and Life in, a Paradigmatic Carolingian Monastery, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979); Clark Maines, “Saint-Jean-desVignes in Context: The Urban Water Management Systems of Soissons,” in Wasser: Lebensquelle und Bedeutungstrâger: Wasserversorgung in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, eds. Helmut Paulus, Herman Reidel, and Paul Winkler (Regenensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 1999), 15-36; Wolfgang Braunfels, Monasteries of Western Europe: The Architecture of the Orders (London: Thames & Hudson, 1972); and Mick Ashton, Monasteries in the Landscape (Stroud: Tempus, 2000). 5 Terryl Kinder, Cistercian Europe: Architecture of Contemplation (Cambridge: Erdmann Publishing, 2002); and Jean-Francois Leroux-Dhuys, Cistercian Abbeys: History and Architecture (London: Konemann, 2006).

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

3

planning process. Looking both within and beyond the monastic realm, we questioned how those in roles of authority saw the big picture—or had insight into the longue durée of a particular plan of action. Expanding on the basic question of whether we can discern a plan or a planning process, we began by challenging previous analysis of architectural complexes, looking to the political and economic interactions between secular and sacred entities for signs of collaborative, mutually-beneficial thinking. We explored decorative programs that might illustrate the planned confluence between visual or aural stimulation, meant to enhance both physical, realworld well-being and heavenly, metaphysical alliances, both inside and out of the sacred space. In the broader context of the secular built environment, where historians frequently demonstrate the economic and political interaction between monastic leadership and local or regional authorities, we sought to detect a specific replication or modeling of the integrated concern with natural materials, metaphysical aesthetics, and interpretive reading seen within the monastic complex. Similarly, where scholars of philosophy and religion highlight the mirrored nature of heaven and earth in medieval texts, we sought evidence of this theoretical “ordering” as being planned or integrated into the secular world.6 From each of these various points of entry, we asked what could be learned by bringing together the discipline specific views of the architect, the archaeologist, or the geographer with those of scholars of literature, imagery, and liturgy. While several of the articles presented in this volume evolved out of that 2014 Architectural Historian’s session (Barret, Lopez Salas, Gustafson, and Gruber), all the contributing authors began by wrestling with the common question: “What can legitimately be defined as a city in the Middle Ages, where it is only a ‘city’ that can be said to represent and encompass the criteria for an ‘urban’ environment?” As David Nichols suggests, in many cases the difference between a “town” and a “city” boils down to a linguistic problem—that is, it is really only English that highlights the difference, and that this should not be seen as a line in the sand discouraging innovative research questions.7 Yet even as we agree that the question is for the most part an anachronistic “non-starter,” there remains the long shadow cast over the discussion by the landmark theories of Henri Pirenne, a point made by Michael McCormick in his introduction

6

This line of thought generally references Saint Augustine, The City of God (De civitate Dei), trans. William Babcock (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 2012). 7 Nichols, The Growth of the Medieval City, “Preface,” xiv, xv.

4

Introduction

to the latest reprint of Pirenne’s 1925 Medieval Cities.8 Expanded upon in 1939, with his Mohammed and Charlemagne, and championed in the 1970s by German scholar Edith Ennen, Pirenne’s rather rigid criteria for the definition of a city or “the urban” in the post-Roman world are now being challenged within various disciplinary circles.9 First to chip away at the Pirenne theory, archaeologists and cultural geographers such as Richard Hodges and David Whitehouse,10 and more recently Cosgrove, Lilley, Blair, and Rippon, to mention a few,11 join cultural historians, such as McCormack (mentioned above), Chris Wickham, Henri Lefebve, and Bryan Ward-Perkins, in calling for new avenues of exploration and new theoretical models.12 Questioning the role of social institutions such as feudalism,13 or the limiting factors of legal documents, such as the writing of charters,14 broader ideas on the process of planning have been brought 8

Michael McCormick, “Introduction,” in Henri Pirenne, Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), first published in 1925 and reprinted in 1952. 9 Henri Pirenne, Mohammed and Charlemagne (New York: W.W. Norton, 1939); and Edith Ennen, Die Europäische Stadt des Mittelalters, (Göttingen: Vandenhoech & Ruprecht, 1972). See also, Pierre Lavedan, Histoire de l’Urbanism (Paris: Henri Laurens, 1952); and Howard Simms and Anngret Simms, eds., The Comparative History of Urban Origins in Non-Roman Europe, Ireland, Wales, Denmark, Germany, Poland, and Russia from Ninth to the Thirteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 10 Richard Hodges and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne & the Origins of Europe: Archaeology and the Pirenne Thesis (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983). 11 See footnote # 4. 12 Michael McCormick, Charlemagne's Survey of the Holy Land: Wealth, Personnel, and Buildings of a Mediterranean Church between Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011); Michael McCormick, Origins of the European Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Chris Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400-800 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); Henri Lefebvre, La revolution urbaine (Paris: Gallimard, 1970); Bryan Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); and more generally, the earlier work of Fernand Braudel, The Identity of France (New York: Harper & Row, 1986). 13 Rodney Hilton, English and French Towns in Feudal Society: A Comparative Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); and Thomas Bisson, “The Feudal Revolution,” Past and Present, 142 (1994): 6-42. 14 Chris Wickham, The Inheritance of Rome: A History of Europe from 400 to 1000 (New York: Viking, 2009); Ronald Zupko and Robert Laures, Straws in the Wind: Medieval Urban Environmental Law (Boulder: Westview Press, 1996); and

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

5

into the discussion. Deepening the theoretical underpinnings, this new, more theoretical work is frequently informed by the philosophical and sociological ideas of Walter Benjamin, Michel Foucault, Jacques Le Goff, and Pierre Bourdieu, as well as Max Weber and Karl Marx.15 Similarly influential in revealing new insights into how a “plan” might have been perceived is the work of spatial theorists and ritual anthropologists. The framing concepts of Henri Lefebvre and Michel de Certeau or Victor Turner, Emile Durkheim, and Arnold van Gennep,16 are well represented in the various articles edited by Hanawalt and Kboialka, under the title Medieval Practices of Space, or special issue of Journal of Interdisciplinary History, entitled “Fertile Space,” where Peter Arnade, Martha Howell, and Walter Simons explore “The Productivity of Urban Space in Northern Europe.”17 The “urban” question continues to have resonance for many disciplines of Medieval Studies as evidenced by recent titles to appear: for instance, Robert Maxwell’s case study of Parthenay, Albrecht Classen’s edited volume, Urban Space in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Era; Caroline Goodson, Anne Lester, and Carol Symes’ volume, Cities, Texts and Social Networks 400-1500: Experiences and Perceptions of Medieval Urban Space; or Anngret Simms and Howard Martin Biddle, “Towns,” in The Archaeology of Anglo-Saxon England, ed. David Wilson, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979): 99-150. 15 Walter Benjamin, Das passegen-Werk (Frankfurt-am-Main : Suhrkamp, 1983); Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (New York: Vintage, 1970); Jacques le Goff, The Medieval Imagination (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992); Pierre Bourdieu, Le sens pratique (Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 1980); Karl Marx, The Collected Works of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels (New York: International Publishers, 1975); and Max Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization (New York: The Free Press, 1947/2012). 16 For spatial praxis, see Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space (London: Blackwell, 1991); and Michel de Certeau, Actes de faire (Paris, Gallimard, 1980). For ritual practice, see Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and AntiStructure (London: Transaction Publishers, 1969); Clifford Geertz, The Interpretations of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic Books, 1973); Emile Durkheim, Les forms élémentaire de la vie religious (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1912); and Arnold van Gennep, Les rites de passage (Paris, Emile Nourry, 1909). 17 Barbara Hanawalt and Michael Kobialka, eds., Medieval Practices of Space (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000); Peter Arnade, Martha C. Howell, and Walter Simons, “Fertile Spaces: The Productivity of Urban Space in Northern Europe,” Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 32, no. 4 (2002): 549-69; and Meredith Cohen and Fanny Madeline, eds., Space in the Medieval West: Places, Territories, and Imagined Geographies (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014).

6

Introduction

Clarke’s volume, Lords and Towns in Medieval Europe: The European Historic Towns Atlas Project.18 Picking up some of these same lines of inquiry, while taking up the challenge outlined for the Architectural Historians’ session, the essays in the current volume cover a time period that extends from nascent developments in the tenth century with Abel’s article on monastic infrastructure, to the late medieval cities represented in the articles by Gustafson, Roff, and Gruber. Geographically, the articles range from the new towns of southern France (Barret), to centuries-old sites of Barcelona and Valencia (Roff), from the island marshlands of western France (Abel) and Somerset, England (Shivers); to the rural expanse of northern Spain (Lopez-Salas), and the hill country of Italy (Gruber). Examining the “urban” question from both the view within the monastic point of view (Abel, Lopez-Salas, Shivers, and Gustafson) and from the secular realm (Snyder, Barrett, Roff, and Gruber), these same articles are theoretically quite diverse. From the sacred side of the equation, Abel, “Water as the Philosophical and Organizational Basis for an ‘Urban’ Community Plan: The Case of Maillezais Abbey,” argues that the extant features of the hydraulic system built by the monastic brothers created a uniting infrastructure that allowed the broad monastic domain to “function” like an urban complex; while Shivers, “Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley: Glastonbury Abbey's Canals and Rivers as Definitions of Urban Space” approached a similar wetland topography— this time in the lowlands of post-Norman England—from the visual or metaphoric impressions recorded in the literary rhetoric of William of Malmesbury. Challenging the long-held notion that the mendicants of Tuscany were uniformly attached to urban developments, Gustafson, “How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?,” employs a statistical analysis that depicts a very different picture, and Lopez Salas, “Decoding the Planning Rules of the Monastic Urban and Rural Form around Samos Abbey,” shows that a “jurisdictional reserve” can be defined by mapping the scale and density of monastic owned property in relation to tenancy agreements and books of demarcation. On 18

Robert Maxwell, The Art of Medieval Urbanism: Parthenay in Romanesque Aquitaine (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007); Albrecht Classen, ed., Urban Space in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Era (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009); Caroline Goodson, Anne Lester, and Carol Symes, eds., Cities, Texts And Social Networks 400-1500: Experiences and Perceptions of Medieval Urban Space (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010); and Anngret Simms and Howard Clarke, eds., Lords and Towns in Medieval Europe: The European Historic Towns Atlas Project (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015).

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

7

the secular side of the coin, Snyder, “’Any Place I Hang My Hat Is Home:’ The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs,” tracks the movement of stone and mason-ymagiers, crediting this movement with the economic stimulus for town growth, while Barrett, “Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides,” reads charters and zoning patterns as an indicator of a politically motivated planning mentality. Roff, “A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism: Francesch Eiximenis and Urban Planning in the Crown of Aragon,” takes this line of thinking further in her exploration of the correlation between Augustine’s celestial, well-ordered city as illustrated in the Beatus manuscripts and the configuration of an ideal Christian city seeking to overcome its Muslim past; while Gruber, “Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi,” sums up many of the ideas explored with his examination of the late medieval planning process, noting that by the end of the Middle Ages city planning had become consistent in both vision and process. Our hope is that the articles presented here continue the momentum of our predecessors by presenting new case studies that expand our definition of the “urban” in the Middle Ages, and by suggesting new approaches to the problem that might inspire the next generation of scholars.

CHAPTER ONE WATER AS THE PHILOSOPHICAL AND ORGANIZATIONAL BASIS FOR AN “URBAN” COMMUNITY PLAN: THE CASE OF MAILLEZAIS ABBEY MICKEY ABEL UNIVERSITY OF NORTH TEXAS

As outlined in the “Introduction” of this volume, multiple scholars have called into question Henri Pirenne’s definition of a city after the collapse of the Roman system—or, more specifically, Pirenne’s criteria for what could or could not be considered as the revealing marks of a developing urban center in the post-Roman world.1 With an emphasis on the necessity for a market or evidence of long-distance commercial trade, an exportable craft production, and at least some indication of a burgeoning middle/merchant class, Pirenne’s economically-based, evidential criteria have proved far too restrictive to account for many of the more subtle developments of the earlier middle ages.2 Indeed, the perception continues that there were very few fully-functional urban centers until the thirteen century, outside of the Roman regional civitas that had become medieval diocesan seats in the Carolingian era.3 This is even as

1

Henri Pirenne, Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1925/1952/2014), 35. 2 Michael McCormick, “Introduction,” in Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade, by Henri Pirenne (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1925/1952/2014), ix-xxxiv, especially xv. 3 Pirenne, Medieval Cities, 8, 25, and 41-43, notes that these episcopal cities become “clusters of immunity” that contribute to their control over the markets within them and the tolls generated in relation to the markets. For the role of the Carolingian court, see Henri Pirenne, Mohammed and Charlemagne (New York:

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

9

archaeologists such as Hodges and Whitehouse have identified romanmodeled emporia meeting the Pirennean criteria along Europe’s northern and western coastlines that date to the early medieval period,4 and even as cultural or architectural historians, such as Robert Maxwell, have demonstrated that much of the communal patterns of growth that developed around the castra of the tenth and eleventh centuries can be shown to fit the Pirennean model if seen through a lens that is adjusted to be more contextually sensitive.5 This latter “castra” model applies to much of western France, where defining the historical context entails an explicit acknowledgment of the power vacuum that came with the fracturing of royal territory into competing counties ruled by men with no hereditary lineage.6 This insight provides a regionally-specific framework that facilitates our comprehension of a particular nexus of economic, political, and cultural developments as a concerted creation of a unique communal identity. For Maxwell, this identity manifested itself most clearly in the construction and ornamentation of monumental architecture. The cumulative result was a visibly recognizable program, with overt clues to an authorial intent. 7 It was a program that had resonance for not only those in power, who were most likely responsible for the program’s design and implementation, but importantly for the community’s inhabitants, as well as visitor’s coming from the outside— the community’s neighbors, combatants, and trading partners. In adding

Meridian Books, 1957); and Howard Saalman, Planning and Cities: Medieval Cities (New York: George Braziller, 1968). 4 Richard Hodges and David Whitehorn, Mohammed, Charlemagne and the Origins of Europe: Archaeology and the Pirenne Thesis (Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1983). Keith D. Lilley, Urban Life in the Middle Ages 1000-1450 (New York: Palgrave, 2002), 6, defines an emporia as a coastal trading center likely to host fairs or market centers. Edith Ennen, “The Variety of Urban Development,” in Town Origins: The Evidence from Medieval England, ed. J. Benton (Boston: Heath, 1968), 11-18, sees in these types of communities a “postRoman continuity,” where topography is more important factor to the lasting vitality of the settlement than its particular economic function. 5 Robert Maxwell, The Art of Medieval Urbanism: Parthenay in Romanesque Aquitaine (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007). 6 In general, see Thomas N. Bisson, ed., Cultures of Power: Lordship, Status, and process in Twelfth-Century France (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995). 7 Maxwell, “Constructing an Urban identity,” in The Art of Medieval Urbanism, 125-183.

10

Chapter One

“identity” to Pirenne’s criteria, Maxwell joins the ranks of scholars to open the “urban” discussion to the diversity of development.8 Taking this line of reasoning yet one step further, I would like to make the case for the inclusion of another category of community that remains marginalized outside of the Pirennean “urban”—that is those villi, burgs, and castelnau that grew out of their association with and/or dependence on large rural monasteries.9 With the explicit acknowledgment that neither the monastery itself nor the individual villages meet the basic Pirennean criteria, I want to suggest that if we accept these “satellite” communities as inseparable in their dependency on their monastic parent, can we not then consider the network of dependents linked to the monastery—the monastery’s domain—as an “urban complex,” where all the components work to support the linked enterprise?” 10 Loosening the parameters of our analytical lens in order to accommodate yet another set of the contextual specifics, I propose to examine the whole of the monastic domain as an interdependent “corporate” entity, and thus explore the results of a nexus of parts combining to act “urban.” My case study for examining the “urban” qualities of a complex monastic domain is Maillezais Abbey, which today sits 70 km inland from the French Atlantic coast at the eastern edge of the low-lying marshlands of Poitou, midway between Brittany and Bordeaux (Fig. 1-1). Maillezais’s particular “context” is its unique geographic topography. More specifically, it is the abbey’s location in the middle of a region known to have been dominated by pervasive marshland, which I argue served to define the nature and configuration of its monastic domain, and which would come to dictate the domain’s “urban” characteristics. In the Middle Ages much of the Bas-Poitou was inundated, a fact that highlights the significance of these documents that signal Maillezais’s elevated location, surrounded with water to form an “island” (Fig. 1-2). Picture a location similar to Mont St. Michael at high tide. However, while it is this 8

Ennen, “Variety,” 12; and Lilley, Urban Life, 1-16, make similar calls for an exploration of the diversity of urban development. 9 Pirenne, Medieval Cities, 45. 10 Lilley, Urban Life, 3, gets to this notion of a “complex” by asking “what constitutes urban life,” suggesting that rather than single identifying characteristics, we look for “bundles of urban criteria” that will indicate the type of settlement: trading center, stronghold, cult based, or market centered. Ronald Zupko and Robert Laures, Straws in the Wind: Medieval Urban Environmental Law (Westview Press: Boulder, 1996), 89, suggest that we think about the variety of enterprises that contribute to the wealth of the system—agriculture, commerce, real estate, manufacturing, service industries, and transportation.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

11

particular topography and the ubiquitous nature of the area’s marshy water that makes Maillezais’s physical context unique, it is the combination of these contextual factors with an analysis of the building program both within the abbey walls and in the surrounding villages that provides a scenario ripe for examining the urban qualities of a monastery acting as the head of a “corporate complex.”

Fig. 1-1. Maillezais Abbey. Source: Author.

My entry into this examination is the role of Mailezais’ infrastructure. I want to suggest that it was the “uniting” nature of the hydraulic system developed initially by the first monks at Maillezais that was perhaps conceived of, but most certainly functioned as, the foundation for a broadranging urban development. With the abbey at its heart, this network of canals, levies, bridges, locks, and aqueducts was the circulatory system that linked the interdependent components and supported the corporate body’s well-being. The hydraulic system can thus be said to facilitate most of Pirenne’s criteria for the identification of an urban development.

12

Chapter One

Fig. 1-2. Ancient Gulf of Picton. After public map, Musée de Chateau Niort, Niort, France. Source: Author.

Beginning as early as mid-tenth century, the monks at Maillezais Abbey employed this hydraulic infrastructure as a means to both control and exploit their marshland setting.11 In doing so, they initiated a communal system of water management that facilitated the conduits for long-distance commercial trade, and at the same time supplied the energy and the raw materials for localized industry and craft production. As such, Maillezais’s innovative foresight in the area of infrastructure served other aspects of communal living both within and beyond the monastery walls. Even in its nascent form, the hydraulic system the monks created addressed the mythical and spiritual beliefs of the inhabitants, while 11 Many scholars agree that the year 1000 marked a shift in political and economic thinking. Zupko and Laures, Straws in the Wind, 3, call the resurgence in urban life at this time a “commercial revolution.” Pirenne, Medieval Cities, 50, suggests that the Truce of God and church reforms at beginning of 1000 were a sign of new era that supported town building. For the history of the Peace of God/Truce of God movements, see Thomas F. Head and Richard A. Landes, The Peace of God: Social Violence and religious Response in France around the Year 1000 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992); and Jane Martindale, Status, Authority and Regional Power: Aquitaine and France, 9th to 12th Centuries, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1997).

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

13

simultaneously serving to protect the inhabitants of the marshlands from both flooding and invading forces. This system held the potential to generate substantial revenue, while exhibiting progressive concerns for environmental conservation and addressing the more mundane issues of health and sanitation. With the comprehensive nature of the hydraulic system in mind, I contend that even a modern-day urban planner would recognize in the effective management of these complex, interlinking concerns the thinking and planning that goes into the foundation of a vibrant, dynamic urban project. Although French scholars have yet to embrace a strictly-speaking “land-based” examination of early urban developments,12 a particularly appropriate model can be found in the work of British archaeologist, Stephen Rippon. 13 His analysis of the Somerset region of southwestern England surrounding the abbey of Glastonbury traces the development of a monastic “urban center” from what he terms its “antecedent landscape.”14 For Rippon, this type of study begins with an analysis of not just the geology and topography to define the specifics of a “natural region,” but also a consideration of that region’s social and economic characteristics— importantly, giving equal weight to both environmental factors and human agency.15 Through this more integrative type of analysis, he sees “the 12

For earlier studies see, Pierre Lavedan, Histoire de l’Urbanism (Paris: Henri Laurens, 1952); Charles Petit-Dutallis, The French Communes in the Middle Ages (Amsterdam: North Holland Publishing, 1978); Marcel Grandjean, “Villes Neuves et Bourgs Mèdiévaux: Fondement de l’Urbanisme Regional,” in L’Homme Dans la Ville (Lausanne: Cours general de l’UNIL, 1984); and Ghislaine Fabre, Morphagenèse de Village Mèdiévale (IXe-XIIe siècle): Actes de la Table Round de Montepellier, (22-23 févier 1993) (Montpellier: Association pour Connaissance du Patrimonie de Languedoc-Roussillon, 1996). 13 Stephen Rippon, Beyond the Medieval Landscape: The Diversification of Landscape Character in Southern Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 14 Rippon, Beyond the Medieval, 17. See also, Matthew Johnson, Ideas of Landscape (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007). 15 Rippon, Beyond the Medieval, 11, provides the details of the debate between those who favors the environmental factors and those who see human agency as the key factor in settlement patterns. He cites Johnson, Ideas of Landscape; Richard Tipping, “Climatic Variability and ‘Marginal’ Settlement in Upland British Landscapes: A Re-evaluation,” Landscapes, 3/2 (2002), 10-29; Tom Williamson, Shaping Medieval Landscapes (Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 2003); Williamson, “The Distribution of Champion Landscapes,” in Medieval Landscapes, eds. Mark Gardiner and Stephen Rippon (Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 2007), 89-104; and Anthony Brown and Glenn Foard, “The Saxon Landscape: A Regional Perspective,” in The Archaeology of Landscape, eds. Paul

14

Chapter One

urban” as a phenomenon that develops over time, growing incrementally out of such “causal factors” as native ethnicity, Roman migration, local settlement patterns, soil types, and land distribution, all in “symbiotic” relation with state and ecclesiastic powers that held the power to determine economic advantage.16 In this type of multi-faceted analysis, historical “events,” such as Maillezais abbey’s documented relocation and simultaneous building of a water management system, can be viewed as beginning “naturally,” with an astute sensitivity to environmental conditions, but then to develop in ways that come to be controlled and manipulated by regional powers. Ultimately, he sees this pattern of development being copied and transmitted at the middle and lower levels of the social strata in a process of “social emulation.” Following Rippon’s model, I think we can see a very similar pattern of development at Maillezais and its dependent domain, particularly when we highlight the interlinking function of the hydraulic system.

Fig. 1-3. Maillezais Abbey. Source: Author. Everson and Tom Williamson (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1998), 67-94. 16 Rippon, Beyond the Medieval, 13-22.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

15

Fig. 1-4. Topographic map, Maillezais Island. IGN# 1528 Ouest. Source: Author.

Beginning, therefore, with Maillezais’s environmental context, one would hardly suspect in the modern view of the vast expanse of farm and pasture, which stretches as far as can be seen to the north, west, and south of Maillezais Abbey, that this land was once a completely inundated marsh (Fig. 1-3). The medieval characteristics of this landscape remain discernable in a detailed topographic map (Fig. 1-4). The elevation levels recorded on this type of map confirm not only the ancient boundaries of the coastline of the ancient Golfe des Pictons, as well as the “terra firma” of the mainland 70km to the east of the present-day Baie d’Aguillon. Similarly visible are the outlines of raised limestone outcroppings—or islands—extending a mere 10 to 12 meters above the low-lying alluvial basin. Moreover, if we step back from the recording of sectioned-off, individual fields or pasture-sized units, identified by the intricate pattern of small ditches and larger canals, we see that the basin of the ancient gulf encompassed the confluence—or “interfluvial

16

Chapter One

Fig. 1-5. Gulf of Picton (L’Éguillon) with six rivers. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

17

watershed”17 of six rivers—the Sèvre, the Autise, the Vendée, the Lay, the Mignon, and the Curé—flowing from the north, east, and south and ultimately draining into the Atlantic (Fig. 1-5). Reiterating the geologic picture of this “antecedent landscape” as a predominantly inundated marshland, the description of the land’s wild and untamed nature recorded in the abbey’s 1067 chronicle provides a particularly vivid depiction that forms the basis of the abbey’s origin story.18 The monastic author describes those rivers and the island’s topography, noting in particular the Sèvre to the south and the two branches of the Autise River—the Vieille Autise and the Jeune Autise— which serve to define the eastern and western boundaries of Maillezais Island (Fig. 1-6).19 While no doubt imaginatively enhanced to elevate the story’s mystical appeal, this narrative highlights a landscape dense with vegetation, rich in wild animals, ornamented with abandoned sacred sites, and replete with an abundance of marshy water inhabited by an indigenous people referred to as the “colliberti” or Pictons. 20 Importantly, it is these 17

Rippon, Beyond the Medieval, 14. Peter of Maillezais (Petrus Malleacensis), De Antiquitate et Commutation in Melius Mallaecensis Insulae et Translatione Corporis Sancti Rigomeri, 1.2 ed. Migne, PL, 146, 1247-72. See also, Peter of Maillezais, Livre I [fol. 246a]-[fol. 247 b], in Georges Pon and Yves Chauvin, eds. and trans., La Fondation de l’Abbaye de Maillezais: Récit de Moine Pierre (La Roche-sur-Yon: Centre Vendéen de Recherches Historiques, 2001), 90-101; as well as, the translations by Charles Arnauld, Histoire de Maillezais (Niort : Robin et Cie, 1840); and Joseph Louis Lacurie, Histoire de l’Abbaye de Maillezais depuis sa Fondation jusqu’à Nos Jours (Fontenay-le-Comte ; Edmond Fillon, 1852). For an interpretation of the origin legend, see Édina Bozóky, “La Légende de Fondation de Maillezais,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais: Des Moines de Marais aux Soldats Huguenots, eds. Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005), 17-29. 19 Peter of Maillezais, Livre I [fol. 246 b] ; and Pon and Chauvin, La Fondation, 93. See also, Nicolas Faucherre, “Topographie Mèdiévale de l’île de Maillezais, La Capture de l’Autize,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, 179-200. 20 Peter of Maillezais, Livre I[fol. 246 vo a]. See Pon and Chavin, La Fondation, p. 94, “Etenim collibertus a cultu imbrium descendere putatur ab aliquibus. Progenies autem istorum collibertorum, hinc forte istud ore vulgi, multa interdum ex usibus rerum vera dicentis, contraxit vocabulum, quoniam ubi inundantia pliviarum Separis excrescere fecisset fluvium, relictis quibus incolebant locis, -hinc enim procul habitabant nonnulli—properabant illo, cause piscium.” For a discussion on the disputed nature of these fishing people, see Lucien-Jean Bord, Maillezais Histoire d’une Abbaye et d’un Evêché (Paris : Geuthner, 2007), 10-12; and Marc Bloch, “Les ‘Colliberti’: Étude de la Formation de la Classe Servile,” Revue Historique, CLVII (1928), 1-48 and 225-263. The use of “Picton” refers 18

18

Chapter One

native fishing people who are credited as having shared their inherent knowledge of the region’s environmental factors and basic water management with the monks at Maillezais.

Fig. 1-6. Maillezais Island. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

In addition to these native inhabitants, Maillezais’s “antecedent landscape” also had its Roman phase, evidenced in the Roman roads linking the ancient cities of Lucionum (Luçon), Fontneiacum (Fontenay), and Novioritum (Niort) located around the ancient gulf’s coastal circumference (Fig. 1-7).21 This pattern of siting signals a couple of key factors in the

more generally to these people’s status as native to the gulf region. They lived in the area around the port village of Marans until they were expelled in the 13th century. See Lucien Richmond, “Cartulaire de l’abbaye de las Grâce-Notre-Dame ou de Charon en Aunis,” Archives Historiques de la Saintonge et de l’Aunis, (Saintes, 1883), 25-26. 21 Nicolas Delahaye, Histoire de la Vendée des Origins à Nos Jours, (Cholet: Éditions Pays & Terroirs, 2003), 19. Louis Brochet, Histoire de Maillezais, (Paris: Res Universis, 1989), 6-8, notes that many of the early town sites in the gulf were Roman in origin.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

19

Fig. 1-7. Gulf of Picton. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

understanding of the medieval hydraulic development and its foundational role in uniting Maillezais’s domain into an urban complex. While all three of these Roman civitas were situated at the “delta” end of one of the rivers emptying into the gulf, and probably served as “pagi” or nodal points in

20

Chapter One

the administration of the Roman district, we know that their coastal location also suggests that they functioned strategically as defensive sites.22 Later sources, however, tell us that with the retreat of the Roman military, this proximity to the river outlet made the medieval inheritors of these Roman settlements extremely vulnerable to the maritime incursions that continued well into the eleventh century.23 Moreover, the three towns’ spatial relation to each other and to the natural topography of the gulf made each of them equally incapable of defending the region as a whole.24 From this defensive point of view, perhaps the more revealing Roman feature is a road that followed the path of the Vendée River from Fontenay on the coast out across the marshy gulf to one of the rocky outcroppings at its center.25 Given the elevation of this “island” in relation to the low-lying road and the surrounding marsh, we have to assume that there was some implicit awareness of the predictable—albeit opposing—nature of the changes in water levels that would have resulted from the seasonal flooding of the rivers carrying fresh water from higher mountainous terrain to the east, as well as the ebb and flow of the Atlantic saltwater tides coming into the gulf from the west.26 Like this Roman road, those lower elevation settlements, situated in close relation to both river and coastline, would have been susceptible to frequent flooding, and no doubt would 22

Rippon, Beyond the Medieval, 14, cites Christopher Dyer, Making a Living in the Middle Ages: The People of Britain 850-1520 (London: Penguin Press, 2003), in calling the seventh-century evolved status of these Roman river settlements, “great estates” and notes that they generally straddled several environmental zones and contributed the variety of resources that supported their continued development into the later Middle Ages. 23 Because the gulf extended well inland, the area was particularly vulnerable to maritime incursions by the Breton, Vikings, Normans, and Muslims, from the seventh to the ninth centuries. See Yves Le Quellec, Petite Histoire du Marais Poitvin, (La Crèche: Geste Éditions, 1998), 17-20; and Delahaye, Histoire, 26-31. 24 Pon and Chauvin, La Fondation, p. 47, note that by the eleventh century, the monasteries of the region were in their second wave of invasion, instigating an era of “castrum” mentality, with fortified chateaux built in Niort, Mareuil, Luçon, Mervent, Vouvent, as well as Maillezais. 25 Jean Hiernard, “Le Premier Réseau à Caractère Urbain du Centre-Ouest de la Gaule,” Les Rèseaux Urbains dans le Centre-Ouest Atlantique de l’Antiquité à Nos Jours, 5/3 (1995): 35-56. The Roman roads are referenced in Brochet, Les Environs, 130-131, who cites Georges Musset and Alfred Richard, Les Chemins Gaulois et Romains entre la Loire et La Gironde (Poitiers: Roy et Cie, 1892), 92. 26 Jean-Luc Sarrazin, “Maillezais et la Mise en Valeur des Marais au Moyen Âge,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, eds. Treffort and Tranchant, (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005), 365-376.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

21

have benefitted from some program of river management.27 The implicit understanding of the dual nature of the gulf’s water is particularly insightful in that it foretells the complexity and sophistication of the early hydraulic solutions--some still in use today—and points to Rippon’s next “causal factor”—village development in relation to raising populations and the advent of a market economy. This is where the examination of “human agency” comes into play, balancing the environmental aspects of the integrated inquiry.28 Traditionally, historians would have us find evidence of human activity or human motivations recorded in contemporary documents. Borrowing from Bourdieu’s notion of “habitus,” Keith Lilley, however, cautions that in order to really get at the “who” behind the development of an urban community we want to make sure to explore all levels of society.29 He recommends a “bottom-up” approach, which means looking beyond those documents known to have been commissioned and shared within the ranks of the powers that be at the top, as we seek to discover ways to account for the activities of the people who physically provided the labor to bring a town into being. Unfortunately, most of the documents housed in Maillezais’s library in the twelfth century and associated with its economic or sociological development, which might have supplemented or nuanced our understanding of the motivations behind the “planning” of Maillezais’s hydraulic system, have been lost to fires.30 What we have left by way of primary documentation 27 André Guillerm, The Age of Water: The Urban Environment in the North of France, A.D. 300-1800 (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1988); and Jean-Pierre Leguay, L’Eau dans le Ville au Moyen Age (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2002). 28 Rippon, Beyond the Medieval Village, 11. 29 Lilley, Urban Life, 9 and 106. Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 80, as quoted in Lilley, Urban Life, 14, defines “habitus” as “The production of a commonsense world endowed with objectivity secured by consensus on the meaning of practices and the world.” 30 For the library at Maillezais, see Hervé Genton, “La Bibliothèque de Maillezais à la Fin du XIIe siècle,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, 70-110. Fires destroyed documents archived in the Chambre des Comptes in Paris (1737), at the Séminarie de La Rochelle (1772), and finally in the departmental archives for the DeuxSévres (1815). Notable sources are, however, the Chronicle of Saint-Maixent, written by Ademar de Chabannes, a cartulary of Saint-Cyprien de Poitiers, and the Gallia Christiana. For these sources, see René Crozet, “Maillezais,” Congrés Archéologique de France, La Rochelle, (La Rochelle: Société Française d’Archeologie, 1956), 80-96; Treffort and Tranchant, “Maillezais, Lieu de Mémoire, Lieu de Pouvoir,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, 7-16; and Sarrazin,

22

Chapter One

is the extant chronicle mentioned above. As might be expected, this document does indeed provide a clear picture of the configuration of political powers at the top. Given it was commissioned by the contemporary abbot, Goderan, it illustrates a particular political agenda in mind that served to ratify, or perhaps to re-invigorate the abbey’s close alliance with the ducal family.31 Setting this stage, the chronicle’s fabulous telling of the abbey’s miraculous foundation story served to reiterate the abbey’s alliance with successive generations of nobility from both Poitou and the Touraine,32 beginning with the fact that Maillezais Abbey was founded by Duke William IV of Aquitaine and his wife, Emma of Blois in 970.33 So while the chronicle was actually written by Peter of Maillezais, one of the resident monks, who might otherwise have been in a position to provide us some of those precious views into the lives of the lower levels of society, one has to read carefully between the lines in order to discern these details.34 We do see glimpses of at least the context of the lower ranks as the chronicle goes on to highlight a major transition in the monastery’s “Maillezais,” 365-66. As noted by the various authors contributing to Treffort and Tranchant, L’Abbaye de Maillezais, the archival search for surviving documents pertaining to the abbey and it history in the Vendée has been exhaustive. Compiled results are found in Yannis Suire, L’Homme et l’Environnement dans le Marais Poitevin, Seconde Moitié du XVIe Siècle-Début du XXe Siècle, (La Roche-sur-Yon: Centre Vendéen de Recherches Historique, 2002); Étienne Clouzet, Les Maris de la Sèvre Niortaise et du Lay Xe au XVIe Siècle, (Paris-Niort, 1904); and Louis Delhomme, Notes et Documents pour Server à l’Histoire de l’Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Maillezais au Diocese de Luçon depuis sa Fondation (976) jusqu’ à son Erection en Evêché par le Pape Jean XXII (13 août 1317), (Paris-Niort/Miami: Books on Demand, 1904/1961). 31 Goderan, a Cluniac monk, was brought to Maillezais in 1060 by Guy-GeoffroiGuillaume VIII, Duke of Aquitaine, to oversee the abbey’s reform, a process that was begun under Pope Stephen IX, in 1057, who also made Maillezais a dependent of Cluny. For this history, see Pon and Chauvin, La Fondation, 45; Alfred Richard, Histoire des Comtes de Poitou, 778-1204, (Paris: Picard, 1903); and Michel Dillange, Les Comtes de Poitou Ducs d’Aquitaine (778-1204), (Paris: Geste Éditions, 1995), 153-161. 32 Bozóky, “La Legend,” 17-29. For the significance of foundation stories, see Amy Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past: Monastic Foundation Legends in Medieval Southern France (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995). For the history of ducal patronage, see Sylvie Refalo, “Les Ducs d’Aquitaine et l’Abbaye de Maillezais (vers 970-vers 1100),” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, 326-33. 33 Treffort and Tranchant, “Maillezais,” 9. 34 Peter of Maillezais, De Antiquitate, 1247-72. See also, Louis Halphen, “L’Histoire de Maillezais du Moine Pierre,” Revue Historique 150 (1908): 292-97.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

23

history, which takes place in 1003 and 1005 when Duke William V, the founding couple’s son, came to power. 35 At this momentous occasion, William donated to the abbey what amounted to the entire island, measuring approximately 8 kilometers by 6 kilometers, on which the original abbey was located—one of only three elevated “islands” sites in the ancient Golfe des Pictons (Fig. 1-8).36 This donation included the large plot of land that had been the site of his grandfather’s, Duke William III, Tête d’Étoupe (935-963) hunting lodge, as well as the site where his parents had built their primary residence.37 Donated in his mother, Emma’s, name, the memorializing gift came with the stipulation that the abbey be relocated to this superior site.38 What we glean from this episode, in addition to the picture of the long and mutually beneficial relationship between the ducal family and the abbot, is the sense that both parties were keenly aware of the status, power, and economic factors entailed in land and the strategic siting of buildings in relation to topography and natural resources. Admittedly subtle, this emphasis on the abbey’s placement with a particular landscape implies that on some level there was an awareness of the source of labor necessary to work the land and build the structures, even if these people—be they the resident monks or the local inhabitants—were not the first concern. 35

Pon and Chauvin, La Fondation, 34. Delahaye, Histoire, 7. For the island’s paleo-environmental history, see Lionel Visset, Étude Pollcanalytique de Quelques Sites du Marais Poitevin, “Bull,” AFEQ 2 (1987): 81-91; and Yves Gruet and Paul Sauriau, “Paléoenvironnements Holocènes du Marais Poitevin (Littoral Atlantique, France): Reconstitution d’Après les Peuplements Malacologiques,” Quaternaire 5/2 (1994): 85-94, who demonstrate that the gulf was the result of sea rising from 6830 BCE to 1160 BCE. 37 Part of this foundation is still visible under the extant abbey’s southern wall. Emmanuel Barbier, “Maillezais, du Palais Ducal au Réduit Bastionné,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, 201-28. Bord, Maillezais, 13-15, states that this hunting lodge was built as an aula or hall, and that William IV and Emma transformed it into a fortified oppidum. On pages 71-72, he lists all the donations the abbey received in the eleventh century and where they are recorded. In general, see Frances Michaud and Michel Garnier, Châteaux en Aquitaine (Chaury-Niort: Éditions Patrimones & Medias, 1997); and Sites Défènisfs et Sites Fortifies au Moyen Age entre Loire et Pyrénées: Actes du Primier Colloque Aquitaine, Limoges, 2-22 mai 1987 (Bordeaux: Fédération Aquitaine, 1990). 38 Peter of Maillezais, La Fondation de l’Abbaye de Maillezais, Liber II [fol. 252 a], in Pon and Chauvin, La Fondation, 138-39. See also, Mickey Abel, “Emma of Blois: Arbiter of Peace and the Politics of Patronage,” Reassessing Women’s Role as “Makers” of Medieval Art and Architecture (Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 2012), 823-62. 36

24

Chapter One

Fig. 1-8. Maillezais Island. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

Nonetheless, the symbiotic or reciprocal nature of the relationship between the various interests is supported by the environmental factors.39 The abbey’s new location at the edge of the gulf not only better accommodated the needs of the monastery with its prominent east/west orientation for the church, but provided the monks with a particularly “spiritual” view out across the inundated marshlands, simulating the biblical vision of sequestered seclusion associated with Saint John writing on the island of Patmos or perhaps Saint Hillary expelling the snakes from the paradisiacal island of Gallinara.40 However, as I have argued elsewhere, this relocation was also strategic in that it served to elevate the 39

Zupko and Laures, Straws, 10, notes that even the new townspeople had a reciprocal ties to the people outside the town where they drew profits and sustenance from these people’s labor, who in return expected the townspeople to protect them. 40 Rosa Dessì, “Images Mèdiévales d’une Île Sainte: Patmos,” 281-300; and Cecile Treffort, “Isles et moines du Littoral Atlantique entre Loire et Gironde au Moyen Âge,” 319-34, both in Lérins, une Île Sainte de l’Antiquité au Moyen Âge, eds. Yann Codou and Michel Lauwers (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009).

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

25

abbey’s western façade, making it visible well out to sea—in essence facilitating the visual broadcasting of the monastic community’s physical, and specifically Christian, presence in an area continuously under the threat of invasion and attack.41 As we will see, the topographic aspects of the new site, worked equally well for the Dukes of Aquitaine and their political agenda, particularly in terms of the gulf’s defense. Protection from intruders is in fact listed among Pirenne’s criteria as essential in burgeoning urban centers.42 Fortifications or enclosing walls implicitly signaled protection for the community.43 While we do not know the extent of the fortifications around the original hunting lodge on Maillezais Island, we assume that it resembled other walled castra or oppida of the region that were located in relation to rivers for trade and defense—that is, either an earthen rampart with timber palisades or perhaps a stone enceinte.44 We know more securely from the extant remnants of the ducal residence, which replaced this lodge, that its foundation level opened onto a moat-like diversion canal (Fig. 1-9). Designed to facilitate the safe aquatic delivery of goods and guests, the presence of this aquatic portal suggests that even before the abbey was built on top of these residential foundations, the ducal family perceived the employment of water as a “natural” and effective feature of a defense system. Moreover, the precedence of this aquatic embarkment as a security measure helps explain the rationale for moving the abbey from its up-river, indefensible site, to this highest point on the island at the water’s edge. There, even without elaborate fortification walls, it could simultaneously control desirable 41

The long history of incursions are known to have looted and destroyed of many of the coastal monasteries from the seventh to the tenth century. See Jean Renaud, Les Îles de Vendée face aux Vikings (Verriéres: L’Etrave, 2008); and Treffort, “Le Comte de Poitiers, Duc d’Aquitaine, et l’Église aux Alentours de l’An Mil (9701030),” Cahiers de Civilization Médiévale 43/172 (2000): 395-445. Roberta Magnusson, Water Technology in the Middle Ages, (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), 5, notes that these invasions also destroyed much of what was left of the Roman water systems. This rationale also explains the building of the new narthex/tower so quickly after completing the abbey’s new church. For a fuller explanation of this history, see Mickey Abel, “To Sea and be Seen: Reconstruction of the Strategic Building Program at Maillezais Abbey,” AVISTA Forum Journal 10/1 and 2 (2010): 12-24. 42 Pirenne, Medieval Cities, 45-47. 43 Michael Wolfe, Walled Towns and the Shaping of France: From the Medieval to the Early Modern Era (New York: Palgrave, 2009). 44 Wolfe, Walled Towns, 8 and 14, notes that in western Aquitaine stone fortifications were in place by 1000 at La Guerche, Poitiers, Thouars, and probably replaced earlier Gallo-Roman walls.

26

Chapter One

Fig. 1-9. Palace foundations under Maillezais Abbey. Source: Author.

deliveries and survey all incoming water advances. In this new location, functioning as both fort and harbor, the abbey essentially replicated and surmounted the defensive role of the secular oppida beneath it. Filling a gap in the defense of the gulf between Fontenay and Niort,45 the abbey served the dukes’ security needs as it doubled as a Christian “billboard” broadcasting the presence of the abbot and the resident monks.46 45

This completed four equidistant river fortifications around the perimeter of the gulf coastline: from north to south they would have been Luçon, Fontenay, Maillezais, and Niort. In general, see Roland Sanfaçon, Défrichements, Peuplement et Institutions Seigneuriales en Haut-Poitou du Xe au XIIIe siècle (Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1967). 46 The issue of strategic site location in relation to water and other factors such as defense and commerce, is addressed in Abel, “To Sea and be Seen;” and Leguay, L’Eau, 15-48, and 79, who also argues that this type of siting represents as an early form of urban planning in that the process entails stages of thought and analysis that engage administrative, financial, and execution problems. The abbey was further fortified by walling in its western portal in the fifteenth century, signaling that the water alone no longer provided the protection the abbey required to resist the advances of the Huguenots during the wars of religion. See Jocelyn Martineau,

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

27

Key in the understanding of this enhanced defensive position is the archaeological evidence for the corollary and simultaneous construction of the first segments of Maillezais’s hydraulic infrastructure. This too is signaled in Peter’s chronicle where he references the village and harbor at Maillé, a village that develops at the western-most tip of the island where it meets the open gulf. Today, we see that the southward flow of the Jeune Autise along the west side of Maillezais Island has been channeled into what would have been the abbey’s private harbor, where it is controlled even further by way of a canal that connects their harbor to a “gateway”— or protective—port located at Maillé. Although now part of a much more elaborate system designed to drain water away and thus create pasture and farmland, medieval remnants of this initial portion of the hydraulic system have been identified as part of a field mapping project undertaken is summer 2013 (Fig. 1-10). This interdisciplinary program of electronic mapping was devised as a way to situate and visualize the matrix of social and political factors that make up the correlation between the abbey’s economic status and its physical environment.47 At the basis of this program was the tangible and enduring evidence of stone, witnessed today in the way it was cut, laid, and built. Published in greater detail elsewhere, the rationale underlying this work began with some basic assumptions that are also relevant here.48 Working “backwards” from a very accurate and detailed map drawn in the seventeenth century, which had been “ortho-rectified” and “georeferenced” to a modern map, 49 it was surmised that if indeed the rudiments “Maillezais: Deux Cents and d’Archéologie d’une Abbaye Fortifée,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, 445-60. 47 The program was designed to bring the scientific accuracy of Geography, through the employment of a Geographical Information System (G.I.S.), to the visual analysis inherent in the study of architectural history. Keith Lilley, “Maps of Medieval Thought: Cartographical Imaginaries, Cultural Symbolism and Urban Forms of the Late Middle Ages,” in Lords and Towns in Medieval Europe: The European Historic Towns Atlas Project, eds. Angrett Simms and Howard Clarke, (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015), 399-418, notes that the exercise of mapping opens up the meanings of urban forms, and viewed contextually, these forms reveal contextually embedded social constructs. 48 Mickey Abel, “Defining a New Coast: G.I.S. Reconstruction of Maillezais Abbey’s Hydraulic Drainage Program and the Coastline it Created,” Special Volume, “The Interdisciplinary Field Experience: Maillezais Abbey, Water, Technology, and Team Research,” Mickey Abel ed., Peregrinations, V/3(2016): 12-53. 49 Dory Dienes and Owen Wilson-Chavez, “Visibility and Control,” Special Volume, “The Interdisciplinary Field Experience: Maillezais Abbey, Water,

28

Chapter One

Fig. 1-10. Maillezais Island, showing “new land” created by drainage. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

of the hydraulic system were functional in the eleventh century, then by the time of the recorded destructions in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, we can assume that the economic livelihoods of the local inhabitants would likely have been dependent on that hydraulic system. This suggests further that rebuilding after a period of disrepair would have been a priority. However, while improvement to the system after a period of destruction would have been reasonable, from a practical stand point there is no compelling reason why local residents would have built a completely new system. Rather more effectively, they would more likely have undertaken a program of reconstruction, reusing old stone where feasible in order to make the system functional as quickly and economically as possible.50 Assuming, therefore, that all evidence of the early system Technology, and Team Research,” Mickey Abel ed., Peregrinations, V/3(2016): 54-66. 50 For this type of reuse, see Clark Maines, “Saint-Jean-des-Vignes de Soissons: Utilisation, Reutilization et Non-Utilisation de la Pierre Lors de la Période Gothique,” in Pierres du Patrimoine Européen: Économie de la Pierre de l’Antiquité à la Fin des Temps Modernes, François Blary, Jean-Pierre Gély, and

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

29

would not have been obliterated, archaeologically, it follows that there ought to be evidence of the oldest parts of the hydraulic system at the foundation levels of some of its major features. Instead, the identification of these sites where this older stone has been preserved served to highlight some of the oldest sections of the early-medieval hydraulic system. One of the program’s first insights came with the visualization of Maillezais’s locational relationship with the two older monastic foundations located in the gulf. Referenced in the Maillezais chronicle, St. Michel de l’Herm, located to the west of Maillezais at the entrance to the ancient gulf, was founded in the 68251 and Notre-Dame de Luçon (Luconium), on the gulf’s northern edge, as we have already noted, was significantly older, having been a Roman civitas. These sites represented the first “phase” for the mapping of other data obtained in a program of surveillance, where the region was combed for visual evidence of medieval stone. The employment of a chronology of this stone was refined through an “age-referenced” system that references the abbey’s own documented phases of construction. Stone coursing that resembled the rough stratification and erosion patterns of the limestone bedrock, like that on Maillezais’s eastern enclosure wall (Fig. 1-11), was deemed the oldest, while evidence of worked stone, which in a general sense can be said to become ever-more refined and precise over time, was dated according to similar evidence found in the dated expansions and remodeling within the abbey’s architecture (Fig. 1-12).52 In the end, the final process of mapping each location of medieval stone found in the existing hydraulic system signaled four important areas with dense evidence of early (tenth- and eleventh-century) stonework. Preliminary conclusions suggest that, on the surface, these sites indicate a medieval understanding of the correlated, inter-dependence of the system as a whole. The program also provided a glimpse into both the sophisticated thought behind the design, implementation, and management of even just this earliest portion of the larger region-wide system, not to mention the immense amount of physical labor entailed in its construction. Jacqueline Lorenz eds. (Paris: Éditions de Comité des Travaux Historiques et Scientifiques, 2008), 131-42. 51 Renaud, Les Îles, 10. 52 This connoisseurial approach uses what Eugene Woillez, Archéologie des Monuments Religieux de l’Ancien Beauvoisis pendant Metamorphose Romane (Paris: Derache, 1839), 49, calls “des principes d’une école de rigoureuse observation.” The method was, however, complicated somewhat by the work of modern restoration programs, where the craftsman has quite successfully replicated the stonecutting techniques of a previous era, as in the abbey’s eastern entrance bridge, which was restored in 2008.

30

Chapter One

Fig. 1-11. Maillezais Abbey, south wall. Source: Author.

The first and maybe the simplest feature of Maillezais’s original hydraulic system was located at the head, or eastern end of Maillezais Island. Here, the village of Port l’Isle marks the point where the island was connected by a causeway to the “terra ferme” of the mainland, and where the Autise River flowing from the eastern forests meets the marshy gulf. Just to the west of this “land bridge,” was the original site of the abbey— St. Pierre le Vieux becoming the abbey’s first parish, after the abbey was relocated (Fig. 1-13). This site also contains significant evidence of an early medieval mill (Fig. 1-14). The operating of this mill would only have been possible with the diversion of the Autise’s water.53 This bit of engineering, in essence splitting the river to form the Jeune Autise and the 53 Lynn White, Technology and Invention in the Middle Ages (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1940), 141-59, shows that watermills represent one of the most “significant investments in physical capital” in the Middle Ages. See also Paul Benoit and Josephine Rouillard, “Medieval Hydraulics in France,” in Working with Water in Medieval Europe: Technology and Resource-Use, Paolo Squatriti, ed. (Leiden: Brill, 2000):178-180. Even today, an enormous modern mill, just meters downstream from the medieval site, takes advantage of this same flow of water.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

31

Vieille Autise, one flowing on either side of Maillezais Island, not only provided the monastery an early source of revenue from the operation of the mill, but facilitated the consistent control of a water supply for the abbey’s harbor, as mentioned above.

Fig. 1-12. Maillezais Abbey, interior tribune wall with remodeling scars. Source: Author.

32

Chapter One

Fig. 1-13. Maillezais Island, site of mill. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

Fig. 1-14. Medieval Mill, Maillezais Island. Source: Author.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

33

On this northern side of the island, running parallel to the canalized “new” Autise was a levee—or “bot/countrabot” (Fig. 1-15)54 feature that would have served to hold back the marsh waters to the north and west, diverting this tidal flow to a lower part of the Autize, below Maillezais, where the river was funneled into a canal until it reached the lower tip of the island. This lower section of the system was perhaps the most valuable to the abbey’s monks in that it also drained a large plot of land, adding to the mass of their island acreage, and thus creating what would have been the first expansion of the abbey’s arable land. I will come back to this development below, but here it is important to note that this early engineering of the Autize also ensured the abbey a consistent source of fresh mountain water, uncontaminated by the salty marsh waters, for both irrigation and drinking. The canalized Jeune Autise connected at the west, below Maillezais, to the sophisticated port/canal/lock system built at Maillé, which, as stated above, was located at the western tip of Maillezais Island, where the Sèvre, coming from Niort joins the southwestward flowing Autize River (Fig. 1-16). This may well have been the location of Confluvium, a Roman settlement mentioned in Peter’s chronicle as, “where the rivers come together.”55 In addition to acting as an important security gate for boats moving up the Autize to Maillezais’s own harbor, Maillé’s port regulated the entry of goods moving south to the Roman civitas, Niort (Novioritum), as well as out to the open waters of the Golfe des Pictons (Fig. 1-17).

54

Jean-Luc Sarrazin, “Les Cistercians et la Genèse du Marais Poitevin (France) (vers 1180-1250),” in L’Hydraulique Monastique: Milieux, Réseaux Usages, Paul Benoit, Armelle Bonis, and Léon Pressouyre, eds. (Grâne: Créaphis, 1996): 111119, explains the process of “abbotamentum” where parallel drainage features—a larger one, generally called a “clausura” or “achenal,” canal, and a smaller channel called a “contrabotum”—are divided by a “botum” or levee, which has “cois” or sluices which can be opened and closed allowing excess water to flow from the contrabot into the achenal, which in turn moves the water into the river. The clausura and contrabot also function to preserve the bot from the destruction of people and animals. For canals in general, see Robert Harris, Canals and their Architecture (New York: Fredrick Praeger, 1969); John Blair, ed. Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); James Bond, “Canal Construction in the Early Middle Ages: An Introductory Review,” in Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, John Blair, ed., (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 153-206; and Chandra Mukerji, Impossible Engineering: Technology and Territoriality on the Canal du Midi (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). 55 This is listed as Confluentium on a map in Pon and Chauvin, La Fondation, 31.

34

Chapter One

Fig. 1-15. Bot/Countrabot on Maillezais Island, with pollarded trees. Source: Author.

Fig. 1-16. Canal system around Maillezais Island. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

35

Fig. 1-17. Maillé Aqueduc. Source: Author.

The most impressive feature of Maillé’s water complex has to have been the aqueduct.56 This system of over-lapping canals was designed to accommodate both salt and fresh water, taking the fresh water of the Sèvre River over the top of a drainage canal meant to capture the saltwater from the western marshes, thus maintaining the separation of the two types of water, even as it anticipated the ebb and flow of both.57 Reiterating the importance of this aquatic differentiation, modern geographers label the land associated with these two types of water differently—the dry marsh (Marais desséché) referring to that land drained of its salty marsh water, and the wet marsh (Marais mouillé) referring to the more fertile land seasonally inundated by mountain-fed rivers. The monks, perhaps with the help of the indigenous colliberti, who first conceived of this feature appear 56

What is left of this system in the early 1700’s is illustrated by Claude Masse as part of his mapping of the region. See, Yannis Suire, Cartes et Mémoires de Claude Masse Ingénieur de Roi: La Côte et Les Marais du Bas-Poitou vers 1700 (La Roche-sur-Yon: Editions de CVRH, 2011), 331-37. 57 Yannis Suire, “Les marais avant les Dessèchements modernes, XVIe-début XVIIe siècle,” in L’Abbaye de Maillezais, 381-93.

36

Chapter One

to have had an intuitive understanding of the need for infrastructure that preserved the sensitive nature of the natural environment. The fourth site of concentrated medieval stone was found at the ancient civitas of Niort (Novioritum), located to the southeast of Maillezais on the Sèvre River. This site corroborates the importance of the aquatic complex at Maillé (Fig. 1-18). Close to the site of the quarry mined for the majority of the limestone in the region,58 Niort came to have the most developed inland commercial port and harbor system, much of it developed in relation to the late medieval fortress, but clearly built on top of Roman and earlier medieval foundations.59 Evidence of early stone all along the river passage between Niort and Maillé tells us that maintaining this segment was more than likely essential for the movement of building materials— most particularly the limestone and lumber from the nearby quarry and forests necessary for the early construction projects at the abbey, particularly those associated with the relocation and subsequent addition of a massive, western narthex and tower.60 Opening this length of the river between Niort and the gulf port at Maillé would have required the building of channels in some places where the water level was low in order to maintain an appropriate depth for navigation, and the installation of locks in other places to deal with the rise in elevation.61

58

For the relation between the site of the quarry and the site of the building project, see Patrick Piboule, “Les carrièrres de Nord de l’Aquitaine au Moyen Age,” Revue Aquitania 3 (1985),173-186; and Della Hooke, “Uses of Waterways in Anglo-Saxon England,” in Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, John Blair ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 37-54. 59 Claude Masse’s detailed maps of the hydraulic system at Niort are reproduced in Suire, Cartes et Mémoires de Claude Masse ingénieur de Roi, 351-59. 60 For this narthex-tower, see Marie-Thérèse Camus, “De la Façade à Tour(s) à la Façade-écran dans les Pays de l’Ouest: L’example de Saint-Jean-de Montierneuf de Poitiers,” Cahiers de Civilisation Mèdiévale 34(1991): 237-253; and Christian Sapin, Avant-nefs & Espaces d'Accueil dans l'Eglise entre le 4. et le 12. Siècle: Actes du Colloque International du CNRS, Auxerre 17-20 juin 1999, Organise par le Centre d'Etudes Médiévales Saint-Germain, Auxerre, et l'UMR 5594, CNRS, Université de Bourgogne, Ministère de la Culture, (Paris: Éditions du CTHS, 2002). 61 These locks are illustrated in the seventeenth-century maps drawn by Claude Masse, reproduced in Suire, Cartes et Mémoires de Claude Masse ingénieur de Roi, 283. For the process of building these waterways, see Ed Rhodes, “Indentifying Human Modification of River Channels,” in Waterways and CanalBuilding in Medieval England, John Blair ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 133-152.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

37

Fig. 1-18. City and Port at Niort. After Claude Masse, c. 1700.

This cartographic picture of the four sites of the early hydraulic system—the water diversion at Port l’Isle, the harbor/ports and aqueduct at Maillezais, Maillé, and Niort, as well as the canals connecting them—is supported by documents recording William V’s donations to the abbey. These show that he gave Maillezais the rights to the locks on the Sévre River, along with the rights to mills and circulation on the levees, as well as mercantile exemptions at the ports.62 These references illustrate that both the monks and their noble benefactors recognized the economic benefits of investing in the hydraulic infrastructure that created nodal

62

Bord, Maillezais, 71; and Arnauld, Histoire, 22-24. These citations are found in Louis Etienne Arcère, Histoire de la Ville de La Rochelle et du Pays d’Aunis, II (La Rochelle: La Fontaine de Petis-Blancs, 1756), 663-65; and Gallia Christiana, II, Instrumenta Ecclesiae Malleacensis sue Rupellensis, col. 379-381. For commerce and exemptions, see Olivier Jeanne-Rose, “Ports, Marchands et Marchandises aspects Economiques du Littoral Poitevin (IXe – XIIe siècles),” Les Sociétés Littorales de Centre-Ouest Atlantique: De la Préhistoire à Nos Jours: Actes de Colloque, Centre International de la Mer, Rochefort, 5/4 (1996): 131-37.

38

Chapter One

points for the collecting of taxes, tolls, and rents.63 Both parties seem to have perceived that the benefits were for more than just their own gain. As these features required extensive human labor to function effectively, they also provided opportunities for economic development at the lower levels of society. Looked at in terms of an “urban development,” these nodal points also signal the population of villages—what Rippon calls “a village moment.”64 As suggested in the remnants of stone infrastructure outlined above, the first cog in the wheel of economic development that stimulated village population was more than likely the mill built at Port l’Isle. Given the ubiquitous status of bread as a staple is the medieval diet, it has been welldocumented that monopolizing access to a regional mill was not only a significant source of political and economic power, but a site of labor production.65 The location of the Port l’Isle mill next to the original site of the abbey, and in conjunction with the engineered split in the Autise River at the “entrance” to Maillezais Island, fits this model and indicates that at a very early date the abbey was working in some form of collaborative arrangement with the ducal family in servicing the region’s milling needs. The weight of this financial relationship clearly shifted in favor of the monastery when the Duke awarded the rights to the mill to the abbot. Tellingly, it is at this juncture that the village begins to grow around the site of the mill. A similarly collaborative arrangement seems to have been in place at Maillé, on the opposite end of the island. As we have seen, the port at Maillé came to function within the defensive system for the entire gulf, screening out unwanted marine traffic coming from the inner gulf—or at the very least signaling trouble as an “early warning system” in light of an invasion. Replicating—or in Rippon’s terms, “emulating”—the security function already in place at that mid-gulf harbor on the rocky outcropping/island at the end of the Roman road out from Fontenay, Maillé became a site of toll

63

Pirenne, Medieval Cities, 9, notes that tolls were extracted at bridges in the Merovingian era and that Charlemagne expanded on the idea as he too saw them as a way to generate revenue. 64 Rippon, Beyond the Medieval, 16, notes that villages were created when a set of socio-economic conditions prevailed. 65 Jean Bruggeman, Moulin: Maître des Eaux, Maître des Vents, (Paris: Rampart, 2000); and Karine van der Beek, “The Effects of Political Fragmentation on Investments: A Case Study of Watermill Construction in Medieval Ponthieu, France,” Explorations in Economic History 47 (2010): 369-380.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

39

extraction, tax collection, and tariff imposition.66 Both of these harbor sites spawned “port towns” or villages that supported a working population and generated the beginnings of a market economy based on the transportation of goods and people through their harbor gates. What we see, therefore, in the initial section of the hydraulic system that ran from the split in the Autise at Port l’Isle to the port at Maillé and connecting to the older harbor at Marans, is the spawning of four satellite villages dependent on the continued political and economic cooperation between the Duke and the monastery. The last of these, not yet mentioned, was the village of Maillezais, which developed just outside the new abbey’s walls in conjunction with its inner-harbor activities. Perhaps another instance of emulation, this village replicates features of the much older and larger Niort to its east. The village of Maillezais was essentially a market-based town with the typical “abbey town” configuration, which consisted of a long and wide road that led up from the harbor and abbey gates to a parish church at the opposite end, the market and residences spreading to either side of this road (Fig. 1-19).67 This “oppositional layout” reiterated the dependency relationship, and in many cases reflected the private donations of seigneurial lords who in supporting the construction of the parish church were demonstrating their vested entrepreneurial interests in the abbey/town/market relationship.68 Each of these villages’ status was enhanced by its link to the system of hydraulic infrastructure. This allowed them to grow into more commercialized towns with populations that were supported by the services and commodities that were generated out of the function of the infrastructure.69 Interestingly, all of these dependent villages soon had parish churches, built in the early eleventh century and supported with known donations by local lords.70 Thus mirroring Maxwell’s notion of “identity,” these parish 66

Peter of Maillezais, Livre II [fol.255 vo a], in Pon and Chauvin, La Fondation, 167; and Abel “Defining a New Coast,”12-53. 67 Lilley, Urban Life, 144. 68 Lilley, Urban Life, 107-122, sees these relationships as reciprocal in nature and representative of a complex social system where location, timing, social status of those in control all contribute to the success and durability of a town. 69 Lilley, 106-7; Zupko and Laures, Straws, 10; and Paolo Squatriti, Water and Society in Early Medieval Italy, AD 400-1000 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 1-20. 70 L. Brochet, “Maillé,” in Les Environs de Maillezais (Paris: Res Universis, 1989), 83-91, states that there was a “Pictonnière” port at Maillé as early as 540, as well as an ancient chapel dedicated to St. Pient, which was in ruins in the eleventh century when it was replaced by the extant church dedicated to Saint Nicolas which has a foundation date of c. 1010.

40

Chapter One

Fig. 1-19. Village of Maillezais with parish church. Source: Author.

churches each sported similarly configured western facades, featuring open-archivolted portal programs (Figs. 1-20 and 1-21).71 This is also true of the more rural parishes built in service of Maillezais’s agricultural communities, like those in the villages of Courdault, Damvix, Liez, Chalais, and Vix.72 The cumulative result was a visual similarity that 71

Mickey Abel, Open Access: Contextualizing the Archivolted Portals of Northern Spain and Western France within the Theology and Politics of Entry (Cambridge Scholars Press: Newcastle upon Tyne, 2012), 121-59; and Elisa Maillard, “Les Facades de Saint-Nicolas de Maillezais et de Notre-Dame de Maillé,” Bulletin de la Socièté des Antiquaries de l’Ouest et des Musées de Poitiers 4(1926): 520-528. 72 These sites are listed in Brochet, Les Environs, who provides a brief history of these villages—Courdault was founded originally in 828, its church patronized by a man named Airaud and then ceded to the monetary of Saint-Cyprien in 1063; Damvix had Roman foundations, but was given to the abbey of Saint-Maixent in 1010; Liez was an eleventh-century foundation of Maillezais; Chalais is mentioned in documents of the tenth century, but given to Maillezais in 1003 by Duke William V; and the village of Vix, which was located on the island of the same name, known by the Romans as Insula Vicum, was continuously occupied from the Celtic era. The island and the village were given to Parthenay in the eleventh

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

41

reiterated the social and economic linking of these villages to the abbey at the heart of the land serviced by the infrastructure. This brings us to Rippon’s last causal factor—the balance of arable pasture and woodland to the more-commercial or industrial ventures of the dependent towns. With the first section of drained pasture, located along Maillezais’s western coast, between the abbey and the village of Maillé, we can see some of the tangible benefits for the abbey in this balance. As Zupko and Laures suggest, towns were perceived to be disorderly and chaotic.73 Conversely, the deliberate human actions inherent in working the land—and, in this case, the drainage of the land made possible with a system of levees and ditches—were seen as a way to bring order to the land. Spiritually, it was an action thought to counter the natural disorder generally equated to The Fall of Man. This correlation seems particularly appropriate in understanding the perception of the orderly system of arterial waterways crisscrossing the marsh, siphoning the water out of small parcels of land to move it down to a lower elevation and eventually out into the gulf. Even today, each individual parcel of land is bound by these drainage ditches and remains lined by centuries-old, pollarded Ash trees, which serve to protect their banks from erosion. All are navigable by small, flat-bottomed boats.74 Bound by these ribbons of water, the land was controlled, secure and made productive by human labor. It is with these human actions that we begin to see not only the pieces of the greater “plan” coming together, but also the intricate management program required in keeping the monastic complex running smoothly. As Squatriti notes, if we look at the longue durée of the structures of water—and particularly their management, we see that they reflect and are telling of the prevailing social hierarchies, religious values, and economic networks.75 Beginning with the Carolingian plan of the monastery of St. Gall and that of Canterbury, illustrating monastic mastery of water to their community’s benefit, we know that there was indeed a long history linking

century, but then given by William VIII’s wife to her new monastic foundation at Saintes, and “re-gifted” in 1185 to Maillezais. Each of these towns’ histories illustrate the idea of villages as valuable productive property that could be transferred between the ducal family and monastic owners. 73 Zupko and Laures, Straws, 28. 74 Le Quellec, Le Marais Poitevin, 61-62. 75 Squatriti, Water, 3.

42

Chapter One

Fig. 1-20. Maillezais Parish church. Source: Author.

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

43

Fig. 1-21. Maillé Parish church. Source: Author.

monasteries and water infrastructure.76 Working with a rather basic system of dykes and levees, the community of monks at Maillezais clearly 76

Walter Horn and Ernest Born, The Plan of St. Gall: A Study of the Architecture and Economy of, and Life in, a Paradigmatic Carolingian Monastery, 3 vol. (Berkeley: University of California, Press, 1979); Klaus Grewe, “Le Monastère de

44

Chapter One

recognized the multifaceted benefits inherent in the drainage of the marsh lands surrounding Maillezais Island.77 These more simple features were part of the same “hydraulic” approach to land management that created the sophisticated features like locks and aqueducts used to supply fresh water and move commodities over varying elevations. Balancing the production of markets and the demands of industry, these features created arable pasture and fields, which generated products that contributed to the general health and well-being of the communities, while providing the monastery with a source of economic profit. For instance, we know that in addition to agriculture and farm products, these small-scale drainage programs also supported the development of fish ponds and salt beds— fish and salt being two of the most profitable commodities in the Middle Ages.78 Yet equally important to our understanding of the ways in which Christchurch à Cantorbéry (Kent: Grande-Bretagne): Interprétation et Signification du Plan du Réseau Hydraulique (XIIe siècle), in L’Hydraulique Monastique: Milieux, Réseaux, Usages, eds. Leon Pressuyre and Paul Benoit (Grâne: Créaphis, 1996), 123-33; and Karine Berthier, “Les aménagements hydrauliques de l’abbaye” in Pour une Histoire Monumentale de l’Abbaye de Cîteaux, 1098-1998, ed. Martine Plouvier (Cîteaux: Association Bourguignonne des Sociétés Savantes, 1998), 66-83. See also, Meredith Lillich, “Cleaniness with Godliness: A Discussion of Medieval Monastic Plumbing,” Mélanges Anselme Dimer 3/5 (Arbois, 1982): 123-149. 77 I refer the reader to the abundant bibliography in Clark Maines, “Inside the Blackbox: The Technology of Medieval Water Management at the Charterhouse of Bourgfontaine,” Technology and Culture 53 (2012): 625-70; and Clark Maines, “Saint-Jean-des-Vignes in Context: The Urban Water Management Systems of Soissons,” in Wasser: Lebensquelle und Bedeutungstrâger: Wasserversorgung in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, eds. H. Paulus, H. Reidel and P. Winkler (Regenensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 1999), 15-36. Zuplo and Laures, Straws, 89, see this interest in land management as part of a broader phenomenon of reclamation of wastelands that in turn led to changes in landholding, land tenure and labor-use arrangements in the 1300s. 78 Archaeologists point to Maillezais’ probable production of salt, noting that the vaulted underground rooms on the south side of Maillezais’ cloister that opened directly onto Maillezais’ harbor were used for salt storage. See Rene Crozet, “Souterrains et caves Voûtées à Maillezais (Vendée) et à Charrous (Vienne),” Bulletin Monumental 126 (1968): 155-60. Pirenne, Medieval Cities, 21, notes that salt was a primary commodity throughout the west of France, particularly at Narmoutier, just to the north of Maillezais. For saltbeds and salt marshes, see Mark Gardiner, “Archaeological Evidence for the Exploitation, Reclamation, and Flooding of Salt Marshes,” Ruralia 5 (2005): 73-83; and Jean-Luc Sarrazin, “Le Sel et l’Aménagement du Littoral Poitevin (XIIIe s.-début XVIe s.), Les SociétésLittorales de Centre-Ouest Atlantique: de la Préhistoire à Nos Jours:

Water as the Basis for an “Urban” Community Plan: Maillezais Abbey

45

the hydraulic infrastructure supported the urban characteristics of Maillezais’s corporate complex is the consideration of the independent nature of the labor involved in these “industries,” for it is there that we see the broadening development of our merchant/middle class. 79 Economic historians highlight that this type of concerted growth in infrastructure came about most rapidly in situations where there was fragmented authority or a reduction in the territorial extent of the lord’s jurisdiction, thereby creating a level of competition between numerous landlords.80 If indeed this was the political situation in the Poitevin mashlands, the broad-based nature of the Duke of Aquitaine’s donations in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, to include his documented extension of the ban to the community at Maillezais, indicate that the monastery held a significant advantage over other landholders in the region. Given the historical evidence of the support of several generations of Dukes and their wives, from the founding by William IV and Emma in 987 through William IIIV and his three wives in the late twelfth century, it appears that the symbiotic relationship worked to the benefit of all. 81 The monastic complex, working as a corporate enterprise with interests in agriculture, commerce, real estate, manufacturing, and construction, not to mention the service industries and transportation, all looked to the strong supporting infrastructure in order to prosper and grow stronger over the centuries. Weathering many a political storm, the hydraulic infrastructure created by those first monks continues to support the economic enterprise of the entire region.

Actes de Colloque, Centre International de la Mer, Rochefort 5/5-6 (1998): 14361. For monastic appropriation of these features, see Cecile Treffort, “Moines, Monastères et Prieurés Charentais au Moyen Âge: Quelques Réflexions autour d’un Projet Collectif en Cours,” Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de l’Ouest 113/3 (2006): 167-88, especially 172; and Karine Berthier and Josephine Rouillard, “Nouvelles Recherches sur l’Hydraulique Cistercienne en Bourgogne, Champagne et Franche-Conté,” Archéologie Médiévale 28 (1998): 121-47. 79 Squatriti, Water, 114-22. 80 van der Beek, “The Effects,” 369-80. 81 Treffort, “Le Compte de Poitiers,” 395-445, esp. 417-428; and Daniel Callahan, William the Great and the Monasteries of Aquitaine,” Studia Monastica 19 (1977): 321-42. For the extension of the bannum, see Marc Bloch, Land and Work in Medieval Europe, trans. J. Anderson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 136-68.

CHAPTER TWO DECODING THE PLANNING RULES OF THE MONASTIC URBAN AND RURAL FORMS AROUND SAMOS ABBEY1 ESTEFANÍA LÓPEZ SALAS2 UNIVERSITY OF A CORUÑA

Introduction Samos Abbey, also known as the monastery of San Julián and Santa Basilisa de Samos, is located in the northwest of the Iberian Peninsula (Fig. 2-1). It is one of the most ancient and renowned religious buildings of the Galician Autonomous Community. It was built on the bank of the Sarria River, deep in a sheltered valley at the foot of the high mountains that form the tableland of Lugo (Fig. 2-2). This place offered a plethora of natural resources, solitude and seclusion because of its unique geographical characteristics. Therefore, it was an ideal location to found a rural monastic community. 1

This article was partially read at the 67th Annual Conference of the Society of Architectural Historians held at Austin (Texas, USA), April 2014. The research for this article is based on a part of my PhD dissertation entitled The Monastery of San Julián de Samos (Lugo-Spain), A Study and Interpretation of the Monastic Space and Its Evolution, presented in June 2015 at University of A Coruña. My PhD dissertation was partially financed by University of A Coruña (Pre-doctoral Fellowship 2011-2012) and by Xunta de Galicia (Pre-doctoral Fellowship of Research, Innovation and Development Galician Plan 2011-2015 - IC2 Plan, cofunded with Social European Fund FSE-FEDER). I would like to thank Mickey Abel for inviting me to take part in this publication. This article is benefited from the excellent observations and generous comments of Mickey Abel, together with the insightful editorial suggestions of Shannon L. Kenny. I am particularly grateful to both of them. 2 E-mail address: [email protected]

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

47

From a material point of view, in addition to the architectonical complex of Samos Abbey, its monks were soon provided with a collection of properties that allowed them to be self-sustaining. The majority of those possessions were pieces of land surrounding the abbey within a mile and a half radius. This space was called the “jurisdictional reserve.”

Fig. 2-1. Map of the Iberian Peninsula with the situation of the Samos Abbey in the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. Source: Author.

Fig. 2-2. Samos Abbey and the natural environment: the valley of the Sarria River. Source: Author, 2011.

48

Chapter Two

From the eighth century up until the mid-nineteenth century, kings in the region had allowed the monks to exercise their jurisdictional rights.3 This fact implied an important difference in the legal basis if we compare the case of Samos Abbey with other monastic manors. The kings granted the monks of Samos powers that usually belonged to the public administration. That is, the monks were not only the spiritual authorities, but they also had fiscal and judicial responsibilities within the boundaries of this enclosed land. Additionally, Samos enjoyed independence from Episcopal power. For this reason, the abbey was referred to as nullius dioeceses, as it submitted directly to the Holy See rather than the Bishop of Lugo.4 During this period, the activities of the monks and their vassals were conditioned by the physical features within the place chosen by the founders of the abbey as a monastic settlement, as well as on those characteristics that defined the land around the architectonical complex. The monks and its vassals gradually changed their territory in order to improve its physical features for their benefit. The space and the individuals interacted to form a “human environment” or historical space where the original site was vivified as a consequence of their work.5 The present study seeks to understand the role played by the monks of Samos Abbey as the rulers of a delimited estate by analyzing their way of 3

Carmen Pallares Méndez, “Los Cotos como Marco de los Derechos Feudales en Galicia durante la Edad Media (1100-1500),” Liceo franciscano 91-92-93 (1978): 201-25, especially 208-209, suggests that the granting of a “jurisdictional reserve” involved a series of exemptions and privileges: “First of all, setting the limits of a space with a changeable extent. Secondly, the immunity of the enclosed land. And, finally, the right to exercise, for the part of the landowners, functions which were proper to the public administration and hoarding the incomes which derived from this exercise.” 4 Maximino Arias Cuenllas, Historia del Monasterio de San Julián de Samos, (Samos: Monasterio de Samos/Diputación Provincial de Lugo, 1992), 69 and 406, points out that Samos “was a kind of diocese inside another diocese.” This privilege was kept until 1873, when the bull of Pope Pius II was issued and it suppressed all the ecclesiastical jurisdictions which enjoyed that exemption. 5 If we look at the preserved archaeological remains, the settlements in the land which surrounded the abbey dated from the ancient period. Analysis shows us that the human cultural development there began in Prehistory. This is a typical fact in the northwest Iberian Peninsula where which tombs and Neolithic fortified settlements are extant. For this history, see Jorge López Quiroga and Mónica Rodríguez Lovelle, “Un Modelo de Evolución de Poblamiento Rural en la Galicia interior (S. V-X): El Territorio entorno a la Depresión de Sarria y el Monasterio de Samos,” Boletín del Museo Provincial de Lugo 9 (1999-2000): 173-85.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

49

living, as well as their planning of the large jurisdictional space, over the course of the eleven centuries of continuous occupation. For this purpose we ask whether the monks, as jurisdictional authorities, established legal codes in order to achieve a suitable planning of their territory. Moreover, were there particular interests that prevailed over others that determined the manner of living within the physical space? Did the monks use any kind of legal instruments to guarantee that the environmental changes happened in accordance with the monastic community’s desires? The answer to all these questions will allow us to demonstrate whether the monks planned the original form of the estate that we know today (Fig. 2-3).

Fig. 2-3. The territory around Samos Abbey in 1965: a part of the ancient jurisdictional space. Source: ©Photographic Archive of Samos Abbey.

The “Jurisdictional Reserve” Approaching the study of a historical space involves knowing the limits that defined it in the past. For this, it is necessary to refer to the primary sources dating to the periods between the eighth and the twelfth centuries, known as the Tumbo de Samos.6 This is a codex made up of 6 The transcription of the original document was made by Manuel Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo de San Julián de Samos (Siglos VIII-XII) Estudio Introductorio, Edición

50

Chapter Two

more than two hundred documents written in the Middle Ages. Through them we can begin to garner an understanding of the original boundaries of the medieval jurisdictional enclosure, as well as some territorial expansions made by way of a royal charter, while apprehending the farmland, small villages, and churches located within its limits. In the eighth century, King Fruela I first extended the monastic jurisdiction by a circular area of one mile and a half. Additionally, he endowed the religious community with other properties of land outside its limits.7 Successive kings ratified the privileges and endowments granted by their predecessors through new legal instruments.8 These documents suggest that the reigning king granted Samos Abbey the sole power over the monastic estate and the people who lived there. The inhabitants of the jurisdictional area were thus vassals of the monks and were compelled to pay rent and answer calls to service on behalf of the abbey, implying a feudal relationship.9 Diplomática, Apéndices e Índices, (Santiago de Compostela: Obra Social Caixa Galicia, 1986): 61-435. Maximino Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos desde sus Orígenes hasta el Siglo XI,” Archivos Leoneses 70 (1981): 267-350; Maximino Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos durante los Siglos XI y XII,” Archivos Leoneses 73 (1983): 7-82; Arias Cuenllas, Historia , 36-151; and Fernando López Alsina, “Millas in Giro Ecclesiae: El ejemplo del Monasterio de San Julián de Samos,” Estudos Medievais 10 (1993): 159-87, studied the formation and evolution of the “jurisdictional reserve” of Samos. 7 Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos desde sus Orígenes,” 286; and Historia, 37, emphasize that the royal document written by Fruela I in favor of Samos Abbey in the eighth century is not preserved, but several later manuscripts of the Tumbo de Samos show that the successor kings referred to Fruela I as the founder of the monastic territorial domain with a circular space of one mile and a half. 8 Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos desde sus Orígenes,” 293-294, 301302, 312-313, 318-319, 335-336, 339-340; Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 61-64, 123125, 128-130; Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 36-151; and López Alsina, “Millas,” 180, suggest that this reflects the royal document issued by King Alfonso II in 811, a similar one issued by King Ordoño I in 857 and the manuscript issued by King Ordoño III in 951, among others. 9 Plácido Arias Arias, Historia del Real Monasterio de Samos, (Santiago de Compostela: Imprenta, Lib. y Enc. Seminario Conciliar, 1950), 37-46, 145-156; Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos desde sus Orígenes,” 316, 319, 321; and Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 71, 74. Something similar happened in other monastic Galician possessions which were also granted jurisdictional privileges, as we can see in the following studies: Manuel Lucas Álvarez and Pedro Lucas Domínguez, El Priorato Benedictino de San Vicenzo de Pombeiro y su Colección Diplomática en la Edad Media (Sada-A Coruña: Seminario de Estudos Galegos/Edicións do

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

51

The boundaries of the jurisdiction were sometimes invaded by people unconnected with the abbey, who tried to seize the monks’ property. Such an action took place in 933, after which the monks requested help from the king. Ramiro II sent three delegates to Samos to measure the mile and one half radius established as the boundaries of the jurisdiction. They did this by setting boundary stones on the north, the south, the east, and the west.10 The special care taken to define the correct limits, particularly on the west, resulted from the knowledge that inhabitants of the villages of Castrocán and Pascais had invaded the jurisdiction of Samos to seize the settlement Omerii.11 A similar event occurred in 993 when the community sent a complaint to King Vermudo II, advising him in writing that the boundary marks had been moved. The royal response was to send a new delegate in order to determine the physical limits of the monastic jurisdiction: “they measured it with ropes and they found the limits so firm,” in other words, “the boundary marks which demarcated: one in Montan, another in Zoo, another at the foot of Calvor, another in Venta de Corneas.޵12

Castro, 1996), 24; and Emilio Duro Peña, El Monasterio de San Esteban de Ribas de Sil, (Ourense: Instituto de Estudios Orensanos “Padre Feijoo” de la Diputación Provincial, 1997), 222. 10 Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos desde sus Orígenes,” 318-19; Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 71; López Alsina, “Millas,” 180-81. Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 143, gives the whole sentence of the order issued by King Ramiro II to restore the real boundaries of the jurisdiction of Samos: “Etenim venientes a supradicto principe missi, nominubus Theodemirus Soffini et Trevulcus presbiter, posuerunt determinationem, mecientes miliarium et semis per circuitum monasterii quatuor partibus, sicut narrant testamenta regum pro avorum regis huius vel parentum, quorum nomina hec sunt: Adefonsus cognomento catholicus, et successor illius in regno Ranemirus; post quem Hordonius.” 11 López Alsina, “Millas,” 180-81, identifies Uncani as Castrocán and Paschasi as Pascais. It still remains to identify Omerii. Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 143, provides the excerpt in which King Ramiro I pointed out the invasion of the monastic properties by the inhabitants of Castrocán and Pascais: “Ergo ipsi predicti missi atque provisores, determinantes, posuerunt archas, fregeruntque superbiam hominum habitantium in villis, qui nuncupantur Uncani ac Paschasi, qui intrabant infra terminos iam dicti monasterii Samanos sancti Iuliani, infringentes testamenta regum; usurpaverunt villare qui dicitur Omerii porcionem, ob quod iam Offilus abba vindicans.” 12 This is the translation made by Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 93, of a royal document in which the boundaries of the jurisdiction are described. Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 133-35, provides the whole sentence: “una que vocitant super Montan; alia que dicunt Samanega super Zalon; et inde alia Petra Ficta sub Calvor; et deinde per

52

Chapter Two

These documents, with names of places that still exist today, allow us to construct an actual cartographical map with the approximate boundaries of the original jurisdiction, thus delineating the parameters of this space in the past. At the same time, however, this spatial drawing reveals a clear expansion of the jurisdictional enclosure that took place between 933 and 993. Very simply, if we take the place called Samos as the center of the jurisdiction, we can obtain the boundaries of the original monastic domain by drawing a circle with a radius of one mile and a half. The mile used would be the ancient Roman unit of length where one mile was equal to 1,478.5 meters.13 Therefore, one and a half miles would be 2,217.25 meters, which implied a jurisdiction with an area of roughly 15 square kilometers.14 The boundaries of this earlier jurisdiction seem to coincide with the information of the deed issued in 933, where it was also said that Pascais and Castrocán were excluded from the monastic possessions in the west. Interestingly, the boundaries that were conveyed in the deed of 993 (Montán, Zoó, Calvor, and Venta de Córneas) were located much further away from the site of Samos. The geographical positions of these named places were used to define the monastic jurisdiction with a similar circular area as the earlier one, but with a larger radius. Rather than the area of one mile and a half that we can roughly measure between Castrocán and Samos, the distance increased by almost three and a quarter miles between Montán, Zoó, Calvor, Venta de Córneas and the place of Samos. This tells us that by the year 993, the “jurisdictional reserve” of the abbey had been expanded to a circular area of about 74 square kilometers.

Sarambello; et inde ad aliam arcam ubi dicunt Cornias; et inde per castro Saliceto.” The places called Sarambello and castro Saliceto have not been identified yet. 13 Diccionario de la Lengua Española. Vigésima segunda edición. (Madrid: Real Academia Española, 2001), Accessed on November, 14, 2012, http://buscon.rae.es/draeI/. This is also affirmed by López Alsina, “Millas,” 160. 14 Fernando López Alsina, “Valor Simbólico del Espacio Urbano Medieval,” in Santiago de Compostela: La Ciudad Histórica como Presente, (Santiago de Compostela: Consorcio de Santiago, 1995), 82-9, says that, between the eighth and the eleventh centuries, only two churches had a circular jurisdictional area in their surroundings that was measured in miles within the Asturleonés kingdom. These two churches were San Julián de Samos and Santiago de Compostela. See also, Fernando López Alsina, La Ciudad de Santiago de Compostela en la Alta Edad Media, (Santiago de Compostela: Consorcio de Santiago/Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 2013), 134-44.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

53

After some time, these original boundaries were extended even further, again by royal order or due to donations received from individuals.15 In 1146 King Alfonso VII issued a royal charter granting an enlargement of the limits of the jurisdiction towards the southwest, to include the places called Toldaos and Santa Cristina, the Neolithic fortified settlement in Sirgueiros, and the land located on the other side of the mountain of O Couso.16 In 1161 Fernando II increased this territorial expansion toward the west, annexing the church called Sancti Martini and its parish, as well as the villages called Ville Nove and Avoin, known currently as Vilanova and Abuín.17 Through the analysis of the Tumbo de Samos we get information demonstrating that between the eighth and the twelfth centuries the abbey 15

For the study of the formation of the monastic estate during the medieval period and the methods used to acquire more land, see Arias Arias, Historia, 1-179; Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos desde sus Orígenes,” 269-350; Arias Cuenllas, “El Monasterio de Samos durante los siglos,” 7-82; Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 36151; Marta González Vázquez, “El Dominio del Monasterio de San Julián de Samos en el Siglo XIV (1325-1380),” Cuadernos de Estudios Gallegos XXXIX104 (1991): 95-112; José Miguel Andrade Cernadas, El Monacato Benedictino y la Sociedad de la Galicia Medieval (Siglos X al XIII) (A Coruña: Publicacións do Seminario de Estudos Galegos/Edicións de Castro, 1997), 47-69; and Carmen Rodríguez González, “San Xulián de Samos. Unha Instancia de Poder na Idade Media,” in San Xulián de Samos: Historia e Arte nun Mosterio, Opus Monasticorum III, (Santiago de Compostela: Xunta de Galicia, 2008), 49-72. 16 Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 134. Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 168-70, transcribes document number 57 of the Tumbo de Samos, which shows the territorial expansion as follows: “Amplifico, inquam, illud per illam lagenam que est inter Toldanos et Sanctam Cristinam, et ex inde per illam cerdariam de Lobos, et inde per illo castro de Sirgarios, et inde per stratam usque ad Campello, et ex alia parte per montem Mocosum.” The places called Lobos and Campello have not been identified yet. Although there is reference to an expansion toward the southeast, all these places are located toward the southwest of the ancient jurisdiction, as we can see in the actual cartography. However, the position toward the southeast that both of the authors pointed out could be the right one if the position of that places was seen in relation to the apses of the Romanesque monastic church when the document was written. 17 Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 139. Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 174-75, transcribes document number 60 of the Tumbo de Samos. As in the previous case, Lucas Álvarez and Arias Cuenllas talk about an expansion of the land in the southwest of the jurisdiction. Once again, this orientation could be right if the positions of these properties were considered in relation to the apses of the Romanesque monastic church, which looked toward the northeast, as it can be proved through the architectural remains that are preserved nowadays.

54

Chapter Two

Fig. 2-4. Graphic recreation of the jurisdictional area around Samos Abbey on an actual cartographical map. Sources: Author/Cartographical base of SITGA Territorial Information System of Galicia-, 124.

controlled a large estate spread over seventy four square kilometers, including only the properties within the limits of its jurisdictional area. In this space the monks were allowed by the kings to hold the spiritual, material, and judicial powers. In other words, the religious community was the only authority in the jurisdictional territory. In the papal bull issued by Pope Alexander III in 1175, roughly one hundred churches were listed as being under the protection of Samos Abbey,18 without including the small villages and the farmland, which would have increased the monastic possessions even further (Fig. 2-4). Interestingly, in all of the earlier 18

Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 143; Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 153-57.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

55

historical documents clear information about the role played by the monks in the organization of the structure of the “jurisdictional reserve” is missing, although their position as governors seems obvious because the religious community was given responsibility for the planning of its space.

Seeking the Planning Rules through the Historical Documents After establishing the original jurisdictional boundaries, the focus shifts to the archival sources, searching for information about the urban and rural forms in the areas surrounding the abbey, as well as the factors that may have caused its change and development. For the established period, we have several types of documents related to farm the land and the existing buildings. Among them, the most important sources are the tenancy agreements, called foros or arriendos, and the books of demarcation, known as apeos in the ancient Kingdom of Galicia.19 These three sources have a series of characteristics in common. Firstly, all of them are documents that were produced by the monks as a result of their local activity. Secondly, the studied documents are currently kept in the National Historical Archive (Spain), in the documentary collection of “Ecclesiastical Institutions,޵ within the section of “Secularregular Clergy,޵ categories of “Bundles޵ and “Books.޵ Finally, both their considerable abundance and the type of information they contain make them the most important historical sources to study concerning the formation and evolution of the historical space of the “jurisdictional reserve” and the role played by the monks in its planning.20 In analyzing each type of these documents, the questions I have asked are: what was the purpose of its elaboration; what type of information does it contain; and how we can use this information to demonstrate whether the religious community of Samos was concerned with the planning process of their jurisdictional space? 19 Although we have other sources like deeds of sale, cession contracts, deeds of apportionment, and even an old land register in the eighteenth century, if we compared them with the tenancy agreements and the books of demarcation, we can recognize a small amount of surviving documents and the less information they contain to achieve the aim we proposed. These are the reasons for excluding them from this article. 20 We have not included in this work the foros and other documents produced before this time that also survive in the National Historical Archive (hereafter AHN) within the same documentary collection, but in the category called “Folders.”

56

Chapter Two

The Clauses of the Tenancy Agreements as the “Urban Planning Ordinances” In general, the abbey’s estate was meant to be as self-supporting and self-administering as impossible. However, given the physical parameters of Samos, we would expect that the religious community would need to be sustained by the work of others. The land was in the hands of the monastic order, but the monks were compelled to lease it to other people in order to support themselves. Indeed, this would become a method of obtaining money or services. Within the boundaries of the jurisdictional territory we recognize two basic ways of leasing the property; one method was known as foro and the other the arriendo. Both were tenancy agreements where the term of the lease was meant to be long, sometimes even continuing in perpetuity. Between these two legal instruments, the one called foro was the more common way of leasing the landed property of Samos Abbey and, in general, in Galicia. Among the surviving documentation of the abbey, the first reference to this type of tenancy agreement dates from 1192.21 It remained the method of choice from that time through the medieval period. In the case of the arriendo, the first reference to this type of contract was found in an agreement granted to the abbot of Samos in 1080.22 These were certainly not as common as the foro; among the documentation preserved from this monastery, the majority of the arriendos were not granted until the eighteenth century. The deeds of foro were legal agreements through which the monks leased one or several monastic properties to an individual/s. In exchange that person or people had the obligation to abide by all the duties that were established in the document, among which the payment of a rent was always included.23 As a contract, the foro had the character of a legal document. In other words, when the abbey granted someone a piece of land, the recipient turned into a vassal of the religious community and both agreed to different rights and duties concerning the other. For this reason, 21

Arias Cuenllas, Historia, 149. Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 487-88. Lucas Álvarez, El Tumbo, 326. 23 For studying the foro as a method of leasing land and as a legal document in Galicia, see Ramón Villares, La Propiedad de la Tierra en Galicia 1500-1936, (Madrid: Siglo XXI de España Editores, 1982); José García Oro, Galicia en los Siglos XIV y XV (A Coruña: Instituto “P. Sarmiento” de Estudios Gallegos/ Fundación Pedro Barrié de la Maza, 1987), 123-24; Luz Ríos Rodríguez, As Orixes do Foro na Galicia Medieval, (Santiago de Compostela: Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 1993). 22

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

57

each foro had a list of clauses where the monks specified the commitments of both parts to avoid a loose interpretation. The oldest, extant foros we have were written less formally with a small number of conditions. After some time, however, the document developed a structure that was repeated. In these more codified versions we can recognize the same type of information written in the same order but now with a substantial number of clauses. These deeds begin by stating the name of the landowner who was going to lease one or several of the abbey’s possessions. Next, the name of the recipient was stated, followed by a short description of the leasehold property, which referred to its name, its location, its components (houses, gardens, fields, trees), as well as the position of each one in relation to the others, the use and the yield of the farmland, etc. This was followed by the scribe setting the duration of the contract. Generally, in the deeds analyzed, this time period corresponded to the lives of three Spanish kings. The rest of the document contained, with more or less accuracy, the other conditions that both parties had to fulfill, among which were the following clauses: ƒ ƒ

ƒ ƒ ƒ ƒ ƒ

ƒ

The vassal promised to work the leasehold land, maintain the houses and other buildings and repair them if it was necessary. The vassal was committed to pay a rent to the abbey in the form of money, services, or food. This rent had to be delivered to the abbey the date fixed in the deed, every year, during the term of the contract. The total prohibition of not paying the rent during the two following years as due date. The total prohibition of selling, exchanging, endowing, or transferring the property to other people without the previous knowledge and acceptance of the religious community. The vassal was committed to pay the cost of the deed which was always written by a public scribe. The abbey recovered the leasehold property at the end of the contract. The abbey had to protect and defend the vassal when someone tried to appropriate the land or the buildings which were leased. The religious community was also committed to pay the cost that a legal process of defense could cause. The breach of any clause listed in the agreement caused the end of the lease.

58

Chapter Two

After explaining the rights and the duties of both parties, the abbey and the vassal accepted the clauses. This formality was followed by the granting of the possessions, specifying the date and the place of the agreement execution. Finally, the granters, the recipients, the witnesses, and the scribe signed the document. The deeds of foro are an essential historical source in the research of the territory because of the information they contain concerning the leasehold property. Most interesting, it is through the reading of the clauses of these tenancy agreements that we can identify the collection of rules imposed as duties by the monks to plan the structure of the land under their control or management. The character of the documentʊthat is a legal contract with a list of clauses— appears to have been the best way to guarantee the observance of all the monastic requirements. What is clear is that the lease agreement was declared void and the granted land and buildings were to be returned to the hands of the monks if the conditions of the clauses were not met. From a planning point of view, however, there is another level of information to be obtained from these same clauses. Beyond setting the rules for maintaining and improving the leasehold property, these tenancy agreements could define the dimensions of a new building, its location, the period of time that the leaseholder had to build it, the materials to be used during the construction, as well as the function it would have once completed. These stipulations applied as well to parcels of land, where similarly we can see its use, its measure, the structure of enclosing walls, and other issues established in the conditional clauses. The deeds of foro also reveal the control maintained by the monks of Samos over the planning process. Most of these documents dealt with the leasing of a property in the village called Samos, which represents the population center that formed by the side of the abbey over the course of the subsequent centuries. This village’s location adjacent to the sacred space appears to have compelled the monks to impose a tighter level of control on the planning of buildings and farmland in order not to disturb the development of the monastic way of life (Fig. 2-5). Several documents demonstrate this fact.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

59

Fig. 2-5. Map of Samos Abbey, the enclosed monastic space and the nearby village in the late sixteenth century. Source: Author.

60

Chapter Two

In April 1568 the abbey issued a deed of foro to Pedro Corujo and his wife, who were residents in the village. The religious community leased them a piece of land to build a house. The site, the building materials, and the term of the construction were established, as we can see below: Everyone who sees this deed of foro must know as us, the Brother Miguel de Zamora, who is the abbot of the monastery of San Julián de Samos and for this reason the spiritual and temporal lord of all its land and jurisdiction, that being assembled with the monks of the abbey in the chapter house... we lease and grant you, Pedro Corujo, who is a tailor and a resident in Samos village, who is present, and to Isabel Vázquez, your wife, who is absentee, to you and to her and to two people after your death... a site to build a dwelling house in this place of Samos next to the house where Benito Carballo, who is a locksmith, currently lives, in such a way that you could build it and you build yours and your heirs' dwelling house and you must build it with walls and wood and stone slabs, you must pay for the building cost and you must build it in the term of two years.24

In the same year, the abbot, Miguel de Zamora, granted Cristóbal Vázquez, who was a resident in the village, a plot of land to build his house within the secular settlement. At the beginning of the deed, the abbot explained that a piece of land was previously leased to the referred man for the same purpose. However, the religious community soon realized that the new building would affect the enclosed, sacred space of the abbey due to the close proximity of the leasehold land to the monastic garden. Through a new deed the monks changed the location of the site granted to the couple to build the dwelling house, as the next excerpt shows: The Brother Miguel de Zamora, who is the abbot of the Monastery of San Julián de Samos and for this reason he is the spiritual and temporal lord of all its land and jurisdiction, order in my name and being with our prior and monks in our chapter house, we lease and grant Cristóbal Vázquez and his wife and other two people a site to build a dwelling house at the side of the road which goes from the place called A Aira to our monastery and after some time we realized that if the referred house was built there, it would be really detrimental to the monastery and its garden and, for this reason, our prior and some monks modified the site to build the Cristóbal

24

AHN: Foros y Apeos de Ferreira y Samos que pasaron ante el Escribano Andrés González (Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Book 6492, f. 336r). Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

61

Vázquez's dwelling house to the road to Bargado between up and down paths, and besides, a garden and a threshing floor.25

Both of the above deeds show clearly that the monks decided, with no outside intervention, the site where the new buildings of the village would be located and in this way, controlled the settlement developed under their jurisdiction. To insure the continuity of this control, at the end of the term of the contracts, the old and new possessions in the leasehold land were recovered by the monks. Most important in this process seems to have been the effect the development would have had on the quality of life within the abbey’s sacred space. This was a consideration of not only proximity to the abbey, but also of the height of the new construction. We see this consideration in one of the clauses of the deed issued in 1578 to Pedro Corujo and Isabel Vázquez. This document contains the leasing of an existing house in the village center. While the monks granted this lease with the stipulation that the leaseholders maintain and improve the building, they further stipulated that they must never increase the number of floors because it was located next to the garden of the abbey: Everybody who sees this deed of foro must know as us, the Brother Gabriel de la Puebla, who is the abbot of the Monastery of San Julián de Samos..., that we lease and grant you, Pedro Corujo, who is a tailor and a resident in the place of Samos, to you and to Isabel Vázquez, who is your wife,... the house we have and it is of our monastery that is located in the entrance of the place of Samos in which Benito Carballo, who is a locksmith, used to live and where you currently live, with its ways in and ways out and its uses and customs and with the square next to the house toward our monastery—on the condition that you would never be able to increase the height of this house more than it is, under penalty of cancelling this leasing without other requirement — and on the condition that, at the term of the contract, you shall have to leave this house and give it back to the monastery with the repairs and the improvements you did, without demanding anything in return.26

On other occasions, the clauses of the deed defined the intended function of the buildings. The space of the architectonical complex was limited and the entry was restricted to the secular population. However, the abbey was located on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela, the path known as the French Way. This path crossed the village center, 25

Ibid., f. 332r. AHN: Samos. Foros Años 1524-1833. Carpetilla 8. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular- regular. Bundle 3452. Unnumbered pages.

26

62

Chapter Two

outside the sacred space. To accommodate these pilgrims the monks built a house for guests, called “House of Hospital,޵ which they sometimes leased to some village inhabitants, with the stipulation that the recipients were committed to host not only the pilgrims, but also the poor, and other guests of the abbey. The first deed of foro that survives for the guesthouse at Samos is dated to March 1560. Through this document the religious community granted Alonso Broco and his wife a house in the place called A Aira. Among the established clauses within the deed, we find the conditional clause stating that it was the duty of the leaseholder to have beds to host monastic guests: Everybody who sees this deed of foro must know as us, the Brother Benito de Gauna, who is the abbot of the Monastery of San Julián de Samos..., that we lease and grant you, Alonso Broco, who is a resident in the place of Samos, who is present, and your wife, who is absentee, to you and to her and to other two people after your death..., the new house in which you, the referred Alonso Broco, lives in the place of A Aira, outside our monastery, with its threshing floor as it is and as it was demarcated by the prior and the administrator brothers, that all these possessions are our own property and we lease them on the condition that you shall be our servants and you shall be obedient to us and to our successors and on the condition that you shall be committed to improve our gardens and you or another person shall maintain the house and live in it, and you shall have the threshing floor enclosed and you shall pay us a ram and three hens as rent every year... and on the condition that if you do not pay this rent during the two following years you would lose this lease and on the condition that you shall have two beds in the referred house in order to host some guests when they come to our monastery and place of Samos.27

The control exercised by the monks in the spatial planning in accordance with the community interests was spread over the area of the village and also over all the rural properties of the jurisdiction (Fig. 2-6). Such an example is the deed of foro issued by the abbey in 1577. Through this document the monks granted Inés Ares de Armesto and her son, Pedro Díaz de Freijo, inhabitants in the village of Samos, the sites named Reboredo, Coiñas, and Bargado. Some of these sites were located far from 27

AHN: Foros y otros Instrumentos. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Libro 6526, 38v. Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/. Another copy of the deed is in AHN: Foros y Apeos de Ferreira y Samos que pasaron ante el Escribano Andrés González. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Book 6492, f. 124r. Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

63

the abbey. Among the clauses found in this deed we find references to the prohibition of expanding the boundaries of the farmland, the maximum number of trees that the leaseholders could plant, the duty of the vassals to maintain the property closed with walls, and even the type of farming to employ: Everybody who sees this deed of foro must know as us, the Brother Gabriel de la Puebla, who is the abbot of the Monastery of San Julián de Samos..., that the abbot and the monks of our monastery... lease and grant you, Inés Ares de Armesto, who is Alonso de Rebolle's wife and who was Alonso Gallina's first wife, who is a deceased scribe, and for Pedro Díaz de Freijo, who is Alonso Gallina's son and yours,... the vegetable garden and farmland at the site of Reboredo, which is downwards the houses of this site and toward the river as it is currently enclosed and used to farm, joining it to the field which is inside and underneath the referred farmland and you would not be able to expand or enlarge this property more than it is now, and besides the trees at this place, fruit trees, and besides the farmland and the country seat at Coiñas, as it is enclosed... and besides the farmland at Bargado as it is enclosed and you, the mentioned Inés Ares, have farmed it so far in our name, with its entrances and exits, on the condition that you and your son and the people of the deed shall cultivate, repair, and maintain that farmland; as well as on the condition that you would never be able to live at the site of Reboredo or build a dwelling house in any way or have another type of farmland besides the abovementioned one as it is demarcated, which you shall cultivate from outside and if you do the opposite, this deed will be cancelled with no need to pronounce any sentence and besides that we will be able to destroy the new buildings due to your greed without breaking the law; on the condition that you shall cultivate the mentioned farmland and you shall close it with a wall or another no light surface that protects it from those who jump over the fence to steal wood, sticks, or branches of our forests, under the penalty of cancelling this agreement—on the condition that the vegetable garden and the country seat at the site called Seara that you have cultivated so far, you shall leave it to forest, without farming it never again, as well as the site of Reboredo and with the same conditions, in such a way that the mentioned site of Reboredo and all the land belonging to it and another attached property, with the farmland at Seara, it shall be always as a forest, except the mentioned farmland, the field and the country seat.28

28

AHN: Samos. Foros Años 1524-1833. Carpetilla 8. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular- regular. Bundle 3452. Unnumbered pages.

64

Chapter Two

Fig. 2-6. Map of the territory around Samos Abbey and the sites of Coíñas, Bargado and Reboredo in the late sixteenth century. Source: Author.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

65

This excerpt illustrates well how the monks used the deeds of foro in the planning sense. These clauses can be equated to “ordinances” of a modern urban plan, where regulations on height, use, location, or function were defined not only for the building, but also for the farmland. In this way, the religious community controlled the environmental development process, while at the same time protecting the enclosed monastic space. In short, the monks defined the form of the urban and rural space within their “jurisdictional reserve.”

The Books of Demarcation: The “Written” Drawing of a Delimited Space The other source that allows us to research the question of the organization of the human space of these early villages, as well as the evolution of the space over time, and the role played by the monks in its design, is the apeo.29 There is an abundance of this type of historical document left to us from the Middle Ages, primarily because the purpose of the apeo was to clarify, in writing, the space and estate that belonged to a manorial entity. In addition to that, it served to address the elements of ownership concealed through the long term of the deeds of foro. Even today, the action of apear is to “recognize, mark, or delimit one or more pieces of land, especially those which are subjected to a census, a tenancy agreement or another royal law.޵30 In other words, the apeo acted as the written “demarcation” of a property, generally requested by a seigniorial authority wishing to possess a deed of ownership with judicial value. In this way, the land holder guaranteed the seigniorial rights over the demarcated space. That is, it reconstructed the physical boundaries of the domain, and sought to avoid the progressive reduction of the area of the manorial entity due to the improper encroachments. In the case of Samos Abbey, there are complete collections of these books of demarcation preserved, and until now unread in the National Historical Archive (Spain). The origin of the first books of demarcation of Samos Abbey is clearly linked to the fire in the monastic buildings, especially the monastery’s 29

The key work of this type of archival document was made by Santos García Larragueta, “El Apeo, Documento Diplomático,” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 17 (1987): 617-33. We can also see: Real Audiencia de Galicia. Catálogo de Expedientes de Apeo, (Santiago de Compostela: Xunta de Galicia/Dirección Xeral de Patrimonio Cultural, 1999). 30 Apeo is defined by the Diccionario de la Lengua Española. Vigésima segunda edición. (Madrid: Real Academia Española, 2001).

66

Chapter Two

archive, in 1534, where a very large number of deeds of ownership and deeds of foro were lost. As a result of this loss, the monks asked the Emperor Charles V for an order to demarcate all the monastic possessions. This process produced three books of demarcation written between 1537 and 1556. In chronological order, the first document is the one called “Old Demarcations,޵ made in 1537. It contains the apeos of the monastic possessions: Somoza de Freituje de Lemos, Somoza de Julián, Somoza de Rubián, Puebla de Brollón, Somoza de Lemos, the French Way, Montán, Teiguín, A Aguiada, Santa María de Suñide - Alendagua, the Land of Sarria, the district of Rial, Saint Christopher, the Valle de Armeá, Lobateira, Sarria village, Quiroga, the enclosed land of Barbadelo, Triacastela, the Land of Moreda, the Land of Salnés, and Celaguantes. The next book of demarcation, called “the Second޵31 was begun in 1553 to define those properties not accounted for in the first volume and to include recent acquisitions. That was the case of several parishes like San Salvador de Val do Mao, San Román de Val do Mao, Santa María de Val do Mao, San Martiño del Real, San Cristóbal del Real and San Cristóbal de Lóuzara, the district called French Way, Santiago de Zoó, Santa María de Castrocán, Vilachá, San Julián de Teibilide, Santa María de Suñide, San Vicente de Frollais and San Esteban de Reiriz, as well as other isolated properties located at Santa María de Reboiro, Santiago de Toldaos, Riádegos Valley, Quiroga, Celaguantes, Alengadua, and the parish of Santiago de Freituxe de Lemos (Fig. 2-7). The last book of demarcations made in the sixteenth century to complete the series is the one called “Demarcations, the third,޵ which was developed between 1555 and 1556.32 It included the possessions located in the county of Lemos, Puebla in Brollón, the enclosed lands of Barbadelo and Piñeira, the Land of Sarria, the Valle de Armeá, and its adjoining districts. Through these documents we have an opportunity to begin the reconstruction of the mid-sixteenth-century jurisdictional space, which had an organization and structure inherited from the one designed during the medieval period. To verify this picture, a fourth book of demarcation, known as the “Demarcations of Samos parish. Year of 1660,޵ has been 31

AHN: Apeos de Bienes y Derechos del Monasterio. Tomo 1. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Book 6519. Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/. 32 AHN: Apeos de Bienes y Derechos del Monasterio. Tomo 2. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Book 6696. Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

67

preserved and remains the primary historical document for the study of Samos’ seventeenth-century parish landscape.

Fig. 2-7. The places, the properties of land, the churches, and the villages that belonged to Samos Abbey according to the book of demarcations called “The Second,” made in 1553. Sources: Author/Cartographical base of SITGA Territorial Information System of Galicia-, 124.

Overwhelmingly, the most valuable information to be gained from these books of demarcation was the data, which reflected, in writing, the boundaries of an inhabited space, thus describing the spatial organization

68

Chapter Two

and the property along with the length and width of the jurisdiction in specific years, as well as a complete description of the components for each demarcated property, including all the farmland, the houses and the auxiliary buildings, such as wood-fire ovens, stables, forges, water mills, etc. In the case of the buildings, they were described with interesting detail, such as the number of floors, the type and material of the roof, the bordering properties, even the state of conservation and the division into compartments of the interior space. Through an analysis of the property’s descriptions, we can garner a more thorough knowledge of the existing road network (paths, royal road, dirt tracks, ancient roads), the associated infrastructures (bridges), the presence of trees (type, location), the natural watercourses (rivers, streams), the buildings with a specific function (guesthouse, prison), the spaces of relationship as squares, the work of the leasing recipients (tailors, stone carvers, haberdashers, farmers, scribes) and even certain names of places that were used in the past but do not survive in the present. The next three examples illustrate more clearly the importance of this documental source and the information that it contains. The first one is an excerpt of the demarcation made in 1555 for the place called San Román in the Val do Mao, within the boundaries of the jurisdiction, but quite far from the abbey. In Santa María do Mao, on 8th February, 1555, before the man Lopo, who is an inhabitant in Vilamexe, and a judge of the land and the jurisdiction of Samos and in my presence, the public scribe and the witnesses; the Brother Francisco de Parada, who is the abbot of Samos, appeared in his name and in the name of his monastery in order to make the demarcation of the place of San Román and the church in Mao and for its demarcation he called Gómez Álvarez do Mao, who is a lessee, the representative of Pacios and the tenant of the referred place, Diego de Pacios, Juan de Pacios and Alonso de Pacios, who are inhabitants in the Val do Mao, and Juan Ledo, who is a resident in Vilaverde and Ares Fernández de Rubián,... as witnesses. The above-mentioned witnesses and old men said under oath they knew and it was true that the referred place of San Román with its houses, farmland and trees, entrances and exits, all of it was a property of the abbot, monks and monastery of Samos and the referred place belonged to them with the following things: firstly, all the houses which are next to the church with its repairs as they are next to the church, plus the farmland of San Román which is above the church and down the houses, it starts in the road to Coballo and from there it continues along the road to the Cancelo de San Román, to the Couso and from there it returns to the Piornodelo and it returns to the referred road of Coballo where we began, all as it is

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

69

demarcated and enclosed with the trees which are inside and around it, all is of the place referred, which measures twenty-four tegas of wheat, more or less; plus a piece of land called Piorno that begins at the cancelo dos pardiñeiros and it goes along the upper part of the road to Villameá and it arrives at Outeiro and at the end of Vilameá and it goes from there to the farmland in the site of Pacios, in which Vasco de Pacios used to live, it comes to the farmland which is run by the priest of the parish of San Román and it returns to the referred road, it measures six tegas of wheat, more or less, plus another piece of land in Canelixe and it adjoins the farmland of the place where Vasco de Pacios used to live and it adjoins the site of Goimil and Juan de Pacios.33

This particular apeo demonstrates that they were not all written with the same degree of accuracy. Over time, there is a clear consolidation of their structure and greater care in both the writing and in the descriptions of the property and its limits, all of which contribute to their increased value as a documentary source. This is verified most clearly in the “Demarcations of Samos parish. Year of 1660,޵ examples of which follow. The first is an excerpt of the demarcation made for the place called Outeiro and its attached properties, located next to Samos village, within the boundaries of the parish of Saint Julian (Fig. 2-8). In 1660 this place was a leasehold estate of Pedro de Vales. As we see below, the document begins by justifying the reasons for producing the demarcation document, that is the identification of the owner and the lessee at the time the book was written: The Brother Juan de Madrigal, who is a lawyer, in the name of the royal house and monastery of Saint Julian, in the demarcations of the landed properties located within the monastic parish, which are its landed properties, according to the royal charter, I present to Your Majesty this report of properties which are located in the place of Outeiro, which was leased to Alonso Díaz, who is a deceased tailor, and to Pedro de Bales, who is an inhabitant in this village, who has succeed him. I plead Your Majesty the acceptance of this report of properties and I plead that Your Majesty orders a meeting with its royal committee in order to receive the information of how these properties belong to this monastery from immemorial time to the present and I plead that Your Majesty orders its demarcation and delimitation with the summons of the interested, adjoined parts and I plead He orders that the owner receives the title deeds of the

33

AHN: Apeos de Bienes y Derechos del Monasterio. Tomo 1. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Book 6519, 79r-79v. Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/. The term “tega” is an old grain measure in Galicia.

70

Chapter Two

Fig. 2-8. The place of Outeiro according to the book called “Demarcations of Samos parish. Year of 1660.޵ Sources: Author/Aerial photography from ©Instituto Geográfico Nacional-Ministerio de Fomento-Spain.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

71

referred properties and I plead He orders that a copy of them shall be made and joined to the apeo for the monastic safe, it is a justice that I plead.34

Important as well is the location of Outeiro, which was very near to the village center, adjoining the monastic enclosure: Report of the properties in the place called Outeiro which are the following, firstly: The house of Outeiro which is ground-floor, with its stable and two bedrooms, one of them has its door inside and the other outside, as all is under a roof and a stone slab cover and it adjoins the royal road in the upper part and it adjoins the monastic wall on the low side, and it adjoins the vegetable garden called Outeiro on the one side and it adjoins the garden next to the monastic wall on the other side. Plus the referred vegetable garden called Outeiro with a garden which measures one fanega of ryegrass more or less as it is enclosed and adjoins the house, and it adjoins the fence and royal road in the upper part, and it adjoins the monastic wall and the house of Fontao, where Felipa Fernández de Baldés lives, on the low side. Plus a garden in the main door of the house which measures one celemín of ryegrass, it adjoins the monastic wall on the low and one sides and it adjoins the royal road in the upper side and it adjoins the referred house on the other side and this report is true and factually correct, the Brother Juan de Madrigal.35

The third and last example is an excerpt of the same book for the place called Fontao and its attached properties, which the abbey leased to Francisco López and Marta Rodríguez before 1660 (Fig. 2-9): Report of the properties that belong to the place called Fontao on the other side of the bridge, that Francisco López, who is a farrier man, and Marta Rodríguez, who is the Domingo Monteiro's widow, hold, firstly—the house where the referred Marta Rodríguez lives, with its stable, a building for the home-grown and a wood-fire oven; this house is next to the Fontao stream, it has a stone slab cover and it has a first floor under the roof— plus another house next to the referred one and behind the tower-house and palace that belongs to the monastery and the monastery build a woodfire oven for its service and use next to the referred tower and house of the referred place—plus half threshing floor with a chestnut which is behind the tower-house and palace of the monastery and it adjoins it, and it adjoins the other half threshing floor of the other place in Fontao, that Felipa Fernández holds—plus a garden with a cherry tree which is behind the referred threshing floor and it measures half quarter of wheat, more or 34

AHN: Apeos de la Feligresía de Samos. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Book 6513, f. 5v-6r. Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/. The term “celemín” is an old grain measure in Galicia. 35 Ibid. The terms “fanega” and “celemín” are old grain measures in Galicia.

72

Chapter Two less, and it adjoins the garden and field of Felipa Fernández on the one side and the upper part, and it adjoins the referred threshing floor on the other side and it adjoins the Fontao stream on the low side—plus another garden which measures another half quarter of wheat as it is enclosed and next to the stream, one of the boundaries on the one side and it adjoins the vegetable garden of the bridge on the other side, that Antonio Pérez holds—and it adjoins the road to Reboredo on the upper part and it adjoins the Samos River on the low side—plus a field which is down the house and next to the river, and it is enclosed and there are six chestnuts within it with all around it and it measures one anega of wheat, as it adjoins the road to Reboredo in the upper part and it adjoins the Samos River on the low side, and it adjoins the Fontao stream on the one side and it adjoins the piece of land called Chousa da Lacha, which belongs to this place, on the other side—plus the piece of land called Chousa da Lacha as it is enclosed with five chestnuts within it and a pear and two apple trees, it measures two fanegas of wheat and it adjoins the road to Reboredo in the upper part, and it adjoins the Samos River on the low side and it adjoins the road on foot to the Herrería on one side and the stream down the Carballal, called Carracha, on the other side, and another piece of land further on the referred Chousa de Lacha and after we passed the stream, it measures one and a half fanegas of rye and it adjoins the road to Searas and Reboredo in the upper part and it adjoins the Samos River on the low side, and it adjoins the piece of land called Caneiro Grande on one side and it adjoins the Carracha stream on the other side—plus two chestnuts in the upper part of the field at this place and they pay rent for all these properties each year, which is seven fanegas of rye and a hen; the Brother Juan de Madrigal.36

As a “written” image of each demarcated space, the apeo was an instrument used by the monks to maintain not only the global limits of the jurisdiction, but also the way to guarantee that the measure, the limits and the organization of each interior place (the farmland, the buildings, the little settlements, or the public elements like roads, squares) were not changed without the monks’ agreement over the course of time.

36

AHN: Apeos de la Feligresía de Samos. Fondo Instituciones Eclesiásticas, Clero secular-regular. Book 6513, f. 14r-14v. Accessed on November, 9, 2010, http://pares.mcu.es/. The term “anega” is an old grain measure in Galicia.

Decoding the Planning Rules around Samos Abbey

73

Fig. 2-9. The place of Fontao according to the book called “Demarcations of Samos parish. Year of 1660.޵ Source: Author.

74

Chapter Two

Conclusion The documents analyzed in this chapter and the specific examples from each type demonstrate, better than any other source, that the monks of Samos Abbey exercised an authoritative control over the space within the “jurisdictional reserve” assigned to them. They show that besides his religious functions, the abbot of Samos, as the issuing authority within the boundaries of the jurisdiction, was concerned with the position and the character of new buildings, most particularly as they pertained to the proper development of the enclosed monastic life. To insure this quality of life, he was concerned with the correct use, maintenance, improvement, and transformation of each leasehold property by the lessees, in accordance with the requirements established by the religious community. In order to achieve this purpose, the abbot and monks used several different legal instruments. The deeds of foro and the books of demarcation (apeos) were foremost among them in achieving the aim of planning the inhabited space. The reports of properties in the books of demarcation were the most exhaustive analysis of each and every one of the abbey’s possessions, as if they were the drawings of a current urban plan for municipal zoning. On the other hand, the more or less strict requirements related in the deeds of foro were the “zoning ordinances” of the day. Both instruments allow us to identify the first glimpses of an “urban plan” and the first “urban planners” in the modern sense of these terms.

CHAPTER THREE RIPARIAN GEOGRAPHY AND HEGEMONIC POWER IN THE SEVERN VALLEY: GLASTONBURY ABBEY’S CANALS AND RIVERS AS DEFINITIONS OF URBAN SPACE SARAH ROSE SHIVERS FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY

Medieval urban spaces, specifically city and town expansion in England’s post-Norman period, developed at a rapid pace. And though several of these urban places developed as planned settlements, like the bastide city of Kingston-Upon-Hull or the planned town of Salisbury, development was influenced in many other towns in direct relation to the architectural focal point of the church building, be it monastic or collegiate (Figs. 3-1 and 3-2).1 The current definition of “organic” urban development refers to these church-focused towns, which typically did not evolve from a planned layout.2 Overall, insufficient study has been done on how these developing, medieval urban places were artistically imagined or visualized in relation to their particular topography. In this article, I explore the 1

For a concise overview of medieval towns with examples of planned and organic settlement, see Anthony Morris, History of Urban Form: Before the Industrial Revolutions (Essex: Longman Scientific & Technical, 2013): 126-35; and Nigel Baker and Richard Holt, Urban Growth and the Medieval Church: Gloucester and Worcester (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), specifically pages 10-13 on the “composite town” and urban place which form ad hoc over time around the church building. 2 Morris, History of Urban Form: 92-156. Multiple criteria have been established to identify urban space not linguistically defined in the medieval period as a city or town (i.e. civitates, oppida, or burgi), yet urban places of this type have suffered from lack of concrete definition and investigation by urban historians.

76

Chapter Three

urbanization of the monastic town at Glastonbury, located in Somerset England, and the ways “urban-ness” was executed technologically, as well as visually, specifically where the former is considered a topographical reality of the later (Fig. 3-3). This project aims to uncover yet another part of Glastonbury’s history and shed new light on the reasoning behind the abbey’s architectural choices.3

Fig. 3-1. Left, Engraving by Wenceslaus Hollar. “Kingston Upon Hill,” 1665. Seen from the North West. After Morris, History of Urban Form, p. 127. 3

The most recent publication on Glastonbury Abbey is Roberta Gilchrist and Cheryl Green, Glastonbury Abbey: archaeological investigations, 1904-79, (London: Society of Antiquaries, 2015), especially pages 51-58. This monograph on the archaeological excavations is an invaluable addition to the Glastonbury corpus and long overdue for an English monument of such importance. This paper will not focus on the long and interpolated nature of the archaeological history of the site.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

77

Fig. 3-2. Tallis Map. Plan of City of York, 1850. Minster is clearly located in the North-central region of the surrounding urban development. After Morris, History of Urban Form, p. 115.

78

Chapter Three

Fig. 3-3. After R. Gilchrist and C. Green, “Location of Glastonbury Abbey, archaeological setting and topography,” in Glastonbury Abbey: Archaeological Investigation 1904-79 (Oxford, 2007), Fig. 3-1.

I argue that the development of the Glastonbury’s canal system and the connection thereafter of the abbey to its wetland land holdings, was a primary influence in the urban visual landscape, which culminated in, and was displayed by, the abbey’s late-twelfth-century monumental architecture and sculptural program. This proposes that the topographical improvements made by the ecclesiastical authorities at Glastonbury created an urbanized space—a land network—that was then promoted and conveyed by unique stylistic choices made in the execution of the monastery’s late twelfthcentury structures, especially the 1186 A.D. Lady Chapel.4 For this argument, I rely on an extended application of the term “medieval ‘urbanism’”—a definition that truly reflects the flexible nature of visual representations and mental imaginings of medieval urban-ness as

4 Stephen Rippon, Beyond the Medieval Village: The Diversification of Landscape Character in Southern Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008); and Stephen Rippon, “Making the Most of a Bad Situation? Glastonbury Abbey, Meare, and the Medieval Exploitation of Wetland Resources in the Somerset Levels,” Medieval Archaeology 48/1 (2004): 91-130.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

79

stated by recent scholars such as Robert Maxwell.5 I resist the common synonymic link between definitions of urban and “the city,” and suggest instead that urban space be seen as any place identifiable by the successful application of the same cosmological principles of geographical ordering heretofore only used in describing the medieval city.6 Using these criteria for the study of geophysical and architectural expression of space illuminates artistic choices that illustrate contemporary ideas of urban space, and power dynamics. Concerning Glastonbury, it is best to start in the late eleventh century, the period by which Glastonbury begins to embody urban character.7 By the eleventh century the monastery was systematically reclaiming the Somerset Levels, a large wetland that extends west from the abbey toward the Bristol Channel, and had established itself within the monastic network of Southwest pilgrimage churches (Fig. 3-4).8 With these advancements, Glastonbury had, no doubt, securely ushered in a period of full urbanization by the mid-twelfth century.9 However, there is a lacuna of understanding in how this urbanization was conceived and executed between the late twelfth and the mid-thirteenth centuries.

5

For the scope of this paper, it is beneficial to move beyond the multiple complicated definitions of “urban.” I refer the reader to the discussion in Robert Maxwell, The Art of Medieval Urbanism: Parthenay in Romanesque Aquitaine (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007): 1-13. 6 Keith Lilley, City and Cosmos: the Medieval World in Urban Form (London: Reaktion Books, 2009). 7 Here I mean specifically the amassing of extensive extra-precinct and rural landholdings. See Bridget Cherry, “Ecclesiastical Architecture,” in The Archaeology of Anglo-Saxon England, ed. David M. Wilson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976): 151-200; Susan. E. Kelly, Charters of Glastonbury Abbey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012); and Gilchrest and Green, Glastonbury. For a more extensive discussion on charters see note 24. 8 I refer here to the diocese of Bath and Wells and even Salisbury and Winchester to the East. See Michael Locker, Landscapes of Pilgrimage in Medieval Britain (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2015). 9 Urban settlement is recognized generally as being around the marketplace to the north-west of the abbey. The streets that developed to north, south, east and west clearly indicate non-monastic commerce life at Glastonbury. See Gilchrist, Glastonbury, 54; Phillip Rahtz and Lorena Watts, Glastonbury: myth and archaeology (Gloucester: Tempus, 2003); and Adrian J. Ivakhiv, Claiming Sacred Ground: Pilgrims and Politics at Glastonbury and Sedona (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001): 74-76.

80

Chapter Three

Fig. 3-4. Afteer S. Rippon, “The “ Brue Valley with Major Rivers/Canals and Other Key Places,” in Medieval Arrchaeology 48, no. 1 (2004), F ig. 3-2.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

81

In the analysis of the development of Glastonbury’s canal system and the monastery’s subsequent acquisitions of land, it can be seen that Glastonbury developed an island network that mimicked other urban places, namely the city, and that it was this development that led to disputes between Glastonbury and other powerful, ecumenically driven cities in the region, such as Wells. Through comparison of Glastonbury’s wetland urban landscape and medieval English maps, construction of this urban environment can be seen in the natural topographical configurations, where the urban ideal becomes implicit. Secondly, the examination of Glastonbury’s twelfth-century urban form reveals itself further in the execution of the sculptural program of the abbey’s Marian church, or Lady Chapel. Where Maxwell illustrated how the monumental arts, specifically patterns in building construction and façade types, relate to medieval conceptions of urbanism and town/city identity,10 others have more narrowly, demonstrated the exegetical level at which the medieval viewer would read and understand the process of entrance in relation to ornamented space of church portals.11 Hand-in-hand with these studies, medieval geographer/historians, like Keith Lilley and Thomas Pickles, have presented explanations for how the medieval viewer related to these ideological concepts of urban identity or particular spatial configurations in their broader discussion of regional, geographic, and topographic configurations of space in city and monastic settings.12 These ideas, however, have not been used to study geographical areas traditionally designated as non-urban. The visual evaluation of urban Glastonbury usually begins with descriptions of the abbey’s surrounding town buildings. Famous landmarks include the Pilgrim’s Inn, Tribunal, Hospital of Mary Magdalen, and the town’s street layout, which boasted an infamous medieval red-light district (Figs. 3-5, 3-6, and 3-7).13 These points of interest all date to the late10

Maxwell, The Art of Medieval Urbanism. Mickey Abel, Open Access: Contextualizing the Archivolted Portals of Northern Spain and Western France within the Theology and Politics of Entry (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2012). 12 Lilley, City and Cosmos; and Thomas Pickles, “Anglo Saxon Monasteries as Sacred Places: Topography, Exegesis and Vocation,” in Sacred Text-Sacred Space: Architectural, Spiritual and Literary Convergences in England and Wales, ed. Joseph Sterrett and Peter Thomas, (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 35-57. 13 Rahtz and Watts, Glastonbury, 127-139; David Knowles and Richard. N. Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses: England and Wales (London: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 360; Ian Keil, “Corrodies of Glastonbury Abbey in the 11

82

Chapter Three

fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.14 This dating supposes that naming Glastonbury as urban is directly connected to the erection of late-medieval secular structures and seems to suggests that the definition is also related to a particular range of population density.15 Analyzing urban Glastonbury strictly by the “town” marked by these buildings has contributed to the problem of continually subjugating the outlying island properties of the larger geography of the Glastonbury Levels, as well as the church reconstruction program which began in 1184/5 as “non-entities” or outliers of Glastonbury’s urban landscape. Beginning more-geographically, we see that Glastonbury’s abbey complex is situated on a promontory of bedrock in the wetland valley between the Brue and Axe rivers. This land formation is the easternmost highland promontory in what are geographically distinguished as the Somerset, or “Brue,” Levels, and is technically a peninsula as it is connected to the eastern mainland by a slender neck of earth.16 The peninsula and the marshlands to its west are nestled between the natural highland formations of the Mendip and Polden Hills, which lie to the north and south. Glastonbury’s easterly peninsula is the largest of the “islands” that dot the wetland valley stretching toward the Bristol Channel. The Levels include several smaller islands, most notably, the formations of Meare, Godney, Marchey, Nyland, Barrow Hill, followed by Beckery, and Bleadney (Fig. 3-8).17

Later Middle Ages,” Proceedings of the Somerset Archaeological and Natural History Society 108 (1964): 113-31; and James. P. Carley, Glastonbury Abbey: The Holy House at the Head of the Moors Adventures (Glastonbury: Gothic Image Production, 1996):, 77. 14 Rahtz and Watts, Glastonbury, 127-39. 15 Ibid., 127. 16 This slender area of land is popularly known as “Pointers Ball” and has its own breadth of archaeological excavation and research. See Rahtz and Watts, Glastonbury, 28-31. 17 Rippon, “Making the Most,” 101-02, recognizes all these as actual bedrock islands with the last two being promontories commonly referred to as ‘islands.’ Land holdings in the Glastonbury demesne, other than those in the “main” island grouping, were of great importance. One such example is Withy, which is a part of Shapwick parish in the Levels, although not a dryland outcrop, it could have had the appearance of an ‘island.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

Fig. 3-5. The George and Pilgrim Inn. Modern Glastonbury. Source: Author.

83

84

Chapter Three

Fig. 3-6. The Glastonbury Tribunal. Modern Glastonbury. Source: Author.

Ripaarian Geographhy and Hegemon nic Power in thhe Severn Valley y

85

n, “Setting of G Glastonbury Abbey A with Fig. 3-7. Aftter R. Gilchristt and C. Green precinct exttents and rellevant heritag ge assets,” inn Glastonburyy Abbey: Archaeologiccal Investigationn 1904-79 (Oxfford, 2007), Figg. 3.3.

Fig. 3-8. Afteer S. Rippon, “The “ Brue Valley with Major Rivers/Canals and Other Key Places,” in Medieval Arrchaeology 48, no. 1 (2004): F Fig. 4.

86

Chapter Three

The eleventh-century initiation of the canalization of the River Brue, along with the Axe, created a network of new waterways and older navigable paths connecting the abbey’s promontory islands. The “new” Brue would travel straight from the abbey crossing right next to Meare, northwest through Burtle towards the Bristol Channel. It splits at Lichlake to travel further west, running directly in between Huntspill and Burnham, finally emptying into Channel. To the northwest it once again joined the northern part of the River Axe, which was then traversable to port towns on the edge of the Mendip Hills, with the major destination most likely being the town of Chedder.18 As archaeologists Charles and Nancy Hollinrake have noted, “at some stage a more direct route between Glastonbury and Meare was established through the digging of a further canal from Northlode meeting the Brue at Waterlease.”19 Now called “Mill Stream,” this is presumably the lƗd that gave ‘Northlode’ it name, (first documented in 1180). It is unclear when the Brue’s diversion occurred, but it was certainly before the thirteenth-century date previously attributed to it. That stretch, as far as Meare Pool, must have existed by 1091, when according to William of Malmesbury, St. Benignus’ bones were carried from Meare to Glastonbury by boat on a river.20 The “Old Brue” flowed north from Glastonbury, inclined slightly to the west, and extended to other island locations such as Bleadney and Marchey. This extensive project was carried out over the course of more than a century and a half, and though exact dates are unknown, work was discontinued sometime in the twelfth century (Fig. 3-4). These islands made navigable by new canals composed only a tiny percentage of the arable and pastureland that the monastery controlled; however, they were some of the most contested of the monastery’s holdings.21 But, what lead to these disputes? And why were such small pieces of land, unassuming in terms of value, so important? Although Glastonbury Abbey constructed canals to perform several functions, the canal system’s principle goal seems to have been an increase in communication between 18 Stephen Rippon, “Waterways and Water Transport on Reclaimed Coastal Marshlands: The Somerset Levels and Beyond,” in Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, John Blair, ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 207-34. 19 Charles and Nancy Hollinrake, “Glastonbury’s Anglo-Saxon Canal,” in Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, John Blair ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 235-243. 20 See Rippon, “Waterways and Water Transport,” 219 21 For a description of lands disputed between Wells, Bath and Glastonbury, see John A. Robinson, Somerset Historical Essays (London: British Academy, 1921).

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

87

the abbey, its islands, and other prominent minsters and monastic houses.22 This is corroborated by Steven Rippon’s recent work on medieval canal systems, which concludes that embanked channels connecting larger cannels from the River Axe and the River Brue did not play a part in the total drainage of the greater moorland surrounding the abbey.23 This would mean that these wetlands gained importance from their very nature. Moreover, I argue that it demonstrates that the physical landscape of an inland, “sea-like” topography was also systematically constructed by the monastic center in order to consciously enable the continued illustration of the abbey as the primary “island” within its own urban network.24 Charters granted as early as the 670 AD by King Cenwealh to Abbot Bertwald cite Mere, Godney, and Westhay islands as villas of Glastonbury.25 22

Multiple reasons for human modifications to river channels are known to include enhanced defensive structures, navigation, positions of mills and heads of driving water, drainage for agriculture, water supply and industry among others. In general, see Blair, Waterways; James Bond, Monastic Landscapes (Glouchester: Tempus, 2004); and Ann Cole, “The Place-Name Evidence for Water Transport in Early Medieval England,” in Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, John Blair, ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 55-84, especially 78. 23 James Bond, “Canal Construction in the Early Middle Ages: An Introductory Review,” in Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, John Blair, ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 1-20. Rippon, Beyond the Medieval Village, 34, 90, has also noted that river system management, canal building, and drainage were not major tasks undertaken in the North Somerset Levels, thus making this an unparalleled undertaking in the southern levels. 24 Rippon, “Making the Best,” 101. John Scott, ed. and trans., The Early History of Glastonbury: An Edition, Translation and Study of William of Malmesbury’s ‘De Antiquitate Glastonie Ecclesie,’ (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1961), 150-152, quotes no. 73 of William’s text: “The special significance of these islands is also reflected in the way they are listed as being amongst the earliest grants to the abbey… In the list of ‘Principle places within the ‘Twelve Hides’ even Glastonbury is (erroneously) described as an island…There may also have been a more spiritual significance, as most if not all the islands had association with Christian sites.” 25 Aelred Watkin, ed., The Great Cartulary of Glastonbury I-III (Somerset: Somerset Record Society, 1947-56); William of Malmesbury, “De Antiquitate Glasstonie Ecclesie,” in The Early History of Glastonbury: An Edition, Translation and Study of William of Malmesbury’s ‘De Antiquitate Glastonie Ecclesie’, John Scott ed. and trans. (Woodbridge, Boydell, 1981), Nos. 36, 42, 60, and 69, 90-91, 98-102, 123-127, 141-144; John of Glastonbury, Cronica sive Antiquitates Glastonienesis Ecclesie, in The Chronicle of Glastonbury Abbey, James P. Carley ed. and trans. (Woodbridge, Boydell, 1985), Nos. 16 and 42: 39-43, 88-90; and Stephen Morland, Glastonbury, Domesday and Related Studies (Glastonbury: Antiquarian Society, 1991), 61-84.

88

Chapter Three

The listing of these island estates in various charters as some of the first lands belonging to the abbey suggest a connection to textual, or narrative maps popular in the earlier Anglo-Saxon period.26 Non-graphic imaginings of geographical locations continued to be utilized well after cartographic representations became commonplace in the later medieval period. In fact, textual methods of describing local geophysical characteristics were still popular by the time chroniclers and scholars of the middle-twelfth and thirteenth centuries were illustrating the past by different means, such as that be Matthew of Paris in his Chronica Majoria (Fig 3-9).27 William of Malmesbury (1080-1143), author of Glastonbury’s chronicle, the main source of the abbey’s charter history, was one of the first medieval historians in England to employ a new, rhetorical style, which emphasized local historical narrative, rather than the straightforward Bedean biographical history.28 Considering that the recounting of charters makes up the largest portion of Glastonbury’s chronicle, and that the charters themselves were documents witnessed and signed by as many social elites as could be gathered, it seems reasonable to conclude that lands, especially those listed as primary places in the history, would form a part of the larger community’s “mental map” of the place.

26

Julia Barrow, “Way-Stations on English Episcopal Itineraries, 700-1300,” English Historical Review 126 (2012): 549-565. For the movement of AngloSaxon elites and an introduction to mapping meaning, see Denis E. Cosgrove and Stephen Daniels, The Iconography of Landscape: Essays on the Symbolic Representation, Design, and Use of Past Environments (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). Nicolas Howe, Writing the Map of Anglo-Saxon England: Essays in Cultural Geography (Michigan: Yale University Press, 2008), 5, describes the ways in which the Anglo-Saxons envisioned and recorded their landscapes. 27 For an overview of the complicated history of the Paris Maps, see John B. Mitchell “The Matthew Paris Maps,” The Geographical Journal 81/1 (1933): 2734. For a new interpretation of the maps as it relates to cultural geography, see Daniel Connolly, “Imagined Pilgrimage in the Itinerary Maps of Matthew Paris,” The Art Bulletin 81 no. 4 (1999): 598-622. 28 Scott, The Early History of Glastonbury, 8-10, distinguishes between what he considers to be a new type of history initiated by Malmesbury, which he calls “local history” instead of the Bedean biography as found in Bedes Venerabilis Baedae: Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum. Here, there are also straightforward biographies of the abbots of Jarrow and Monkwearmouth, unlike the one written for St. Dunstan in the Malmesbury text. Scott suggests that Malmesbury stresses the importance of venerable foundation in ways that Bede does not.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

89

Fig. 3-9. Matthew of Paris, “Map of Britain,” British Library Cotton MS Claudius D.vi, f.12v. Image in the public domain.

90

Chapter Three

Fig. 3-10. “The Map Psalter,” British Library Add MS 28681. Image in the public domain.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

91

The importance and promotion of the imagined Glastonbury demesne as an island locale, surrounded by several other smaller island outcrops, and positioned between two reconstructed rivers, finds its origins in biblical and patristic writings on the sanctity of such topographic areas.29 Beyond the philosophical connections, the physical manifestations of urban form are known to have been based on sacred geometry. This sacred foundation helped in the conveyance of the cosmological significance of the physical realities of the city. Going beyond the text, the visual representations of medieval maps also help us understand the mental images associated with urban space, particularly how medieval people used cosmological principles to understand and form these spaces.30 Early medieval philosophical treaties related the concept of the city as a microcosm of the universe; the city was both a depiction of heaven and of man.31 As prescribed in translations and glosses of these philosophical works, a city had a moral topography and was the model of celestial geography imprinted upon the layout of the city through such topography.32 The imagined physical archetype of perfect city was universally the Holy City of Jerusalem. Even as towns took different physical forms, this model continued to be applied to “real” urban places. This idealized sacred model can, therefore be applied to developments other than the familiar layout of planned civitates. As Robert Ousterhout explains, the Heavenly Jerusalem offers both a “flexible geography and transportable topography.”33 Jerusalem is commonly illustrated as the center bull’s eye on medieval maps like that created for a 1230 English Map Psalter, or a space enclosed by walls and signified by Christ, usually as the “Lamb of God or the Tree of Life”(Figs. 3-11 and 312).34 Yet, while map depictions and idealized descriptions of Jerusalem’s 29

Norman Russell, trans., Lives of the Desert Fathers. The Historia Monachorum in Aegypto. (London: Mowbry, 1981). All of this stems from the development of monastic sites out of replication of Desert Father’s desertum amoenus/ floribus. See Pickles, “Anglo Saxon Monasteries,” 37. 30 Lilley, City and Cosmos, 1-16. 31 Lilley, City and Cosmos, 7-8, references Plato’s Timaeus, and that work’s translation by Calcidius in the fourth century, as well as Aristotle’s Physics. 32 Lilley, City and Cosmos, 10-12. 33 Robert Ousterhout, "Flexible Geography and Transportable Topography," The Real and Ideal Jerusalem in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Art 23-24 (1998): 393404. 34 Lilley, City and Cosmos, 16. For an image of the Heavenly Jerusalem with the Lamb, see Pierpont Morgan Library. MS M.484, fol. 113r. (http://corsair.themorgan.org/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?v1=75&ti=51,75&SEQ=2016 1018080614&Search_Arg=%22ms%20m%2E484%22%20ica&Search_Code=GK

92

Chapter Three

Fig. 3-11. The “Hereford Mappa Mundi”, Hereford Cathedral, England. Displays a T/O Configuration. Image in the public domain. EY%5E&CNT=50&PID=ZjcKTozO6BBjVyPw6tvojlcmYi08&SID=1); and from the Trier Apocalypse MS 31, fol. 71r , see the Index of Christian Art, https://ica.princeton.edu/plummer/display.php?country=Germany&site=&view=co untry&page=3&image=1666.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

93

Fig. 3-12. Isidore of Seville, “T/O Map,” In Etymologiae. Circa 600-25. Wikicomons, image in the public domain.

94

Chapter Three

physical form oscillate between the perfect geometry of the square and circle, real cities, of course, differed in layout and configuration. Nevertheless, these non-perfect urban spaces remained tied to the concept of the T/O, or Beatus map configuration (Fig. 3-12 and 3-13).35 The flexible nature of the generic representations of the holy city meant that the model for the compositional layout of urban spatial configurations could encompass places that took various forms. With this in mind, Glastonbury’s canal construction can be seen to create an urban form encompassing the tripartite “cosmos-body-city” ideal seen in these early sacred maps. I suggest that the abbey precinct acted as the head of the body, with the Lady Chapel, the building which functioned as the abbey’s main pilgrimage site, acting as its heart. The canalized rivers system, which flowed eastward, formed the circulatory system that metaphorically sustained the urban monastic center. This physicallyconstructed, moral topography would be understood by those familiar with the ideal of the urban landscape, and suggests that the physical layout of this urban area would be copied and displayed with a concrete architectural example of its production. Loss of major demesne-wide land holdings by the late thirteenth to fourteenth centuries, while there was continual possession of the Glastonbury islands, suggests strongly that even with lack of property wealth, Glastonbury maintained its “conceptualized” urban identity in the later Middle Ages. Its status as such did not wane with decline in monetary or land wealth and size. Finally, this conclusion begs the question: if land holdings, secular buildings, and population density did not determine the classification of Glastonbury as urban in the twelfth century, what other visual identifier would have been able to lead to this prescription by medieval viewers? I suggest that the answer lies in the reconstructed Lady Chapel built in 1185. As implied by its name, the Lady Chapel of Glastonbury was a small monastic church dedicated to the Virgin Mary (Fig. 3-13). Presently, it is the most complete of the extant sacred buildings of Glastonbury’s monastic church group (Fig. 3-14). Traditional art historical treatment simplifies the ornamental and stylistic details found on the Lady Chapel’s sculpted doorways, as well as interior and exterior wall ornamentation, as a marked return to Romanesque style, or as a shrine to the previous ancient structure, the vetusta eccleisia (Fig. 3-15 and 3-16).36 While the ornamentation 35

Ousterhout, "Flexible Geography and Transportable Topography," 393-404. Michael Thurlby, “The Glastonbury Lady Chapel,” The Antiquaries Journal 75 (1995): 107-170, especially 165, is the first art historian to challenge this definition. He helpfully constructs all possible architectural, stylistic, and ornamental connections. Comparison to other English cathedrals, and chapter

36

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

95

certainly has a flavor of a preceding century’s ornamental style, I would argue that the Lady Chapel sculpture should not be seen as something trying to reference the past, but rather as a contemporary monument displaying the particular identity of the abbey at the time of its reconstruction. This requires that we move beyond distinctions of the Romanesque or the Gothic, avoid asking the material to distinguish itself on our terms and one or the other and assume a more general a-chronic mindset. 37 With this point of view, we can see the Lady Chapel as a contemporary building, meant to serve as a tangible, concrete illustration of the land. Close examination of the visual language presented by the chapel’s ornamented archivolted portals, as well as its physical positioning, demonstrates that the building’s specific form functioned to highlight the distinctly configured landscape and establish the newly reconstructed, post-fire monastery as an urban center of immense power and influence, known throughout England. There exists a purposeful intention in the chapel’s use of visual topoi. When coupled with the structure’s ornamentation and portal configuration, the visual dialogue established with the landscape becomes clear. The chapel’s unique vegetative sculptural detail and juxtaposed portal narratives, which tie together the significant female Christian icons of Mary and Eve, were motifs emotive of the natural, biblical, and cosmological. All were reflective of the abbey’s geophysical location and man-made construction programs, such that proximity and alignment to water features were meant to situate the viewer in relation to a space representative of miraculous birth and Divine Genesis. With the backdrop of natural resources and prosperous growth, identification of the North and South portals as representations of the New and Old Testament, respectfully, reiterated and solidified the relationship between the biblical locus signified by the abbey’s riverine location, and establishment of the abbey as the heart of topographic configuration of the Glastonbury landscape. Locating the Lady Chapel at the physical heart of the cosmologically inspired body was meant to signify the moral topography of the Glastonbury landscape. houses, “especially when focused on the intersecting dado arcades and the proliferation of chevron ornament, have suggested to many that the Lady Chapel is old fashioned. It is true that when taken in isolation these motifs are entirely traditional, but to read them as old fashioned is to divorce them from their context and, I believe to misunderstand their meaning in the building.” 37 The juxtaposition of construction, style and date are reconciled using the label “Transitional.” This conceptualization however ought to be challenged, and despite this definition. For the theoretical positioning, see Tadhg O’Keeffe, Archaeology and the Pan-European Romanesque (New York: Bloomsbury, 2007).

96

Chapter Three

Fig. 3-13. Glastonbury Lady Chapel. From the east end. Source: Author.

Fig. 3-14. Glastonbury Abbey. Ruins of the Great Church. Looking down the Nave from the East. Source: Author.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

Fig. 3-15. Lady Chapel, North Portal. Source: Author.

97

98

Chapter Three

Fig. 3-16. Lady Chapel, South Portal. Source: Author.

Riparian Geography and Hegemonic Power in the Severn Valley

99

Importantly, this topographical understanding of Glastonbury’s urban identity is the key to opening our comprehension of the artistic choices employed in the Glastonbury Lady Chapel, and goes a long ways toward correcting the long-accepted classification of that structure as stylistically antique at the time of its late twelfth-century construction.

CHAPTER FOUR “ANY PLACE I HANG MY HAT IS HOME”: THE CONTRIBUTIONS OF PERIPATETIC YMAGIERS TO THE EMERGENCE OF URBS JANET SNYDER WEST VIRGINIA UNIVERSITY1

Between 1120 and 1130, the series of narrative capitals with dynamic compositions in the cloister of Notre-Dame La Daurade in Toulouse extended the use of architectural sculpture by articulating ideas that engaged and involved observers. (Fig. 4-1) The masons who produced these moving compositions, members of the second workshop to work at La Daurade, provided the viewer with a vehicle for prayer, meditation, and "making thoughts about God."2 (Fig. 4-2) In her careful study of this sculpture, Katherine Horste provided a compelling description: a wholly new conception of visual narration rules the art of these sculptures. The new style is startling in the precipitous pace of its narrative, in its emotional intensity, and its powerful claims on the viewer’s attention. The style draws on all the devices of simultaneous action, exaggeration of gesture and posture, and the exploitation of climax to heighten narrative excitement. Figures are crowded into close interaction with one another, often huddled around the physical objects of 1

My gratitude for support of awards goes to the Colonel Eugene Myers Foundation; the West Virginia Humanities Council; to West Virginia University for an International Development funding and a Senate Research Grant; and for their grace and generosity, to Allison and Patrick Deem, who endowed the J. Bernard Schultz Endowed Professorship. 2 See Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Literature 10 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), and Carruthers, The Craft of Thought: Meditation, Rhetoric, and the Making of Images, 400-1200, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Literature 34 (Cambridge,: Cambridge University Press, 1998).

The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs

101

Christ’s Passion, such as his tomb and shroud or the skirted table of the Last Supper.3

Fig. 4-1. The arrest of Christ, Notre-Dame La Daurade, Toulouse.

These sculptures continue to provoke a series of questions: what might have been the underlying reasons for the extraordinary innovations in composition and scene selection that was made in narrative sculpture? Can these design departures be found replicated elsewhere or was the new, dynamic sculpture considered to be too radical or graphic for the time? Or might these ingenious compositions have been so successful that patrons of church facades elsewhere welcomed the innovations and embraced similar narrative formats as being appropriate for public consumption? Where could members of the Second Workshop have gone to continue their innovative work and how might they have helped to shape the communities where they were employed? Seismic changes occurred throughout the twelfth century: greater security on the roads and stability in leadership supported the greater mobility of people, contributing to the expansion of towns and commerce;

3 Kathryn Horste, Cloister Design and Monastic Reform in Toulouse, The Romanesque Sculpture of La Daurade (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 122.

102

Chapter Four

Fig. 4-2. John rushing to the Empty Tomb, Notre-Dame La Daurade, Toulouse.

peace councils and innovations in agricultural technology positively affected the well-being of the population and produced relatively rapid social changes; intense personal religious devotion involved men and women of

The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs

103

all social classes rather than clerics alone; and, concurrently, sacred spaces metamorphosed from small, dark chapels and enclosures to open, lightfilled cathedrals adorned with complex sculpture programs. In the second third of the twelfth century, the location for narrative sculpture shifted from the private sphere of the cloister into the public eye on church facades of north central France and of the foothills south of the Pyrenees. In the context of cultural change in twelfth-century Western Europe, some of the functions that characterize urban systems rise up as a result of these alterations, anticipating even greater revisions that would come over the next several centuries. Although at first glance, it may not seem that "urbanism" existed during the twelfth century, this chapter proposes that the mobility of a heterogeneous population of artisans should be recognized as characterizing an urban system, and that “urbs” emerged due to the multiplier effect produced by the movement of innovative artisans, such as those from La Daurade, as well as the commercial activity related to their practice. The required job specializations, the technological expertise, and the inherent anonymity when alien specialists were hired contributed significantly to the establishment of the functions of urbanism in Western Europe.4 Within a decade of their departure from Toulouse, these image-making artisans, the ymagiers of the Second Workshop whose compositions had transformed the narrative in the Passion sequence at La Daurade, appear to have established themselves with architectural sculpture commissions in both Northern France and Northern Iberia. After 1130, the ideas of composition and the expressive, dynamic narrative frieze sculpture evident at La Daurade reappeared far to the north in relief sculpture projects with similar characteristics, first at Notre-Dame du Fort in Étampes (c. 1145) (Fig. 4-3) and then a short time later and with diminished expressiveness in the capital frieze of the west facade at Chartres Cathedral. Complex frieze-like capital compositions testify to the presence of La Dauradetrained masons in the northern part of the Iberian peninsula in the monastic and episcopal cloisters of Catalonia, Aragon, and then farther to the west into Palencia. The façade programs, featuring as they do a continuous band of narrative scenes or personages sheltered by fictive architecture in a frieze, demonstrate the turning inside-out of the decorated cloister architecture.

4 Louis Wirth, “Urbanism as a Way of Life,” American Journal of Sociology 44, no. 1 (1938): 1-24.

104

Chapter Four

Fig. 4-3. Detail, capital frieze, south portal, Notre-Dame du Fort, Etampes.

The movement of the narrative frieze from inside to outside the building seems to take place in an extraordinary period during which a shift occurred in the layouts of communities, from walled towns with small central markets to municipalities with peripheral zones of activity outside their gates, in suburbs.5 Much as the increase in commercial activity that accompanied these inversions can be discerned in diverse available goods, the most sustained echo of the innovative work of the ymagiers from La Daurade remains the energetic textiles of agitated hemlines visible, not only in column-figures of Notre-Dame du Fort in Étampes, 6 but also in

5

For example, Stephen Murray, Building Troyes Cathedral: The Late Gothic Campaigns. (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1987), 11, shows that the Fairs of Troyes took place in a suburb that was created in drained swampland by the counts in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. It is Murray's study that identified Ymagiers as the best term used for masons who are painters or sculptors. 6 Kathleen Nolan, “Narrative in the Capital Frieze of Notre-Dame at Etampes,” The Art Bulletin 71 no. 2 (1989):166-184, especially 169-171. See also, Eugène Lefevre-Pontalis, “Les Campagnes de Construction de Notre-Dame d’Etampes,” Bulletin Monumental LXXIII (1909): 5-31. Étampes, not a cathedral city, was the site of a royal hunting lodge and monasteries.

The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs

105

similar façade decoration for the next thirty years in northern French towns, such as Provins, Bourges, and Chartres (Figs. 4-3 and 4-4). 7 In the northern part of Iberian Peninsula, during the mid-twelfth century in the monastic and episcopal cloisters of Catalonia, Aragon, and then farther to the west into Palencia,8 complex frieze-like sculpture compositions testify to the influence the innovations of La Dauradetrained masons (Figs. 4-5 and 4-6). The textiles represented in the frieze that crowns the west facade of the church of Santiago at Carrión de los Condes (c. 1150) echo the flying textiles of Toulouse and fictive architecture reminiscent of La Daurade capitals encloses each of the personages in the frieze (Fig. 4-7). While examples of architectural sculpture point to peripatetic ymagiers's commissions, the legacy of networks of artisanal communities and evidence for town planning must be spelled out. Before proposing a case for the emergence of nascent urbanism in the mid-twelfth century the functions of urbanism have been described as opposing rural. "The city and the country may be regarded as two poles in reference to one or the other of which all human settlements tend to arrange themselves."9 The diverse aspects of urbanism include the establishment of cultural activities; the commercial, juridical, military, agricultural, political, and administrative aspects; as well as whether there were residences of notable people with wealth whose big houses constituted the origins of little villages. We know that seigneurs and their households traveled constantly from place to place, maintaining control over their lands.10 According to scholars of “urban development,” central markets and regional, cyclical fairs were essential to the production of a monetary economy.11 Although there had been suburgium, settlements 7

Dancing hemlines were depicted on column-figure sculpture at each of the buildings discussed in Janet E. Snyder, Early Gothic Column-Figure Sculpture in France: Appearance, Materials, and Significance (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2011). 8 Pamela Patton, Pictorial Narrative in the Romanesque Cloister (New York: Peter Lang Publishing Inc., 2004), 12. 9 Wirth, “Urbanism as a Way of Life,” 3. 10 Jean-Bernard Charrier, Madeleine Chabrolin, and Bernard Stainmesse, Histoire de Nevers, des Origines au Debut du XIXe Siecle (Roanne/Le Coteau: Editions Horvath, 1984). 11 On the establishment of the fairs of Champagne and Brie, see Félix Bourquelot, Études sur Les Foires de Champagne, sur la Nature, l'Étendue et les Régles du Commerce qui s'y Faisait aux XII, XIII, et XIV Siècles. (Paris and Provins: L’Imprimerie Imperiale, 1839-1840). The reprint of this text can be found in Manoir de Saint Pierre de Salerne : Mémoires Présentés pars Divers Savants à l'Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (Brionne: Le Portulan, 1970); and

106

Chapter Four

Fig. 4.4. Detail: the wind-lifted garment of Saint Peter in Etampes.

Robert-Henri Bautier, Sur l'Histoire Économique de la France Médiévale: La Route, le Fleuve, la Foire (Aldershot, Hampshire:Variorum, 1991).

The C Contributions off Peripatetic Ym magiers to the E Emergence of Urbs

107

Fig. 4-5. Saraah & Abraham m capital from San Pere de R Rodes, now in the t Musée Cluny.

108

Chapter Four

Fig. 4-6. Abraham's sacrifice, capital from San Pere de Rodes, now in the Musée Cluny.

The C Contributions off Peripatetic Ym magiers to the E Emergence of Urbs

109

around the ooutskirts of tow wns, under thee Merovingianns, in the nintth century these suburbbs had disapppeared from th he periphery of cities vuln nerable to attack at a tiime of invasioons.12

t master Fig. 4-7. Sanntiago, Carrionn de los Condees, mid-twelfthh century by the Fruchel.

Similarlyy key to ourr understandiing of the ddevelopment of urban systems is the role of the t church, and a especiallyy of the bish hop. The authority annd power of bishops were integral i to thee old Roman towns t for whom thesee fortified sitees were adapteed into catheddral towns.13 Episcopal E authority annd power waas not portab ble; it was effective onlly in the immediate vvicinity of thhe bishop’s see. s In their dioceses, thee bishops provided seecurity, establishing juridiccal councils. IIt was during g the late eleventh andd early twelfthh centuries, un nder the influeence of movem ments led by bishops, such as the Peace P of God and Truce off God, that thee stability of roads andd trade routess resulted in a repopulationn around the edges of

12

Henri Pirrenne, Medievaal Cities: Theiir Origins andd the Revival of Trade (Princeton: P Princeton Univversity Press, 2014), 2 44, nottes, “These to owns were fortresses as w well as episcopal residences.” 13 Pirenne, M Medieval Cities, 38-41.

110

Chapter Four

towns, where artisans' workshops, services, and inns were located.14 Without this security, particularly of the roads, the ease of movement of craftspeople and tradesmen could not have been possible. This freedom of movement led to the establishment of communities of the craftspeople who participated in the construction of the great buildings of the twelfth century, as well as the domestic networks that contributed to their support. The movement of the artisans reflects a population multiplier effect, as an increased proportion of people shifted from rural living to residency in towns and their suburbs.15 This relocation furthered the renewal of commerce and the establishment of cities. In the twelfth century, through the expansion, restoration, construction, and/or reconstruction of their cathedrals, bishops could increase the influence, power, and prestige not only of their episcopal seats, but also of the cities they controlled. The projects initiated by them would have required an influx of materials, goods, and workers and the establishment of supporting services.16 While the quotidian activities of craftsmen, artisans, innkeepers, and merchants altered the faces of communities, the trade generated through the materials required for their professional activities re-introduced commerce to towns and cities beginning in the early twelfth century. Though the building projects might have continued for generations, the individuals lodged in suburbs and employed in the chantiers might have been responsible during discrete segments of time for the completion of units of the projects and after the completion of their work, individual artisans moved on (Fig. 4-8). The patrons who commissioned building projects may not have meant to reshape their environment except with grander churches, but it can be argued that the influx of labor and materials required to complete the jobs resulted in permanent changes to the cities. The same can be said for non-cathedral towns as they metamorphosed into commercial centers.

14

Peace Councils included the council of Lillebonne (1080) and the council of Rouen (1096). On the Peace of God and the Truce of God, see H.E.J. Cowdrey, “The Peace and Truce of God in the Eleventh Century,” Popes, Monks and Crusaders, ed. H.E.J. Cowdrey (London: Hambledon Press, 1984), 42-67. 15 Jean-Claude Chesnais, “Demographic Transition Patterns and Their Impact on the Age Structure,” Population and Development Review, 16 no. 2 (1990): 327-36. 16 For clear and thorough translations, as well as discussion of the requirements in a cathedral’s fabric accounts, see Murray, Building Troyes Cathedral, 11.

The C Contributions off Peripatetic Ym magiers to the E Emergence of Urbs

111

Detail, painted stained glass, north ambuulatory chapel,, Chartres Fig. 4-8. D Cathedral.

112

Chapter Four

At each building site the master-mason must have supervised the acquisition of appropriate materials for the building fabric, including stone for fine sculpture. Samples of stone taken from sculpture from Chartres have been tested and have a significant probability of matching stone from medieval monuments and quarries near Paris.17 The identification of liais de Paris, 60-80 km from its source in Parisian quarries, suggests that the ymagiers charged with executing the sculpture exercised some significant control over the fabric of the churches they were commissioned to decorate.18 Although the names of more than a dozen ymagiers from eleventh- and twelfth-century France are known because signatures were applied to sculpted work and the styles of sculpture signed by them can be distinguished, not much more is known about these masons who specialized in producing images except, perhaps, the locations where they worked and where they may have apprenticed.19 The attribution of groups of stylistically related sculpture to the "master of..," is a practice that recognizes the contributions of individual ymagiers.20 Ania Guini-Skliar has suggested that because of the export of particular stone from Paris, it may be possible to associate ymagiers especially skilled in fine sculpture with the quarries in Paris beginning in

17 The Limestone Sculpture Provenance Project’s combination of petrographic analyses with compositional characterization by neutron activation analysis and multivariate statistics of limestone used in twelfth-century sculpture provides this evidence. LSPP tests reveal four-dimensional images of the chemicals in the comparison of 1-gram stone samples. The “fingerprint” of the stone that can be identified through such tests of the Limestone Project can be used to verify the likelihood of a common origin for stone used in the sculpture of similar style for medieval monuments. http://www.limestonesculptureanalysis.com. See also Janet E. Snyder, Early Gothic Column-Figure Sculpture in France: Appearance, Materials, and Significance (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), 217. 18 Modern scholars, such as Anne Prache, “Une Expérience d'Analyse par Activation Neutronique sur des Sculptures Chartraines,” Unpublished Report to Medieval Congress at Leeds, 1996, concur that the ymagiers must have been aware of contemporary developments in portal design at regional churches—“les sculpteurs…ont dû se Rencontrer plus d'une Fois sur les Sites des Carrières.” The sculptors must have met more than once at the quarry sites. See Dany Sandron, “Review of 1995 Leeds Program,” Bulletin Monumental (1996): 80-81. 19 Gislebertus, Gofridus, Foulques, Pierre, Ugo Monederius, Petrus Brunus, Rogerus, Giraldus, Bernardus, etc. See Michèle Beaulieu and Victor Beyer, Dictionnaire des Sculpteurs Français du Moyen Âge (Paris: Picard, 1992). 20 See examples described in Lydwine Saulnier and Neil Stratford, La Sculpture Oubliée de Vézelay: Catalogue du Musée Lapidaire (Geneva: Droz, 1984).

The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs

113

the 1140s.21 Linda Seidel's assessment of the work of members of the Second Workshop at La Daurade supports an alternative theory, that in the 1130s and 1140s, there was an infusion into the north of innovative ways of thinking about sculpture, brought from outside the region. Seidel found that innovations at La Daurade went beyond standard iconographic treatment of scenes from the Passion, to achieve remarkable rhetorical effects.22 The choices made by ymagiers at La Daurade demonstrate a "heightened self-consciousness on the part of the sculptors and builders."23 The character of relief sculpture that appears in Spain and Northern France in the years following 1130 shares the dynamism of the La Daurade Passion cycle reliefs, suggesting that ymagiers must have dispersed individually from Toulouse. The integration of the innovative, dynamic character of La Daurade sculpture with indigenous traditions in Northern France or south of the Pyrenees indicates an open-mindedness on the part of those who commissioned and sponsored architectural sculpture projects as well as those within the communities of artisans (Fig. 4-7). Without the greater peace that produced security on the roads discussed above, the influx of key artisans, whose innovations are reflected so strongly though the departures from conventional design compositions in the 1130s and 1140s, would not have been possible. The contributions to the urban fabric made by the ymagiers were supplemented by other craftspeople engaged by the chantier.24 These workers who populated the suburbs and contributed to the establishment of urbs included carters and the laborers who loaded, moved, and unloaded stone for the chantiers; the laborers who lifted the ashlar to be set in place; carpenters and joiners who made the scaffolding for the masons who 21

Ania Guini-Skliar, “Les Carrières Parisiennes aux Frontières de la Ville et de la Campagne,” Histoire Urbaine 2 no. 8 (2003): 41-56, especially, 47. 22 Linda Seidel, “Rethinking ‘Romanesque;’ Re-Engaging Roman[z],” Gesta 45 no. 2 (2006): 109-23. 23 Seidel, “Rethinking “Romanesque,” 122. 24 Thomas Maude, Guided by a Stone-Mason (New York: I.B. Tauris, Publishers, 1997), 81, states, “There were many craftsmen involved with building a cathedral and the master-mason was responsible for them all: the stone-masons; carpenters and joiners who were a close second in their importance to the raising of the fabric; blacksmiths who made tools for everybody and kept them sharp, as well as nails, door hinges, railings, locks and keys and decorative wrought iron; glaziers who were need for the glasswork which increased in size as the Gothic style evolved, and the use of stained glass became an art form in its own right; plumbers who were usually found on the roofs of the cathedrals covering them with long sheets of lead; and plasterers and painters who put the final colorful touches on the stonework. “

114

Chapter Four

installed stone in the buildings, the mortar-mixers and hod-carriers who supplied those builders; the painters of sculpture; the plasterers and painters of walls; the makers of windows—glass-makers, glaziers, ironworkers; the lead casters and plumbers who roofed and waterproofed the buildings; and the people who clothed, fed, and housed these craftspeople.25 Like the ymagiers who produced sculpture, many of the other classes of workmen similarly found lodging in the emerging suburbs of the towns where they worked. The multiplier effect produced through the employment of an individual sculptor moved inexorably toward an urban system (Fig. 4-9). This urbanism is expanded further with the quarrymen and freestonemasons who contributed not only to the construction of buildings, but also to the evolving economic prosperity. Specialists were sent from the construction site who were authorized by the chantier to go the quarries to select particular types of stone to be cut and shipped the construction sites. Different materials were chosen for different parts of the edifices because particular qualities were required for each use of the several types of limestone.26 We know that, for economic reasons, an effort was made to reduce the expense of transportation by reducing the dimensions and weight of the material being transported by “rough-cutting” them before shipping.27 Our source here is The Life of Lanfranc, which used terms to describe the squaring of stones before they left the quarries.28 This practice of roughing-out of blocks had become a common practice during the eleventh century.29 Once the quarrymen brought the stone from the quarry 25

For enactment of models of medieval construction practice, see Guédelon, [email protected]. 26 Most illustrative is Figure 4.4, drawing of stones used for sculpture and construction found in Annie Blanc and Jean-Pierre Gély, “Stone from Medieval Churches Located to the South and East of Paris,” in Written in Stone, ed. Vibeke Olson (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 2011), 59-74, particularly, 67. 27 Lucien Musset, “La Pierre de Caen: Extraction et Commerce, XIe - XVe Siècles,” Pierre & Métal dans le Bâtiment au Moyen Age Part II (Paris: Éditions de l'École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 1985), 219-35. 28 Vita b. Lanfranci archiepiscopi Cantuariensis, C. 9, shows that Lanfranc was archbishop of Canterbury 1070 – 1089. O. Lehmann-Brockhaus, Lateinische Schriftquellen zur Kunst in England, Wales und Schottland, vom Jarhre 901 bis zum Jahre 1307 (München: Prestel, 1955), t. I, pl 179, n° 664: “et quod mirum admodum sit de Cadomo, ubi abbas exstitit, velivolis navibus per mare transvehi faciebat quadros lapides ad aedificandum.” “Quadros lapides” sounds like squared or cubic blocks, as if they had been shaped already when they left the quarries. 29 Les Miracles de Saint Augustin de Cantorbéry, “Goscelini Miracula Sancti Augustini Episcopi Cantuariensis,” Acta Sanctorum (Mai, V): 398-99, c. 16–20,

The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs

115

beds and the free-stone masons roughly shaped the blocks, the price of transportation was so great that it could double the price of construction materials. It usually was, therefore, preferable to find local stone for most parts of the building's construction.30 However, ymagiers in wealthy chantiers could requisition specialty stone from distant quarries. The great wealth of the large chantiers like those at Chartres or Notre-Dame of Paris would have employed ymagiers to carve everything needed, and masons could reject less-than-perfect stones.31 Because these large well-endowed enterprises could afford it, on their orders the quarrymen could be required to follow specific beds of specialty stone like liais de Paris straight back through the quarry rather than taking out all the different grades of limestone from quarry roof to floor.32 The great churches of the twelfth century were not produced in artistic isolation. Because it was the stoneworkers who ordered stone to meet their needs to be shipped from quarries to chantiers, technical and design innovations were carried across northern Europe by individual ymagiers who moved from project to project.33 When making facade sculpture programs, tells us that the practice already in use in the exportation of stone to Flanders at the end of the eleventh century, opposes the stones for making walls, columns, and capitals: “saxa ad basas, ad columnas, ad capitella et epistyle.” These were shipped from Caen with finished construction stones, columns and large capitals: “basibus, columnis et capitellis grandibus.” Stones were brought by boat to England for the royal palace at Westminister: “negotiatores ex Anglia, quindecim navibus… Catomensi foro appulsi, ubi peractis mercimoniis parabant regredi, convehendis lapidibus ad regis palatium Westmonasterii.” At about the same time, stone was furnished for the Abbey of Canterbury. Acta Sanctorum (Mai, V): p. 399, c 23). Acta Sanctorum quotquot toto orbe coluntur, vel à cathollicis scriptoribus celebrantur quae ex Latin & Graecis, aliarumque gentium antiquis monumentis. Collegit, digessit, notis illustravit Joannes Bolandus (1596-1665). operam et studium contulit Godefridus Henschenius(1601-1681). (Brussels: Culture et Civilization, 1965). 30 Blanc and Gély, “Stone from Medieval Churches Located to the South and East of Paris,” 59-74. 31 For a discussion of later use of liais de Paris, see Marc Viré, “Les Matériaux de Construction de la Tour du Village et de l’Enceinte du Chateaux de Vincennes,” Colloque Carrières et Constructions, 117e Congrès Nat. des Sociétés Savantes, Clermont-Ferrand, 1992, 2e colloque Carrières et Constructions, ed. Jacqueline Lorentz (Paris: Colloque CTHS, 1993): 163-78. In Viré’s estimation of their dimensions and stone source, the en-de-lit shafts of Saint-Julien-le- Pauvre, on the left bank, across the Seine from Notre Dame de Paris, appear to be the shafts rejected by the Paris cathedral chantier. Personal Communication. 32 Snyder, Column-Figure Sculpture, 211. 33 Guini-Skliar, “Les Carrières,” 47.

116

Chapter Four

Fig. 4-9. Detaail, painted stainned glass, north h nave aisle, Chhartres Cathedraal.

the ymagierrs did not reppeat themselvees, yet aspectts of their wo ork verify their influennces on designn from the 1130s through tthe 1170s.34 The T circle of sculpture in liais de Paaris that has been b identifiedd around the capital, c at Chartres, Éttampes, Ramppillon, Auxerrre, or Provinss, for examplee, reveals important ddetails about twelfth-centur t ry workshop practice, con nstruction, stone cuttinng, and carvinng. It is likelly that there were meetings at the quarries am mong representtatives of wid dely-scatteredd chantiers as between the 1130s annd the 1160s, and masons trraveled to deaal with quarry ymen who supplied stoone for several buildings.35 It is likely thaat for smallerr projects, 34

In 1995, A Anne Prache unddertook a study y of Chartres stoone using LSPP P analysis. The results confirmed that liais l de Paris had h been used in the Royal Portal, P and that it is very likely that the stone for a subgroup of twentyy of the Chartrees samples came from thhe same quarryying location. Further, F analyssis of the limesstone head from the jubéé at Chartres now n at Bowdoin College inddicates its comp position is consistent wiith stone from Conflans-Sain nte-Honorine quuarry. See Ann ne Prache, “Une Expériience d’Analysse par Activaation Neutroniqque sur des Sculptures Chartraines,” unpublished reeport to Medieeval Congress aat Leeds, 1996.. See also. M of Gothic G Sculpturre,” Gothic Sculpture in Dorothy Gilllerman, “The Materials America, Voll. 1 The New England Museeums (New Y York: Publicatio ons of the International Center of Mediieval Art, 1989)), xi. 35 Annie Blannc, Lore L. Hoolmes, and Garm man Harbottle, “Lutetian Lim mestones in the Paris Reegion: Petrograaphic and Com mpositional Exxamination,” Brrookhaven National L Laboratory-660336. http://ww ww.osti.gov/briddge/servlets/purrl/758976LduYGt/nativve/758976.pdf. See also, Ann nie Blanc and Claude Loren nz, “Etude Geologique ddes Anciennes Carrièes C de Pariis: Son Utilité ppour la Connaissance et la Restauration des Monumennts,” in The En ngineering Geoology of Ancieent Works, Monuments and Historicaal Sites, Preseervation and Protection/Gèologie de

The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs

117

in anticipation of the serial production practiced in the later Middle Ages, individual ymagiers in a larger chantier or attached to a quarry might roughly complete a project before traveling along with the sculpture to complete and install nearly-finished work at a more remote site.36 In the pre-notarial period, a few charters document stone and timber acquisition and transportation, and quarry practice, yet fabric accounts provide little information about the vessels that were used for transportation.37 On the other hand, archaeologists who study the commercial use of rivers have excavated the remains of these vessels and suggest that there were river vessels capable of moving loads of limestone.38 Such craft traveled easily on shallow rivers, loaded to pass 10cm beneath bridges, while carrying up to eight metric tons of construction materials.39 The value of these single-log pirogue monoxyles with the capacity to convey great quantities of stone on the shallow rivers of great towns can be recognized when the weight of a capital from Notre Dame of Paris, made of liais de Paris from the quarries along the banks of the Bièvre River and shipped to the Ile-de-la-Cité through the small canal of Saint-Victor, can be calculated to have been three tons.40 The bargemen who transported these quantities of stone and other supplies were perhaps the most transient yet critical members of the

l'Ingènieur Appliquée aux Travaux Anciens, Monuments et Sites Historiques, eds. Paul Marinos and George Koukis (Rotterdam: A. Balkena, 1988), 639-47; and Ania Guini-Skliar, Marc Viré, Jacqueline Lorenz, Jean-pierre Gély, Annie Blanc, Les Souterraines de Paris: Les Anciennes Carrières Souterraines (Cambrai: Nord Patrimoine Éditions, 2000). 36 Vibeke Olson, “The Whole is the Sum of Its Parts: Standardizing Medieval Stone Production,” in Written in Stone, ed. Vibeke Olson (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), 189-207. 37 Gillian Hutchinson, Medieval Ships and Shipping (Rutherford: Bloomsbury Publishing, 1994), 121. 38 Log-boat or pirogue monoxyle: a single-log dugout vessel in common use throughout the globe; the plank-built pram or monoxyle assemblé is a specialized, flat-bottomed punt. See Hutchinson, Medieval Ships and Shipping, 122-23; and Dirk Meier, Seafarers, Merchants and Pirates in the Middle Ages, trans. Angus McGeogh (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2006), 12. 39 1 tonne = 2204.62 lbs; 3.9 metric tons = 8,598.018 lbs. 5-meter pirogues could carry 3.9 tons. Éric Rieth, Des Bateaux et Des Fleuves, Archéologie de la Batellerie du Néolithique aux Temps Modernes en France (Paris, Editions Errance, 1998), 120-22. 40 Annie Blanc and Claude Lorenz, “Observations sur la Nature des Matériaux de la Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris,” Gesta, 29 no. 1(1990): 132-38, especially 133.

118

Chapter Four

workforce.41 They, too, played an important role in the development of the urbs. For example, the delivery of twenty-four huge blocks of liais de Paris would have filled the bill for the west facade column-figures at the cathedral of Chartres with the material ordered from the Parisian quarries. The multiplier effect of the delivery of fine stone from Paris would have been the generation of economic prosperity in the delivery region. Acting as middlemen, it is likely that the river-transport operators responsible for bringing the stone to the site would have acted as picked up a load of goods from the region around Chartres for their return trip. It seems likely that merchants with commodities such as wheat, regional specialties, and raw materials or wine would have taken advantage of these river boats making their way back to Parisian markets. This was more than just good commercial practice. The weight was actually needed by the bargemen to stabilize the craft as they made the journey back down the Eure and up the Seine, navigating the sluices (pertuis) at dams and fishing weirs, and passing beneath bridges. River transportation was governed in part by seasonal flood or low-water periods. The shifting of cartloads of stone from riverside to construction site by might be best accomplished during the dry periods when roads were passable. Although the great church projects were sufficiently large as to sustain even the temporary workers for a decade or more, there is evidence for the shipping of completed elements to smaller projects (capitals or en délit shafts might have been fabricated in series in an atelier and shipped to building sites).42 For the smaller projects that required minor quantities of materials or services, individual ymagiers along with the roughed-out stone to install and finish the work on site might have been sent from quarry to job site.43 The quarry workers and the ymagiers associated with quarries were able to settle in relatively permanent lodgings in proximity to the local stone sources. The employment and settling patterns of these

41

Janet Snyder, “On the Road Again, Limestone Sculpture in Twelfth-Century France.” in Written in Stone, ed. Vibeke Olson (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), 16790, particularly 173-77. 42 Olson, “The Whole is the Sum,” 193-95. 43 The finely-finished column- figures sculpted in liais de Paris could have been easily damaged in transit to distant sites but monasteries requiring one or two capitals or a tomb slab (consider Issoudun) could take delivery. See Paul Deschamps, La Sculpture Française à l'Époque Rome. Onzième et Douzième Siècles (Paris, Les Editions Chéne, 1930), 39-40, pl. 40C et 40D (Valence), as cited in François Salet, Cluny et Vézelay, L'œuvre des Sculpteurs (Paris: Musée des Monuments Français, Société Française d'Archéologie, 1995), 143.

The Contributions of Peripatetic Ymagiers to the Emergence of Urbs

119

various crafts persons resulted in an expansion of towns. These workers followed networks of craft. Though the beds of limestone in the Paris basin and the northern Iberian Peninsula have similar origins, the subsequent geologic forces that produced the Pyrenees and Cantabrian mountains resulted in the use of different quarrying and transportation methods. Because of the local geology, a great variety of stone was employed in buildings in Iberia, where specific local limestone sources can be associated with the great monastic and episcopal buildings, and marble spolia was regularly incorporated into the fabric of buildings.44 The masons’ choices of materials to use for sculpture is explained through analysis of the ease of working, polishing, and finishing available stone. Architectural and sculpture compositions may reflect some influence from foreign ymagiers and masons, yet the strong indigenous traditions integrated those alien influences within a generation or two. Nonetheless, an independence and strength of innovation identifies the traits characteristic of La Dauradetrained ymagier in the projects of the mid-twelfth century during the Reconquista and repopulation of lands just south of the Pyrenees and the Cantabrian mountains. The ymagiers' job specializations and their technological expertise caused them to be hired for the great building projects which contributed to urbanization, though the employment offered by building projects illustrated here could be as temporary as the regional Fairs of Champagne and Brie that were not regularized until the 1160s.45 Technological advances, relative stability in France and northern Iberia, institutional changes, and developments in international trade contributed to the commercial success and in the next century the locations of cyclical fairs became settled centers of mercantile activity in northern Europe.

44 Luis Miguel Martínez-Torres, La Tierra de los Pilares: Sustrato y Rocas de Constucción Monumental en Álava: Mapas Litolóicos de las Igelesias de la Diócesis de Vitoria (Bilbao: Service Editorial de la Universidad del País Vasco, 2004). 45 Merchants may have traveled significant distances for seasonal fairs, which were large organized gatherings at the market towns that took place at regularly spaced intervals, and they were provided with safe passage on the roads and other services. Relatively small quantities of goods had been conveyed via roads to these fairs; greater quantities of goods and trade resulted in permanent commercial centers. John Gilissen, “The Notion of the Fair in the Light of the Comparative Method," in La Foire, Recueils de la Société Jean Bodin, V (Brussels: Éditions de la Libr. Encyclopedique, 1953), 333-42, especially 334.

120

Chapter Four

This discussion has demonstrated that the multiplier effect of the movement of innovative ymagiers like those from the Second Workshop at La Daurade in Toulouse, as well as the commercial activity related to their practice, contributed significantly in the second quarter of the twelfth century to the establishment of the functions that characterize urban systems. Greater security on the roads, even under conditions of unstable overall sovereignty, enabled a network of craftspersons and ymagiers to find work in projects to the north and south of Toulouse, carrying with them ideas of composition employed in the expressive, dynamic narrative relief sculpture evident at La Daurade. These same secure roads facilitated the shipping of materials and the building of transient suburban settlements around established towns, and resulted, by 1200, in the establishment of not only cathedral cities, but also the urbs associated with great houses, monastic complexes and permanent commercial centers. It is this community of craftspersons, commissioned by the great houses, lay or religious, that should be recognized as providing the foundation for the renewal of cities and the spread of urbanism. Those who commissioned architectural sculpture projects may not have intended to reshape their environments except though the construction of great edifices, but the influx of labor, materials, craftspeople, and the support services required to complete the jobs resulted in permanent changes to their communities.

CHAPTER FIVE FOUNDERS’ CONCEPTS OF SPACE IN THE FIRST BASTIDES CATHERINE BARRETT UNIVERSITY OF OKLAHOMA

This chapter is concerned with concepts of public and private space in towns founded or re-chartered in the territory of the counts of Toulouse between the mid-twelfth and mid-thirteenth centuries, a time of sea-change in the relationships between lords and commoners in Languedoc (Fig. 5-1; circle shows this area). Whereas up until the mid-twelfth century many rural settlements were centered around a church, a monastery, or a castle, beginning at this time a wave of new town foundations for commercial gain were initiated. In these towns, the central focus was a marketplace; a void in which all sorts of goods might be exchanged. This focus on a commercial center was initiated by Count Alphonse-Jourdain of Toulouse, and others along the Garonne River corridor, in order to take advantage of the upsurge in wine production and the ease of moving heavy barrels of wine by water. The move established important precedents for the explosion of town growth after the Albigensian Crusade, the war against heresy called by Innocent III in 1209.1 Many past studies of market towns such as these have been focused on defining which of them were to be considered “bastides.”2 Often the definition of bastide-towns has been

1

The subjects of the Albigensian Crusade and the Cathars have engendered long and complex discussions. For a brief description of the Crusade and the heresy, see Janet Shirley, The Song of the Cathar Wars, A History of the Albigensian Crusade by William of Tudela and an Anonymous Successor (Aldershot: Scholar Press, 1996), 1. 2 M. W. Beresford, New Towns of the Middle Ages; Town Plantation in England, Wales, and Gascony (New York: Praeger, 1967); Alain Lauret, Raymond Malebranche, and Gilles Séraphin, Bastides, Villes Nouvelles du Moyen Age

122

Chapter Five

form-based, linked to a gridded layout with a central market square.3 I have argued elsewhere for the value of a definition based on textual sources.4 This essay will build on that argument to examine the spatial allocations in a selection of towns that share common properties with bastides, none of which were labeled bastides in their original charters, but all of which have been listed as such in recent definitive texts.5 In part, this is because some of these villages were classified as such after 1271 in the Saisimentum of Alphonse de Poitiers, during a time when many towns and hamlets were re-chartered as bastides in order to obtain the associated privileges.6 In fact, it is from two of the charters of the founders of these towns—Sicard Alaman and his lord, Raymond VII of Toulouse—that we find the word “bastide” used for the first time to designate a newlyfounded town.7 I argue that the importance of these charter references is not so much the classification, however, but rather the way these towns were described spatially. In each of the charters discussed, spatial allocations were among the first items listed. These descriptions thus present an interesting array of town plan “models” for this region that signal a shift from an economy of service to one of monetary exchange, one in which lords could predict their income based on land allocations (Fig. 5-2).

(Toulouse: Editions Milan, 1988); Florence Pujol, "L'Elaboration de l'Image Symbolique de la Bastide," Annales du Midi CII (1991). 3 Claude Calmettes, ed. Le Livre Blanc des Bastides (Villefranche-de-Rouergue: Centre d'Etude des Bastides, 2007); and Françoise Divorne et al., Les Bastides d'Aquitaine, du Bas-Languedoc et du Béarn: Essai sur la Regularité (Bruxelles: Archives d'Architecture Moderne, 1985). 4 Catherine Barrett, "Origins of the French Bastides," Journal of Urban History (2016): DOI: 10.1177/0096144215620620. 5 Jacques Dubourg, Histoire des bastides, les villes neuves du Moyen Age (Bordeaux: Editions Sud-Ouest, 2002); and Lauret, Malebranche, and Séraphin, Bastides, 281-305. 6 The Saisimentum was the inventory of property acquired by Alphonse de Poitiers after the death of Raymond VII, listing towns by type (common examples are: villa, castrum, and bastida). Yves Dossat, ed. Saisimentum comitatus Tholosani (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, 1966). 7 These are the charters for Bouloc and Montastruc. For Bouloc, see M. Alexandre Teulet, Layettes du Trésor des Chartes (Paris: Henri Plon, 1863), Vol. II, Item 2977. For Montastruc, see Claude De Vic and J. Vaissète, eds., Histoire générale de Languedoc avec des notes et les pièces justificatives par dom Cl. Devic & dom J. Vaissete (Toulouse: E. Privat, 1872), Vol. 8, cols. 1081-1084.

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

123

Fig 5-1. Map of France from Wikipedia Commons (accessed October 15, 2016), https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Map-_France_at_the_Treaty_of_ Bretigny.jpg

124

Chapter Five

Fig. 5-2. Map of territory of town charters discussed. Source: Author.

Town and market growth were widespread throughout Western Europe in the two centuries before the Hundred Years War and the waves of plague that began in the mid-fourteenth century.8 Improvement in technology throughout the twelfth century, such as draft collars for horses, plows, keel and rudder systems for boats, and compasses, among other things, contributed to a spike in population growth and to a booming economy.9 Within the over-arching nature of this phenomenon, regional economies and politics had an important influence on the specific character of towns and on the relationships between their inhabitants and the ruling classes.10 I submit that the charters discussed here, while a response to those forces, are also telling reflections of a unique set of circumstances in Languedoc deriving from the site-specific geography, the

8

Keith D. Lilley, Urban Life in the Middle Ages 1000-1450 (New York: Palgrave, 2002); David Nicholas, Urban Europe, 1100-1700 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 9 M.-D. Chenu, Nature, Man, and Society in the Twelfth Century: Essays on New Theological Perspectives in the Latin West (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 43. 10 William Chester Jordan, Europe in the High Middle Ages, Penguin History of Europe (New York: Viking, 2001), Chapter 12.

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

125

adaptation of laws and land-holding patterns established under Roman rule, and the unique politics of the counts of Toulouse. The regional geography of Toulouse suited the growth of a strong commercial sector from an early date, long before the counts ruled the land. Merchants and traders found it easy to move through this area, and the climate was conducive to settlement. The city of Toulouse (Tolosa) flourished as the capital city of the Celtic tribe called the Volques Tectosages from the third century BCE, and one of the main reasons for its success was its situation on the Garonne River, the main transport corridor in the southwest.11 Merchants who wanted to ship their goods from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic unloaded them at Narbonne (Narbo Martius), made a brief overland passage through the “Gateway to the Aquitaine,” a low pass near Carcassonne, and from there used the Garonne to reach Bordeaux (Burdigala).12 The rivers that flowed into the Garonne from the Massif Central to the north drained areas that were rich in minerals, and they brought prosperity to the settlements near them. The Tarn River, central to the town foundations of Raymond VII and Sicard Alaman, is one of those rivers.13 The rivers also enabled the production of pottery, another profitable industry. Some 200 ceramic workshops were located near Gaillac in the first century CE, and pottery produced in this region has been found throughout Europe, North Africa, and even in the Baltic region. 14 The mountains of the Massif Central also provided coal for fuel, 11

Toulouse became the third-largest largest town along the Garonne, after Bordeaux and Narbonne. The Garonne is the largest river in the Aquitaine Basin, flowing 575 kilometers (356 miles) in a long diagonal from southeast to northwest, where it empties into the Atlantic at Bordeaux. 12 In Roman times, Narbonne had an estimated population of 30,000 to 40,000 people and covered an area of about 90 hectares in size (223 acres). It was considered “the greatest market in southern Gaul,” according to Diodorus, a Sicilian historian writing in the first century B.C. Products from as far away as the North Sea were shipped through these ports. Wolff, ed., Histoire du Languedoc, 97. 13 The Celts worked mines in this area, as did the Romans. Around the Tarn, Roman mine sites were at Courris (lead and silver), Ambialet (silver and iron), Millau (lead, silver and copper), Mirandol (gold), and at Villefranche-de-Rouergue (lead and silver). Bryan Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 97; Paul Ambert and Alain Vernhet, "L'homme et l'eau aux époques Préhistoriques et Gallo-Romaines dans le bassin du Tarn," in Le Tarn: Mémoire de l'eau, mémoires des hommes (Albi: Editions Belle Page, 1990), 12; and Jean-Louis Biget, "Etapes: une intégration dans l'espace français," in Le Tarn: Mémoire de l'eau, mémoires des hommes (Albi: Editions Belle Page, 1990), 12. 14 Ambert and Vernhet, "L'homme et l'eau".

126

Chapter Five

and abundant building materials: rock in the form of hard granites, schists and gneiss; and lumber from chestnuts, oaks, and pines.15 The people of Languedoc were also land-owners. From the fourth century, this area was marked by a great number of free-holding proprietors as a result of the persistence of Roman law, a legal system that enabled all children to inherit property.16 In the eighth century, alods were a common form of landholding, as they had been throughout Gaul from the fourth century. This term generally referred to land held by free persons who had received it through inheritance (de alodo or de alode parentum, for example). Although this term comes closest to what we think of as holding land “free and clear,” and usually implied that people holding land in this way paid no taxes, they were often expected to provide some amount of military service.17 Beginning in the twelfth century, land in the south that had been held in alod was increasingly given over to others to be received back in fief.18 It is found in this context throughout 15

Pierre Sillières, "Les campagnes," in Tolosa: Nouvelles recherches sur Toulouse et son territorie dans l'Antiquité, ed. Jean-Marie Pailler (Rome: L'Ecole Française de Rome, 2002). 16 Archibald R. Lewis, The Development of Southern French and Catalan Society, 718-1050 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1965), "Introduction". 17 Magnou-Nortier has connected the alod to administrative power and to the Roman concept of res publica. She has shown that in the tenth through twelfth centuries it was an important means by which lords gained power. See Elisabeth Magnou-Nortier, "Recherches sur l'alleu dans ses rapports avec le pouvoir (VeXIIIe siècles)," in Aux sources de la gestion publique, ed. Elisabeth MagnouNortier (Lille: Université Charles-de-Gaulle, 1997). 18 The reasons for this shift are complex and involve issues of protection, use of resources, and the sense of community. See discussion on “giving and taking” in Fredric L. Cheyette, Ermengard of Narbonne and the World of the Troubadours (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 220-32. Cheyette provides several detailed examples of land transfers and the complexities of the relationships between the contracting parties. Reynolds found some of the earliest examples of land conversions in Montpellier. There, between 1112 and 1114, the alods of four adjacent castellans were converted into fiefs. Susan Reynolds, Fiefs and Vassals: The Medieval Evidence Reinterpreted (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1994), 260 and following. It is also important to note that the word fevum, at least in the south, could refer to other kinds of property (or rights) than that relating to land. Cheyette, Ermengard, 230. See also Elisabeth Magnou, "Note sur le sens du mot fevum en Septimanie et dans la marche d'Espagne à la fin du Xe et au début du XIe siècle," Annales du Midi 76 (1964). An example c. 950 near the Abbey at Moissac reflects these shifts in land ownership patterns. The abbey received about 5,000 hectares (or 12,000 acres) of churches and alods situated between the Tarn and Garonne rivers from a man named Isarn and his wife Christine. This donation

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

127

the register of acts of Raymond VII from the second quarter of the thirteenth century, along with the term sub titulo pure, which suggests a similar sort of landholding to an alod.19 Charters of new towns in the first half of the thirteenth century increasingly reversed the trend of fiefholding as they provided land for tenants that was taxed, but that otherwise was theirs to hold or alienate as they pleased.20 The fact that Roman law allowed women to inherit and alienate property may have contributed to their almost constant presence in the charters of the region. In all of the charters studied here, save that for Montauban and Cordes, whether in Latin or in Occitan, the salutations are addressed to both men and women. For instance in the charter for Bouloc, the salutation, “hominibus et mulieribus” is used, where as in the charter for Castlenau-de-Lévis, it is “totz hom et tota femna.” 21

included several alods that Isarn probably collected over time from free landowners who needed money and entered into a feudal relationship with him. Philippe Ruiz, "Un 'grand domaine' en Pays Toulousain au milieu du Xe siècle, d'après le testament d'Isarn d'Escatalens," Annales du Midi 109 (1997). 19 This collection of acts is JJ 19 in the Trésor des Chartes. It was produced for Alphonse de Poitiers after 1260 and is primarily from the years 1230-1249. For partial inventories and descriptions of these acts, see Laurent Macé, Catalogues raimondins: Actes des comtes de Toulouse, ducs de Narbonne, et marquis de Provence (1112-1229) (Toulouse: Archives municipales de Toulouse, 2008), 1214; and De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. 7, Note 49. I made a preliminary inventory of this cartulary in December of 2006. Of the 196 acts, about 35 are acts of homage (homagio) accompanied by an agreement to hold property in fief. Some examples with terms concerning freeholding include: that of Aymericus de Roca Forte, who sold a third of his property at Sanctus Romanus to the count that he owned sub titulo pure on March 12, 1235 (No. 7A), Aymericus de Castro Novo, who sold property that was his “in alod” (suis in alodio) to the count in December of 1236 (No. 8A), and Arnaldis Bestiacius and his brother Bertrandus, who were selling a third of the town of Buzet on the River Tarn that was described in part as “within any boundary now in alod” (per ullo modo fine in allodis) (No. 6A). 20 The formula found in the charter of the castrum of Buzet from 1241 is an example. Inhabitants would “have, hold, and possess” (habeat, teneat, et possideat) a house 4 bracchia wide by 6 bracchia deep (about 8 by 12 meters or 25 by 38 feet), as well as a garden plot and field of specific dimensions. Odon de Lingua De Saint-Blanquat, La fondation des bastides royales dans la sénéchaussee de Toulouse aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles (Toulouse: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, Centre régional de documentation pédagogique de Toulouse, 1985), 132. 21 For Bouloc, see M. Alexandre Teulet, Layettes du Trésor des Chartes (Paris: Henri Plon, 1863), Vol. II, Item 2977. For Castlenau-de-Lévis, see Clément

128

Chapter Five

The most critical and telling aspect of these charters in terms of their identification of a new way of thinking about the nature of newly formed towns was a self-governing instrument: the provision for a body of consuls elected by town citizens. The autonomy of this body of advisors probably derived from Count Raymond IV’s participation in the First Crusade (1096). This “Count of Saint-Gilles” (d. 1105) amassed the lands and titles that the counts would carry and worry over in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.22 However, in 1096, as soon as Raymond IV claimed the territory that stretched from the Rhone to the Garonne Rivers in the south and to the Tarn River in the north, he left to lead the First Crusade.23 This event may have been the trigger for the subsequent development of an independent town government in Toulouse, a type of municipal administration that became an important model for towns all along the Garonne corridor. Power struggles often left the town of Toulouse in a vacuum until Alphonse-Jourdain (the son of Raymond IV) became count in 1114.24 Even then, the new count was forced to concede much power to the “Good Men,” or consuls, of Toulouse. For instance, in 1152 when Raymond V, the son of Alphonse-Jourdain, took power, he was forced to confirm regulations proposed by the Common Council (commune consilium) of the ville (the city) and of the faubourg (the bourg) of Toulouse.25 This act, which described the judicial system and two separate courts—that of the count and that of the Common Council (commune consilium Tolose)—was signed by six capitularii, four constituti judices, and two advocati.26 An important shift had occurred, both in power structure and in physical Compayré, Etudes historiques sur l'Albigeois (Albi: Imprimerie de M. Papilhiau, 1841). 22 Hélène Débax, "Stratégies matrimoniales des comtes de Toulouse (850-1270)," Annales du Midi 100 (1988); and G. Pradalié, "Les comtes de Toulouse et l'Aquitaine (IXe-XIIe siècles)," Annales du Midi 117 no. 249 (2005): 12-13. 23 John Hugh Hill and Laurita Lyttleton Hill, Raymond IV Count of Toulouse (Syracuse: New York Syracuse University Press, 1962). 24 Between 1096 and 1114 Toulouse was periodically governed by the niece of Raymond IV, Philippa, and her husband, Guilhem IX, the Duke of Aquitaine. Guilhem IX is probably most famously known as the “first troubadour” of Languedoc. 25 De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. 7, 218. Raymond V also spent most of his time in the east at the counts’ castle of Beaucaire on the Rhone River. “Until the 1180s…his assistance to Toulouse was remarkable only in its insufficiency and tardiness.” John Hine Mundy, Liberty and Political Power in Toulouse, 1050-1230 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1954), 52. For other criticisms of the political policies of Raymond V, see Cheyette, Ermengard, Chapter 15. 26 De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. 7, 228.

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

129

identity. The Common Council, mentioned here for the first time, now had the power to create ordinances and try cases in its own name with the “advice” of the count. This reversal of power provided a model that became the norm for many newly drafted town charters beginning in the early thirteenth century. The physical division of Toulouse into ville and faubourg, or civitas and burgus, was also indicative of a growing trend whereby town growth was accommodated in polynuclear settlements, each with its own distinctive identities and status. A body of consuls continued to govern the everyday affairs of Toulouse through the twelfth century.27 Looking beyond the particulars of the politics underlying each of these instances, what these documents illustrate is that an important societal shift had occurred, both in the power structure governing towns and in the physical identity of these places. The reversal of power downward from the count to the governing body of the cousuls found in these early charters provided a model that became the norm for many newly drafted town charters beginning in the early thirteenth century. Moreover, they demonstrate that these municipalities were so attached to the privilege of being governed by an elected representative body of consuls that defended it vigorously, so much so that a century later in 1249, we find Alphonse of Poitiers trying on several occassions to strike this privilege and to appoint his own representatives as consuls. 28 Importantly, he was generally unsuccessful. The extent of the power of consuls developed more slowly in the towns outside Toulouse studied here, as evidenced by their roles in those charters, and probably because the counts had the opportunity to establish more control in new foundations. When Alphonse-Jourdain, Count of Toulouse, issued the 1144 charter for the new villam sive burgum (town or burg) of Montauban, consuls were mentioned only once, as consulting with the count about the maintenance of the bridge.29 In the same year, however, a 27 It was not until after the Albigensian Crusade (1215) that Raymond VII tried to re-gain some of this power. He did succeed in reducing the number of consuls by half, and securing the privilege of appointing those who would be consuls. John Hine Mundy, Society and Government at Toulouse in the Age of the Cathars (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1997), 238-49. In Cordes, in contrast, the consuls’ freedom to be elected seems never to have been challenged. 28 Edgard Boutaric, Saint-Louis et Alfonse de Poitiers, étude sur la réunion des provinces du Midi et de l'Ouest à la Couronne et sur les origines de la centralisation administrative, d'après des documents inédits (Manoir de Saint Pierre de Salerne, 1970, originally published in 1870), 512. 29 Devals, Histoire de Montauban (Montauban: Imprimerie de Forestié Neveu et Compagnie, 1855), 407-10.

130

Chapter Five

charter issued by the count’s son Raymond V for the loc (place) of Verlhac-Tescou extended consuls’ power to overseeing the alienation of property.30 And by the time of the confirmation charter of 1306, the consuls’ powers had expanded to include governance of any disputes or issues related to property or money.31 Although the presence and power of town consuls was a crucial aspect of the governance of towns, it is in the practice of designating land parcel allocations to new inhabitants that we find the clearest evidence of any “planning” as it might relate to specific concepts of space. Beginning with the charter for Montauban in 1144, town charters increasingly included provisions for equal lot allocations for new inhabitants to help them start their new lives. In these charters, the allocation of land enabled town citizens to own property in alod, or free and clear, provided they paid taxes. The division of large tracts of land into smaller, equal parcels for the purpose of providing housing or agricultural plots for others had a precedent in the sauvetés, or salvetats, of the eleventh century. Sauvetés were settlements established by religious houses on their land at first as a response to the depredations by the milites (soldiers or men employed as fighters), and later with the goal of putting land into production.32 The land used for these developments had often been donated by individuals or families in return for religious indulgences.33 Sauvetés have been considered the ancestors of the later bastides because they were settlements established on cleared land with provisions for equal lot divisions.

30

Edouard De Vacquié, "Mémoire sur deux chartes inédites concédées aux habitants de Verlhac-Tescou (Tarn-et-Garonne)," in Mémoires de l'Académie des Sciences, Inscriptions, et Belles Lettres de Toulouse, 3e série (Toulouse: L'Académie des Sciences, Inscriptions, et Belles Lettres de Toulouse, 1842). 31 Ibid., 324-28. 32 Benoît Cursente, Des maisons et des hommes: La Gascogne médiévale XIèmeXVème siècles (Toulouse: Presses Université de Mirail, 1998), 188-91. 33 A good example of this process is the bastide of Mirande (located about 80 kilometers west of Toulouse), which had its genesis in a land donation of 1135 to Abbot Vaucher of Sainte-Marie-de-Morimund to found a monastery at the casal of Berdoues by Bernard II the Count of Astarac and his son Sanche. About 100 years later, The Count of Astarac decided to found a town of his own to compete for revenue. He and the abbot met in front of the king’s representative in Toulouse in 1282 to negotiate the terms of this new bastide, which was called Lézian for a short time before its name was changed to Mirande (“Admirable”) to advertise its success (or anticipated success) to prospective inhabitants. M. Cénac-Moncaut, Les anciens comtés d'Astarac et de Pardiac, 1993 ed. (Paris: Res Universis, 1856), 2331.

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

131

The Cistercians and the military orders played an important role in establishing these types of settlements, marking the sacred boundaries of the property with crosses at the corners.34 While signaling to intruders the risk of excommunication as punishment for trespass, these crosses also indicated that visitors had no reason to enter the property, as there was no provision for a market or commercial activity within a sauveté. This practice also changed over time, as many of the early-twelfth-century Cistercian granges became bastides in the late thirteenth century.35 Our evidence for this type of shift to include a marketplace for inhabitants to engage in commerce comes when Count Alphonse-Jourdain founded Montauban in 1144 (Fig. 5-3) at the confluence of the Garonne, Tarn, and Aveyron Rivers. Both the surviving charter and the spatial dimensions of extraordinarily large marketplace (about 4,000 square meters) suggest that the count’s primary goal was economic, specifically to make money from the taxation of market goods and of land parcels issued to new inhabitants.36 The story of the town foundation involved some deception on the part of the count. Alphonse-Jordain tricked the resident abbot of Montauriol, Albert II of Saint-Théodard, into thinking he was receiving a pious donation of valuable land, when in fact the count intended to establish a new town to compete with the abbot’s control and economic prosperity. Three days after making the donation to the abbot, the count wrote a charter establishing his own town of Montauban on the same site. 34 One example of this practice occurs at Vieux, a sauveté that was founded around 1040 by a Bishop Amiel and an Abbot Adelard. The count Pons of Toulouse, who donated the land and church to the monastery, wrote that he himself would plant the crosses: Ita ut si aliquis infra cruces et signa, quae ego defixi, aliquid mali fecerit, aut per ullum malefactum aliquem vel aliquid invaserit, nisi episcopus, aut abbas, vel praepositus pro justitia aut rem suam vel alienam alicui tulerit…JeanLouis Biget, "La sauveté de Vieux-en-Albigeois: Reconsidérations," Annales du Midi 102 (1990): 21; and De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. 5, cols. 304-06. 35 Charles Higounet, "Cisterciens et bastides," in Paysages et villages neufs du Moyen Age : Recueil d'articles (Bordeaux: Fédération historique du Sud-Ouest, 1975). Another example is Fronton, never a bastide but a good example of lot allocations associated with a new settlement. About 1120 a large tract of land— 1,500 hectares or 3,705 acres—was given to the Templar commandery there with the condition that a new population center be established. The donation specified that 300 casals were to be established for a sauveté, each of them measuring 4 sétérées (IV sectairatis), or about 5 hectares, and all of it to be marked at the limits by crosses. Adrien Escudier, Histoire de Fronton et du Frontonnais (Toulouse: Imprimerie Doulacoure-Privat, 1905), 17-31. 36 Devals, Histoire de Montauban.

132

Chapter Five

The motivations underlying this political ploy are multivalent. On the economic side of the equation, we can guess that both Montauriol, and later Montauban, realized considerable financial profit from taxing river traffic through this area. On the social side, however, it was said that the vassals of Saint-Théodard abandoned the town of Montauriol in one night to move to the adjoining land chartered by the count because the abbot had such a reputation for cruelty.37 Balancing this story, the charters tell us that the new inhabitants of Montauban were offered a common house (casali) size, which suggests theoretically a leveling of the playing field, at least at the time of the charter.

Fig. 5-3. Plan of Montauban from Histoire de Montauban, by Jean-Ursule Devals. Source: Montauban: Imprimerie de Forestié Neveu et Compagnie, 1855: map. 37

Ibid.

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

133

The specification of house sizes is the first item of the charter and is linked to the taxes people will pay for this privilege, bringing us back to the economic motivation. “For each casal of 6 estadios of width and 12 estadios of length (about 20 by 40 feet), the count shall collect 12 deniers (pennies) up front and 12 deniers tax each year.”38 At Verlhac-Tescou, just a few kilometers south of Montauban, the founding charter, supposedly issued by the count’s son, Raymond V, offers inhabitants exactly the same size of house.39 This suggests that Montauban was not particularly unique, but rather only the most prominent and and most successful of several new towns founded as commercial ventures with a particular social agenda around this time in the same area.40 Like Montauban, none of these towns were called bastides at the time of their foundation, and none were listed as such in the Saisimentum.41 There is also a political side of the equation that has to be considered. This first wave of town foundation in the Counts of Toulouse’s territory occurred in the latter half of the twelfth century, at the same time as political tensions related to the growth of heresy were escalating between the counts of Toulouse on one hand and the Church and the French monarchy on the other.42 The resulting Albigensian Crusade (1209-1218) was sufficiently disruptive to halt town development for a time. In 1222, however, almost immediately after his father’s death, Count Raymond VII picked up where his great-grandfather, Alphonse-Jordain, had left off with Montauban and founded a new town, the castrum of Cordes (Fig. 5-4). The charter of this castrum at the northern border of the counts’ territory echoes the trend of commercial development begun by Alphonse-Jourdain, but the specific site and fortifications express the grandson’s intention to resist the contemporary military pressures of the French king. 38

Ibid., 407. De Vacquié, "Mémoire." The two charters (Montauban and Verlhac-Tescou) are almost identical, suggesting that the old count, who would die four years later, was offering his son a model on which to continue his legacy. 40 Other towns include : Montech (1134), Villemade (1144), Lavilledieu (1150), L’Isle Jourdain (1150), Grisolles (1155), Castelsarrasin (before 1176), Cayrac (1176), Villemur (1175-1178), and Lauzerte (1170-1180). Florent Hautefeuille, "La fondation de villes neuves dans le Sud Ouest de la France au XIIe siècle: du bourg central au bourg 'mercadier'," Revue de l'Agenais 131, no. 1 (2004). 41 In the Saisimentum, Castelsarrasin, Lauzerte, Montech and Villemur are castri; and Grisolles, Lavilledieu, and Villemade are villas. The others are not mentioned. Dossat, Saisimentum comitatus Tholosani. 42 W.A. Sibly and M.D. Sibly, trans., eds., The History of the Albigensian Crusade, Peter of les Vaux-de-Cernay (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1998), Introduction, xxxii - xl. 39

134

Chapter Five

Fig. 5-4. Cordes seen from the southeast. Source: Author.

Cordes is a unique example of town foundation because of its paradoxical nature as both a remarkable defensive site and as a commercial success. It was later called “the first bastide” by Odon de Saint-Blanquat for reasons that are still unclear.43 Perhaps it was the drama and beauty of the town and site that contributed to Saint-Blanquat’s selection of Cordes, along with its commercial success and the unusual size of its market halle, built in 1273. This castrum, the archival documents of which have never seen the term “bastide” grace their parchment pages, is a good example of the confusion surrounding the definition of bastides.44 The 1222 charter of Cordes is

43

Odon de Lingua de Saint-Blanquat, La Fondation des Bastides Royales dans la Sénéchaussee de Toulouse aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles (Toulouse: Centre Régional de Documentation Pédagogique, 1941), 11. 44 Cordes retained its status until about 2002, after which time it was reclassified as the castrum it is by the Centre d’Etude des Bastides. The first bastide is now considered to be Lisle-sur-Tarn, also supposedly founded by Raymond VII shortly after signing the Treaty of Paris in 1229, although unfortunately we have no charters for this town dated before 1462. The status of Lisle-sur-Tarn as the first bastide is equally dubious as that of Cordes, as its fifteenth-century charter does not list it as such nor do other medieval documents. The form of the town however suits the archetype of the bastide quite well: it has a large, square central marketplace from which a rough grid is generated. The marketplace is notable in that it has almost exactly the same dimensions as that of Montauban. Maurice Berthe, "Quelle à été la première des bastides?," Les Cahiers du C.E.B. 7(2004); and Elie Rossignol, Monographies Communales du Canton de Lisle (Lisle-surTarn: L'Association Lisle Je t'Aime, 1863; repr., 1990).

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

135

very brief, containing only fourteen items.45 This charter does not mention house or lot measurements, but growth is assumed as suburbs are mentioned in Item 2. Importantly, the economic issues are again prominent in this charter. For example, there is the unusual offer of complete tax relief for one year for new inhabitants in order to attract new settlers, and commerce is addressed in four items, the most specific being “Item 12,” which specifies the tax for market stalls.46 Clearly, the count intended to generate revenue, and it is very likely that he was also anxious to provide some stability for his subjects displaced by the ravages of the Albigensian Crusade. The foundation of Cordes was followed with a hiatus of development in this region, because Raymond VII was pre-occupied with pressing political and military matters.47 From 1218 until 1229, tensions between the count and the king were high, and it was not until after signing the Treaty of Paris in 1229 that the count once again turned his attention to town charters. In fact, Item 27 of the treaty shows us that there was the expectation that count would to continue his practice of town foundation. It notes that the count is allowed to build new towns as long as they are not fortified (Villas tamen non inforciatas bene poterimus facere in terra, que dimittitur nobis, si voluerimus).48 Similarly, Sicard Alaman played an important role in town foundation in the 1240s along with his lord, Raymond VII. The count named Alaman his lieutenant in 1242 after the man had been his constant companion and counselor for three years.49 Alaman served the count as a diplomatic shield, in that he came of age after the Albigensian Crusade and was neither associated with heresy in the way the counts had been, nor resistant to the annexation of the south by the monarchy. His family, which had been close to the counts since the late-twelfth century, enjoyed better relations with the powerful bishops of Albi than the counts had. Finally, his father Doat had a history of founding towns. By 1242, Alaman had already realized significant profit from the development of lands inherited from his father, and had even established a mint at the castle site given to 45 Wilma George and Brunsdon Yapp, The Naming of the Beasts: Natural History in the Medieval Bestiary (London: Duckworth, 1991). 46 In qualibet statione facta in foro retinemus nobis II d. ramondenses annuatim. (Each and any stall made in the market shall owe us two pennies each year.) Author’s translation. 47 Jonathan Sumption, The Albigensian Crusade (London ; Boston: Faber, 1978), 210-15. 48 De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. 8, col. 889. 49 Charles Higounet, "Les Alaman, seigneurs bastidors et péagers du XIIIe siècle," Annales du Midi 68 (1956): 310.

136

Chapter Five

him by Raymond VII, Castelnau-de-Bonafous (which would later become Castelnau-de-Lévis).50 Alaman’s towns, save one, are all south of the Tarn River, located in his family lands, but also well located to protect the weak frontiers of the count. Interestingly, it is in two of Alaman’s charters— those for Montastruc and for Bouloc—that we encounter the term bastida (“bastide”) in reference to the new towns for which he and Raymond VII were founding and issuing charters.51 In an effort to prevent people from leaving other, un-named towns that he and the count had founded as bastidae, he refuses to accord them the tax relief that they would enjoy as inhabitants of the new settlements of Bouloc or Montastruc. In the charters discussed so far, as well as those of the first half of the thirteenth century that will follow, the predominant re-occurring—and telling--item is that of the specified dimensions for lots and houses. Concern for the regulation of physical urban space is rarer and seems to occur only after 1300, although further investigation of complaints and acts might reveal such concerns. It appears from the evidence at hand that the counts of Toulouse and the consular bodies who reported to them were less concerned about the larger, over-arching, social aspects of town planning than the powerful abbots who had permanent residences in the towns they controlled. Interestingly, as we will see, the count’s lieutenant, Alaman Sicard seems to represent a middle ground in this regard. The large town of Aurillac, about 140 kilometers north of this region serves as a case study for this contrast. Around 1211 the abbot of SaintGéraud issued a charter offering lots on which to build in Aurillac. 52 50

Sylvie Caucanas, "La seigneurie de Castelnau-de-Lévis aux XIVe et XVe siècles," Annales du Midi (1978): 27. 51 Item 9 reads : Dedit etiam ac concessit eisdem hominibus et mulieribus in honore ut quicumque ad predictum locum causa habitandi et morandi venerit, undecumque sit, eat, redeat, et permaneat libere in terminis ejusdem loci cum supradictis censibus et usibus quos ei facere et reddere vel ejus bajulo teneatur, ut suprascriptum est, nisi tamen exierit vel recederit a bastida a domino comite aut ab eodem domino Sicardo noviter facta vel constructa. Teulet, Layettes, Vol. II, 474. Author's translation: "Furthermore he (Sicard Alaman) gives and concedes in honor to those same men and women that whoever would come to the aforesaid place to live and die, from whatever place, shall be, remain, and continue (to live) freely within the boundaries of the same place with above-mentioned property and practices that shall be held for them by the bailiff, or that shall be made or given by the bailiff, that is written above, unless however he (or she) leaves or goes back to a bastide that has been newly made or built by the lord count or also by Sicard." 52 Roger Grand, "Notes et observations sur des réglements d'urbanisme et de voirie dans des villes à consulat au XIIIe siècle," Bulletin Monumental CV (1947): 7-9. This article was based on a collection of municipal documents for Aurillac

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

137

Certain conditions attached to this offer suggest he was quite concerned with orderly appearance in his part of town and in the well-being of his inhabitants. For instance, the façade of each house was to align with that of its neighbor (ut inferius edificium in recta linea respondeat exterius edificio superiori), and houses were required to be well lighted with windows on both front and rear walls.53 In addition, they were to have adequate gutters and downspouts to channel rainwater properly.54 A little later, around 1250, the abbot restricted the addition of balconies or overhangs to buildings of one story, no doubt in an attempt—which would become futile as town growth exploded—to ensure that light and air penetrated the streets.55 By the end of the thirteenth century, however, it was common to see many additions and overhangs projecting into public ways, and it is thought that many of the arcades surrounding the marketplaces of these towns were the product of unregulated growth and the desire to build second stories facing the prime real estate of town.56 The above example suggests that in the early thirteenth century the abbot of Saint-Géraud of Aurillac wanted to maintain control over construction in the town in which he lived, perhaps as a way of maintaining a certain quality of life for the inhabitants. In contrast, Raymond VII did not live in the towns he founded, nor did the charters he issued address the specific construction factors as that issued by the abbot of Aurillac. From all evidence, the secular lords were primarily interested in a rapid economic revitalization in the parts of their territory, which had been devastated by the Albigensian Crusade. Their concerns pushed them to move quickly. While these lords were concerned with issuing equally sized parcels of land to new inhabitants—most likely for ease of taxation, they left it to the town’s inhabitants and consuls to stipulate details and regulate for themselves the things that violated the common good, issues that fell to the local abbot. The relative consistency of these allocations is seen in most of the towns associated with or chartered by Raymond VII, specifically Buzet and Lauzerte.57 published by Roger Grand in 1945: Les "Paix" d'Aurillac. Étude et documents sur l'histoire des institutions municpales d'une ville à consulat, XIIe XVe siècle (Paris: Société d'Histoire du Droit, 1945). 53 "Notes," 8. 54 Ibid. 55 Ibid., 10. 56 Lauret, Malebranche, and Séraphin, Bastides, 103. 57 The charter for Buzet may be found in the Ordonnances and also in Saint Blanquat. The charter for Lauzerte is from L'abbé Taillefer, Histoire de Lauzerte (Paris: Res Universis, 1902; repr., 1990), 12-67.

138

Chapter Five

Before we examine these towns and their charters, there are a few issues to note regarding the equal property allotments. One is that although it is tempting to associate equally sized allotments with new foundations and specifically with grid forms, evidence makes it clear that in some cases the new lots were located in existing towns, and that in others, if a grid ever existed, it has been obliterated over the centuries, probably through property sales and exchanges.58 Whether new or existing, very few of the towns in this region have grid forms, and there are several reasons for this. One is that medieval dimensions were notoriously fluid, and even as lots and land parcels were described as having certain dimensions on a side, this did not necessarily translate into an orthogonal shape. Another reason for irregular lots is that these charters were often describing communities that had already been established, so that existing land ownership patterns would have impinged on newly developed parts of town, at least on one contingent side. The charter of Buzet, for example, describes the boundaries of the town in relationship to existing boundaries, many of which were natural features such as rocks, trees, or waterways.59 It is important to note here that much of the area in which Raymond VII and Alaman were developing their towns had been already exploited, whereas those towns established by Edward I in Aquitaine, for example, were placed in areas that were not so well developed.60 Finally, although the orderly and consistent layout of lots have been ideal for the notaries of the count and his lieutenant in order to collect taxes in a tidy manner from a given number of equally-sized properties, in reality people quickly bought and sold property and their property boundaries shifted accordingly. The cartulary of Raymond VII is full of examples of property exchanges and sales from the second quarter of the thirteenth century, and it is likely that the Roman laws of inheritance, which made it possible for several children to own a percentage of even a single building, increased the likelihood of shifts in property boundaries.61 58

This phenomenon has been noted in general. See for example Lauret, Malebranche, and Séraphin, Bastides, 85. A specific example is noted below in Lauzerte, where 200 equally-sized lots were noted in the late-twelfth century charter: Teulet, Layettes, Vol. I, 180. Yet the nineteenth-century cadastral plan (Fig. 5-5) shows very few regularly-sized lots. 59 Saint-Blanquat, Fondation, 131-140, Items XXXVII and XXXVIII. 60 Beresford, New Towns, 369. 61 Benoît Cursente and Mireille Mousnier, eds., Les territoires du médiéviste (Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2005). As for multiple owners of buildings, a château at Gaillac is a good example, where there were no less than fifty “owners” at one time in the twelfth century. Elie A. Rossignol, Etude sur

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

139

The other important issue related to property allotments is the notion that each town adhered to a similar system of measurement. Here again, the evidence demonstrates otherwise. A medieval sétérée in Cordes measured 63.98 ares (1.58 acres), whereas one in Castelnau-de-Lévis— just 14 miles away—measured 52.35 ares (1.29 acres).62 We find reinforcement of this distinction in the charters, where the terms of measurement are somewhat variable. For instance, at Buzet, using Latin for the charter, Raymond VII measured the houses in bracchia and the land with the terms pugneratam, quartenatam, and sexteriatam.63 Sicard Alaman, using Occitan for the charter of Castelnau-de-Lévis, measured his houses (or house lots) in canna and the property in quartairada and eminada.64 In general, house dimensions averaged 20 by 40 feet in size, or 800 square feet, and people received up to 4 acres for growing a garden and for planting vines and crops. Thus, in examing Raymond VII’s foundation at Buzet, which came into existence as a castrum between the years of 1237 and 1241, we see that rather than founding a site on virgin territory, the Count had gradually bought up property on either side of the Tarn River around a site already known to house an important treasure belonging to the counts of Toulouse.65 Raymond thus chartered Buzet as castri nostri (our castrum) with a list of 43 items. The first ten items of the charter are about property, taxes, and land use66. House (domum) sizes (Item No. 1) are specified l'histoire des institutions seigneuriales et communales de l'arrondissement de Gaillac, 1987 ed. (Toulouse: Imprimerie de Rives et Faget, 1866), 23. 62 Abel Poitrineau, Les Anciennes Mesures Locales du Sud-Ouest d'après Les Tables de Conversion (Clermont-Ferrand: Institut d'Etudes du Massif Central Université Blaise-Pascal, 1996), 195. There were also synonyms for these terms of measure. The term sétérée was interchangeable with l’arpent and le sac. All were related to the amount of land a man could plow in one day. 63 The bracchia/brachiarum/brasse (there are many spellings) was as variable as the sétérée but roughly between 1.5 and 2 meters in length, and this measure was used for the canna/canne as well. The pugneratam, quartenatam and eminatam were equal in size, measuring about 1/3 of an acre, but the pugneratam was used for a garden and the quartenatam and eminatam were used for vines. The sexteriatam (1/6 of an arpent) was about 1/4 of an acre. Alcide Curie-Seimbres, Essai sur les villes fondées dans le sud-ouest de la France, aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles sous le nom générique de bastides (Toulouse: E. Privat, 1880), 166-72; Lauret, Malebranche, and Séraphin, Bastides, 308; and Saint-Blanquat, Fondation, 37, 54. 64 Compayré, Etudes historiques sur l'Albigeois, 314. 65 Dossat, Saisimentum comitatus Tholosani, 191. 66 Pastoret, Ordonnances, Vol. 15, 420-421.

140

Chapter Five

rather than lot sizes: 4 brachiarum in width and 6 in length (about 25 by 38 feet in size).67 However, inhabitants already owning smaller or larger homes could keep them and pay accordingly—this charter item coorborates the fact that there was an existing settlement of some kind (Item 2). Anyone living outside the town boundaries, whether in villa seu in bariis (suburbs), would pay less for their property: 3 denari (pennies) instead of 6 (Item 2).68 New inhabitants would receive one pugneratam in local measure (or 1/4 acre) for 1 penny, and 1 quartenatam of land (1/3 to 1/2 acre) for growing vines for 3 pennies—but everyone could have 1 sexteriatum (1/6 of an arpent or about 8,920 square feet) for free (Item 4).69 Lauzerte, called lo castel di Lauzerta, was a hilltop site like Cordes to the northwest of the count’s territory, in Quercy, at the intersection of ancient Roman roads which came from Moissac and led to Cahors and Agen (Fig. 5-5). Raymond VII confirmed its late-twelfth-century charter in 1241.70 The charter of Lauzerte is of interest because it merges the model of the sauvetés with that of Montauban insofar as it includes specifications for house sizes. It is written in Occitan, and is thought to have been issued by Count Raymond V after Arnaud Gausbert de Castanher and his son gave the land to him in order that the count might build a castle and 200 houses.71 These houses (maios) were 3 by 6 brassas in size, or about 6 by 12 meters (about 20 by 40 feet). 72 In looking at a contemporary cadastral map, it can be seen that several lots of this size still exist, although it is hard to believe that 200 units would fit on this hilltop site in the area available for development. However, it was not uncommon for charter language to reflect the ambitions of its creators for town growth. In the charter of Cordes, for example, suburbs are mentioned in “Item 2” (in dicto castro vel in suburbiis castri) at a date when according to all evidence there was nothing built beyond a portion of the first enceinte.73 The charter for the vila of Villebrumier is dated from 1268 and was issued by Pierre of Lombaresse, the lord of Villebrumier, who rendered 67

Ibid., 420. Ibid. 69 Ibid., 421. 70 Taillefer, Histoire de Lauzerte, 13. 71 Ibid., 4. 72 Ibid., 3. 73 Charles Portal, Histoire de la ville de Cordes en Albigeois (1222-1799), Third (1984) ed. (Toulouse: Société des Amis du Vieux Cordes, Privat, 1902 ), Chapter 23. 68

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

141

homage to Alphonse de Poitiers in 1255.74 Its formal salutation is in Latin but the body of the charter is in Occitan. Three consuls were present at the signing: Arnaud Faure, Johan Delpech, and Bernard de Vinhas, so we can safely say that the vila was pre-existing.75 The interest of this charter lies in the specifications of property allotments, and in the priority given to house lots over space for the marketplace. It also confirms evidence that whereas charters before 1200 seem to restrict their allocations to house dimensions, those after 1240 all seem to include property for the cultivation of crops and gardens.

Fig. 5-5. 1966 Cadastral plan of Lauzerte.

In this same charter, the second item gives the inhabitants 1 ayral for a house sized 5 brassas wide by 10 brassas deep (about 32 by 64 feet) for 1 74

Dossat, Saisimentum comitatus Tholosani, 186, no. 184. Edourad De Vacquié, "Mémoire sur les coutumes de Villebrumier," in Mémoires de l'Acadamie des Sciences, Inscriptions et Belles Lettres de Toulouse, 3e série (Toulouse: 1845), 208. 75

142

Chapter Five

dinier or penny per year.76 It then goes on to describe land allocations, which were 1 cartarada de terra obz de casal de d’ort, or “for what is necessary for a house and garden”—this would have been about 1/2 acre, for 1 penny.77 In addition, there was 1/2 cartonada for a field or for “what is necessary,” and 1/2 cartonada de terra for vines or for “what is necessary” as well. These two parcels cost 6 pennies each and would have been sized at about 1 acre. Thus, the total package cost an inhabitant of Villebrumier 14 pennies per year. The lord was generous with his land: inhabitants wanting more land for fields or vines only need ask, as the lord lor ne due donnar com obs lor [naura] ab bonase.78 Whether or not one would consider the following a boon, it too was an unusual item: Lombaresse gave the inhabitants the roads and gates with the approval of the consuls (Item 7).79 The terms for dimensions are dissimilar: stades vs. brassas.80 De Lombaresse is more specific than any other charter-writers represented here about commercial space. He offers cinq cestaradas de terre obz de beurados et del plassa (five sétérées of land for fairs and for the market) at specific locations, but if it is found that new houses must be built there, the markets can be moved elsewhere.81 Marking a middle ground between the pattern of “socially conscientious” regulation of the town-dwelling, the abbot of Auilliac, and the economically driven foundations of the counts of Toulouse are the four towns founded by the lieutenant of the count, Sicard Alaman and his mother, Fine. Those discussed here include Bouloc (1242), Montastruc (1242), Puybegon (1246), and Castlenau-de-Lévis (1256).82 Alaman’s 76

Ibid., Item 2, 209. Ibid. 78 Ibid., Item 7, 210. 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid. 81 Ibid., 200, 213. 82 The charter for Bouloc is found in the Layettes, and that of Montastruc in HGL. Teulet, Layettes, Vol II, 474-75 ; and De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol 8, cols 10811084. The charter for Puybegon is from Edmond Cabie and Louis Mazens, Cartulaire et divers actes des Alaman, des de Lautrec et des de Lévis (Toulouse1882), 67-72. The charter for Castlenau-de-Lévis is from Compayré, Etudes historiques sur l'Albigeois, 313-320. Alaman also inherited a small town called Labastide de Lévis (named after the lord of that family who controlled it), which had been founded by his father in 1193 as a bastide in the sense of a fortification. It later became known as Labastide de Montfort, as it was seized by Simon de Montfort during the Albigensian Crusade. There are no records of Sicard having issued a charter for this place, and it is not listed in the Saisimentum. It is, however, on the map today as Labastide-de-Lévis, and is found in Lauret’s 77

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

143

charters all include dimensional allotments of land, where none of them mention a market per se, although that for Castlenau-de-Lévis has typical lists of fees for market goods.83 Alaman’s charters are interesting because they prefigure the idea of a bastide as a new town, but at the same time they contain elements that seem archaic for the time they are written. It is in the charters for Bouloc (Boniloci or “Good Place”) and Montastruc (Montastrux) that we find the word bastida used in such a way that it implies a new town foundation, although the word is not used to describe the towns themselves, which are named as a locum (both towns were later inventoried as bastides in the Saisimentum, however).84 Charters for these towns were written in the same year just six months apart and are almost identical. Both offer the same formulae to attract inhabitants as part of the first item and both refer to the customs of the opido et villa of Castelsarrasin as their model.85 Alaman gives inhabitants land to build their houses: dedit & concessit eis in eodem loco ad faciendum & hedificandum ibi domos.86 One cartonada of land (about one acre) costs 12 deniers or 1 solidus, although in Montastruc 2 cartonadas are offered.87 House sizes were not mentioned, but it is clear that people were expected to build, and as usual, the woods belonging to the founder are made available for construction materials. In addition, people in both towns were entitled to one eminatam of land (about 1/3 acre) for planting and cultivating vines (ad plantandam et tenendam ibi vineam) for 3 pennies, and one punharatam (again, about 1/3 acre) for a garden (ad ortum) for 2 pennies.88 The charter for Bouloc also contains a spatial reference to pasturage. Men and women were given three communal fields for pasturage (plassas pro pascuis que sint comunia). One location was to be between the fountain of Gairalde, the town, the road to Castelli-novi, and the road rivi Canelle; the second between the fountain of Candelh, the town, and the

inventory. Elie A. Rossignol, Canton de Gaillac, Monographies Communales ou Etude Statistique, Historique et Monumentale du Département du Tarn (Albi: Faure, 1864; repr., 1987), 79. 83 Compayré, Etudes historiques sur l'Albigeois, 316-17. 84 Dossat, Saisimentum comitatus Tholosani, 185, 187. 85 For Bouloc, Teulet, Layettes, Vol. II, 475 . For Montastruc, De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. VIII, col. 1084. 86 Teulet, Layettes, Vol. II, 474; and De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. VIII, col. 1081. 87 HGL, Vol. VIII, col. 1081. Line 9. 88 For Bouloc, Item 4 in Teulet, Layettes, Vol. II, 474. For Montastruc, Item 3 in De Vic and Vaissète, HGL, Vol. VIII, col. 1081.

144

Chapter Five

public road (carrariam publicam); and the third near the road that comes from Fronton.89 It is much the same for Puybegon, (Pueg Beguo), chartered in Occitan by Fine Alaman, Sicard’s mother, in 1246.90 Hers was the first charter for this castel, and it too offers equal opportunity to inhabitants in the form of land allocations. Here people received one airal 4 brassas wide and 6 brassas long (about 26 by 38 feet) for 3 pennies.91 The airal, or ayral, was usually the lot for the house. In addition, people were offered one cestairada of land (about 2 acres) for 4 pennies, one eminada for 3 pennies, one sestairada de prat for 4 pennies, and one cartairada ad obs d’ort for 2 pennies. 16 pennies total for about 5 acres of land and a house plot.92 Finally, there is Castelnau-de-Lévis, which began as the Puy de Bonafous (a puy is a high, rocky outcropping or small butte) given to Alaman by Raymond VII in 1235.93 Twenty-one years later, at the request of ten prohomes, a group that included cavalles et barrians, Alaman issued a new charter for Castlenau de Bonafous in Occitan with forty-nine items.94 This charter is of interest because it emphasizes a new life for an existing settlement through the rhetoric of the charter: lo seinhor Sicart Alaman agues faig bastir castell en lo pueig Bonafos. Moreover, the language that defines social segregation reminds us about the rights of service that were once common for lords, but that Alaman would now moderate. The site is segregated into the cap del castel (the “head” or top of the hill where the castle was located) and the barri del castel (the suburbs on the hillslopes).95 The town layout, which has changed very little since the fourteenth century, is the classic form of the castlenaux of the eleventh and twelfth centuries (Fig. 5-6), with the castle set at the top of a hill and the village spread out in concentric circles over the slopes below.96 The cavalles who lived in the cap, or the “castle” part of the castlenau, enjoyed privileges that the barrians living below did not. The houses at the top were not taxed, but those in the suburbs were; and new 89

Teulet, Layettes, Vol. II, 475. Cabie and Mazens, Cartulaire, 67-72. 91 Ibid., Item 2, 68. 92 Ibid. 93 Higounet, "Les Alaman," 315. 94 Compayré, Etudes historiques sur l'Albigeois, 313-20. 95 Ibid., Item 8, 315. 96 For descriptions of castlenaux, see Charles Higounet, "Pour l'histoire de l'occupation du sol et du peuplement de la France du Sud-Ouest, du XIe au XIVe siècle," in Paysages et Villages Neufs du Moyen Age (Bordeaux: Fédération historique du Sud-Ouest, 1975), 380. 90

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

145

Fig. 5-6. 1966 Cadastral plan of Castlenau-de-Lévis.

inhabitants were not allowed to build in the cap, while suburban dwellers were given an airal of 4 cannas wide and 6 cannas long for their

146

Chapter Five

house (about 7 x 10 meters or 22 x 32 feet) for 3 pennies a year.97 There are other words that suggest an “old” order, which are not found in other charters. In “Items 41 and 42,” Alaman refers to host e calvagada, which he shall have when he is in lo castell and to alberga, which he will not enforce on anyone against their will.98 The examination of the charters issued within the territory controlled by the counts of Toulouse illustrates an evolving history of town development that encompasses changing social, economic, and political factors. The offspring of the sauvetés and the creations of lords learning how to use a monetary economy, the towns in the territory of the counts of Toulouse were marked by charters that often advertised equality for new inhabitants based on spatial allocations. The trend began before the Albigensian Crusade, with Count Alphonse-Jourdain and his son Raymond V trying to take advantage of the growing economy and establish some control in an area becoming increasingly independent of their influence. During and after the Crusade, many families and friends living in this region were displaced by persecution and inquisitorial practices. Raymond VII followed the example of his ancestors in using town charters to consolidate this population and put land back into production, while his lieutenant Sicard Alaman similarly developed the land he had inherited. Subtle differences in Alaman’s charters suggest that he was more interested than the count in maintaining his control over town affairs, and perhaps less concerned about revenues from market activity. Yet they both followed the model established by Count Alphonse-Jourdain at Montauban in the mid-twelfth century of allocating equal land parcels to new inhabitants in an effort to make their town foundations attractive. The importance of this aspect of the charters is suggested by its placement at the beginning of the document. The relatively consistent dimensions of the parcels—despite local measures—suggest that we would see grid forms when in fact that is rarely the case, but this irregularity is due to a variable topography in this region, to patterns of ownership, and to the fluidity of medieval concepts of measure. Regardless, the pattern established by the charter specifications does reveal itself in town layouts. These charters demonstrate that the primary motive of the founders of these first bastides was to establish productive market towns as quickly as possible without worrying overmuch about controlling the building forms 97

Compayré, Etudes historiques sur l'Albigeois, Item 7, 314. This is a little confusing as written, but it may be that he expected to be housed when he had need of military service but not at other times. Other charters mention that inhabitants were “free of service” to the lord, but beyond that phrase no specific terms such as these are used. 98

Founders’ Concepts of Space in the First Bastides

147

and locations. Unlike abbots such as those of Aurillac and Montauriol, who resided in the community and thus did concern themselves with these things, Raymond VII and Sicard Alaman were itinerant lords. Their lives had been filled with constant movement—for Raymond VII the movement of a warrior, and for Alaman, that of a count’s lieutenant. Neither would inhabit the towns they founded, and neither was steeped in the orderly ways of monastery life as were the abbots. These two men, however, were key instruments of change in this region, and set the stage for the significant surge of urban development that followed the count’s death in 1249 and that allowed many commoners to begin a new life with the most valuable gift of all; that of land for living and working.

CHAPTER SIX HOW URBAN WAS URBAN FOR THE MENDICANTS IN MEDIEVAL TUSCANY? ERIK GUSTAFSON GEORGE MASON UNIVERSITY

The birth of the mendicant orders has long been linked to the explosive growth of Europe’s cities in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.1 The five mendicant orders—the Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustinian Hermits, Carmelites, and Servites—are considered to be urban religious groups, as opposed to traditional Benedictine monasticism, which is associated with retreat into the “desert” of the countryside. Explicit in this formulation is a city versus countryside dichotomy, associating urbanity with the city. There are, however, many problems with such a characterization, revolving around assumptions regarding what constitutes urban. A wide range of settlements from cities to towns and villages have long been dealt with together by historians, distinguishing between levels of “urban” life by economic, political, or juridical defining principles.2 While demonstrating the close and inextricable ties between the city and countryside, these definitions have terminologically pulled the rural into the urban. What then were the physical, material, and spatial settings for mendicant 1 See, for instance, C.H. Lawrence, The Friars: The Impact of the Early Mendicant Movement on Western Society (London: Longman, 1994), 1. For a classic consideration of mendicants and the city, see the essays in Joselita Raspi Serra, ed., Gli ordini mendicanti e la città: Aspetti architettonici, sociali e politici (Milano: Guerini Studio, 1990). 2 Teofilo Ruiz, “Urban Historical Geography and the Writing of Late Medieval Urban History,” in A Companion to the Medieval World, eds. Carol Lansing and Edward English (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 397-412, particularly 397-399; and Kate Giles and Christopher Dyer, eds., Town and Country in the Middle Ages (Leeds: Maney, 2007), 1-5; both with further bibliography.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

149

houses? In this essay, I will begin by considering the historiographic linkage between the mendicants and the city, before discussing what constituted urban in the medieval context. Finally, through a statistical overview of Tuscan mendicant settlements, I will argue that the degree of urbanity varied between the mendicant orders; while some orders merit the label urban, others—particularly the Franciscans—could equally be characterized as rural. Considering the mendicants as urban orders ultimately restricts scholarly understanding of these groups, resulting in a view of the mendicants in the city that acts as a caricature, distorting a fuller portrait of the mendicants spread across the medieval landscape in both the city and the countryside. Tuscany is a useful case study for these questions, as it was a cradle for the mendicant orders. Although Francis was from neighboring Umbria, he spent a great amount of time in Tuscany. Francis’s greatest miracle, the stigmata, was given to him according to tradition at the mountain retreat of La Verna in the eastern Tuscan mountains, still one of the main Franciscan pilgrimage sites today. He also dictated at least part of his Testament in Siena during his final illness before returning to Assisi to die, a document that had critical importance in the development of the Franciscan order.3 Both the Augustinian Hermit and Servite orders were founded in the region. Although not native, the Dominicans and Carmelites were also well represented, with several beatified figures testifying to their local importance. Tuscany is also useful in that most of the medieval churches are either still intact or their locations can be identified, providing an invaluable statistical corpus.4 Mendicant architecture and settlement patterns varied widely across Europe, however, and the results of this analysis do not constitute a generalization for all the orders. Rather, the questions posed here may prompt similar inquiries elsewhere.

Mendicants and the Urban Tradition The mendicants have been associated with cities since the early days of the orders. Luigi Pellegrini has suggested that the trope of mendicant urbanity began with the English monastic chronicler Roger of Wendover (died 1236), who characterized the early Franciscans in England as directing their efforts toward the cities, which was typical of the earliest 3

Regis Armstrong, J.A. Wayne Hellmann, and William Short, eds., Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, Vol. 1 (New York: New City Press, 1999), 124. 4 For the Franciscans in Tuscany, see Erik Gustafson, “Tradition and Renewal in the Thirteenth-Century Franciscan Architecture of Tuscany” (PhD diss., New York University, 2012), 13-14, 49-117.

150

Chapter Six

Franciscan expansions into northern Europe.5 As large population centers, cities were the obvious destination for the new mendicant apostles to save souls and beg alms for their support.6 An often cited passage in the anonymous Determinationes quaestionum super regulam fratrum Minorum of the later thirteenth century argues that cities and towns (civitates et oppida) were the places where the friars could best perform their pastoral duties, have access to the victuals, and protect their books and liturgical vessels.7 While frequently cited as evidence for the urban (read city) focus of the mendicants,8 the passage in fact suggests a multiplicity of habitat types by referring to both cities and towns.9 The presupposition of urban as city has facilitated the elision of all kinds of medieval habitats, from rural village to city, into the urban portmanteau. Friars were certainly active in the burgeoning cities of early thirteenth-century Europe, but the long-standing focus on cities to the exclusion of more rural settings has whitewashed the scale of mendicant history. The contemporary strength of the linkage between the mendicants and cities was reinforced and burnished by the authority of Jacques Le Goff and his deeply influential articles of 1968 and 1970.10 Methodologically rooted in Marxist urban sociology and cultural anthropology, Le Goff’s point of departure was that, “the urban map of medieval France coincides 5

Luigi Pellegrini, Insediamenti francescani nell’Italia del Duecento (Roma: Edizioni Laurentianum, 1984), 107-109. 6 Antonio Rigon, “Mendicant Orders and the Reality of Economic Life in Italy in the Middle Ages,” in The Origin, Development, and Refinement of Medieval Religious Mendicancies, ed. Donald Prudlo (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 241-75; and Cécile Caby, “Il costo dell’inurbanamento: Monaci e frati a confronto,” in L’economia dei conventi dei frati minori e predicatori fino alla metà del Trecento (Spoleto: CISAM, 2004), 295-337. 7 No longer attribued to Bonaventure, the Determinationes quaestionum super regulam fratrum Minorum was published in his Opera Omnia, Vol. 8 (Quaracchi: 1898). The passage is Pars 1, quaestio V (Cur Fratres frequentius maneant in civitatibus et oppidis), 340-41. 8 For example, John Freed, The Friars and German Society in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1977), 11-12. 9 Pellegrini, Insediamenti, 126, citing Determinationes Pars 2, quaestio IX (page 8:365) and Pars 2, quaestio XIX (page 8:370), notes that the Determinationes also mentions bonae civitates et oppida et villae, villa pauperculae, habitantes in rure, in locis silvestribus vel desertis, mansus, grangiae, castra, and terrae. Pellegrini nevertheless continues on to emphasize the urbanity of the mendicants, 126-32. 10 Jacques Le Goff, “Apostolat mendiant et fait urbain dans la France medieval: L’implantation des ordres mendiants,” Annales 23 no. 2 (1968): 335-45; Jacques Le Goff, “Ordres mendiants et urbanisation dans la France medieval: État de l’enquête,” Annales 25 no. 4 (1970): 924-46.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

151

with the map of mendicant convents. In other words, there are no mendicant convents outside urban areas, and there are no urban centers without a mendicant convent.”11 Any location where a mendicant group settled is therefore “urban” by Le Goff’s definition, an assertion made in an article that announced the outlines of a research project rather than summarizing findings. Two years later, Le Goff published a longer study in which he qualified his thesis, incorporating other factors such as population size, socio-political situations, and architectural markers such as walls. While Le Goff introduced distinctions between “villes principales” and “petites villes,” the assumption of an urban milieu remained fundamental to his conception of mendicant settlement practice. Positing a correlation between the number of mendicant houses founded in a habitation and the scale of its urbanity, Le Goff indelibly bound all mendicant convents to the idealized urban city.12 Historians of mendicant settlement patterns have built on Le Goff, emphasizing the city as paramount, while noting in passing the range of urban scale within the concept.13 Religious historians have done likewise, examining the economic issues raised by urban convents as a phenomenon of the cities without touching on more rural houses.14 C.H. Lawrence devoted a chapter in his important monograph on mendicant history to 11 Le Goff, “Apostolat mendiant,” 337, states “La carte urbaine de la France médiéval et la carte des couvents mendiants coincident, c’est-à-dire: a) Pas de couvent mendiant en dehors d’une agglomération urbaine; b) Pas de centre urbain sans un couvent mendiant.” English translation by Arthur Goldhammer in Histories: French Constructions of the Past, eds. Jacques Revel and Lynn Hunt (New York: New Press, 1995), 106-14, particularly 107. For a comment on Le Goff’s intellectual background, see Peter Biller, “Popular Religion in the Central and Later Middle Ages,” in Companion to Historiography, edited by Michael Bentley (London: Routledge, 1997), 221-48, specifically 224-25. 12 See Mario Sanfilippo’s criticisms of Le Goff in “Il convento e la città: Nuova definizione di un tema,” in Spazio dell’umiltà (Fara Sabina: Centro francescano Santa Maria in Castello, 1984), 327-41, specifically 331-34. 13 John Freed, The Friars and German Society in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1977), 11-12; and Pellegrini, Insediamenti, 126-32. Preceding Le Goff but agreeing in concept is Richard Emery, The Friars in Medieval France (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962). 14 Antonio Rigon, “Mendicant Orders and the Reality of Economic Life,” 241-75; Cécile Caby, “Il costo dell’inurbanamento,” 295-337; and the essays in Économie et religion: L’expérience des ordres mendiants (XIIIe-XVe siècle), eds. Nicole Bériou and Jacques Chiffoleau (Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon, 2009), a volume appropriately dedicated to Jacques Le Goff.

152

Chapter Six

“The Mission to the Towns,” noting that as the friars were, “the product of the new urban society, they preached the Word to people whose language and mental habits they knew and understood. Because their mission was directed to the people of the towns, the distribution of their friaries and the local whereabouts of their settlements corresponded to the pattern of urban expansion in thirteenth-century Europe.”15 Again, towns and cities are elided within urbanity, equating the two kinds of habitat with each other and overlooking the possibility of rural settings altogether. For the historiography of mendicant architecture, urban has meant cities. In his landmark survey of mendicant architecture, Wolfgang Schenkluhn characterized the thirteenth century as the moment in which a city versus countryside paradigm crystalized. Schenkluhn’s adoption of a city versus countryside paradigm recalls both the traditional mendicantmonastic city-countryside dichotomy as well as Le Goff’s 1970 distinction between “petites villes” and “villes principales.”16 For Schenkluhn, the new urban world introduced new modalities of work, unprecedented levels of both luxury and poverty, and more deeply embedded structures of communication resulting from the mobility of merchants, pilgrims, and crusaders, all of which expanded the world of mankind’s experience and thought.17 The mendicant orders, according to Schenkluhn, represented the Church hierarchy’s attempt to pacify and control the new urban masses and their associated issues. Schenkluhn’s emphasis on the historical urban experience was an important corrective to earlier studies, which had treated the city as an abstract ideal that was designed and manipulated.18 Despite returning attention to the historical contingencies of specific sites in studying mendicant architecture, Schenkluhn still maintained the urban15

C.H. Lawrence, The Friars: The Impact of the Early Mendicant Movement on Western Society (London: Longman, 1994), 102. 16 Le Goff, “Ordres mendiants et urbanisation dans la France medieval,” 924-46. 17 Schenkluhn, Architektur der Bettelorden: Die Baukunst der Dominikaner und Franziskaner in Europa, (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000), 21-22. Schenkluhn cites the German translation (Das Hochmittelalter (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer-Taschenbuch-Verlag, 1965) of Jacques Le Goff’s La civilisation de l’Occident médiéval (Paris: Arthaud, 1964) for his discussion of mendicant urbanization. 18 Enrico Guidoni, “Ordini mendicanti e organizzazione dello spazio urbano nelle città toscane,” in Gli ordini mendicanti a Pistoia, ed. Renzo Nelli (Pistoia: Società pistoiese di storia patria, 2001), 55-68; Enrico Guidoni, “Città e ordini mendicanti: Il ruolo dei conventi nella crescita e nella progettazione urbana del XIII e XIV secolo,” Quaderni medievali 4 (1977): 69-106. Guidoni was criticized by Sanfilippo, “Il convento e la città,” 333-37; and by Caby, “Il costo dell’inurbanamento,” 301.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

153

as-city elision of the rural. Finally, in her recent book Caroline Bruzelius posited the city as the primary stage on which mendicant friars externalized religious practice for themselves and the laity, thereby making the city the spatial epicenter of mendicant identity.19 Bruzelius is clear in her intent not to present survey-like conclusions, but to raise a series of new approaches to understanding mendicant architecture. The present inquiry into the urban-rural dynamic of mendicant settlements is intended to do likewise.

What Constitutes Medieval Urbanity? The development of medieval habitations has been a rich subject of debate between historians20 and archaeologists21 over the last thirty years. 19 Caroline Bruzelius, Preaching, Building, and Burying: Friars in the Medieval City (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014). 20 Important historians writing on the development of cities include Henri Pirenne, Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1925, reprinted 2014); Fritz Rörig, Die europäische Stadt und die Kultur des Bürgertums im Mittelalter (Göttingen: Vandenhoech & Ruprecht, 1955), translated as The Medieval Town (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967); Edith Ennen, Die europäische Stadt des Mittelalters (Göttingen: Vandenhoech & Ruprecht, 1972), translated as The Medieval Town (Oxford: North-Holland Publishing Company, 1979); Pierre Toubert, Les structures du Latium médiéval (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1973); R.H. Hilton, English and French Towns in Feudal Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Leonardo Benevolo, The European City (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993); David Nicholas, The Growth of the Medieval City (London: Longman, 1997); Martino Berengo, L’Europa delle città: Il volto della società urbana europea tra Medioevo ed Età moderna (Torino: Einaudi, 1999); Adriaan Verhulst, The Rise of Cities in North-West Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Michael McCormick, Origins of the European Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); and David Nicholas, Urban Europe 1100-1700 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 21 Significant publications include Richard Hodges, Dark Age Economics: The Origins of Towns and Trade AD 600-1000 (London: Duckworth, 1982, 2nd edition 1989); Richard Hodges and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne & the Origins of Europe: Archaeology and the Pirenne Thesis (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983); Gian Pietro Brogiolo and Bryan Ward-Perkins, eds., The Idea and Ideal of the Town between Late Antiquity and the Early Modern Ages (Leiden: Brill, 1999); 7-20; Richard Hodges, Towns and Trade in the Age of Charlemagne (London: Bristol Classical Press, 2000); Gian Pietro Brogiolo, Nancy Gauthier, and Neil Christie, eds., Towns and their Territories between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Leiden: Brill, 2003); John Schofield & Alan Vince, Medieval Towns: The Archaeology of British Towns in their European

154

Chapter Six

Riccardo Francovich and Richard Hodges in particular have written extensively on the growth of habitations in central Italy from the Late Antique through the medieval periods.22 From roughly the eighth century inhabitants of the rural countryside increasingly gathered in small habitations called curtes (singular curtis), which by the tenth century tended to be grouped around a castle, parish church, or monastery.23 Some habitations grew into towns or boroughs, usually still smaller than the administrative centers in the old cities.24 Maria Ginatempo and Andrea Giorgi have demonstrated the difficulty in linking documented terms for habitations with the archaeological remains that have been discovered. According to Ginatempo and Giorgi, in Tuscany the tenth-century curtis, castra, and castella were small villages that could varyingly be centers for power and control, nodes for the collections of goods, or simply small settlements, any of which could be fortified or not.25 The term villa, which can only be defined vaguely as, “a relatively agglomerated open settlement or at least a social-settlement nucleus of a certain size and identity,” increasingly replaced the older terms from the twelfth century.26 A villa was roughly equivalent to castelli, pievi, and borghi, although borghi were necessarily located on the regional road network.27 The term civitas was used in Tuscany for diocesan centers, regardless of their legal status or size.28 At a general level, all of these settlements could be classed as urban in

Setting (London: Equinox, 2003); Bernard Gauthiez, Elisabeth Zadora-Rio, and Henri Gelinié, Village et ville au Moyen Age: Les dynamiques morphologiques (Tours: Presses Universitaires François Rabelais, 2003); and Kate Giles and Christopher Dyer, eds., Town and Country in the Middle Ages (Leeds: Maney, 2007). 22 Riccardo Francovich and Richard Hodges, Villa to Village: The Transformation of the Roman Countryside in Italy, c. 400-1000 (London: Duckworth, 2003) incorporates and summarizes much of their earlier work. See also Marco Valenti, L’insediamento altomedievale nelle campagne toscane (Borgo San Lorenzo: Edizioni All’Insegna del Giglio, 2004). 23 Francovich and Hodges, Villa to Village, 75-105, 111-12. 24 Neil Christie, From Constantine to Charlemagne: An Archaeology of Italy AD 300-800 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 183-280; and David Nicholas, The Growth of the Medieval City, 54-168. 25 Maria Ginatempo and Andrea Giorgi, “Documentary Sources for the History of Medieval Settlements in Tuscany,” in Reconstructing Past Population Trends in Mediterranean Europe, eds. John Bintliff and Kostas Sbonias (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1999), 173-93, especially 177-78. 26 Ibid., 180. 27 Ibid., 180-81. 28 Ibid., 175.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

155

that the population density was greater than in the open countryside, consistent with the generally broad usage of urban encountered above. A range of definitions for city, town, and urban currently co-exist, all informed by historical or archaeological disciplinary preoccupations. Predominant among these are economic factors such as the presence of markets and trade networks, of political institutions such as franchises, charters of incorporation or communal rights, or of social institutions such as the presence of merchant or intellectual classes.29 But a small rural settlement is not a densely packed, large scale city, and while quantitative factors might link them together taxonomically, qualitative and other socio-historical factors complicate matters. What is needed is a set of criteria that differentiate the urban-non urban spectrum in qualitative, experiential terms. Such a set of criteria has been suggested by Robert Maxwell, who cogently argued, “medieval urbanism is unquestionably also a consequence of the built environment.”30 Maxwell quotes passages from the romance epic Perceval and Gregory of Tours to demonstrate how deeply the visual environment was linked to socio-economic and political factors in medieval understandings of urban. Perceval neatly encapsulates a twelfthcentury image of an idealized city: surrounded by bountiful fields, defended by fine walls and battlements, filled with knights, serfs, burgesses and merchants, with fine objects to purchase, culminating in magnificent churches with towers.31 Such a cosmopolitan view is similar to that described by Schenkluhn above, but is marked by an insistence on the visual effects of the city’s monuments. In his sixth-century Historia Francorum, Gregory of Tours wonders to himself why the city of Dijon was not called a civitates, after having noted the city’s scale, walls, towers,

29

Robert Maxwell, The Art of Medieval Urbanism: Parthenay in Romanesque Aquitaine (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007), 6-10; and Ruiz, “Urban Historical Geography,” 387-99; also see footnotes 20 and 21 above. 30 Maxwell, The Art of Medieval Urbanism, 8. 31 Maxwell, Art of Medieval Urbanism, 1-2, referring to Chretien de Troyes, Perceval, the Story of the Grail, trans. Nigel Bryant (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 1982), 142-43. For more on the tropes of the city in medieval thought, see also Jacques Le Goff, “The Image of the City in Twelfth Century French Literature,” in The Medieval Imagination (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 151-76; Jacques Le Goff, “An Urban Metaphor of William of Auvergne,” in The Medieval Imagination, 177-80; and François Fossier, “La ville dans l’historiographie franciscaine de la fin du XIIIe et du début XIV siècle,” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome 89 no. 2 (1977): 641-55.

156

Chapter Six

and gateways.32 As the city was neither a diocese nor archdiocese the term civitates was not appropriate (as noted previously for Tuscany), despite the habitation fulfilling the visual criteria of a city.33 To be considered truly urban in the sense drawn from Perceval and Gregory of Tours, one or two isolated monuments are not enough to create a program conveying the identity of a city. The coordination and planning of a visual urban identity, combined with other cultural phenomena such as economics, politics, sociology and religion, all combine to differentiate a city from a village or town. In this model, urban pertains to cities, but not to towns or villages. So what then constitutes medieval urbanity? The purpose here is not to establish the categorization of each habitation in the historically accurate terms of civitas, villa, burgus, castra, or pieve. Instead, this statistical taxonomy is meant to demonstrate simply that there was a wide variety of habitations, and that the term urban is not appropriate to cover them all. I will use the terms city, small city, town, and village not in historical terms, but as neutral comparative terms. I consider cities and small cities to be urban, while towns and villages are not as they lack the necessary visual identity criteria. My prima facie criteria include habitation scale, prominence of monumental buildings and spaces for religious and political authority, the visual coordination of monuments across the habitat, and the visual variegation commercial, residential, and industrial spaces within the architecture of the habitat. For example, as an habitation featuring both a diocesan complex and a (now ruined) comital castle, Chiusi was technically a civitas. As a physical visual environment, however, little else beyond those two prominent monuments contributed in the creation of a visual urban identity. The habitat was small, the size of other large villages, and was largely residential. The open spaces of Chiusi are early modern or modern, creating impressions of monumental visual programs that were lacking in the medieval habitat.34 I categorize Chiusi as a town, an important habitation in the Tuscan landscape, but not an urban center. This is not to say such visual constructions of urbanity were absent in medieval Tuscany; on the contrary, as Marvin Trachtenberg has shown,

32

Maxwell, The Art of Medieval Urbanism, 6-7, referring to the Historia Francorum Book III, Chapter 19 (PL 71, col. 259). 33 On city walls see Kathryn Reyerson, “Medieval Walled Space: Urban Development vs. Defense,” in City Walls: The Urban Enceinte in Global Perspective, ed. James Tracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 88116. 34 Laura Martini, ed., Chiusi Cristiana (Chiusi: Edizioni Lui, 1997); and Piero Zoi, Chiusi: I luoghi, gli itinerari, la storia (Città di Castello: Edimond, 1996).

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

157

cities such as Florence were very precise in creating an urban scenography to articulate civic identity and power.35

Statistical Overview of Mendicant Urbanity in Tuscany The goal of this inquiry is to determine what kinds of settlements attracted the different mendicant orders, not to analyze in detail the urban status of over 60 sites around Tuscany with mendicant houses (Fig. 6-1). Arguing for the categorization of each situation would be unwieldy, and so I present my determinations based on the criteria established above. Designations are prima facie judgments on my part, and subject to both challenge as well as revision. This is far from a complete overview of the Tuscan landscape, as I focus on habitations in which the mendicant orders settled.36 I do not give an overview of the feudal landscape of comital and monastic centers, consider the geographic topography of the region, or even present a holistic panorama of urban and rural centers around Tuscany. I will begin by setting the stage with the diocesan centers, before moving sequentially through the Dominicans, Carmelites, Servites, Augustinian Hermits, and Franciscans, presenting the settlement pattern for each order. The discussion of each order will also consider how many houses were built inside or outside city walls, a further indicator of the degree to which the various orders contributed to the sensorial perception of the settlement’s built environment.

35

Marvin Trachtenberg, Dominion of the Eye: Urbanism, Art, and Power in Early Modern Florence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); and Marvin Trachtenberg, “Scénographie urbaine et identité civique: Réflexion sur la Florence du Trecento,” Revue de l’art 102 (1993): 22-37. Also in Tuscany, see Alick McLean, Prato: Architecture, Piety, and Political Identity in a Tuscan City-State (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008). For a slightly earlier urbanistic precedent outside Tuscany, see Areli Marina, The Italian Piazza Transformed: Parma in the Communal Age (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2012). 36 The Italian publisher Editori dell’Acero has begun a series on the historical medieval centers of Tuscany, with different taxonomic criteria than that suggested in this article. Volumes published so far include Bruno Bruchi and Alessandro Naldi, Città e centri storici della Toscana: Da Firenze a Siena, da Arezzo alla Maremma (Empoli: Editori dell’Acero, 2002); Bruno Bruchi and Alessandro Naldi, Borghi medievali della Toscana: L’area fiorentina, l’antico Stato di Siena e la maremma orientale (Empoli: Editori dell’Acero, 2010); Bruno Bruchi, Aldo Favini, and Alessandro Naldi, Piccole città del Medioevo in Toscana: Storia, architettura e paesaggio (Empoli: Editori dell’Acero, 2011).

158

Chapter Six

Fig. 6-1. Map of mendicant settlements in Tuscany by the late fourteenth century; names in italics indicate hermitages. Source: Author.

The seven largest cities in Tuscany—Pisa, Lucca, Pistoia, Prato, Florence, Arezzo, and Siena—were the dominant political powers of Tuscany, having all been given autonomy as comunes by the Holy Roman

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

159

Emperors by the early twelfth century.37 As the authority eroded during the late eleventh century of the bishop-lords ruling the cities of central and northern Italy, the emperors ceded control instead to the powerful elites (landowners, clergy, wealthy merchants, and professionals such as lawyers and notaries) of each city to govern themselves as comunes through councils, on behalf of the distant emperors.38 These seven cities also were home to the dominant dioceses of Tuscany, with the exception of Prato, which became a diocese only in 1463. There were, however, a total of sixteen dioceses in medieval Tuscany, and so sixteen habitations given the appellation civitate through diocesan dignity.39 The dioceses of Volterra and Massa Marittima were both small cities, although Volterra was also an independent comune while Massa Marittima was controlled by Siena. Cortona became an independent diocese in 1325, around the same time when it also became independent; it also was a small city. The remaining six dioceses of Fiesole, Chiusi, Sovana, Grosseto, Sarzana, and Brugnato were all towns. These towns were the inverse of Gregory’s experience at Dijon; while technically civitates due to the diocesan presence, they lacked the built environment of urbanity. The town dioceses of Tuscany were all in more rural areas, most with difficult terrain or strong comital powers as rivals. Unable to compete with the communal autonomy or economic 37 Giuliano Milani, I comuni italiani: secoli XII-XIV (Roma: Laterza, 2009); Marco Tangheroni, “I comuni e le città,” in Storia della Toscana, edited by Elena Fasano Guarini, Giuseppe Petralia, and Paolo Pezzino, (Roma: Laterza, 2004), 91-101; Chris Wickham, Community and Clientele in Twelfth-Century Tuscany: The Origins of the Rural Commune in the Plain of Lucca (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998); and Michele Luzzati, “Firenze e l’area Toscana nel Medioevo,” in Comuni e signorie nell’Italia nordorientale e centrale, ed. Giuseppe Galasso, Storia d’Italia VII/I (Torino: Utet, 1987), 241-466. 38 J.K. Hyde, Society and Politics in Medieval Italy (London: Macmillan Press, 1973), 38-123; Giovanni Tabacco, The Struggle for Power in Medieval Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 182-236; George Dameron, Episcopal Power and Florentine Society, 1000-1320 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991), 93-140; Edward Coleman, “Cities and Communes,” in Italy in the Central Middle Ages, ed. David Abulafia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 27-57, especially 29-35; and Benjamin Brand, Holy Treasures and Sacred Song: Relic Cults and their Liturgies in Medieval Tuscany (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 72-106. 39 Boris Gombac, Atlante storico delle diocesi toscane (Sommacompagna: Cierre, 2015); Pietro Guidi, ed., Rationes Decimarum Italiae nei secoli XIII e XIV: Tuscia I (Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1932); and Martino Giusti and Pietro Guidi, eds., Rationes Decimarum Italiae nei secoli XIII e XIV: Tuscia II (Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1942).

160

Chapter Six

resources of the better situated towns that would become the major cities of Tuscany,40 these non-urban civitates remained important, albeit rural, centers. Thus while sixteen sites in Tuscany were properly civitates, only seven of them can properly be called cities by the criteria of this essay. Three others I classify as small cities (Cortona, Massa Marittima, and Volterra), urban in their built environment, but not of equal scale to the major centers. From the start of this overview, then, there is already a disconnect between the ideas of urban and city, and the corresponding material history. It is telling that seven of the ten Dominican houses were in those seven most powerful and influential cities of Tuscany, the major diocesan and comunal centers.41 The remaining three houses were in the small cities of Cortona and San Gimignano, along the pilgrimage road in central Tuscany, and in the town of Sarzana. While Sarzana was a small town, it was also an episcopal center, controlling the roads north to Genoa and Parma. Indeed, nine of the ten Dominican houses were founded in diocesan centers; the only exception was San Gimignano. Dominican houses were all built just outside of the twelfth century city walls except for Lucca, where the Dominican house of San Romano is in the heart of the city (Fig. 6-2). Nine of the houses were included within the expanded, later medieval city walls, except for Cortona where the Dominicans arrived only in the later fourteenth century after the city had become a diocese.42 The Dominicans are therefore the ideal barometer for a Le Goffian analysis of mendicant settlement planning, precisely fitting the criteria expected of mendicant houses.

40

Coleman, “Cities and Communes,” 30. For a list of Dominican foundations in Tuscany, as well as the full Roman Province of which Tuscany formed the northern area, see Joanna Cannon, Religious Poverty, Visual Riches: Art in the Dominican Churches of Central Italy in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), 9-13. For the history of the Dominicans, see William Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order, 2 vols (New York: Alba House, 1965-1973). 42 These include Arezzo (S Domenico), Cortona (S Domenico), Florence (S Maria Novella), Pisa (S Caterina), Pistoia (S Domenico), Prato (S Domenico), San Gimignano (S Domenico), Sarzana (unknown dedication), Siena (S Domenico). 41

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

161

Fig. 6-2. Map of mendicant settlements in Tuscany by the late fourteenth century; names in italics indicate hermitages. Source: Author.

162

Chapter Six

The Carmelite Order follows nearly the same pattern, with a few exceptions. Seven of the order’s ten Tuscan houses are in the major urban centers: Pisa, Lucca, Pistoia, Prato, Florence, Arezzo, and Siena.43 In both Siena and Lucca, the Carmelites settled in the oldest zones of the city, while in Pisa, Pistoia, Prato, and Florence they settled in areas that would be included within the later medieval city walls.44 The unusual cases are the hermitage of Le Selve, downriver from Florence along the Arno near the village of Lastra a Signa, the convent of Sant’Ansano just outside the village of Roccastrada south of Siena, and the convent of SS Jacopo e Filippo within the walls of Montecatini, a strategic castle town in the hills between Pistoia and Lucca, now best known for its thermal baths. As the Carmelites were founded as an eremitical order on Mount Carmel in the Holy Land, the hermitage is easily understood. The presence of the Carmelites in Montecatini and Roccastrada must have been driven by local interests that have left no historical trace, in keeping with settlement patterns of the rest of the mendicant orders as will be seen. As mentioned previously, the Servite Order was founded in Tuscany by a group of seven Florentine patricians at the hermitage of Montesenario in the hills north of Florence.45 While the group was founded in 1233, it was not recognized as an official order until 1304. In Tuscany, the order had fourteen houses by the mid-fourteenth century, settling again in the seven major cities.46 Six of these houses were built just outside city gates,

43 For the Carmelites in Tuscany, see Alexandra Dodson, “Mount Carmel in the Commune: Promoting the Holy Land in Central Italy in the 13th and 14th Centuries” (PhD diss., Duke University, 2016); Joachim Smet, The Carmelites Vol 1 (Darien: Carmelite Spiritual Center, 1988), 24-27; Andrea Sabatini, ed., Atti dei capitoli provinciali di Toscana dei Carmelitani 1375-1491 (Roma: Institutum Carmelitanum, 1975); Andrea Sabatini, “Origini e antichità della provincia toscana dei carmelitani,” Analecta Ordinis Carmelitarum 14 (1949): 187-201. 44 Arezzo (dedication unknown), Florence (S Maria del Carmine), Lucca (S Maria del Carmine), Pisa (S Maria del Carmine), Pistoia (S Maria del Carmine), Prato (S Bartolomeo), Siena (S Niccolo al Carmine). 45 The standard history for the Servites is Franco dal Pino, I frati Servi di S. Maria dalle origini all’approvazione (1233 ca. - 1304) (Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain, 1972). 46 For Servite houses in Tuscany, see “Catalogus conventuum, coenobiorum, monasteriorum sacrarumque aedium sacri ordinis servorum” and “Elenchi conventuum ordinis servorum beatae mariae annis 1420, 1493, 1580 et 1705 confecti,” both in Monumenta Ordinis Servorum Sanctae Mariae, Vol. 7, eds. Augustino Morini and Peregrino Soulier (Bruxelles: Société Belge de Librairie, 1905), 71-94, 95-112.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

163

to be included within later city walls.47 In Lucca, the Servites were able to found their house SS Annunziata dei Servi in the oldest part of the city, as had the Dominicans and Carmelites. The Servites spread further than just the major cities, however, also founding houses in the small cities of Cortona and Montepulciano, in the town of Città della Pieve (Fig. 6-3), in the fortified villages of Scrofiano and Casole d’Elsa, and in hermitages at Montesenario and at Caminata outside Monteriggioni.48 While Montepulciano was a small city attempting to build an urban persona even while caught between the powers of Florence and Siena, the rest of the sites fall short of the medieval concept of urban. As its name suggests, Città della Pieve was a town that had grown around a parish church, while Scrofiano and Casole d’Elsa were small villages in the territory of Siena. The Servite houses in all of these sites were located just outside the walls, as none of the towns ever grew enough for their walls to expand until the modern era. The first three orders had roughly the same number of houses in Tuscany: the Dominicans had ten, the Carmelites had ten, and the Servites had fourteen. Such is not the case for the Augustinian Hermits, an order born with the Great Union of 1256 when the papacy amalgamated five large hermit congregations from around Italy.49 Two of these groups were Tuscan, comprising some forty-seven rural hermitages at the time of the order’s creation (Fig. 6-1).50 Thirty of these hermitages were largely abandoned by the early fourteenth century,51 concurrent with the foundation

47

Arezzo (SS Michele e Maria, then S Pier Piccolo), Florence (SS Annunziata), Pisa (S Antonio Abate), Pistoia (SS Annunziata), Prato (S Spirito), Siena (S Clemente dei Servi). 48 Casole d’Elsa (possibly S Pietro?), Città della Pieve (S Maria dei Servi), Cortona (S Maria dei Servi), Montepulciano (S Maria dei Servi), Scrofiano (S Niccolo). 49 For the history of the Augustinian Hermits, see Frances Andrews, The Other Friars: Carmelite, Augustinian, Sack and Pied Friars in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2006), 69-172; and David Gutiérrez, Los Agostinos en la edad media 1256-1356 (Roma: Institutum Historicum Ordinis Fratrum S. Augustini, 1980). 50 Tullio Zazzeri, Eremi agostiniani della Tuscia nel Tredicesimo secolo (Tolentino: Biblioteca Egidiana, 2008). 51 These were the hermitages of Agnano, Arcetri, Asciano (Vorno), Biancane, Brancoli, Calci, Castagneto, Castiglione, Cerbaiola, Cerralto, Chifenti, Falcone, Larniano, Monte di Bene, Monte Ferrato, Montevasone, Moriglione, Mozzanella, Murceto, Palmaiola, Parrana, Perolla, Petreto, Roveta, Spelunca, Summocolonia, Vada, Valbuona (di Pistoia), Valbuona di Versilia, Valle Bona. For further references, see the entries in Zazzeri, Eremi agostiniani.

164

Chapter Six

Fig. 6-3. View of Cittá della Pieve with mendicant house locations and medieval walls; A) Servites, B) Augustinian Hermits, C) Franciscans. Source: Fair use of Google Earth image, overlay by author.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

165

of nearly thirty convents closer in the cities and towns of Tuscany.52 These, along with the nineteen remaining rural hermitages,53 resulted in an order with an extremely diverse range of settlements. At the urban end of the spectrum are the seven large cities of Tuscany, along with six small cities of Cortona, Massa Marittima, Montalcino, Montepulciano, San Gimignano, and Volterra. On the smaller side are eleven towns54 and seven villages.55 Thus while the Augustinian Hermits went through a marked shift from hermitages to convents in the later thirteenth century, only thirteen of their fifty houses were in what might be considered urban environments. Nineteen hermitages continued in use by the late fourteenth century, and the remaining eighteen houses were in smaller towns and villages. In the urban environment, the Hermits either acquired houses inside the walls or founded convents outside gates that were soon incorporated within new walls. Among the smaller sites, the results are mixed: eleven of the houses were within the walls,56 while the remaining seven were just outside.57 The final order to be considered was equally widespread in Tuscany, also with fifty houses.58 In addition to six rural hermitages,59 the Franciscans 52

Benigno van Luijk, Le monde augustinien du XIIIe au XIXe siècle (Assen: van Gorcum & Comp., 1972), 40-43. 53 Augustinian Hermit hermitages lasting into the early fifteenth century include Butia, Camerata, San Giacomo della Cella (Cella di Rustico), Monteforte, Pereta, Valle Bona di Garfagnana, and Vicopisano. Augustinian Hermit hermitages lasting into at least the seventeenth century include Acquaviva di Livorno, Ardenghesca, Guardistallo, Lecceto, Luogonuovo, Montespecchio, Rosia, Rupecava, Sant’Antonio al Bosco a Selvamaggio, San Leonardo al Lago, Suvereto, and Vallesi. For further references, see the entries in Zazzeri, Eremi agostiniani. 54 Augustinian Hermit houses in Towns: Asciano, Castiglion Fiorentino, Città della Pieve, Colle Val d’Elsa, Empoli, Livorno, Monte San Savino, Montecatini, San Miniato, Santa Fiora, and Scarperia. 55 Augustinian Hermits house in Villages: Anghiari, Borgo a Buggiano, Certaldo, Monticiano, Piombino, Poggibonsi, and Scarlino. 56 These include Asciano (S Agostino), Anghiari (S Agostino), Castiglion Fiorentino (S Agostino), Certaldo (SS Michele e Giacomo), Empoli (S Stefano), Livorno (S Giovanni Battista), Monte San Savino (S Agostino), Piombino (SS Michele e Agostino), Poggibonsi (S Lorenzo), San Gimignano (S Agostino), and Scarperia (SS Jacopo e Filippo). 57 These include Borgo a Buggiano (S Maria in Selva), Città della Pieve (S Agostino), Colle Val d’Elsa (S Agostino), Montecatini (S Margherita), Monticiano (S Agostino), San Miniato (S Caterina), and Scarlino (SS Donato e Michele). 58 For the Franciscans in Tuscany, see Erik Gustafson, “Tradition and Renewal in the Thirteenth-Century Franciscan Architecture of Tuscany,” 13-14, 49-117; Luigi Pellegrini, “Per una discussione sui primi in Toscana,”

166

Chapter Six

had eighteen houses in rural villages,60 thirteen houses in moderately sized towns,61 six in the smaller cities,62 and seven in the major cities.63 Moreover, only thirteen of the fifty Franciscan houses founded in Tuscany were founded inside city walls.64 Of the remaining houses, eight were enclosed within later expansions of city walls,65 and twenty-three were never fortified within civic enclosures.66 Some houses of the latter category like San Gimignano were just outside city walls, and others, like in La presenza francescana nella Toscana del ‘200, (Firenze: Convento di S. Francesco, 1990), 63-79; idem, Insediamenti Francescani nell’Italia del Duecento, 299 for his list of Tuscan houses; and Benvenutus Bughetti, “Tabulae Capitulares Provinciae Tusciae O.M.F. (saec. XIV-XVIII),” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 10 (1917): 413-97. 59 Franciscan Hermitages: Bosco ai Frati, Le Celle, Colombaio, Ganghereto, San Processo, La Verna. 60 Franciscan Villages: Barberino Val d’Elsa, Borgo San Lorenzo, Carmignano, Castelfiorentino, Castiglione della Pescaia, Cetona, Fucecchio, Lucignano, Montieri, Piancastagnaio, Pienza, Piombino, Poggibonsi, Radicofani, San Quirico d’Orcia, Sarteano, Suvereto, Vicopisano. 61 Franciscan Towns: Asciano, Castiglion Fiorentino, Chiusi, Citta della Pieve, Colle Val d’Elsa, Figline Valdarno, Grosseto, Montevarchi, Pescia, Poppi, Pontremoli, San Miniato, Sarzana. 62 Franciscan Small Cities: Cortona, Massa Marittima, Montalcino, Montepulciano, San Gimignano, Volterra. 63 Franciscan Cities: Arezzo, Florence, Lucca, Pisa, Pistoia, Prato, Siena. I use the terms village, town, and city not in a technical, diagnostic sense, but in a comparative, categorical sense based on the physical size of the settled area. 64 Franciscans Inside Walls: Arezzo (S Francesco), Castiglione Fiorentino (S Francesco), Chiusi (S Francesco), Cortona (S Francesco), Fucecchio (S Salvatore), Grosseto (S Francesco), Lucignano (S Francesco), Montepulciano (S Francesco), Montevarchi (S Ludovico / S Andrea a Cennano), Pienza (S Francesco), San Quirico d’Orcia (S Francesco), Vicopisano (S Francesco), Volterra (S Francesco). 65 Franciscans in Later Walls: Florence (S Croce), Lucca (S Francesco), Massa Marittima (S Francesco), Montalcino (S Francesco), Pisa (S Francesco), Pistoia (S Francesco), Prato (S Francesco), Siena (S Francesco). 66 Franciscans Always Outside: Asciano (S Francesco), Borgo San Lorenzo (S Francesco), Carmignano (S Francesco, now SS Michele e Francesco), Castelfiorentino (S Francesco), Castiglione della Pescaia (unknown dedication), Cetona (S Francesco), Città della Pieve (S Francesco), Colle Val d’Elsa (S Francesco), Figline Valdarno (S Francesco), Montieri (S Francesco), Pescia (S Francesco), Piancastagnaio (S Bartolomeo), Piombino (S Francesco, now Misericordia), Poggibonsi (S Lucchese), Pontremoli (S Francesco), Poppi (SS Annunziata e S Giovanni Battista), Radicofani (unknown dedication), San Gimignano (S Francesco), San Miniato (S Francesco), Sarteano (S Francesco), Sarzana (S Francesco), Suvereto (S Francesco), Barberino (S Lucia al Borghetto).

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

167

Fig. 6-4: View of Poggibonsi with mendicant house locations and town placements; A) Augustinian Hermits, B) Franciscans; 1) Original Poggiobonizio, 2) post-1270 Poggibonsi. Source: Fair use of Google Earth image, overlay by author.

168

Chapter Six

Fig. 6-5. View of Barberino Val d’Elsa and location of Franciscan house; A) Franciscans; 1) Barberino Val d’Elsa, 2) Tavarnelle Val di Pesa. Source: Fair use of Google Earth image, overlay by author.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

169

Poggibonsi, Cetona, and Piancastagnaio, were located at greater distances from the towns. Poggibonsi is a unique case, as the original town was razed by the Florentines in 1270 and moved stone by stone down to the valley below (Fig. 6-4).67 The Franciscan convent did not move, leaving the friars nearly a kilometer from town.68 The convent of Barberino Val d’Elsa is also curious as the house is several kilometers away, closer to the village of Tavarnelle Val di Pesa that would grow in the fifteenth century (Fig. 6-5).69 The Franciscans did not divide their houses between hermitage, town and city as neatly as the Augustinian Hermits, but instead strongly favored towns and villages with thirty-one houses in the category. By comparison, thirteen houses were in what could be termed urban settings, and the remaining six were rural hermitages. Several of the hermitages were relatively close to towns or cities, such as Le Celle outside Cortona. If anything, the Franciscans choices in where to place their houses demonstrate a wide flexibility between town centers such as the city of Arezzo or the village of Lucignano, and significant distances from walls, such as the town of Poppi, the village of Cetona or Cortona’s hermitage at Le Celle.

How Urban Were the Mendicants? Considering the question of how urban were the mendicants necessitates a brief prologue on correlation and causation. Since this statistical overview is a correlative analysis, it does not immediately follow that the results indicate causal historical reasons for the settlement patterns in question. For the vast majority of these houses, there is no way to reconstruct the exigencies that led to the original foundations or the selections of sites.70 Why an order founded a house within the walls of one town but not another, or why a convent was built in one town and not in the town on the next hill over, was most likely the result of undocumented local private or political patronage. An assessment, however, can be made of the kinds of settlements an order did make. Uniquely among the mendicant orders, the 67

For the early settlement of Podium Bonizzi and its dismantling, see Riccardo Francovich and Marco Valenti, eds., Poggio Imperiale a Poggibonsi (Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana, 2007). 68 Martino Bertagna, S. Lucchese da Poggibonsi: note storiche e documenti (Firenze: Studi Francescani, 1969). 69 F. Del Gross, G. C. Romby and Renato Stopani, La chiesa francescana del Borghetto (Poggibonsi: 1990). 70 One of the fundamental premises of Schenkluhn, Architektur der Bettelorden, 914.

170

Chapter Six

Dominicans actually legislated a process of vetting for candidate sites, although the documentation no longer survives. Moreover, Humbert of Romans, Master General of the Order from 1254 to 1263, claimed that preaching was more efficacious in cities, suggesting a clear preference for an urban orientation.71 That the ten Dominican houses in Tuscany, except for the diocesan town of Sarzana, were all founded in urban city centers lends credence to reading of Humbert’s statement as a causative source for Dominican intents, perfectly exemplifying Jacques Le Goff’s razor. Such a putative causative correlation is not so direct for the other mendicants (Fig. 6-6). The Carmelites and Servites have similar statistical profiles; of the ten Carmelite houses seven were in cities, and of the fourteen Servite houses nine were urban. The Carmelites and Servites both expanded from their early purely contemplative, eremitical callings to take on the full mendicant model developed by the Dominicans and Franciscans, central to which was caring for the souls of the laity.72 That the majority of Carmelite and Servite houses in Tuscany were urban correlatively suggests that urban centers were deemed the appropriate venue to fulfill such a role. Their few houses outside the main cities were either hermitages to which members of the order could occasionally retreat as hermits, or houses whose existence could either have been due to local influences or pastoral calling. While the disparity between urban and non-urban nearly falls within the statistical margin of error for the Carmelites and Servites, the Augustinian Hermits and Franciscans present a completely different pattern. The Augustinian Hermits and Franciscans were both demonstrably urban and not urban; thirteen urban houses were balanced by eighteen more rural houses for the Augustinian Hermits, while the ratio was thirteen urban to thirty-one rural houses for the Franciscans, not including hermitages.73 While these orders did settle in the great urban centers, the majority of their houses were elsewhere. For the Augustinian Hermits, their houses were relatively evenly divided between cities, towns and hermitages. As an order balanced between contemplation and parochial service, this distribution would seem to be appropriate. For the Franciscans, the majority of their houses were in small towns and villages, and were very often set at a remove from walls at something of a liminal quasi-hermitage distance. Clearly neither of these orders was anti-urban, as 71

William Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican Order, Vol. 1, 251-78. Andrews, The Other Friars, 14-17. 73 This raises the question of conversion numbers as well—were the Augustinian Hermits and Franciscans more popular in Tuscany, and so better able to sustain more houses and thus reach into the countryside as well as the city? 72

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

171

Fig. 6-6. Graph of mendicant orders and settlement patterns in Tuscany by the late Trecento. Source: Author.

both had more houses in cities than the total number of Dominican houses in Tuscany. However, the Augustinian Hermits and Franciscans correlatively demonstrate that not all mendicants were urban, and that at least these two orders should be equally considered as rural.74 74 The Franciscans seem to have been more consistent in their coverage across all of Tuscany than the Augustinian Hermits, possibly suggesting a greater intentionality in that diffusion. Luigi Pellegrini has argued that the early Franciscans tried to found houses roughly a day’s walk from one another, locating their convents on or close to major roads; see Luigi Pellegrini, “Gli insediamenti degli ordini mendicanti e la loro tipologia: Considerazioni metodologiche e piste di ricerche,” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome: Moyen Age 89 no. 2 (1977):

172

Chapter Six

That the trope of the mendicants as urban has stood since the orders themselves were founded has biased generations of scholars, taking primary sources at their word rather than testing them on this particular point. While there is ample room for revision of my conclusions, and a more careful analysis of the one hundred thirty-four houses across sixty settlements synopsized in this essay is certainly to be desired, the case study of Tuscany provides an important challenge to the easy correlation between mendicants and cities. While several mendicant orders were predominantly urban in Tuscany, and the Dominicans were nearly exclusively so, not all follow that pattern. The Augustinian Hermits and Franciscans stand out as both urban and rural orders. More attention to the medieval urban-rural dichotomy is needed in general, from the paradox of the Romanesque age of rural monasteries coinciding with the rise of cities to the contradiction between the Gothic age of great cathedrals and cities when the population majority still lived in the countryside.75 With regards to the mendicants, the idea of urbanity has screened a large portion of at least Augustinian Hermit and Franciscan activity from scholarly view. Directing attention to the granular level of daily experience for friars in rural areas is necessary to balance the urban discourse of mendicant experience presented most recently by Caroline Bruzelius.76 At a general level, there is utility in setting aside the concept of urbanity to focus instead on the varieties of mendicant engagement. In 563-73; and Luigi Pellegrini, “Insediamenti rurali e insediamenti urbani dei Francescani nell’Italia del secolo XIII,” in San Bonaventura Maestro di Vita Francescana e di Sapienza Cristiana, ed. A. Pompei, (Roma: Pontificia Facoltá Teologica, 1976), 197-210. 75 For one challenge to the privileging of urban spaces over the rural, see Kathryn L. Jasper, “Reforming the Monastic Landscape: Peter Damian’s Design for Personal and Communal Devotion,” in Rural Space in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age, ed. Albrecht Classen (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012), 193-207. Important considerations of the rural in medieval Europe include Della Hooke, ed., Medieval Villages: A Review of Current Work (Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1985); Kathryn Reyerson and J. Drendel, eds., Urban & Rural Communities in Medieval France (Leiden: Brill, 1998); Helena Hamerow, Early Medieval Settlements: The Archaeology of Rural Communities in North-West Europe 400-900 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); Isabel Alfonso, ed., The Rural History of Medieval European Societies: Trends and Perspectives (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007); Cecilia Hewlett, Rural Communities in Renaissance Tuscany: Religious Identities and Local Loyalties (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008); and Fabrice Mouthon, Les communautés rurales en Europe au Moyen Âge: Une autre histoire politique du Moyen Âge (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2014). 76 Bruzelius, Preaching, Building, and Burying.

How Urban was Urban for the Mendicants in Medieval Tuscany?

173

this sense, the mendicants and cities can be detached from one another; the city is demoted from the primary arena, while the rural is valorized. The city becomes one option among many, raising a possible analysis of mendicant agency in choosing kinds of settlements for founding houses. It is in this realm that one could fruitfully analyze mendicant planning. Fundamentally, the paradigmatic mendicant focus was not the city, but was the laity. The varieties of laity, and the settings in which the friars engaged the laity, correlatively reveal much about the mendicants, ultimately emphasizing the significant differences between the orders.

CHAPTER SEVEN A FOURTEENTH-CENTURY VIEW ON URBANISM: FRANCESCH EIXIMENIS AND URBAN PLANNING IN THE CROWN OF ARAGON SHELLEY E. ROFF UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT SAN ANTONIO

The thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were a period of political and economic expansion for the Crown of Aragon, a dynastic union of the Kingdom of Aragon and County of Barcelona. In this period, the Crown expanded its domain through conquest to encompass the Muslim kingdom of Valencia, the Balearic Islands, Sardinia, Sicily, Malta, and parts of Greece. The resulting increase in wealth for the Crown, as well as the need to renovate conquered towns and to found new ones, essentially for Catalan settlers, brought forth a surge in expenditures on urban construction by the Crown’s kings, feudal lords, and municipal governments. Neither royal nor municipal documentation explicitly describe plans for town development, nor a planning process, in textual or graphic form; however, an analysis of primary sources and the extant archaeological evidence does point to the implementation of theoretical concepts of order in the design of late medieval Catalan towns and cities. In this chapter, I will center my analysis on a text written by the fourteenth-century Franciscan friar, Francesch Eiximenis, which portrays a number of current planning concepts while developing a scholarly discourse on a design for an ideal Christian city. Eiximenis formulated a plan for an ideal city in a treatise he was commissioned to write for a Catalan prince on the qualities an ideal Christian state. Eiximenis, one of the great Catalan intellectuals of the fourteenth century, was a prolific writer of religious and political literary works whose education and career was sponsored by aristocrats, politicians,

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

175

and the royal family.1 Eiximenis studied at the universities in Paris, Cambridge, and Oxford, where he had access to tremendous libraries.2 He also traveled to Cologne, Florence, and Rome. Having attained a Masters in Theology in 1374 at the University of Toulouse, he began his teaching career at the Franciscan friary in Barcelona, where he initiated his first great literary work, Lo Crestià (The Christian) in 1378. Eiximenis envisioned that Lo Crestià would be a thirteen-volume didactic encyclopedia on the principles of Christianity. Of the four volumes actually completed, Eiximenis gathered in the one intended as number twelve a wealth of practical and conceptual knowledge prevalent in his time about the best means to plan and govern a Christian medieval state. Referred to as the Dotzen llibre de regiment dels princeps e de comunitats appellat Crestià (The Twelfth Book on the Governance by Princes and the Communities Called Christian), this volume was written after he moved to Valencia, between 1385 and 1386, for Alfons, the Marquis of Villena, Count of Ribagorza and Denia, the son of the prince, Pere d’Aragó.3 Eiximenis dedicated the Dotzè to the city council of Valencia, for which he initially wrote one part of this volume known as the Regiment de la cosa pública (Governance of the Public Matters).4 Although not intended as a treatise on urbanism, the Dotzé is an exceptional resource allowing insight into theoretical concepts that were current in late medieval thought regarding the ideal Christian city; some inspired by the Neoplatonic writings of twelfth and thirteenth century writers, others by a military treatise, and

1

For Eiximenis’ biography and literary works, see Xavier Renedo and David Guixeres, Francesc Eiximenis: An Anthology, trans. Robert D. Hughes (Barcelona: Tamesis, 2008); David J. Viera, Bibliografia anotada de la vida i obra de Francesc Eiximenis (1340?-1409?) (Barcelona: Fundació Salvador Vives Casajuana, 1980); Luis Cervera Vera, Francisco de Eiximenis y su sociedad urbana medieval (Madrid: Editorial Sawn, 1989). 2 Francesc Eiximenis, Lo regiment de la cosa pública en el Dotzè del Crestià, transl. Vicent Martines Peres and María Justiniano Ortuño (Madrid: Centro de Lingüística Aplicada Atenea, 2009), 22-3. Lluís Brines Garcia, “Introducció,” in Francesc Eimimenis, Regiment de la cosa pública (Alzira: Edicions Bromera, 2009), 7-10. 3 Arxiu de la Corona d’Aragó. Ms. San Cugat 10; Francesc Eiximenis, Dotzè llibre del Crestià: Primera part; Volum primer, ed. Xavier Renedo (Girona: Universitat de Girona, 2005). In this volume, a team of scholars under Renedo’s editorship have transcribed in Catalan 473 of the 907 chapters of the Dotzè. All translations in English in this chapter are my own, based on this volume. 4 Eiximenis, Lo regiment de la cosa pública. 25. This publication is a Spanish translation and analysis of the Regiment.

176

Chapter Seven

some ideas emerging from more practical evidence of town planning from within the environment Eiximenis inhabited. . To clarify further, the Dotzè is a didactic work intended to explain the role of the city as a vehicle through which Christian knowledge and values could be disseminated to laymen.5 The mendicant orders dedicated their service to the religious salvation of townspeople; as a Franciscan, Eiximenis considered the city to be the ideal location for the full development of man’s highest spiritual, social, and political potential. Eiximenis’s synthesis of religious, social, and political ideals—aimed at the improvement of this society—could best be explained through the metaphor of the city. Eximenis states in the beginning of the Dotzè, that in order to help man overcome his sins, God endowed man with a natural inclination to live in orderly companionship in the “material city,” so that he could know the “spiritual city” that he carries within himself.6 Citing the fourth-century theologian Saint Augustine, Eiximenis explains that the well-ordered material, or earthly, city is a reflection of the celestial city, a concept that Saint Augustine put forth his work, City of God.7 Eiximenis draws further evidence along a similar vein from both Job [12v] XXXVIII and Saint John, Apochalipsis XXI, rationalizing that one cannot know the celestial city until one has seen the resemblance in the good and noble city that is wellgoverned here on earth. Thus, he states the reason for composing the Dotzè: So then, since the thoughts of the inhabitants of the cities of this world are so often inclined to desire the sovereign city of paradise, for which we are all created, and those desiring make works because they deserve to ascend to it, we treat in the present book, that which is the Dotzèn libre del Crestià, the material city of this world, since with the help of our Savior

5

Renedo and Guixeres, Anthology, 8-9. “Per tal, donchs, que les penses els habitants en les ciutats d’aquest món sien sovín atteses a desijar la sobirana Ciutat de paradis, per la quual som tots creat, e aquella desijant facen obres per què meresquen pujar en aquella, tractarem en aquest present libre, que és lo Dotzèn libre del Crestià, de la ciutat material d’aquest món, car ab la ajuda del nostre Salvador aquest libre darà gran endreçament al regidors de les ciutats presents de bé regir-les; e als ciutadans de bé obehyr a ells e de seguir les leys e doctrines ací posades per a tots, les quals següent e observant viuran virtuosament, e puys, ab la ajuda del Senyor beneÿt, seran heretats en la Ciutat sobirana.” Eiximenis, Dotzè, 8. 7 Saint Augustine, The City of God = (De civitate Dei), transl. William Babcock (Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City Press, 2012-2013). This concept can be traced back to Plato, Republic, IX, 592b, “In Heaven there is laid up a pattern of it, which he who desires may behold, and beholding, may set his soul in order in the likeness of a perfect City”,. 6

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

177

this book will give a great [example of] order to the governors of these present cities on how to govern them well; and to the citizens to obey them well and to follow the laws and doctrines put forth for all, following and observing these will live virtuously, and seeing that, with the help of the beneficent Master, will be inducted into the sovereign city.8

Saint Augustine’s analogy of the material city as reflection of the celestial city is part of a more comprehensive relationship discussed by both classical and medieval philosophers regarding the purpose of the city. As historian Keith Lilley has summarized for us in his assessment of medieval Neoplatonic writers, “In the Middle Ages everything in the Christian world had its rightful place in a divinely ordained and ordered hierarchy that extended through from the cosmic ‘body’ above, the macrocosm, to the body below, the microcosm.”9 In medieval thought, the ideal orderliness and logic of the human mind should be reflected in the order of the city; just as the city, simultaneously, mirrored the ideal orderliness of the universe, and thus of the mind of God, a recurrent theme also in the works of Plato and Aristotle that addressed the ideal city-state. The discussion of macrocosm and microcosm began, at least for medieval writers, with Plato’s Timaeus, a translation of which most high medieval European libraries of any worth had a copy.10 The classical concept of microcosmicism also spread through other medieval translations and commentaries, such as Thomas of Aquinas’ thirteenth-century works on Aristotle’s Physics and Politics, manuscripts which Eiximenis would have had access to at the institutions in which he resided during his period of study in Europe.11

The Greco-Roman Sources What aspects of classical planning was Eiximenis drawing upon in his formulation of his ideal city? In terms of Greek urban planning, the treatises of Plato and Aristotle speculated on the nature of the ideal city, 8

Eiximenis, Dotzè, 9. Keith D. Lilley, City and Cosmos: The Medieval World in Urban Form (London: Reaktion Books, 2009), 7. 10 Ibid., 8-9. Most copies were by Roman author Calcidius. 11 Richard J. Blackwell, Richard J. Spath and W. Edmund Thirkel, Commentary on Aristotle’s ‘Physics’ (Notre Dame, IN: Dumb Ox Books, 1999); Paul E. Sigmund, ed., St. Thomas Aquinas on Politics and Ethics: New Transl., Background, Interpretations (New York: Norton, 1998). Aquinas resided in the cities of Paris, Cologne and Rome in the thirteenth century, cities in which Eiximenis would later gain his education. 9

178

Chapter Seven

often combining advice on sociological issues, such as the arrangement of the town to improve health and moral issues, as well as the most advantageous design of the plan for defense and for other aesthetic qualities. The urban planning subjects that Eiximenis broaches in the Dotzè are parallel with those found in Aristotle’s account of the ideal city in his work on political philosophy, Politics, as well as other GrecoRoman writers, including Vitruvius.12 Both authors expressed their views on the choice of site and its orientation, the availability of water, the construction of city walls, the location of building types within a town according to function, and the types of public spaces a town should have.13 Within the Dotzè text, Eiximenis critiques the physical forms of cities that were considered historically to be ideal. He describes three potential formats, the cruciform, the circular and the orthogonal plan.14 The cruciform plan is one he mentions he observed painted in the margins of a copy of Vegetius’ work, De re militari, a late fourth-century military treatise on Roman warfare, which became a very well-known military guide in the Middle Ages.15 Eiximenis explains that there would be an entry portal at the end of each cross, and the corners of each arm, preferably marked by tall towers, could protect the other arms. Streets, plazas and other buildings could be built within this quadrangular plan. Next, he discusses a round form for the city, which he notes other scholars had proposed, with the plaza at the center and many streets leading to portals in the exterior encircling wall. This wall should have towers at intervals each having a special purpose. Although the circular form was one option for an ideal city in classical writings, it is possible that Eiximenis may be referring here to a medieval portrayal of the heavenly Jerusalem, which was often envisioned in writings and illuminations as an

12 E. J. Owens, The City in the Greek and Roman World (London: Routledge, 1991), 4-6. 13 Eiximenis also addresses site selection and orientation, water, and the design of city walls, but these aspects of urban planning will not be addressed in this chapter. 14 Eiximenis, Dotzè, 242-3 15 Charles Reginald Shrader, “The Ownership and Distribution of Manuscripts of the ‘de re mililtari’of Flavius Vegetius Renatus before the Year 1300,” Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1976, 119-20. De re militari was a text known to be kept in royal libraries of the kings of the Crown of Aragon. Charles Reginald Shrader notes that a copy of De re militari was listed in 1384 inventory of books owned by Jaume I, yet this copy is no longer in existence. Another copy of this work was made in Valencia in 1417 for the library of Alphons V. For an English translation, see Michael D. Reeve, ed., Epitoma rei militaris. (Oxford: Oxford Medieval Texts, 2004).

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

179

orthogonal city with an open plaza at its center and surrounded by circular walls.16 Yet, Eiximenis concludes that this form was not as beautiful nor as gracious as the orthogonal plan. He proposed a return to the orthogonally organized city of the Greco-Roman tradition as the ideal form for the contemporary Christian city. He justifies this decision with a reference to historical precedent in Christian thinking: On the form of cities there has been diverse opinions, so said the Greek philosophers, to which later the wise Christians had added a bit and had stated summarily on this matter, that all beautiful cities should be square, for straight is more beautiful and more orderly.”17

According to J. E. Owens, the Greco-Roman philosophers’ debate over the ideal city plan came about as a result of the establishment of new towns or the renovation of already established ones.18 Greco-Roman new towns were established for two reasons, colonization of new territory and synoecism, the political incorporation or civic union of smaller villages into the authority of a nearby polis, or city-state.19 Most Greek scholars favored in their writings the Hippodamian method of laying out the streets in a grid pattern, for practical and aesthetic reasons. The grid plan was a practical means of laying out a new town, although not necessarily suitable for all potential site conditions. Eiximenis also describes for his audience a very precise physical form he believes an ideal Christian city should take: for then in the middle of each side there should be [a] principle portal which should measure from each corner of the wall five hundred paces so that the entire wall is around four thousand paces; and from the eastern portal as far as the western portal passes a great and wide street traversing the entire city from one side to the other. In the same manner will be the principal portal, which guards the south, up to the other principal one, which guards the north.20 16

Lilley, City and Cosmos, 16-23. “De la forma de a ciutat són estades diverses opinionos, car dixeren los grechs philosophs, jatsia que après hi hajen ajustat queucom los savis crestians, e an dit summàriament en esta matèria que tota bella ciutat devia ésser quadrada, car retse’n pus bella e pus ordonada…” Eiximenis, Dotzè, 240. 18 Owens, Greek and Roman World, 7. 19 These phenomena reappear again in the medieval period, especially with the rise of European economy from the thirteenth century forward. 20 “…car lavors, al mig de cada costat, deu ésser I portal principal qui sia luny de cascun angle de mur seu per sinch-cents passos, en guise que tot lo mur haja entorn 17

180

Chapter Seven

Fig. 7-1. Eiximenis’s ideal city plan, according to Josep Puig i Cadafalch.

The Catalan architect and historian Josep Puig i Cadafalch drew a plan of Eiximenis’s ideal city, based on his description, which can help us to visualize this layout (Fig. 7-1). Eiximenis’s urban composition is decidedly reminiscent of the Roman castrum with its four main gates marking the cardo and decamanus, the broad, main streets that divided the city into quarters, rather than the Greek orthogonal model.21 Although Greek town planners reserved a space within the town for the agora, this space was not quatre mília passos; e del portal d’orient fins al portal de ponent pas carrer gran e ample travassant tota la ciutat de part en part. Semblant sia del portal principal, qui guarda migjorn, fins a l’altre principal, qui guarda a tramontana.” Eiximenis, Dotzè, 240. 21 Owens, Greek and Roman World, 110-11.

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

181

necessarily in the center of the city, nor did they establish the tradition of two main, broad streets that intersected this center. Evidently, Eiximenis was aware of the Roman military model used in the colonization of new territories, although the only Roman source he specifically cites is Vegetius, who does not describe a castrum plan in his treatise. Eiximenis may have been aware of the castrum from other Roman authors, or he could have observed this model in the many Catalan cities that had ancient Roman origins, most specifically the city of Barcelona where he resided for many years. The castrum plan and the standing remains of ancient Roman architecture were still a predominant characteristic of Catalan cities that were former Roman colonies, such as Barcelona, Tarragona, Lleida, and Eiximenis’s place of birth, Girona.22 He may also have encountered in his travels the many orthogonal new towns that were built in Catalonia and southwestern France starting in the thirteenth century.

New Town Development Eiximenis may also have encountered in his travels the many orthogonal new towns that were built in the Crown of Aragon and southwestern France starting in the thirteenth century. Medieval new towns were established across Europe from the tenth to the fifteenth centuries with a specific political and economic agenda.23 They were commonly royal or episcopal foundations. The urban endeavors undertaken by feudal lords and kings were done within the context of a vision of political expansion and domination of a region, organized to confirm the established hierarchical order of a feudal society and to build an infrastructure for its protection and economic development. A common theme in their foundation was the need to affirm royal authority in counter-position to the nobility and the need to establish an administrative and economic organization of the territory, through the towns.24 The network of towns reinforced royal power, which was becoming more centralized and helped to protect the frontiers with other kingdoms. It was also a strategy for the repopulation of newly conquered regions. Examples can be found in all parts of the Iberian Peninsula, but 22 One might also include in this list, the coastal city of Empúries, which was originally Greek, but was later enlarged by the Romans. 23 Pascual Martínez Sopena and Mertxe Urteaga Artigas, eds., “Las villas nuevas medievales del suroeste europeo: De la fundación medieval al siglo XXI; Análisis histórico y lectura contemporánea,” special issue, Boletín Arkolean 14 (2006). 24 Josep Puig Cadafalch, “Idees teòriques sobre urbanisme en el segle XIV: Un fragment d’Eiximenis,” Estudis Universitaris Catalans 21 (1936): 5.

182

Chapter Seven

perhaps more well-known are the bastides built in southwestern France by Alphonse, the count of Poitier, and Edward I, King of England, as well as the new towns built outside of Florence.25 The existing fabric of thirteenth-century Catalan frontier new towns provided numerous examples of orthogonal towns with a castrum-inspired plan. Certainly, the new towns provided the greatest opportunities to implement planning concepts on virgin soil. Like in other parts of Europe, the Catalan new town plans differed from the more organic layout of other urban plans commonly pre-existing in conquered regions. The geometric plans of the new towns were preconceived; they were not the result of the incremental growth of a small village along the natural contours of the terrain. (Some were created ex-novo, and some were built upon an existing urban plan.) Yet, frontier new towns in the Crown of Aragon present a new twist on the endeavor of feudal lords to mark the advent of a new political regime in a foreign European territory; they were markers of the authority of a new Christian ruler in a former Islamic territory. These new towns are a part of the Christian reconquest, not only of the Iberian Peninsula, but also of the Mediterranean. Frontier new towns continued to be built by the Crown’s kings in the former Islamic kingdoms of Mallorca, Sardinia, and Sicily.26 Along the coastal road connecting Barcelona to Valencia to, there are several orthogonally-planned towns are reminiscent of Eiximenis’s description, and that could possibly have served as models for his vision. They are part of a repertoire of planned new frontier towns built by the kings of the Crown of Aragon in the thirteenth century, as they expanded into the Islamic Valencian kingdom27. Their orthogonal plans are centered on a main public plaza, usually with a church facing one side. Most have or were planned to have rectangular, enclosing walls with city gates at the 25

Adrian Randolph, “The Bastides of Southwest France,” The Art Bulletin 77/2 (1995): 290-307; M. Jordan Love, “On Earth as It Is in Heaven? The Creation of the Bastide Towns of Southwest France,” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2012); David Friedman, Florentine New Towns: Urban Design in the Late Middle Ages (Cambridge, Mass: Architectural History Foundation, 1989); and Vittorio Franchetti Pardo, Historia del urbanismo: Siglos XIV y XV, (Madrid: Insituto de Estudios de Administración Local, 1988), 55-71. 26 Jaume Andreu Galmés, “Les ordinacions de Jaume II de Mallorca per a la creació de viles (any 1300): Planificació urbana en quadrícula i dotació de servis; El cas de Petra,” in XVII Congrés d’Història de la Corona d’Aragó. El món urbá a la Corona d’Aragó del 1137 als decrets de la Nova Planta, 3: 11-28, (Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, 2003). 27 Enric Guinot and Javier Martí, “Las villas nuevas medievales valencianas (siglos XIII-XIV),” Boletin Arkolean 14 (2006) 183-216.

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

183

four cardinal points; all were built within a close distance to each other, forming a line of defense along the coast. It is likely that Eiximenis would have encountered these towns when he moved to Valencia, since they are on the medieval route just before one reaches the city. One has to wonder if, due to his royal patronage, he also had access to no longer existing royal documentation on the planning of these towns. These new towns could have served as models of a material city form that substantiated Eiximenis’s reading of the Neoplatonic scholars.

The Medieval Sources In the following passage, Eiximenis adds to the city’s plan another feature that appears to be inspired by medieval, rather than classical, texts. Although Roman towns could have more than four gates, the following arrangement is one that is described in a great number of medieval religious texts. Furthermore, between each principal portal and the two corners which are to each side should be placed two lesser portals, one being to the right and the other to the left. And, as it was mentioned, that streets should run straight from the eastern portal to the western portal, and that from the west28 to the north; thus straight and beautiful streets should run from each of the lesser portals to their opposing portals.29

This arrangement of three city gates on each side of a quadrangular city, twelve in total, mirrors a key aspect of the imagery of the heavenly city of Jerusalem described in the book of Revelation of the New Testament:“the city lieth four-square, and the length is as large as the breadth” with “on the east three gates; on the north three gates; on the south three gates; and on the west three gates.”30 Illuminations of the heavenly city also in Apocalypse manuscripts from the tenth though the thirteenth centuries. Twelve of twenty-six surviving copies of the Beatus manuscripts, the Commentary on the Apocalypse, have a version of this 28

I believe “west” is an error; it should have indicated “south.” “Posaren encara, que de cascun d’aquests portals principals fins al dos angles qui li estan als dos costats hagués dos alters portals menys principals, la hun fos a la part dreta e l’altre a la esquerra. E, axí com dit és, que vinguessen carrers drets del portal d’orient al portal de ponent, e d’aquell de ponent fins aquell de tramontana; e axí venguessen carrers drets e bells de cascun dels portals menys principals fins als altres portals contraris.” Eiximenis, Dotzè, 240. 30 Revelation 21:13-16, as quoted in Lilley, City and Cosmos, 16. 29

184

Chapter Seven

image, which can be studied in John Williams’ comprehensive study of all extant manuscripts.31 The factors that all Beatus images of the heavenly city have in common are the twelve gates with either semicircular or horseshoe shape arches, under which stand twelve angels. Most have towers above the gates and a pearl floating within the space under each arch. The city’s external boundaries are usually equal in length, making most plans a perfect square. The center space bordered by the gates has been depicted as a square, or at times a double square. In the previously cited passage, Eiximenis described the city as being four thousand paces overall, with sides five hundred paces from the principal gate to each corner, making each side of the city one thousand paces; thus the plan he describes is a perfect square. Could Eiximenis have seen one of these manuscripts? The original Beatus manuscript text is composed mainly of the works of earlier Christian scholars and contains long extracts from the writings of Saint Augustine, making it a likely text from which Eiximenis drew inspiration. The two Beatus still extant that are originally from Catalonia, the Girona and Turin Beatus, have similar heavenly city illuminations but clearly do not follow the typical model described above. These two images have vertical elevations of arched spaces painted on to the surface of the plan, which bear no relation to Eiximenis’ description.32 The other ten manuscripts that depict the typical model of the heavenly city originate or were held in monasteries in Navarre, Castile, and Galicia, the non-Iberian exceptions being a Portuguese copy from Lorvão and the French Beatus from Saint Sever, all places we do not have record of Eiximenis visiting. However, a closer look at Eiximenis’ words provides further evidence. In a later part of the passage cited above, Eiximenis further describes the boundaries of the city: The wall should have in each principle corner a beautiful fortified tower; each principle portal should be between two towers and the towers of each four principle portals should be larger and taller than the ones of the lesser [portals]; the wall should be good, and tall, and wide and strong, in order that the city can defend itself not only by the virtue of its men but also by the virtue of its walls.33 31

John Williams, The Illustrated Beatus: A Corpus of the Illustrations of the Commentary on the Apocalypse, 5 vols. (London: Harvey Miller, 1994). The original text of the Commentary of the Apocalypse was written in the 9th century by the Spanish monk, Beatus of Liébana. 32 Williams notes that the Turin image was probably copied from the Girona manuscript in The Illustrated Beatus, 26. 33 “Lo mur deu haver en cascun angle principal un bell castell, e cascun portal principal deu estar entre dues torres, e les torres deuen ésser pus altes e majors en

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

185

Fig. 7-2. “Heavenly Jerusalem,” The Trinity Apocalypse, fol. 25v, c. 1255-60. Source: Courtesy of Master and Fellows of Trinity College Cambridge.

The hierarchical configuration of towers at the main and lesser portals can only be found in the image of the Heavenly Jerusalem in the thirteenth-century Trinity Apocalypse, an English manuscript that was bequeathed in the seventeenth century to Cambridge University (Fig. 7-2).34 Considering the manuscript’s mid-thirteenth century date (1255-1260) and its provenance, los quatre portals principals que no en los alters menys principals. Deu ésseer lo mur bo, e alt, e gros e fort per tal que la ciutat no solament puxa deffendre per virtut de sos hòmens, ans encara per virtut de sos murs.” Eiximenis, Dotzè, 241. 34 Williams, Illustrated Beatus, 5: 35.

186

Chapter Seven

this manuscript or a Spanish Beatus model from which it may have been inspired, appears to be a more likely Apocalypse manuscript that Eiximenis may have viewed, this one in his studies in Oxford in the 1350s. The large-scale, bright images of the Trinity Apocalypse, atypical of English illuminations, most especially the depiction of the heavenly city of Jerusalem, suggest the influence of a Beatus model (fol. 25v).35 Nigel Morgan suggests that a Beatus copy may have been brought to England in 1255 when Eleanor of Castile married prince Edward of England. These manuscripts were known to be lent to other aristocratic patrons. Not to say that Eiximenis could not have imagined the hierarchical towers himself when writing his work in Valencia. Whether Eiximenis had seen this illumination or not, it seems clear that he purposefully chose to imbue his material city with the symbolism that was current in his time. It reflects his underlying premise for the writing of the Dotzè, the creation of an ideal material city on earth, as a reflection of the design of the spiritual city in heaven, so that Man may experience through its form, the spiritual city. In addition to imbuing his city with cosmological symbolism, Eiximenis also describes the social and political organization of an ideal Christian society, and he integrates the social order into his vision of the formal urban structure of the city.36 The following passage illustrates this and adds anecdotal information that gives one a glimpse into daily life in a medieval city. For if the city were on the sea, in the part by the sea should be merchants, moneychangers, brokers and drapers. And on the side of the city should be the prince’s palace, well-fortified and tall, which has an exit to outside the wall, so that in this manner company from inside the city can enter or they can be brought in [from outside]. In the center of the city should be the cathedral, and next to her should be a great plaza and beautiful with high steps on each side, so that, if you wanted someone searching for you to find you, you could just step up high on the steps and they could see you. In this plaza, for the honor of the cathedral and the divine sacraments, which are [kept] here, should no dishonest solace occur here; nor should there be corrupt things; nor here should any filth be permitted; nor should gallows be here nor fights, nor here should anyone be sentenced here. Here, next to the cathedral should be the bishop and next to him the priests.

35

Ibid., 16; Barbara Nolan, The Gothic Visionary Perspective (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977), 68-69, n. 68. 36 Soledad Vila, La ciudad de Eiximenis: Un proyecto teórico de urbanismo en le siglo XIV, (Valencia: Diputación Provincial de Valencia, 1984), 98.

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

187

And so in the plaza we should not allow loud noise to disturb the divine office, nor those who are engaged in service to God.37

Eiximenis positions the place of spiritual power, the cathedral, symbolically in the center, the heart, of the city, with an adjacent public plaza. The cathedral is raised on a platform with steps, positioning it as the high point of the city, a position from which one could climb and catch sight of others in the plaza below. In the illuminations of the heavenly Jerusalem reviewed, most have an empty central space, a plaza, with a depiction of the sacrificial lamb, St. John, and an angel with a measurement staff, implying the tools of surveyor used to lay out the plan of a city. Yet, in essence, these figures exist in the sacred space of the image, symbolically the space of heaven, of God, and thus the space that in a material city logically must be occupied by the Church. The site of secular power, the palace, is not in the center, as one would find in the Greco-Roman world along with a temple, but rather is to the side, allied with the fortified wall, the urban component that protects and defines the boundaries of the city. The palace exerts control over entry and exit, acting as one of the gates into the city. Eiximenis is choosing to make the Church, figuratively, the higher of the two authorities, and, in a sense, replacing the imagery in the illuminated manuscripts of heaven and Christ in the center with a physical Church. Despite the symbolism inherent, the palace’s location actually was an arrangement found in some medieval cities, such as Barcelona and Carcasonne. Eiximenis also envisions that the geometry of this ideal city could be used to create a harmonious social organization; its component parts should each be designed as a microcosm of the larger design.

37 “…car si la ciutat era sobre mar, en la part sobre mar deurien estar mercaders, cambiadós, corredors d’orella, drapers. E en lo costat de la ciutat deu estar lo palau del príncep, ben fort e alt, qui haja exida defora lo mur, axí que tota vegada puxa metre dins la ciutat con companya o la’n puxa treer. En lo mig de la ciutat deu ésser la seu, e après ella, deu ésser gran plaça e bella, ab graons alts de cada part, axí que, si vols alguns, que no’ls te calla cercar, sinó que te’n puigs last en los grahons e que’l veges là jus. En aytal plaça, per honor de la seu e dels sacraris divinals, qui aquí són, no’s deu fer negun solaç desonest; ne y deuen estar coses venals; ne s’I deu sostenir neguna inmundícia; ne forcha deu aquí ésser ne costell, ne s’i deu nagun ponir ne sentenciar. Aquí, pres la seu, deu estar lo bisbe, e après d’ell los sacerdots. E per tal en la dita plaça no’s deu sostenir brogit per no torbar l’ofici divinal, ne aquells qui són dats al servey de Déu.” Eiximenis, Dotzè, 240-41.

188

Chapter Seven And therefore, this city would have four principal quarters, that is four parts, and each part could have a large and beautiful plaza, and in each part could be a few special notable people…In each of the four quarters of the city there should be placed a mendicant order, and certain parishes and a mixture of certain trades so that in each of the four parts of this city one can find all the necessary trades. Towards the portal which leads to the land, or the garden, or the countryside should be the laborers; and in each part of these four should be a meat market, a fish market, a grain market and everything needed by the inhabitants. Here, likewise, if there is abundant water, this should be distributed amongst everyone equally.38

According to this description, there would be four minor plazas in each quadrant of the city, necessitating a revision to Puig Cadafalch’s original design for the city, and, perhaps, a revision to place the cathedral literally in the center, as I am suggest here with three possible interpretations (Figs. 7-3a, 7-3b, and 7-3c). In this corrected visualization of Eiximenis’ words, the cosmological underpinnings of his city become clearer. Eiximenis has described a hierarchical relationship between the cathedral, as the apex or center, connected to the gates of heaven by the trinity of streets; and the boundaries of the city (including the palace) as the intermediary; and the minor plazas and Man-inhabited quadrants at the lower, more earthly eschelon. This hierarchical relationship mirrors the accepted medieval social order and also demonstrates the vertical link between the material and the heavenly city.

38

“E, per consegüent, la ciutat aquella hauria quatre quartons principals, ço és quatre parts, e cascuan part poria haver plaça gran e bella, e en cascuna part poria estar qualque notable gent special…Per cascun dels quatre quarters de la ciutat deu ésser posat un ordre dels mendicants, e parròquies certes e officis certs e mesclats per tal que en cascuna de les quatre porcions de la ciutat se tròpien de tots officis. Envers lo portal qui va vers la terra, o la orta, o los camps deuen estar los lauradors; e en cascuna part de les dites quatre due haver carniceria, pascataria, almodí e tot recapte per los habitants. Aquí, hoc encara, si y ha aygües copioses, deuen-se partir pertot egualment.” Ibid.

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

189

Fig. 7-3a. Alternative city plan suggested by author, according to Eiximenis’s description.

190

Chapter Seven

Fig. 7-3b. Alternative city plan suggested by author, according to Eiximenis’s description.

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

191

Fig. 7-3c. Alternative city plan suggested by author, according to Eiximenis’s description.

Contemporary Models Existing in Eiximenis’s Time Many of the components of Eiximenis’s plan may also have been inspired by on-going plans to renovate existing towns and cities in the Crown of Aragon, the environmental context he was familiar with, in addition to the earlier development of new towns. Two clear examples can be seen in the cities of Barcelona and Valencia, where Eiximenis lived, but examples also can be seen in the smaller towns of the Crown of Aragon. Eiximenis lauds Barcelona in a chapter dedicated to proving that Barcelona was a noble city of the stature that would divert sin and inspire a virtuous life. He proves this by comparing Barcelona to the city of Tarragona, to

192

Chapter Seven

which he appears think little of. After a comparison of the better location and orientation of Barcelona, leading to the greater health and prosperity of it citizens, he comments: “Thus Tarragona is poorly built, and Barcelona is a thousand times more beautifully built than any known city in the world. Tarragona thus poor and miserable, and Barcelona rich, and he who by special privilege loves money will save thousands more than other generations of the world.”39 Some aspects of Eiximenis’s city appear to be directly inspired by the configuration of Barcelona. Valencia and Girona are sited on rivers, although not too distant from the sea; yet Barcelona is directly on the sea with a merchant’s quarter along the shoreline, as Eiximenis described in the passage cited earlier above. Also, Barcelona’s royal palace had been located up against the northeastern exterior city wall since Carolingian times. Up until the late thirteenth century, the medieval city had been contained within ancient Roman walls and the major axes, the former cardo and decamanus, and the responding gates were still extant. It wasn’t until 1285, during the reign of Pere II, that the first medieval fortifications were built beyond this perimeter, which would incorporate small towns outside in a synoetic process. 40 This occurred again in the mid-fourteenth century, when Pere III allocated funds for the construction of an additional new perimeter wall to the southwest that would greatly expand the city’s urban footprint. Although medieval Barcelona’s plan outside of the Roman nucleus had been evolving organically, following the trajectory of pre-existing features such as local streams and trade routes leaving the city, the fourteenthcentury city council initiated several public works projects whose focus was to broaden and rectify an existing market plaza and to broaden and straighten certain streets, especially those that led to the new city gates. 41 The objective of these renovations was to improve circulation, but also to beautify the city through making parts more orthogonal. No over-arching plan for urban renewal appears in the city council records; however, a planning process can be seen in the steps the city took to spend large parts 39

“És encara Tarragona mal hedifficada, e Barchinona és mils e pus bellament hedifficada que ciutat que hom sàpia al món. És encara Tarragona pobre e miserable, e Barchinona riqua, e qui ha per special privilege que ama lo diner e’l sap guarder mils que alter generació del món.” Eiximenis, Dotzè, 49. 40 Manuel Guàrdia and Albert Garcia Espuche, “Consolidació d’una estructura urbana: 1300-1516,” in Història de Barcelona, vol. 3, ed. Jaume Sobrequés i Callicó, 37-72 (Barcelona: Ajuntament de Barcelona, 1992): 61-62. 41 Agustí Duran i Sanpere, Barcelona i la seva història, vol. 1 (Barcelona: Curial, 1973): 157.

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

193

of its treasury on public works over the course of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.42 Eiximenis was familiar with members of the city council during his residence there, who evidently thought highly enough of him to send him as their representative to communicate with the prince Joan I in Girona in 1377.43 One might infer that Eiximenis was aware to some degree of the issues the city council engaged in that decade. The circumstances that Eiximenis would have found in fourteenthcentury Valencia provided even more depth of meaning for his writings about the Christian state and city. Muslim Valencia was conquered by King Jaume I in 1238 and hence began a program to adapt and renovate the city for its new Catalan settlers, as was occurring in other parts of the Crown of Aragon. By the fourteenth century Valencia’s municipal government was in a position to act on urban reform independently, due to the charters and privileges it had acquired from the king. Amadeo Serra Desfilis has derived from a study of the city council minutes from 1350 to 1410 the city council’s motivation behind urban reform and the points of action taken.44 From the early fourteenth century the council began a process of physically and functionally adapting the Islamic urban environment for a new political and social order, the Christian society imposed on the city after its conquest by Jaume I in 1238. The urban form they inherited, so they expressed, was in many ways unsuitable to their way of living. The narrow and winding streets, cul-de-sacs, and the incremental process of building into and over streets appeared to the new governors of this city as an urban form that was in high contrast to the ideals of health, hygiene, and beauty envisioned. Perhaps one should also consider that the existing form of the city may have made it dangerous and more difficult to maintain law and order considering that Valencia was still inhabited by the native Muslim population, a situation in which more straight and broad streets with fewer overhangs might improve. In the Dotzè, Eiximenis put into writing a solution for this urban distress, framing the solution to Valencia’s city council in a way that gave greater meaning to the changes that the city’s new Christian inhabitants were contemplating. 42

Madurell Marimón, José M. "Los contratos de obras en los protocolos notariales y su aportación a la historia de la arquitectura (Siglos XIV-XVI)." In Estudios históricos y documentos de los archivos de protocolos, 1 (1948): 105-199. 43 Lluís Brines Garcia, “Biografia documentada de Francesc eiximenis, 2,” 27-28, Antiblavers. Més enllà dela política: informació I fets, accessed October 11, 2016, http://www.eiximenis.tk. 44 Amadeo Serra Desfilis, “La belleza de la ciudad: El urbanismo en Valencia, 1350-1410,” Ars Longa 2 (1991): 73-80.

194

Chapter Seven

Eiximenis expressed his vision of a model Christian city as having streets straight and ample for transportation, spacious plazas, and decorated with civic and religious monuments, a clean, light-filled and populous city that would present an image of beauty to the visitor.45 This description is in high contrast to the city council’s description of the state of the city they had inherited from the Muslims. The king supported Valencia’s efforts to reform and make the city habitable and to establish the infrastructure that would make it a viable commercial and political center for the kingdom of Valencia. The city council initiated a program of urban reform which became one of its principle goals toward the end of the fourteenth century. The concepts of utility and beauty appeared frequently in the preamble of the city minutes during those years. In the last quarter of the fourteenth century, the decorum and beauty of the city became a value pursued in the urban politics of the Valencian city council. The governing council attempted to define a new image of the city through aesthetic, propagandistic terms, inspired by the concepts presented by Eiximenis. Serra Defilis believes that the pursuit of this civic program in Valencia was in part motivated by their rejection of the Islamic culture inherent in the urban fabric.46 He proposes that these prejudices may have been used as excuses for the demolition of walls and buildings for the widening and straightening of streets. He reminds us that the narrow and circuitous streets of Muslim Valencia probably appeared as a still-prominent and distasteful reminder of a culture and religion only recently conquered. This provided the city council with a propagandistic argument for their expenditures.

Conclusions Eiximenis built his vision of the ideal material city through the contemplation of a wide range of classical and medieval scholarship, indicating access to a substantial library. An inventory was made of his personal library in 1408 shortly after his death, in which a great number of volumes were of Franciscan masters who taught at Oxford.47 Specifically in the Dotzè chapters that form a part of this analysis, Eiximenis makes general references in his text to the works of Greek and Christian 45 Agustín Rubio Vela, ‘La ciudad como imagen: Ideología y estética en el urbanismo bajomedieval valenciano’, Historia urbana 3 (1994): 23-37. 46 Serra Desfilis, “La belleza de la ciudad,” 75. The author discusses a distinction made in the records between Christian and Moorish walls. 47 Lluís Brines Garcia, “Biografia documentada de Francesc eiximenis, 2,” 15-22, Antiblavers. Més enllà dela política: informació I fets, accessed October 11, 2016, http://www.eiximenis.tk.

A Fourteenth-Century View on Urbanism

195

philosophers, yet only specifically cites Saint Augustine, the Bible, and the Roman writer Vegetius, author of the widely-known military treatise. The princes and educated elite of the fourteenth-century Kingdom of Valencia were his audience, and would have been familiar with his references. What Eiximenis has written is a masterful synthesis of current Christian Neoplatonic thought and the practical necessities in the functional organization and protection of a city in the late medieval period. His city is layered with religious symbolism but he is not describing a utopian society; it is an ideal city that could serve as a model for a true material city on earth. For Eiximenis, the reform of existing cities and the creation of new material cities that reflected the order and values of a Christian culture was a vehicle through which to spread the principles of the Christian faith. In his description, Eiximenis addresses distinct moral issues and practical considerations that were a part of his own society. Written with the city council of Valencia in mind, the character and composition of an ideal Christian city served an additional purpose, it became a means of differentiating Christian from Muslim society, a theme that had been the subject of the Commentary on the Apocalypse produced during the era of the Reconquest of the Iberian Peninsula, a theme that had on-going repercussions in the thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Crown of Aragon. Eiximenis has bequeathed to us in his ruminations on the ideal city a synthesis of socio-political protocol, religious symbolism, and Humanist thinking concerning the function and purpose of the late medieval city. Eiximenis’s exposition addresses, yet moves beyond, the utopian, religious-inspired treatises on the celestial city to give us concrete details on the design of cities in his time. As Soledad Vila has pointed out in her analysis of this work, the Eiximenan city has a universal, atemporal quality to it; yet it is presented as a possible reality in a physical world.48 The Dotzen libre de regiment dels princeps e de comunitats appellat crestià is a unique work on the ideal city and Christian state whose Humanist discourse will not be revisited again until Alberti’s de re aedificatoria in the late fifteenth century.

48

Soledad Vila, La ciudad de Eiximenis, 85.

CHAPTER EIGHT INCREMENTAL URBANISM IN MEDIEVAL ITALY: THE EXAMPLE OF TODI SAMUEL D. GRUBER SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY

Ever since Wolfgang Braunfels's pioneering work on medieval Italian urbanism appeared in the 1950s, it has been accepted that modern town planning in Italy did not begin in the Renaissance.1 Powerful city states and powerful individual rulers were busy founding and laying out new towns in Piedmont, Lombardy, Tuscany, Apulia, and Campania from the thirteenth century on. Thirty-five years after Braunfels’ book, David Friedman published his study of the Florentine new towns of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, in which he reiterated that link.2 Friedman wrote “the town plans proposed by Filarete, Francesco di Giorgio, and the theoreticians and town builders of the sixteenth century placed a premium on centrality, symmetry, and fixed proportions, all of which were essential aspects of the fourteenth-century Florentine new-town plans.” Friedman's study emphasized the most rigidly planned exercises in city design of the Italian Middle Ages. Much less attention, however, has been focused on planning practices in towns that already existed in Italy, and which flourished due to the demographic and economic boom of the 1

Wolfgang Braunfels, Mittelalterliche Stadtbaukunst in der Toskana (Berlin: Verlag 1953). See Wolgang Lotz, “Review of Wolfgang Braunfels, Mittelalterliche Stadtbaukunst in der Toskana,” Art Bulletin, XXXVII (1955): 65-67. Most architectural historians understood Braunfels discussion of thirteenth- and fourteenth-century urban planning and aesthetics as evidence of a protoRenaissance, rather than an expression of fully developed medieval urbanism. 2 David Friedman, Florentine New Towns: Urban Design in the Late Middle Ages (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988).

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

197

twelfth through early fourteenth centuries. The growth of these many towns, located on irregular sites, and with long and tangled building, property, and political histories, is still too often dismissed as “organic” as opposed to a “planned” development.3 The legacy of twentieth-century urban planning practice, which favored the big plan and the clean slate, still influences views of what planning was in the past. In many older towns that lack the regular and easily recognizable orthogonal plan of new towns such as S. Giovanni di Val D'Arno (Tuscany), Cittadella (Veneto), or L'Aquila (Abruzzi), one must look more carefully to detect evidence of an urban vision. There are no specific city building treatises before Alberti's 1452 De Architettura,4 and no lengthy descriptions of 3

A notable exception is Enrico Guidoni, Storia dell'Urbanistica: Il Duccento (Bari: Laterza, 1989), particularly in the second part of his survey, “Temi and modelli.” Most work of this sort, including Guidoni’s, has concerned Tuscan towns, with successful studies of aspects of the urban development and urban architecture of Lucca, Siena, San Gimignano and Florence. In addition to Friedman'’s work on the planning and political aspects of the Tuscan new towns, see Franek Sznura, L'espansione urbana di Firenze nel dugento (Florence: La Nuova Italia,1975); and Marvin Trachtenberg, “What Brunelleschi Saw: Monument and Site at the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 40 no. 7 (1988):14-44; and Marvin Trachtenberg, Dominion of the Eye: Urbanism, Art, and Power in Early Modern Florence (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997); as well as Paula Spilner, “Ut Civitas Amplietur.” Studies in Florentine Urban Development, 1282-1400, Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University (Ann Arbor: UMI, 1987). These scholars have begun to unravel the complex history of the urban development within Florence itself. Sznura has provided an important historical framework for major urban changes, especially the expansion of the city and the building of the outer wall circuits, while Trachtenberg has employed a form of micro-history, investigating in detail specific development schemes. 4 The monopoly on planning history held by Alberti and other fifteenth-century theorists was not easily shaken. For an example of this attitude, see Giulio Carlo Argan, The Renaissance City (New York: George Braziller, 1969), 15 who writes that “the great innovation in the process of urban development was that, beginning in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, structural changes in the city were brought about by the will of the prince and the carefully studied plans of architects.” Even if the founding of new cities was a rare event, and for the most part determined by precise military or political reasons, the transformation of medieval cities usually occurred in one of the following ways: 1) revision of the old city layout by opening up new streets and wide, regular squares; 2) addition of new sections to the city; and 3) creation of new generative elements through the construction of monumental buildings that were to affect further development of structures in adjacent areas. As will be discussed throughout this study, the attributes that Argan assigns to the town of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries are actually products of

198

Chapter Eight

city planning and building, such as in Manetti's biography of Pope Nicholas V, also from the 1450s, so we cannot be sure what even a few highly educated people desired of the cityscape. With the exception of Bonvicinus de Rippa’s description of Milan from 1288 and Giovanni Villani’s account of Florence, written before 1348, there are few instances where we see the medieval Italian city, real or ideal, through contemporary eyes. Specific directions for new neighborhoods do survive, for example, from Brescia,5 Assisi,6 and Florence.7 While Friedman and others have examined the well-developed practice of urban geometers for laying out orthogonal city streets and plotting rectangular building lots, for most Italian towns, the evidence is largely circumstantial. Still, we can understand that there were many different ways in which towns and cities could be planned. In the case of the Umbrian hilltown of Todi, however, this evidence is substantial enough to indicate that medieval citizens were strongly concerned with their city’s physical condition and visual appearance (Fig. 8-1). They followed a practical approach to urbanism, necessary since the town had been occupied for more than a millennium, and authorities rarely could plan or build from scratch. They tried to correct and adapt existing situations. Improving city fabric was an exercise in civic unity; as important in forging a polity as the raising of an army.8

thirteenth- and fourteenth-century urbanism, and are even apparent in a small town like Todi. 5 See Enrico Guidoni, “Appunti per una storia dell'urbanistica nella Lombardia tardo-medievale,” in Lombardia—Il territorio, l'ambiente, il paesaggio, Carlo Pirovano, ed., vol. I (Milan: Electa, 1981), 109-62, for a discussion of the Liber Potharis and the planned expansion of Brescia. 6 Cesarina De Giovanni, “L'ampliamento di Assisi nel 1316,” Bollettino della deputazione di storia patria per l'Umbria 72 (1975): 1- 78. 7 Paula Spilner, “Ut Civitas Amplietur,” especially 273-301. 8 The basic history of medieval Todi remains Getulio Ceci, Todi nel Medioevo (Todi, Formi, 1897), which describes the organization of the government and its responsibilities. In addition to the city statutes, the commune maintained the The Libro del ruolo dell'accavallata del 1340 (Archivio Comunale di Todi, Fondo Statuti), a list of those responsible for maintaining a good horse ready for any call to war. The military force of Todi was divided into the militi and the pedoni. The militi, or horse soldiers, were the primary force. In 1288, in the war of Foligno, Todi sent in aid to Perugia 800 horse soldiers, and there is no indication that this was the full strength of the army. In 1297 the number of horses available to the commune had increased by 100. The accavallata was the calling together of the knights. The few richer men were responsible for two; the less well-to-do one. Some individuals were responsible for a fraction of a horse, and they probably paid

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

199

Fig. 8-1. Lauro view map of Todi.

Todi was founded as an Etruscan stronghold and then a Roman city, and is exceptional today for its well-preserved medieval appearance. Historically, however, Todi was a rather ordinary, or at least typical, place in most respects by late medieval standards (and so it remained for centuries). Like dozens of towns throughout Italy, Todi was an independent commune in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with a highly organized civic administration of Podestà, Capitano del Popolo, and General Council, whose membership ranged from 300 to 500 citizens. Todi had a population between 12,000 and 15,000 in the 1320s, with an additional 35,000 or so people in the territory under Tudertine rule.9 Today, the town is best known a cash substitute. A few individuals or families supplied three horses or more. We do not know how large a force Todi had in the thirteenth century, but in 1347 there were 1070 individuals listed responsible for providing 1004 horses. The list is arranged by rione, and provides a good indication of the distribution of wealth throughout the city. See Gruber, Medieval Todi, 103. 9 Primary and secondary sources for the urban and demographic development of Todi are examined in Gruber, Medieval Todi, op. cit., 16-22 and passim.

200

Chapter Eight

for its piazza and for a few notable churches, such as the late medieval Franciscan church of San Fortunato10 and the High Renaissance gem of Santa Maria della Consolazione, attributed to the circle of Bramante.11 Todi's triangular plan shape converges on the central piazza, and is caused by the extension of several ridge spurs which extend from the town center. In part because of the varied topography, the overall plan includes several types of street and building patterns. On the spurs, where new borghi were laid out in the thirteenth century, the fishbone arrangement is most evident. In the center of town, however, on the long sides of the piazza, the street pattern suggests an orthogonal arrangement, adapted to the topography of the site. This grid is probably Roman in origin. Across this rough grid of streets around the piazza is the three-way intersection of major streets into the piazza. The triangular street arrangement is thus compressed into the grid plan. Life in the city revolved around this central piazza that had evolved over centuries from a Roman forum and on which, by the early thirteenth century, fronted the power centers of commune and bishop. The piazza served as an expression of public power through the presence of it impressive civic palaces. The construction of these buildings continued for over a century and Todi’s citizens would have had the frequent reminder and sometimes inconvenience of the expanding presence of their popular government. But Todi’s piazza was not just empty space between buildings or the point of convergence of rioni. The open space of the piazza, used as a market and the site of civic events, was as important to the life of medieval Todi as the activities that took place in the surrounding buildings.12 10

Guglielmo De Angelis D'Ossat, Il Tempio di San Fortunato a Todi (Milan: Silvana, 1982); and David Gillerman, “S. Fortunato in Todi: Why the Hall Church?” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 58 (1989): 158-71. 11 Arnoldo Bruschi, Ed. Tempio della Consolazione a Todi (Todi: Banca Popolare di Todi, 1991). 12 On the Piazza see Getulio Ceci, and Umberto Bartolini, Piazze e palazzi comunale di Todi (Todi: Res Tudertinae, 1979), and Gruber, Medieval Todi, op. cit., 171-204. The activity in the piazza was often politically significant, such as the annual recognition of the subjugation of Terni and Amelia, particularly Amelia, which had been conquered in 1208. Every June 29th, during the vigil of San Fortunato, both cities made their annual act of submission. The sindaco of Terni was received in the midst of the consiglio generale where he presented his ten marks of silver, but the representative of Amelia presented the podestà with his tribute of a fifteen-pound candle at the foot of the steps of the Palazzo del Comune. A procession would then pass through the piazza, probably along via Mazzini, to the church of San Fortunato. Political life of a more everyday sort took place in the

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

201

Flanking the piazza were rows of houses, most of them connected, which belonged to members of Todi’s oldest families and to affluent members of its middle class. Many of these houses had shops on their ground floors while in the central space took place the full range of medieval commercial, judicial, and ceremonial life. Some of these houses, particularly those on the southwest and northeast corners of the piazza, survive. Throughout the town the siting of buildings was planned in respect to property boundaries and conditions for light and air, but within the interconnected street networks, views from streets and piazze were also a serious consideration. This was true for public buildings and for many private dwellings. The relation of streets to houses helped focus attention even on less distinguished structures. Visible locations were seemingly preferred for building. Unlike today, the rich and powerful did not build for privacy; as participants in public life and as local political and religious patrons their private architecture played a public role. Public character of houses, however, was determined more by siting, size, and quality of workmanship than by stylistic novelties or ostentatious display. On the one hand, major houses and palaces are located on corner sites where they can be seen at best advantage, and where they received maximum light. On the other, such a location elevates a house to a higher status. Documentary evidence, particularly city statutes, demonstrates that there was civic effort to control urban development. Statutes promote an idea of urban order.13 Issued periodically, statutes record citizens’ concerns and responsibilities in their relations to government, to the land, and to themselves. They are a critical primary source about life in the medieval city. The regulations of Todi were gathered together in extensive editions in 1275 and 1337, and a printed edition in 1549, when the city was under papal rule. Other than the definition of the offices of the government and reiteration of the criminal code, the maintenance of the physical town and the proper function and upkeep of public amenities was the chief concern of statute writers. Like municipal governments today, the infrastructure of the town was government’s greatest asset and greatest liability. The 1275 Statutes show the city at a period when it was defining itself is many ways: militarily, gatherings of the men of the town to discuss local affairs. An inner portion of the piazza was set aside for nobles in 1283. 13 Samuel Gruber, “Ordering the Urban Environment: City Planning and City Statutes in Medieval Todi, Italy,” in Ideas of Order in the Middle Ages, Warren Ginsberg, ed. (Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, 1990): 121-35.

202

Chapter Eight

territorially, economically, politically, commercially, and administratively.14 Many statutes respond to particular problems, and it is clear that statutes were often reactive rather than preventive15. Individually, statutes cannot be taken as enlightened town planning, or even conscientious management. They might, indeed, be construed as evidence to the contrary. But when presented in large wood-bound codices in the Palazzo del Comune, the individual statutes took on a more coherent collective meaning, representing the commune, and the podestà and staff sworn to uphold them. Beginning in the early 1200s as a government with an ad hoc attitude toward city maintenance, Todi developed a real policy toward maintaining the order of the city that included citizen responsibility, private denouncements, and regular public inspections to detect problems and prevent damages.16 This corresponded with the final period of Todi’s expansion and enclosure of areas in its third wall. The statutes’ specificity about the city mirrored, if not equaled, more complex criminal laws. Each incoming podestà was required to examine public properties and

14

Getulio Ceci and Giulio Pensi, Statuto di Todi del 1275 (Todi: A. Trombetti, 1897). More recently see Carlo Grondona, Todi: Storica ed Artistica, 6th edition (Todi: Ediart, 1981). 15 For example, a statute that addresses the problem of garbage removal in the piazza in front of San Fortunato (1275 Statutes, I, rub 59): “Item statuimus quod potestates faciant disgomorari plateam Sancti Fortunati et quod in ea non prohicitur aliquod turpe et qui contra fecerit et quotiens in predictis, in .X. solidos puniatur.” Similar restrictions and fines for projecting building additions that intrude upon public space (sporti) appear to address common continuing problems of medieval and early modern cities with ground level stalls or upper story (sporti) react to continuing problems of medieval and early modern cities. See Ceci and Pensi, Statuto di Todi del 1275, op. cit. 16 Beginning in the early 1200s as a government with an ad hoc attitude toward city maintenance, the commune of Todi developed, by the second half of the thirteenth century, a real policy toward maintaining the order of the city. This policy was wide ranging, and included citizen responsibility, private denouncements, and regular public inspections by city officials to detect problems and prevent serious damages. The specificity of the statutes regarding the city came to mirror, if not equal, the more complex criminal laws. As seen in the Statutes of 1285 and 1337, most of these issues are considered in a “do's and don'ts” manner, specifying particular actions that are or are not allowed within the town walls or within the larger territory. Often the place or time allowed for a specific activity, especially when commercial, is stipulated in the statutes. The regulations fall into three main categories: 1) those insuring that the town is kept clean and healthy, 2) provisions for the maintenance of specific buildings, and 3) regulations concerning new buildings.

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

203

to affect repair immediately.17 Fines on the podestà and his staff were steep, and could be withheld from salaries. The podestà was also charged with maintaining the public water supply, including aqueducts, cisterns, and fountains. By the late thirteenth century, the commune was also purchasing properties for demolition and development for civic use, competing with local religious orders.18 The statutes ordered the podestà and staff to be concerned with streets and piazze and their physical upkeep and improvement, empowering the iudex extraordinarius to determine which streets, roads, and bridges should be repaired, widened, or cleared of obstructions, including balconies and other additions to houses that, as in many medieval cities, gradually encroached upon the public street space. A typical example: “proprietors of houses with frontages on communal or private streets [are allowed] to construct terraces and balconies without payment of any sort to anyone, provided that they do not extend beyond the middle of the streets and on the condition that they are at least ten feet above the level of the ground walkway and that they are adequately supported or attached to the buildings so that nothing can fall and endanger any passerby.”19 Under these same projections it was not allowed “to dump or allow to pile up garbage, or to build cesspools.” The same provision states that violators were fined 20 solidi. The statutes, like the city street network, are a patchwork affair. Reading them one senses constant tinkering to make the city a better place to live. Greater cleanliness, light, and access also seem to be the fundamental elements behind the development of Todi’s street network and siting of its important buildings. This patchwork approach, sewing small pieces of urban fabric together, created over time an almost seamless urban environment. Can we call this urban planning? Certainly yes, in the sense that officials, owners, and builders consciously followed rules and regulations in order to create specific built forms and spatial effects and impressions. It is harder to say whether this incremental urbanism reflects a larger urban vision—let alone a specific articulated urban plan with clear goals. With few exceptions, the types of evidence that survive—notices of meetings, provisions of legal statutes, and occasional contracts, and, of course, the 17

On the role and responsibilities of the podestà, his “famiglia,” and other officers of the commune, see Ceci, Todi nel Medioevo, 203-24. 18 Many of these documents pertain to the purchase and demolition of buildings for the erection of civic buildings around the piazza. These are discussed in Gruber, Medieval Todi, op. cit., Chapter V (the Piazza del Popolo), 171-91. 19 Ceci and Pensi, Statuto di Todi del 1275, op. cit. I, 80 (translation by author).

204

Chapter Eight

buildings, streets, and piazze themselves—are related in purpose, material, and styles; but not usually connected in design. Encircling the piazza were residential neighborhoods divided into six rioni. Further out from the center were borghi. While one can find remnants of the Roman plan in the center, the borghi were thirteenthcentury developments built along the main approach arteries, and tucked into the lower folds of Todi’s hilltop site. Sometimes this encompassed earlier, previously isolated churches and chapels. Two borghi were regularly planned residential extensions of the urban core laid out in a “fishbone” pattern with their major spines the ancient arteries that rose to the town on Todi’s northern and southern spurs, beginning just within the city gates of the third circuit wall. Similar development is apparent in nearby Perugia, a larger city. In Todi, the uniformity of the street and lot patterns at the Borgo Ulpiano suggests a single development after the extension of the city wall in the 1240s, where there was open land between the Porta Romana and Porta della Catena available for subdivision into nearly equal lots along relatively straight streets (Fig. 8-2). Borgo Ulpiano stretches along a ridge to one of Todi's major streets, an offshoot of the Via Flaminia that approached the town from the south. The borgo doubled the length of the street, taking it to a new city gate, and added a network of narrow cross streets descending from the major artery down both sides of the ridge. These new streets were regular in their layout, though their length differed because of the terrain. Most of the house frontages on the vicoli (little streets) are equal, and many of the cell-like houses were built at the same time. Single family dwellings in the Borgo Ulpiano have remained so to this day. In the Borgo Nuovo, on the north side of town, however, development seems less regular, suggestive of multiple small lots and perhaps more owners building over a longer period of time. The creation of the linear borghi type expanded towns in one direction at a time, and created settled areas far from the city center. Hilltown topography usually left no other choice. About the same time as Todi’s expansion, its Umbrian neighbor Gubbio’s topography allowed a more regular growth onto the plain at the bottom of the town, creating the newly orthogonally organized San Pietro district, which filled rapidly with stone row houses for the growing artisan middleclass. The Umbrian town of Assisi expanded its wall in 1316, also creating new borghi on the hillside below the earlier town. Contemporary documents record the distribution of the building lots for rows of houses along parallel streets.

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

205

Fig. 8-2. Todi, Italy, Borgo Ulpiano.

We do not know who developed Todi’s Borgo Ulpiano, but its proximity to the Benedictine monastery of San Nicolo, also the district’s parish church, suggests the monastery was involved in the area’s development, and may even have owned the subdivided land. Documents indicate a pattern of ecclesiastical land ownership in Todi, and the collection of small annual ground rents from literally hundreds of local residents.20 One now-lost document described in the seventeenth-century was a property list of the Benedictine monastery of Sant'Angelo de Fontanelle. It recorded in 1284 that the monastery owned 443 properties, 20

Documentary information concerning the vast majority of Todi's buildings must be gleaned from the sources, or does not exist. The important sources concerning the neighborhoods of Todi and the residents of the town are the various catasti or census records. The earliest surviving census is the Liber focularium, ovvero libro dei fuochi, from 1290 (Archivio Comunale di Todi, Fondo Stuatuti). This was prepared in two volumes, one for the city and one for the territory. Unfortunately, the first volume is lost, and only the total numbers for each rione are preserved. The census of 1322 is of particular importance because of its good state of preservation and the wealth of information it contains about the property holdings of Todi’s citizens. The volume lists each property owner by rione and parish, and then all properties throughout the entire territory by location, size, and value.

206

Chapter Eight

almost all in the new borghi adjacent to its site, namely the Borgi S. Stefano, S. Giorgio, della Cupa and de Plagis.21 Paula Spilner documented in Florence that monasteries actively developed land they owned, and the lot sizes which she identified are close to those we see in Todi’s borghi.22 Enrico Guidoni also demonstrated the role of the Umilati in the residential development of Milan.23 On the other hand, Cesarina de Giovanni has demonstrated that in Assisi, at least, the aforementioned development was by the commune. 24 In Viterbo, the commune developed new borghi on land leased from monasteries.25 In Perugia, it is likely but not certain that the monastery of San Pietro played a pivotal role in the development of the Borgo di San Pietro that grew up in its vicinity. In comparison to these sites, another type of more nuanced planning took place in Todi, focused on adjusting the older central urban fabric by carefully inserting new buildings, and framing views of buildings old and new. Naturally, most buildings were sited in respect to property boundaries and conditions for light and air, and as population grew in the thirteenth century, space was valuable. Still, views from streets and piazza of both public buildings and for many private dwellings were a serious consideration. The relation of the streets to the houses helped focus attention even on many of less distinguished structures.

21

The property list was copied by Luca Alberti Petti in Commentarii ovvero memorie di Todi. 6 MSS vols. (Todi: Archivio Comunale di Todi, 1630), Arm. IV, Cas XI. 22 Spilner, op. cit. in passim. 23 Enrico Guidoni. “Città e ordini mendicanti, il ruolo dei conventi nella cresciuta e nella progettazione urbana del XIII e XIV secolo, ” Quaderni Medievali 4 (1977): 69-106. 24 Cesarina De Giovanni, “L'ampliamento di Assisi nel 1316,” Bollettino della deputazione di storia patria per l'Umbria 72 (1975): 1-78. 25 David Andrews, “Medieval Domestic Architecture in Northern Lazio” in Medieval Lazio: Studies in Architecture, Painting and Ceramics. Papers in Italian Archaeology, III, David Andrews, John Osborne, and David Whitehouse, eds., (Oxford: BAR International Series 125, 1982), 1-121, 6 ff., notes that the elliptical borgo of Piano Scarano was founded in 1187, though it is first recorded as a vicus from the early ninth century. The Commune leased the site from the church of Santa Maria della Cella in 1148, already apparently in anticipation of development. The Commune stood to lose money if the plan failed, but all went well, and the Borgo was successfully settled. Another suburb, the Piano di San Faustino, was enclosed with walls ca. 1208. According to the chronicles (Ciampi, 1872, 14), “furono ordinate le strade con le corde.”

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

207

Much of the urban experience of Todi is episodic, with a series of planned local vistas, of micro-environments. Almost every public building, whether civic or religious, can be seen before it is reached, but these buildings are rarely approached head on. Direct axes do not exist. Sharp corners and rounded apses project into the sight lines of approach streets, and the full building is only slowly revealed. Even the Duomo is seen at first indirectly. Seen by themselves, urban adjustments to buildings-street relationship can appear casual, even accidental. I would argue that Todi’s urban adjustments are part of a medieval aesthetic, and, at best, examples of sophisticated planning. The prevalence of curving or angled streets allows many buildings to be seen obliquely (Fig. 8-3). In the case of a rowhouse, this allows more of the facade to be seen at a longer distance. For corner site buildings it allows two sides of the building to be viewed at once. The angled view of buildings is particularly important in a town like Todi, where streets are narrow, so that even when standing in front of a building it is often impossible to see its entire facade. Where angled views are not provided, or where they only reveal of portion of the building, the symmetrical disposition of the facade is not important, because the opportunity to understand it does not exist. More important is the placement of single notable doorways and windows in positions where they are central from the viewers’ perspective (Fig. 8-4). The focusing of streets on specific buildings, or siting of buildings—or their doors, windows, balconies, and corners—on streets, occurs again and again throughout the city. It is in part an example of the process of siting recommended by G.B. Alberti in the fifteenth century. Alberti writes that when planning a small town it will be better, and as safe, not for the streets to run straight to the gates; but to have them wind about somewhat to the right, sometimes to the left...and within the heart of the town it will be handsomer not to have them straight, but winding in several ways, backwards and forwards, like the course of a river. For thus, besides that by appearing so much longer, they will add to the idea of greatness of the town, they will likewise conduce very much beauty and convenience, and be a greater security against all accidents and emergencies.

He goes on to say, Moreover, this winding of streets will make the passenger at every step discover a new structure, and the front and door of every house will directly face the middle of the street; and whereas in larger towns even too much breadth is unhandsome and unpleasant, in a small one it will be both

208

Chapter Eight

Fig. 8-3. Via di San Fortunato, Todi. Source: Author.

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

Fig. 8-4. Via dei Fredi, Todi. Source: Author.

209

210

Chapter Eight healthy and pleasant to have an open view from every house by means of the turn of the street. But further, in our winding street there will be no house but what, in some part of the day, will enjoy some sun; nor will they be without gentle breezes, which whatever corner they come from, will never want a free or clear passage; and yet they will not be molested by stormy blasts, because such will be broken by the turning of the streets. Add to all these advantages that, if the enemy gets into the town, he will be in danger from every side, in front, in flank, and in rear, from assaults from the houses.26

Medieval planning went beyond Alberti’s prescription, however, because in Todi the focus on specific buildings does not just involve curved streets, but occurs with straight streets, too. These, when they do occur in the maze of the city plan, are constantly interrupted. Via di San Lorenzo, for example, runs parallel to the Piazza del Popolo in front of the parish church of San Lorenzo and heads dead-on into a door (now blocked). On the other side of the obstructing building, the same thing happens. Similarly, Via del Mercato Vecchio is aligned on the blocked door of Corso Cavour #36. The public character of houses was determined more by siting, size, and quality of workmanship than by stylistic novelties or ostentatious display. On the one hand, major houses such as the Palazzi Chiarevalle, Astancolle, Uffreducci, and Landi are all located on corner sites to be seen at best advantage, and for air and maximum light. On the other hand, such a location elevates a house to a higher status. In a small town city like Todi, too, where even in the Middle Ages there were relatively few open spaces, the breaking up of streets into more discreet units through curves or obstructions created a series of enclaves that while not quite piazze, could serve as nodes of neighborhood activity. The widened Via del Monte (Fig. 8-5) and Via dei Fredi are, in fact, piazza in all but name. The sections of Via di San Lorenzo that are divided by the protruding building mentioned above are no more than streets, but their enclosure has turned them into clearly defined spaces in view of, and dominated by, the houses around them. They function as semi-private courtyards, where it can be assumed all surrounding residents were well aware of what their neighbors were doing.

26 Lorenzo Alberti, Ten Books on Architecture, Cosimo Leoni, trans., James Rykwert, ed. (New York: A. Tiranti, 1966), Book IV, chapter. V, 75.

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

Fig. 8-5. Todi, Via del Monte. Source: Author.

211

212

Chapter Eight

We cannot know the reasons for this approach to city building. Certainly, the final effect is that more buildings had “proprietary” relationships with streets. In a small town like Todi, the curving and breaking of streets to better emphasize buildings, or the placement of buildings to interrupt the direct flow of streets, increases the visual excitement of a walk through the town in a very democratic way. The drama of the approach to the Palazzo del Comune, described below, is multiplied on a smaller scale dozens of times throughout the city. Samuel Edgerton detailed this perspectival view point when describing the trecento artist of the Loggia del Bigallo fresco of Florence, The painter… did not conceive of his subject in terms of spatial homogeneity. Rather he believed that he could render what he saw before his eyes convincingly by representing what it felt like to walk about, experiencing structures, almost tactilely, from many different sides, rather than from a single, overall vantage.27

Examples of the varieties of relationships of buildings to streets can be seen on the three main streets leading into the Piazza del Popolo. As Via 27

Samuel Edgerton, The Renaissance Rediscovery of Linear Perspective, (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), 9-10. These principles of medieval urbanism were first described in detail by Camillo Sitte, Der Stadtebau nach seinen kunstlerischen Grundsatzen (Wein: Graeser, 1889). This work is translated and edited as George R. and Christiane Crasemann Collins, Camillo Sitte: The Birth of Modern City Planning (New York: Dover Publications, 1986), who also place the work in the context of late turn-of-the-century planning ideas. The Collins point out that much of what is usually attributed to Sitte, particularly regarding the nature of medieval streets is, in fact, the work of Camille Martin who rewrote Sitte’s work for the 1902 French edition. It was this French edition that provided the basis for the English translation of 1945. In the words of Sitte’s modern editors, “in the apparently chaotic jumble of the unplanned, he searched for an inner structure, a hidden pattern, that allowed for unending change in response to the demands of historic time.” Though at times criticized for going too far in his analysis, it is Sitte who best teaches how to read the morphology of a medieval town. While his arguments were directed at the contemporary architectural and planning establishment, the lessons are important for urban historians. As Trachtenberg demonstrated in the case of adjustments to Florence’s streets to provide vistas of the Duomo, the Bargello, and the Palazzo Vecchio, oblique views were indeed favored in the Middle Ages, just as Sitte had maintained a century earlier. Similar oblique views help accentuate important buildings throughout Italy—from Montagnana in the Veneto to Lucera in Puglia. While almost every public building in Todi, whether civic or religious, can be seen before it is reached, these buildings are rarely approached head on. Sharp corners and rounded apses project into the sight lines of approach streets, and the full building is only slowly revealed.

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

213

Mazzini enters the piazza, only the right hand side of the Duomo and the campanile are at first visible, framed between large buildings. Nearing the piazza the street narrows, squeezing the view into a tightly controlled vista (Fig. 8-6). The corners of buildings defining this “picture frame” are detailed with applied colonnettes topped with capitals or sculpted decoration, something extremely rare elsewhere in Todi. These, and a similarly articulated third corner at the same intersection, at the end of the west “wall” of the piazza, accentuate the view’s significance. This practice of literally framing views differs from what Marvin Trachtenberg’s demonstrated for Florentine geometers who widened the mouths of Via Calzaiuoli and Via Cerchi for more explicit views of the Palazzo Vecchio, similar to Giotto’s perspective; but the intentionality of the view is related.28 In Todi, the second street entering the piazza is Corso Cavour that begins at Porta Romana and then steadily climbs to the piazza; an experience in the gradations of city power and authority, beginning with the transition from country to town, as one passed through the medieval gate, then continuing from borgo to rione, or new town to old town, as one climbed and passed through Porta Catena. In the fourteenth century, the completed campanile of San Fortunato stood as a beacon at the top of the town, completely visible and precisely on axis with this route. The climb continued through the ancient Porta Marzia to the heart of town. Each arch and slight curve opened up another vista. The route’s goal, visible in the final stretch, is the Palazzo del Comune—center of power and of civic responsibility and pride (Fig. 8-7). The street targeted the stairs (since moved), which led to the Great Council Hall of the governing citizen assembly. The palace projects into the piazza and presents itself to all six rioni. The street focuses on the southwest corner of the Palazzo del Comune that beckons from afar. That slice of the palace is perceived as the full destination, but on getting closer, Piazza Garibaldi opens on the right, and one realizes the greater extent of the palazzo. The street predates the construction of the Palazzo del Comune, and it must have been a conscious choice to have the important building seen from the street, rather than to extend the piazza to allow the street to enter it directly.

28

Marvin Trachtenberg, Dominion of the Eye, op. cit.

214

Chapter Eight

Fig. 8-6. Todi, Via Mazzini view to Duomo. Source: Author.

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

Fig. 8-7. Palazzo del Popolo from Corso del Cavour, Todi. Source: Author.

215

216

Chapter Eight

This deliberate placement of the Palazzo del Comune is even more obvious when one looks at how the Palazzo del Capitano del Popolo was built much later in the century. This was set back in regard to the earlier palace. The consistent piazza line is not that expressed by the Palazzo del Comune, but that maintained by the Palazzo del Capitano and all other private buildings alongside it. From both sides, the new Communal Palace stuck out, a bravado show of communal pride, and perhaps at that early stage of communal development, defiance. From the west, the Palazzo del Comune is also framed from the narrow Via del Monte (made smaller by a post-medieval “ponte” spanning the street), where the walls seem to open up, so that about five meters from the end the entire Palazzo del Comune is visible. The third main street into the piazza is Via del Duomo, a relatively short stretch that collects Via del Borgo Nuovo and Via di Santa Prassede and continues them into the upper town. The systematization of this street must date from the construction of the Gothic “navatella” of the Duomo in the fourteenth century. It seems thoroughly within the planning sensibilities of Todi’s medieval surveyors that the Duomo expansion which also included the building of shops in the Duomo’s foundation beneath the “navatella” and the probable widening and straightening of the street was a response to the regularization of the south side of the piazza and the building of the new Palazzo dei Priori, on which it focuses (Fig. 8-8). The various urban elements I’ve summarized in this essay join together to create what for many is an archetypical Italian hill town. Buildings and streets form the connective tissue of the town that joins the monumental urban elements and thus their appearance and the experience of approaching and using them. Together, and over time, these elements were constructed, joined, juxtaposed, and amended through countless decisions and actions to create a medieval cityscape that is a work of collective art. There is intentionality—though not all would call it planning. In the end the satisfying overall effect of Todi is due not to the work of any single architect or planner, but is the sum total of its built history, its incremental urbanism.

Incremental Urbanism in Medieval Italy: The Example of Todi

Fig. 8-8. Palazzo dei Priori seen from Via del Duomo, Todi. Source: Author.

217

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Chapter One Abel, Mickey “Defining a New Coast: G.I.S. Reconstruction of Maillezais Abbey’s Hydraulic Drainage Program and the Coastline it Created.” Peregrinations: Special Volume, The Interdisciplinary Field Experience: Maillezais Abbey, Water, Technology, and Team Research.” 3 (2016): 12-53. —. “Emma of Blois as Arbiter of Peace and the Politics of Patronage.” In Reassessing the Roles of Women as Makers of Medieval Art and Architecture, Vol. II, edited by T. Martin, 823-861. Leiden: Brill, 2012. —. Open Access: Contextualizing the Archivolted Portals of Northern Spain and Western France within the Theology and Politics of Entry. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012. —. “To Sea and Be Seen: Reconstruction of the Strategic Building Program at Maillezais Abbey,” AVISTA Forum Journal 10/1 and 2 (2010): 12-24. Arcère, Louis-Etienne. Histoire de la ville de La Rochelle et du Pays d’Aunis, Vol. 2. La Rochelle: La Fontaine des Petis-Blancs, 1756. Arnauld, Charles. Petite histoire de Maillezais: Depuis les temps les plus reculés jusqu’au XIXe siècle. Orles: Edition Pyré Monde, 2006. —. Histoire de Maillezais. Niort : Robin et Cie, 1840. Barbier, Emmanuel. “ Maillezais, du palais ducal au reduit bastionne.” In L’Abbaye de Maillezais : Des Moines Du Marais Aux Soldats Huguenots, edited by CecileTreffort and Matthias Tranchant, 201-28. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. Barral i Altet, Xavier. “930-1030: L’Aube des temps nouveaux? Historie et archéologie monumentale.”In Le paysage Monumental de la France de l’an Mil, edited by Xavier Barral i Altet, 9-61. Paris: Picard, 1987. Benoit, Paul, Armelle Bonis, and Leon Pressouyre, eds. L’Hydraulique monastique: Milieux, réseaux, usages. Grâne: Créaphis, 1996. Benoit, Paul, and Josephine Rouillard, “Medieval Hydraulics in France.” In Working with Water in Medieval Europe: Technology and Resource-Use, edited by Paolo Squatriti, 161-215. Leiden: Brill, 2000.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

219

Berthier, Karine. “Les aménagements hydrauliques de l’abbaye.” In Pour une Histoire Monumentalede l’Abbaye de Cîteaux, 1098-1998, edited by Martine Plouvier, 66-83. Cîteaux: Association Bourguignonne des Sociétés Savantes, 1998. Berthier, K., and Josephine Rouillard. “Nouvelles recherches sur l’hydraulique cistercienne en Bourgogne, Champagne et FrancheConté.” Archéologie Médiévale 28 (1998): 121-47. Bisson, Thomas N., ed. Cultures of Power: Lordship, Status, and Process in Twelfth-Century France. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995. Blair, John. Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Bloch, Marc. “Les ‘Colliberti’: Étude de la formation de la classe servile.” Revue Historique 157 (1928):1-48; 225-63. —. Land and Work in Medieval Europe, translated by J. Anderson. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. Bond, James. “Canal Construction in the Early Middle Ages: An Introductory Review.” In Waterways And Canal-Building in Medieval England, edited by John Blair, 153-206. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Bord, Lucien-Jean. Maillezais: Histoire d’une abbaye et d’un évêché. Paris: Geuther, 2007. Bourdieu, Pierre. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971. Bozóky, Édina. “La legend de fondation de Maillezais,” In L'Abbaye De Maillezais: Des Moines Du Marais Aux Soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant, 17-29. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. Brochet, L. Histoire de Maillezais. Paris: Res Universis, 1989. —. “Maillé.” In Les environs de Maillezais. Paris: Res Universis, 1989. Brown, Anthony, and Glenn Foard. “The Saxon Landscape: A Regional Perspective.” In The Archaeolgy of Landscape, edited by Paul Everson and Tom Williamson, 67-94. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1998. Bruggeman, Jean. Moulin: Maître des Eaux, Maître des Vents. Paris: Rampart, 2000. Callahan, Daniel. “William the Great and the Monasteries of Aquitaine.” Studia Monastica 19 (1977): 321-42. Camus, Marie-Thérèse “De la façade à Tour(s) à la façade-écran dans les pays de l’ouest: L’exemple de Saint-Jean-de Montierneuf de Poitiers.” Cahiers de Civilisation Mèdiéval 34 (1991): 237-53.

220

Bibliography

Clouzet, É. Les Maris de la Sèvre Niortaise et du Lay Xe au XVIe siècle. Paris-Niort/Miami: Books on Demand, 1904/1979. Codou, Yann, and Michel Lauwers, eds. Lérins, une Île Sainte de l’antiquité au moyen âge. Turnhout: Brepols, 2009. —. “Maillezais,” Congrés Archéologique de France. La Rochelle: Societe Francaise d’Archeologie, 1956. —. “Souterrains et Caves Voûtées à Maillezais (Vendée) et à Charrous (Vienne).” Bulletin Monumental 126 (1968): 155-60. Delahaye, Nicolas. Histoire de la Vendée des origines à nos jours. Choley: Éditions Pays & Terroirs, 2003. Delhomme, Louis. Notes et documents pour server à l’histoire de l’Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Maillezais au Diocese de Luçon depuis sa fondation (976) jusqu’ à ion érection en Évêché par le Pape Jean XXII (13 Août 1317). Paris-Niort/Miami: Books on Demand, 1904/1961. De Sainte-Marthe, Denis, and Barthélemy Haureau. “Instrumenta Ecclesiae Malleacensis sue Rupellensis.” Gallia Christiana 2 (1720): Col. 379-81. Dessi, Rosa. “Images Mèdiévales d’une Île Sainte: Patmos.” In Lérins, une Île Sainte de l’Antiquité au Moyen Âge, edited by Yann Codou and Michel Lauwers, 281-300. Turnhout: Brepols, 2009. Dienes, Dory, and Owen Wilson-Chavez. “Visibility and Control.” In Special Volume, “The Interdisciplinary Field Experience: Maillezais Abbey, Water, Technology, and Team Research,” edited by Mickey Abel, Peregrinations V/3(2016): 54-66. Dillange, Michel. Les Comtes de Poitou Ducs d’Aquitaine (778-1204). Paris: Geste Éditions, 1995. Dyer, Christopher. Making a Living in the Middle Ages: The People of Britain 850-1520. London: Penquin Press, 2003. Ennen, Edith. “The Variety of Urban Development.” In Town Origins: The Evidence from Medieval England, edited by J. Benton, 11-18. Boston: Heath, 1968. Fabre, Ghislaine. Morphagenése de village mèdiévale (IXe-XIIe siècle): Actes de la table round de Montepellier, (22-23 Févier 1993). Montpeiller: Association pour Connaissance du Patrimonie de Languedoc-Roussillon, 1996. Faucherre, Nicolas. “Topographie mèdiévale de l’île de Maillezais, la capture de l’Autize.” In L'Abbaye De Maillezais: Des Moines Du Marais Aux Soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile. Treffort and MatthiasTranchant, 179-200. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

221

Gardiner, Mark. “Archaeological Evidence for the Exploitation, Reclamation, and Flooding of Salt Marshes.” Ruralia 5 (2005): 73-83. Genton, Hervé. “La Bibliothéque de Maillezais à la fin de XIIe siècle.” In L’Abbaye de Maillezais des Moines du Marais aux soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant, 79-98. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. Grandjean, Marcel. “Villes neuves et bourges mèdiévaux: Fondement de l’urbanisme regional.” L’Homme dans la ville. Lausanne: Cours general de l’UNIL, 1984. Grewe, Klaus. “Le Monastère de Christchurch á Cantobéry (Kent, GrandeBretagne): Interprétation et signification de plan de réseau hydraulique (XIIe siècle). L’Hydraulique monastique: Millieux, réseaux, usages, edited by Leon Pressuyre and Paul Benoit, 123-33. Grâne: Créaphis, 1996. Gruet, Yves, and Paul Sauriau. “Paléoenvironnements Holocènes du Marais Poitevin (Littoral Atlantique, France): Reconstitution d’après les peuplements malacologiques.” Quaternaire 5, no. 2 (1994): 85-94. Guillerme, André. The Age of Water: The Urban Environment in the North of France A.D. 300-1800. College Station: Texas A & M University Press, 1988. Halphen, Louis. “L’Histoire de Maillezais du Moine Pierre.” Revue Historique 150 (1908): 292-97. Harris, Robert. Canals and Their Architecture. New York: Fredrick Praeger, 1969. Head, Thomas F., and Richard A. Landes. The Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in Francearound the Year 1000. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992. Hiernard, Jean. “Le premier réseau à caractère urbain du centre-ouest de la Gaule.” Les Rèseaux Urbains dans le Centre-Ouest Atlantique de l’Antiquité à Nos Jours 5/3 (1995): 35-56. Hodges, Richard and David Whitehorn. Mohammed, Charlemagne and the Origins of Europe: Archaeology and the Pirenne Thesis. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983. Hooke, Della. “Uses of Waterways in Anglo-Saxon England.” In Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, edited by John Blair, 37-54. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Horn, Walter, and Ernest Born. The Plan of St. Gall: A Study of the Architecture and Economy of, and Life in, a Paradigmatic Carolingian Monastery, 3 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979. Jeanne-Rose, Olivier. “Ports, marchands et marchandises: Aspects economiques du littoral Poitevin (IXe–XIIe siècles).” Les Sociétés

222

Bibliography

Littorales de Centre-Ouest Atlantique: De la Préhistoire à Nos Jours: Actes de Colloque, Centre International de la Mer, Rochefort 5, no. 4 (1996): 131-37. Johnson, Matthew. Ideas of Landscape. Oxford: Blackwell, 2007. Lacurie, Joseph Louis. Histoire de l’Abbaye de Maillezais depuis sa fondation jusqu’à nos jours. Fontenay-le-Comte: Edmond Fillon, 1852. Lavedan, Pierre. Histoire de l’urbanism. Paris: Henri Laurens, 1952. Le Quellec, Yves. Petite histoire du Marais Poitevin. La Crèche: Geste Éditions, 1998. —. Le Marais Poitevin des Deux-Sèvres. Fontenay: Éditions SIVU, 1998. Leguay, Jean-Pierre. L’Eau dans la ville au Moyen Âge. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2006. Lilley, Keith. Urban Life in the Middle Ages 1000-1450. New York: Palgrave, 2002. —. “Maps of Medieval Thought: Cartographical Imaginaries, Cultural Symbolism and Urban Form in the late Middle Ages. In Lords and Towns in Medieval Europe: The European Historic Towns Atlas Project, edited by Angrett Simms and Howard Clarke, 399-418. Farnham: Ashgate, 2015. Lillich, Meredith. “Cleaniness with Godliness: A Discussion of Medieval Monastic Plumbing.” Mélanges Anselme Dimer 3, no. 5 (1982): 12349. Maines, Clark and Sheila Bonde. “Inside the Black Box: The Technology of Medieval Water Management at the Charterhouse of Bourgfontaine.” Technology and Culture 53 (2012): 625-70. —. “Saint-Jean-des-Vignes de Soissons: Utilisation, reutilization et nonutilization de la Pierre lors de la période Gothique.” In Pierres du Patrimoine Européan: Économie de la Pierre de l’Antiqué à la finds temps Modernes, edited by François Blary, Jean-Pierre Gély, and Jacqueline Lorenze, 131-42. Paris: Éditions de Comité des Travaux Historiques et Scientifiques, 2008. —. “Saint-Jean-des-Vignes in Context: Urban Water Management System in Medieval Soissons.” Wasser 4 (Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 1999): 15-36. Magnusson, Roberta. Water Technology in the Middle Ages. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001. Maillard, Elisa. “Les facades de Saint-Nicolas de Maillezais et de NotreDame de Maillé.” Bulletin de la Socièté des Antiquaries de l’Ouest et des Musées de Poitiers 4(1926): 520-28. Martindale, Jane. Status, Authority and Regional Power: Aquitaine and France, 9th to 12th Centuries. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1997.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

223

Martineau, Jocelyn. “Maillezais: Deux cents ans d’archéologie d’une abbaye fortifée.” In L'Abbaye DeMaillezais: Des moines du Marais aux soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant, 445-60. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. Maxwell, Robert. The Art of Medieval Urbanism: Parthenay in Romanesque Aquitaine. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007. —. “Pilgrimage and the Dynamics of Urbanism Reconsidered: Faubourg Architecture in Romanesque Aquitaine.” Architectural History 53 (2010): 41-76. McCormick, Michael. “Introduction,” in Henri Pirenne, Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1925/1952/2014, ix-xxxiv. Michaud, Francis, and Michel Garnier. Châteaux en Aquitaine. ChauryNiort: Éditions Patrimones & Medias, 1997. Mukerji, Chandra. Impossible Engineering: Technology and Territoriality on the Canal du Midi. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009. Musset, Georges, and Alfred Richard. Les chemins Gaulois et Romains entre la Loire et la Gironde. Poitiers: Roy et Cie, 1892. Peter of Maillezais (Petrus Malleacensis). De antiquitate et commutatione in Melius Malleacensis Insulae et Translatione Corporis Sancti Rigomeri, 1.2, edited by Jean-Pierre Migne. Patrologia Latina 146. Paris, 1851. Petit-Dutallis, Charles. The French Communes in the Middle Ages. Amsterdam: North Holland Publishing, 1978. Piboule, Patrick. “Les carrièrres de Nord de l’Aquitaine au moyen age.” Revue Aquitania 3 (1985): 173-86. Pirenne, Henri. Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1925/1952/2014. —. Mohammed and Charlemagne. New York: Meridian Books, 1957. Pon, Georges, and Yves Chauvin, eds. and trans. La fondation de l’Abbaye de Maillezais: Récit de Moine Pierre. La Roche-sur-Yon: Éditions CVRH, 2001. Refalo, Sylvie. “Les Ducs d’Aquitaine et l’Abbaye de Maillezais (vers 970-vers 1100).” In L'Abbaye De Maillezais: Des Moines Du Marais Aux Soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant, 326-23. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. Remensnyder, Amy. Remembering Kings Past: Monastic Foundation Legends in Medieval Southern France. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995. Renaud, Jean. Les Îles de Vendée face aux Vikings. Verriéres: L’Etrave, 2008.

224

Bibliography

Rhodes, Ed. “Indentifying Human Modification of River Channels.” In Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, edited by John Blair, 133-52. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Richard, Alfred. Histoire des Comtes de Poitou, 778-1204. Paris: Picard, 1903. Richmond, Lucien. “Cartulaire de l’Abbaye de las Grâce-Notre-Dame ou de Charon en Aunis. In Archives Historiques de la Saintonge et de l’Aunis, 25-26. Saintes: Z. Mortreuil, 1883. Rippon, Stephen. Beyond the Medieval Landscape: The Diversification of Landscape Character in Southern Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Saalman, Howard. Planning and Cities: Medieval Cities. New York: George Braziller, 1968. Sanfaçon, Roland. Défrichements, peuplement et institutions seigneuriales en Haut-Poitou du Xe au XIIIe siècle. Québec: Les Presses de l'Université Laval, 1967. Sapin, Christian. Avant-nefs and espaces d'accueil dans l'Église entre le 4. et le 12 siècle:Actes du Colloque International du CNRS, Auxerre 1720 Juin 1999, Organise par l Centre d'Études Médiévales SaintGermain, Auxerre, et l'UMR 5594, CNRS, Université de Bourgogne, Ministère de la Culture. Paris: Éditions du CTHS, 2002. Sarrazin, Jean-Luc. “Maillezais et la mise en valeur des Marais au moyen âge,” In L'Abbaye De Maillezais: Des Moines Du Marais Aux Soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant, 365-66. Rennes : Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. —. “Le sel et l’aménagement du littoral Poitevin (XIIIe s.-début XVIe s.).” Les Sociétés Littorales de Centre Ouest Atlantique: de la Préhistoire à Nos Jours: Actes de Colloque, Centre International de la Mer, Rochefort 5, no. 5-6 (1998): 143-61. —. “Les Cistercians et la genèse du Marais Poitevin (France) (vers 1180vers 1250).” In L’Hydraulique Monastique: Milieux, Réseaux usages, edited by Paul Benoit, Armelle Bonis, and Léon Pressouyre, 111-19. Grâne: Créaphis, 1996. Sire, Yannis. La côte et les Marais du Bas-Poitou vers 1700: Cartes et mémoires de Claude Masse ingénieur du roi. La-Roche-sur-Yon: Éditions du CVRH, 2011. Sites défenisfs et sites fortifies au moyen age entre Loire et Pyrénées: Actes du primer colloque Aquitaine, Limoges, 2-22 Mai 1987. Bordeaux: Fédération Aquitaine, 1990. Squatriti, Paolo, ed. Working with Water in Medieval Europe: Technology and Resource-Use. Lieden: Brill, 2000.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

225

—. Water and Society in Early Medieval Italy, AD 400-1000. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Suire, Yannis. L’homme et l’environnement dans le Marais Poitevin, seconde moitié du XVIe siècle début du XXe siècle. La Roche-sur-Yon: Centre Vendéen de Recherches Historique, 2002. —. Cartes et mémoires de Claude Masse, ingénieur du Roi : La côte et les Marais du Bas Poitou vers 1700. La Roche-sur-Yon: Éditions de CVRH, 2011. —. “Les Marais avant les dessèchements modernes, XVIe-début XVIIe siècle,” In L'Abbaye de Maillezais: Des moines Du Marais aux soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant, 381-93. Rennes : Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. Tipping, Richard. “Climatic Variability and “Marginal” Settlement in Upland British Landscapes: A Re- Evaluation.” Landscapes 3/2 (2002), 10-29. Treffort, Cecile. “Le Comte de Poitiers, Duc d’Aquitaine, et l’Église aux Alentours de l’an mil (970-1030).” Cahiers de Civilization Médiévale 43, no. 172 (2000): 395-445. —. “Moines, monastères et prieurés Charentais au moyen âge: Quelques Réflexions autour d’un Projet Collectif en Cours.” Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de l’Ouest 113, no. 3 (2006): 167-88. —. “Isles et moines du littoral Atlantique entre Loire et Gironde au moyen age.” In Lérins, une Île Sainte de l’antiquité au moyen age, edited by Yann Codou and Michel Lauwers, 319-34. Turnhout: Brepols, 2009. Treffort, Cecile, and Matthias Tranchant, eds. L’Abbaye de Maillezais: Des moines du Marais aux soldats Huguenots, Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. —. “Maillezais, Lieu de Mémoire, Lieu de Pouvoir.” In L'Abbaye de Maillezais: Des moines du Marais aux soldats Huguenots, edited by Cecile Treffort and Matthias Tranchant, 7-17. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005. van der Beek, Karine. “The Effects of Political Fragmentation on Investments: A Case Study of Watermill Construction in Medieval Ponthieu, France.” Explorations in Economic History 47 (2010): 36980. Vannereau, Marie-Antoinette. “Evolution des Cartes du Poitou et de la Saintonge du XVe au XVIII siècle.”Actes du Quatre-Vingt Septième Congrès National des Sociétés Savante (1962): 265-92. Visset, Lionel. “Étude pollcanalytique de quelques sites du Marais Poitevin.” Bull. AFEQ 2 (1987): 81- 91.

226

Bibliography

White, Lynn. Technology and Invention in the Middle Ages. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1940. Williamson, Tom. Shaping Medieval Landscapes. Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 2003. —. “The Distribution of Champion Landscapes.” In Medieval Landscapes, edited by Mark Gardiner and Stephen Rippon, 89-104. Macclesfield: Windgather Press, 2007. Woillez, Eugene. Archéologie des Monuments Religieux de l’Ancien Beauvoisis pendant Metamorphose Romane. Paris: Derache, 1839. Wolfe, Michael. Walled Towns and the Shaping of France: From the Medieval to the Early Modern Era. New York: Palgrave, 2009. Zupko, Ronald, and Robert Laures. Straws in the Wind: Medieval Urban Environmental Law. Boulder, Westview Press, 1996.

Chapter Two Andrade Cernadas, José Miguel. El monacato Benedictino y la sociedad de la Galicia Medieval (siglos X al XIII). A Coruña: Publicacións do Seminario de Estudos Galegos/Edicións do Castro, 1997. Arias Arias, Plácido. Historia del Real Monasterio de Samos. Santiago de Compostela: Imprenta: Lib. y Enc. Seminario Conciliar, 1950. Arias Cuenllas, Maximino. “El Monasterio de Samos desde sus orígenes hasta el siglo XI”. Archivos Leoneses, 70 (1981): 267-350. —. “El Monasterio de Samos durante los siglos XI y XII.” Archivos Leoneses 73 (1983): 7-82. —. Historia del monasterio de San Julián de Samos. Samos: Monasterio de Samos/Diputación Provincial de Lugo, 1992. Durán, Miguel. La Real Abadía de San Julián de Samos: Estudio Histórico-Arqueológico. Madrid, 1947. Duro Peña, Emilio. El Monasterio de San Esteban de Ribas de Sil. Ourense: Instituto de Estudios Orensanos “Padre Feijoo” de la Diputación Provincial, 1977. García Larragueta, Santos. “El Apeo, documento diplomático.” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 17 (1987): 617-33. García Oro, José. Galicia en los siglos XIV y XV. A Coruña: Instituto “P. Sarmiento” de Estudios Gallegos/Fundación Pedro Barrié de la Maza, 1987: I. López Alsina, Fernando. “Millas in Giro Ecclesiae: El ejemplo del Monasterio de San Julián de Samos.” Estudos Medievais 10 (1993): 159-87.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

227

—. “Valor simbólico del espacio urbano medieval.” In Santiago de Compostela: La Ciudad Histórica como Presente, edited by Carlos Martí Aris, 82-9. Santiago de Compostela: Consorcio de Santiago, 1995. —. La ciudad de Santiago de Compostela en la alta edad media. Santiago de Compostela: Consorcio de Santiago/Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 2013. López Quiroga, Jorge, and Mónica Rodríguez Lovelle. “Un modelo de evolución del poblamiento rural en la Galicia interior (s. V-X): El territorio entorno a la depresión de Sarria y el Monasterio de Samos.” Boletín del Museo Provincial de Lugo 9 (1999-2000): 173-85. Lucas Álvarez, Manuel. El tumbo de San Julián de Samos (siglos VIIIXII). Estudio introductorio. Edición Diplomática. Apéndices e Índices. Santiago de Compostela: Obra Social Caixa Galicia, 1986. Lucas Álvarez, Manuel, and Pedro Lucas Domínguez. El Priorato Benedictino de San Vicenzo de Pombeiro y su colección diplomática en la edad media. Sada-A Coruña: Seminario de Estudos Galegos/Edicións do Castro, 1996. Pallares Méndez, Mª. Carmen. “Los cotos como Marco de los derechos feudales en Galicia durante la edad media (1100-1500).” Liceo Franciscano 91-92-93 (1978): 201-25. Real Audiencia de Galicia. Catálogo de Expedientes de Apeo. Santiago de Compostela: Xunta de Galicia/Dirección Xeral de Patrimonio Cultural, 1999. Ríos Rodríguez, Mª. Luz. As Orixes do Foro na Galicia Medieval. Santiago de Compostela: Universidad de Santiago de Compostela, 1993. Rodríguez González, Mª Carmen. “San Xulián de Samos. Unha instancia de poder na Idade Media.” In San Xulián de Samos: Historia e arte nun mosteiro, Opus Monasticorum III, edited by Ana E. Goy Diz and Mª. del Carmen Folgar de la Calle, 49-72. Santiago de Compostela: Xunta de Galicia, 2008. Vázquez González, Marta. “El dominio del Monasterio de San Julián de Samos en el siglo XIV (1325-1380).” Cuadernos de estudios gallegos XXXIX-104 (1991): 95-112. Villares, Ramón. La propiedad de la tierra en Galicia 1500-1936. Madrid: Siglo XXI de España Editores, 1982.

228

Bibliography

Chapter Three Abel, Mickey. Open Access: Contextualizing the Archivolted Portals of Northern Spain and Western France within the Theology and Politics of Entry. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishers, 2012. Baker, Nigel, and Richard. Holt. Urban Growth and the Medieval Church: Gloucester and Worcester. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004. Barrow, Julia. “Way-Stations on English Episcopal Itineraries, 700-1300,” English Historical Review 126 (2012): 549-65. Blair, John. Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Bond, James. Monastic Landscapes. Gloucester: Tempus, 2004. Carley, James. P. Glastonbury Abbey: The Holy House at the Head of the Moors Adventures. Glastonbury: Gothic Image Productions, 1996. Cherry, Bridget. “Ecclesiastical Architecture,” In The Archaeology of Anglo-Saxon England, edited by David. M. Wilson, 151-200. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976. Cole, Ann. “The Place-Name Evidence for Water Transport in Early Medieval England.” In Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, edited by John Blair, 55-86. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Connolly, Daniel. “Imagined Pilgrimage in the Itinerary Maps of Matthew Paris,” The Art Bulletin 81, no. 4 (1999): 598-622. Cosgrove, Denis. Social Formation and Symbolic Landscape. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1984. Cosgrove, Denis E., and Stephen Daniels. The Iconography of Landscape: Essays on the Symbolic Representation, Design, and Use of Past Environments. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Gilchrist, Roberta, and Cheryl Green. Glastonbury Abbey: Archaeological Investigations, 1904-79. London: Society of Antiquaries, 2015. Glastonbury, John of. Cronica sive Antiquitates Glastonienesis Ecclesie. In The Chronicle of Glastonbury Abbey, edited by James.P. Carley, translated by David Townsend. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1985. Hollinrake, Charles, and Nancy. “Glastonbury’s Anglo-Saxon Canal.” In Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, edited by John Blair, 235-43. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Howe, Nicholas. Writing the Map of Anglo-Saxon England: Essays in Cultural Geography. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008. Ivakhiv, Adrian J. Claiming Sacred Ground: Pilgrims and Politics at Glastonbury and Sedona. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 2001.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

229

Keil, Ian. “Corrodies of Glastonbury Abbey in the Later Middle Ages.” Proceedings of the Somerset Archaeological and Natural History Society 108 (1964): 113-31. Kelly, Susan. E. Charters of Glastonbury Abbey. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Knowles, David, and Richard N. Hadcock, Medieval Religious Houses: England and Wales. London: Cambridge University Press, 1971. Lilley, Keith. City and Cosmos: the Medieval World in Urban Form. London: Reaktion Books, 2009. Locker, Michael. Landscapes of Pilgrimage in Medieval Britain. Oxford: Archaeopress, 2015. Malmesbury, William of. “De Antiquitate Glasstonie Ecclesie.” In The Early History of Glastonbury: An Edition, Translation and Study of William of Malmesbury’s ‘De Antiquitate Glastonie Ecclesie,’ edited and translated by J. Scott, 41-172. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1981. Maxwell, Robert. The Art of Medieval Urbanism: Parthenay in Romanesque Aquitaine. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007. Mitchell, John. B. “The Matthew Paris Maps.” The Geographical Journal 81, no. 1 (1933): 27-34. Morland, Stephen. Glastonbury, Domesday and Related Studies. Glastonbury: Antiquarian Society, 1991. Morris, Anthony. History of Urban Form: Before the Industrial Revolutions. Essex: Longman Scientific & Technical, 1994. O’Keeffe, Tadig. Archaeology and the Pan-European Romanesque. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2007. Ousterhout, Robert. "Flexible Geography and Transportable Topography," Jewish Art/ Center For Jewish Art of the Hebrew University 24-24 (1998): 393-404. Pickles, Thomas. “Anglo-Saxon Monasteries as Sacred Places: Topography, Exegesis and Vocation.” In Sacred Text- Sacred Space: Architectural, Spiritual and Literary Convergences in England and Wales, edited by Joseph Sterrett and Peter Thomas, 35-57. Boston, 2011. Rahtz, Philip, and Lorna Watts. Glastonbury: Myth and Archaeology. Gloucester: Tempus, 2003. —. “Excavations on Glastonbury Tor, Somerset, 1964-6.” The Archaeological Journal 127 (1971): 1-81. Rippon, Stephen. “Making the Most of a Bad Situation? Glastonbury Abbey, Meare, and the Medieval Exploitation of Wetland Resources in the Somerset Levels.” Medieval Archaeology 48, no.1 (2004): 91-130.

230

Bibliography

—. Beyond the Medieval Village: The Diversification of Landscape Character in Southern Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. —. “Waterways and Water Transport on Reclaimed Coastal Marshlands: The Somerset Levels and Beyond.” In Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, edited by John Blair, 207-228. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Robinson, John. A. Somerset Historical Essays. London: British Academy, 1921. Russell, Norman, trans., Lives of the Desert Fathers. The Historia Monachorum in Aegypto. London: Mowbry 1981. Scott, John, ed. The Early History of Glastonbury: An Edition, Translation and Study of William of Malmesbury’s ‘De Antiquitate Glastonie Ecclesie’. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1961. Thompson, Shana. “The Lady of the Marshes: Place, Identity, and Courdette’s Melusine in Late Medieval Poitou.” Peregrinations 5, no. 3 (2016): 67-122. Thurlby, Malcolm. “The Glastonbury Lady Chapel,” The Antiquaries Journal 75 (1995). 107-70. Watkin, Aelred, ed. The Great Cartulary of Glastonbury, I-III. Somerset: Somerset Record Society, 1947-56. White, Graeme. J. The Medieval English Landscape: 1000-1540. London: Bloomsbury, 2012. Williams, Michel. The Draining of the Somerset Levels. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970.

Chapter Four Acta Sanctorum quotquot toto orbe coluntur, vel à cathollicis scriptoribus celebrantur quae ex Latin & Graecis, aliarumque gentium antiquis monumentis. Collegit, digessit, notis illustravit Joannes Bolandus (1596-1665); operam et studium contulit Godefridus Henschenius (1601-1681). Brussels: Culture et Civilisation, 1965. Bautier, Robert-Henri. Sur l'Histoire Économique de la France Médiévale: La Route, le Fleuve, la Foire. Aldershot: Variorum, 1991. Beaulieu, Michèle, and Victor Beyer. Dictionnaire des Sculpteurs Français du Moyen Âge. Paris: Broché, 1992. Blanc, Annie. “Observations sur la Nature des Matériaux de la Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris” Gesta 29, no. 1(1990): 132-38. Blanc, Annie, and Jean-Pierre Gély. “Stone from Medieval Churches Located to the South and East of Paris.” In Written in Stone, edited by Vibeke Olson, 59-74. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

231

Blanc, Annie, Lore L. Holmes, and Garman Harbottle. “Lutetian Limestones in the Paris Region: Petrographic and Compositional Examination,” Brookhaven National Laboratory-66036. http://www.osti.gov/bridge/servlets/purl/758976LduYGt/native/758976.pdf. Blanc, Annie, and Claude Lorenz. “Etude Geologique des Anciennes Carrièes de Paris: Son Utilité pour la Connaissance et la Restauration des Monuments.” In The Engineering Geology of Ancient Works, Monuments and Historical Sites, Preservation and Protection/Gèologie de l'Ingènieur Appliquée aux Travaux Anciens, Monuments et Sites Historiques, eds. Paul Marinos and George Koukis, 639-47. Rotterdam: A. Balkena, 1988. Bourquelot, Félix. Études sur Les Foires de Champagne, sur la Nature, l'Étendue et les régles du commerce qui s'y faisait aux XII, XIII, et XIV siècles. Paris and Provins: L’imprimerie Imperiale, 1839-1840. Reprint: Manoir de Saint Pierre de Salerne, Mémoires présentés pars divers savants à l'Académie des inscriptions et Belles-Lettres. Brionne: Le Portulan, 1970. Carruthers, Mary. The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. —. The Craft of Thought: Meditation, Rhetoric, and the Making of Images, 400-1200. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Charrier, Jean-Bernard, Madeleine Chabrolin, and Bernard Stainmesse. Histoire de Nevers, des Origines au Debut du XIXe Siècle. Roanne/Le Coteau: Éditions Horvath, 1984. Chesnais, Jean-Claude. “Demographic Transition Patterns and Their Impact on the Age Structure.” Population and Development Review 16, no. 2 (Jun., 1990): 327-36. Cowdrey, H.E.J. “The Peace and Truce of God in the Eleventh Century.” In Popes, Monks and Crusaders, edited by .H.E.J. Cowdrey, 42-67. London: Hambledon Press, 1984. Deschamps, Paul. La sculpture française à l'époque rome. Onzième et douzième siècles. Paris: Les Editions Chéne, 1930. Gilissen, John. “The Notion of the Fair in the Light of the Comparative Method.” In La Foire, Recueils de la Société Jean Bodin, V, 333-42. Brussels: Éditions de la Libr. Encyclopedique, 1953. Gillerman, Dorothy. “The Materials of Gothic Sculpture” In Gothic Sculpture in America, Vol. 1, The New England Museums, edited by Dorothy Gillerman, xi. New York: Publications of the International Center of Medieval Art, 1989.

232

Bibliography

Guini-Skliar, Ania. “Les Carrières parisiennes aus frontières de la ville et de la campagne.” Histoire Urbaine 2, no. 8 (2003): 41-56. Guini-Skliar, Ania, Marc Viré, Jacqueline Lorenz, Jean-pierre Gély, Annie Blanc. Les souterraines de Paris: les anciennes carrières souterraines. Cambrai: Nord Patrimoine Éditions, 2000. Horste, Kathryn. Cloister Design and Monastic Reform in Toulouse, The Romanesque Sculpture of La Daurade. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992. Hutchinson, Gillian. Medieval Ships and Shipping. Rutherford: Bloomsbury Publishing, 1994. Lefevre-Pontalis, Eugène “Les Campagnes de construction de Notre-Dame d'Etampes.” Bulletin monumental LXXIII (1909): 5-31. Lehmann-Brockhaus, O. Lateinische Schriftquellen zur Kunst in England, Wales und Schottland, vom Jarhre 901 bis zum Jahre 1307. München: Prestel, 1955. Limestone Sculpture Provenance Project. http://www.limestonesculptureanalysis.com. Martínez-Torres, Luis Miguel. La Tierra de los pilares: sustrato y rocas de constucción monumental en Álava: mapas litolóicos de las igelesias de la Diócesis de Vitoria. Bilbao: Service Editorial de la Universidad del País Vasco, 2004. Maude, Thomas. Guided by a Stone-Mason. New York: I.B. Tauris, Publishers, 1997. Meier, Dirk. Seafarers, Merchants and Pirates in the Middle Ages, translated by Angus McGeogh. Woodbridge: Boydell, 2006. Murray, Stephen. Building Troyes Cathedral: The Late Gothic Campaigns. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1987. Musset, Lucien. “La Pierre de Caen: Extraction et commerce, XIe - XVe siècles.” In Pierre & Métal dans le Bâtiment au Moyen Age, Part II, 219-35. Paris: Éditions de l'École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 1985. Nolan, Kathleen. “Narrative in the Capital Frieze of Notre-Dame at Etampes.” The Art Bulletin 71, no. 2 (1989): 166-84. Olson, Vibeke. “The Whole is the Sum of Its Parts: Standardizing Medieval Stone Production.” In Written in Stone, ed. Vibeke Olson, 189-207. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011. Patton, Pamela. Pictorial Narrative in the Romanesque Cloister. New York: Peter Lang Publishing Inc., 2004. Pirenne, Henri. Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

233

Prache, Anne. “Une expérience d'analyse par activation neutronique sur des sculptures chartraines.” Unpublished report to Medieval Congress at Leeds, 1996. Rieth, Éric. Des Bateaux et Des Fleuves, Archéologie de la batellerie du Néolithique aux Temps modernes en France. Paris: Éditions Errance, 1998. Salet, François. Cluny et Vézelay: L'œuvre des sculpteurs. Paris: Musée des monuments français, Société française d'archéologie, 1995. Sandron, Dany. “Review of 1995 Leeds program.” Bulletin Monumental (1996): 80-81. Saulnier, Lydwine, and Neil Stratford. La sculpture oubliée de Vézelay: Catalogue du Musée Lapidaire. Geneva: Droz, 1984. Seidel, Linda. “Rethinking ‘Romanesque:’ Re-Engaging Roman[z].” Gesta 45, no. 2(2006): 109-23. Snyder, Janet E. Early Gothic Column-Figure Sculpture in France: Appearance, Materials, and Significance. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011. —. “On the Road Again: Limestone Sculpture in Twelfth-Century France.” In Written in Stone, ed. Vibeke Olson, 167-90. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011. Viré, Marc. “Les matériaux de construction de la Tour du Village et de l’enceinte du chateaux de Vincennes.” Colloque Carrières et constructions, 117e Congrès nat. des sociétés savantes, ClermontFerrand, 1992, 2e colloque Carrières et Constructions, ed. Jacqueline Lorentz, 163-78. Paris, Colloque CTHS, 1993. Wirth, Louis. “Urbanism as a Way of Life.” American Journal of Sociology 44, no. 1 (1938): 1-24.

Chapter Five Ambert, Paul, and Alain Vernhet. "L'homme et L'eau aux epoques [réhistoriques et Gallo-Romaines dans le bassin du Tarn." In Le Tarn: Mémoire de l'eau, mémoires des hommes Toulouse: Éditions Belle Page, 1990. Barrett, Catherine. "Origins of the French Bastides." Journal of Urban History, forthcoming, (2016). Beresford, Maurice. New Towns of the Middle Ages; Town Plantation in England, Wales, and Gascony. New York: Praeger, 1967. Berthe, Maurice. "Quelle a eté la première des bastides?" Les Cahiers du C.E.B. 7 (2004): 4-19.

234

Bibliography

Biget, Jean-Louis. "Etapes: Une intégration dans L'espace Français." In Le Tarn: Mémoire de l'eau, mémoires des hommes. Toulouse: Éditions Belle Page, 1990. —. "La Sauveté De Vieux-En-Albigeois: Reconsidérations." Annales du Midi 102 (1990): 19-27. Boutaric, Edgard. Saint-Louis et Alfonse De Poitiers, etude sur la réunion des provinces du Midi et de L'ouest a la couronne et sur les origines de la centralisation administrative, d'après des documents inédits. Manoir de Saint Pierre de Salerne, 1970, originally published in 1870. Cabie, Edmond, and Louis Mazens. Cartulaire et divers actes des Alaman, des De Lautrec et des De Lévis. Toulouse: Imprimerie A. Chauvin et Fils, 1882. Calmettes, Claude, ed. Le livre blanc des Bastides. Villefranche-deRouergue: Centre d'Etude des Bastides, 2007. Caucanas, Sylvie. "La seigneurie de Castelnau-De-Lévis aux Xive et Xve siècles." Annales du Midi 90 (1978): 25-39. Cénac-Moncaut, M. Les anciens comtés d'Astarac et de Pardiac. 1993 ed. Paris: Res Universis, 1856. Chenu, M.-D. Nature, Man, and Society in the Twelfth Century: Essays on New Theological Perspectives in the Latin West. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997. Cheyette, Fredric L. Ermengard of Narbonne and the World of the Troubadours. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001. Compayré, Clément. Etudes historiques sur L'Albigeois. Albi: Imprimerie de M. Papilhiau, 1841. Curie-Seimbres, Alcide. Essai sur les villes fondées dans le sud-ouest de la France, aux Xiiie et Xive siècles sous le nom générique de Bastides. Toulouse: E. Privat, 1880. Cursente, Benoît. Des maisons et des hommes: La Gascogne médiévale Xième-Xvème siècles. Toulouse: Presses Université de Mirail, 1998. Cursente, Benoît, and Mireille Mousnier, eds. Les territoires du médiéviste. Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2005. De Saint-Blanquat, Odon de Lingua. La fondation des bastides royales dans la Sénéchaussee de Toulouse aux Xiiie et Xive siècles. Toulouse: Centre national de documentation pédagogique, Centre régional de documentation pédagogique de Toulouse, 1985. De Vacquié, Edouard. "Mémoire sur deux chartes inédites concédées aux habitants de Verlhac-Tescou (Tarn-Et-Garonne)." In Mémoires de l'académie des sciences, inscriptions, et belles lettres de Toulouse, 3e Série, 319-40. Toulouse: L'Académie des Sciences, Inscriptions, et Belles Lettres de Toulouse, 1842.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

235

—. "Mémoire sur les coutumes de Villebrumier." In Mémoires De L'academie des sciences, iscriptions et belles lettres de Toulouse, 3e Série, 196-224. Toulouse: L'Académie des Sciences, Inscriptions, et Belles Lettres de Toulouse, 1845. De Vic, Claude, and J. Vaissète, eds. Histoire générale de Languedoc avec des notes et les pièces justificatives par Dom Cl. Devic & Dom J. Vaissete. Toulouse: E. Privat, 1872. Débax, Hélène. "Stratégies matrimoniales des comtes de Toulouse (8501270)." Annales du Midi 100 (1988): 131-51. Devals, Jean-Ursule. Histoire De Montauban. Montauban: Imprimerie de Forestié Neveu et Compagnie, 1855. Divorne, Françoise, Bernard Gendre, Bruno Lavergne, and Philippe Panerai. Les Bastides D'aquitaine, Du Bas-Languedoc et Du Béarn: Essai sur la regularité. Bruxelles: Archives d'Architecture Moderne, 1985. Dossat, Yves. Saisimentum Comitatus Tholosani. Paris: Bibliothèque nationale, 1966. Dubourg, Jacques. Histoire des Bastides, les villes neuves du moyen age. Bordeaux: Éditions Sud-Ouest, 2002. Escudier, Adrien. Histoire de Fronton et du Frontonnais. Toulouse: Imprimerie Doulacoure-Privat, 1905. George, Wilma, and Brunsdon Yapp. The Naming of the Beasts: Natural History in the Medieval Bestiary. London: Duckworth, 1991. Grand, Roger. Les "paix" d'Aurillac. Étude et documents sur l'histoire des institutions municpales d'une ville à consulat, Xiie Xve siècle. Paris: Société d'Histoire du Droit, 1945. —. "Notes et observations sur des réglements d'urbanisme et de voirie dans des villes à consulat au Xiiie siècle." Bulletin Monumental CV (1947): 5-25. Hautefeuille, Florent. "La fondation de villes neuves dans le sud ouest de la France au Xiie siècle: Du bourg central au bourg 'mercadier'." Revue de l'Agenais 131, no. 1 (2004): 1-19. Higounet, Charles. "Cisterciens et bastides." In Paysages et villages neufs du moyen age: Recueil D'articles, 265-74. Bordeaux: Fédération historique du Sud-Ouest, 1975. —. "Les Alaman, seigneurs bastidors et péagers du Xiiie siècle." Annales du Midi 68 (1956): 227-54. —. "Pour L'histoire De L'occupation du sol et du peuplement de la France du sud-ouest, du Xie au Xive siècle." In Paysages et villages neufs du moyen age, 373-97. Bordeaux: Fédération historique du Sud-Ouest, 1975.

236

Bibliography

Hill, John Hugh, and Laurita Lyttleton Hill. Raymond IV Count of Toulouse. Syracuse: New York Syracuse University Press, 1962. Jordan, William Chester. Europe in the High Middle Ages. Penguin History of Europe. New York: Viking, 2001. Lauret, Alain, Raymond Malebranche, and Gilles Séraphin. Bastides, villes nouvelles du moyen age. Milan: Editions Milan, 1988. Lewis, Archibald R. The Development of Southern French and Catalan Society, 718-1050. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1965. Lilley, Keith D. Urban Life in the Middle Ages 1000-1450. New York: Palgrave, 2002. Macé, Laurent. Catalogues Raimondins: Actes des comtes de Toulouse, ducs de Narbonne, et marquis de Provence (1112-1229). Toulouse: Archives municipales de Toulouse, 2008. Magnou-Nortier, Elisabeth. "Recherches sur l'alleu dans ses rapports avec le pouvoir (Ve-Xiiie siècles)." In Aux sources de la gestion publique, Edited by Elisabeth Magnou-Nortier, 143-206. Lille: Université Charles-de-Gaulle, 1997. Mundy, John Hine. Liberty and Political Power in Toulouse, 1050-1230. New York: Columbia University Press, 1954. —. Society and Government at Toulouse in the Age of the Cathars. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1997. Nicholas, David. Urban Europe, 1100-1700. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. Pastoret, Claude Emmanuel Joseph Pierre. Ordonnances des roys de France de la troisième race, recueillies par ordre chornologique. Paris: Imprimerie royale, 1811-1820. Poitrineau, Abel. Les anciennes mesures locales du sud-ouest d'après les tables de conversion. Clermont-Ferrand: Institut d'Etudes du Massif Central Université Blaise-Pascal, 1996. Portal, Charles. Histoire de la ville de cordes en Albigeois (1222-1799). 3d ed. Toulouse: Société des Amis du Vieux Cordes, Privat, 1902. Pradalié, G. "Les comtes de Toulouse et L'Aquitaine (Ixe-Xiie siècles)." Annales du Midi 117, no. 249 (2005): 5-23. Pujol, Florence. "L'Elaboration de L'image symbolique de la Bastide." Annales du Midi CII (1991): 345-67. Reynolds, Susan. Fiefs and Vassals: The Medieval Evidence Reinterpreted. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1994. Rossignol, Elie. Monographies communales du canton de Lisle. Lisle-surTarn: L'Association Lisle Je t'Aime, 1863. 1990. 1863.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

237

Rossignol, Elie A. Canton de Gaillac. Monographies communales ou etude statistique, historique et monumentale du département du Tarn. Albi: Faure, 1864. 1987. 1864. —. Etude sur l'histoire des institutions seigneuriales et communales de l'arrondissement de Gaillac. Toulouse: Imprimerie de Rives et Faget, 1866. Ruiz, Philippe. "Un 'grand domaine' en pays Toulousain au milieu du Xe siècle, d'après le testament d'isarn d'escatalens." Annales du Midi 109 (1997): 381-96. Saint-Blanquat, Odon de Lingua de. La fondation des bastides royales dans la Sénéchaussee de Toulouse aux Xiiie et Xive siècles. Toulouse: Centre Régional de Documentation Pédagogique, 1941. Shirley, Janet. The Song of the Cathar Wars, a History of the Albigensian Crusade by William of Tudela and an Anonymous Successor. Aldershot: Scholar Press, 1996. Sibly, M. D., and W. A. Sibly, eds. Sarmensis, Petrus: The History of the Albigensian Crusade. Woodbridge, Suffolk, UK: Boydell Press, 1998. Sillières, Pierre. "Les Campagnes." In Tolosa: Nouvelles recherches sur Toulouse et son territorie dans l'antiquité, edited by Jean-Marie Pailler, 373-402. Rome: L'Ecole Française de Rome, 2002. Sumption, Jonathan. The Albigensian Crusade. London: Boston: Faber, 1978. Taillefer, l'Abbé. Histoire de Lauzerte. Paris: Res Universis, 1902. 1990. 1902. Teulet, M. Alexandre. Layettes du trésor des Chartes. Paris: Henri Plon, 1863. Ward-Perkins, Bryan. The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.

Chapter Six Alfonso, Isabel, ed. The Rural History of Medieval European Societies: Trends and Perspectives. Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. Andrews, Frances. The Other Friars: Carmelite, Augustinian, Sack and Pied Friars in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2006. Armstrong, Regis, J.A. Wayne Hellmann and William Short, eds. Francis of Assisi: Early Documents. 4 Vols. New York: New City Press, 19992002. Benevolo, Leonardo. The European City. Oxford: Blackwell, 1993. Berengo, Martino. L’Europa delle città: Il volto della società urbana europea tra Medioevo ed Età moderna. Torino: Einaudi, 1999.

238

Bibliography

Bériou, Nicole, and Jacques Chiffoleau, eds. Économie et religion: L’expérience des ordres mendiants (XIIIe-XVe siècle). Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon, 2009. Bertagna, Martino. S. Lucchese da Poggibonsi: note storiche e documenti. Firenze: Studi Francescani, 1969. Biller, Peter. “Popular Religion in the Central and Later Middle Ages.” In Companion to Historiography, edited by Michael Bentley, 221-48. London: Routledge, 1997. Brand, Benjamin. Holy Treasures and Sacred Song: Relic Cults and their Liturgies in Medieval Tuscany. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Brogiolo, Gian Pietro, and Bryan Ward-Perkins, eds. The Idea and Ideal of the Town between Late Antiquity and the Early Modern Ages. Leiden: Brill, 1999. Brogiolo, Gian Pietro, Nancy Gauthier, and Neil Christie, eds. Towns and their Territories between Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Bruchi, Bruno, and Alessandro Naldi. Borghi medievali della Toscana: L’area fiorentina, l’antico Stato di Siena e la maremma orientale. Empoli: Editori dell’Acero, 2010. —. Città e centri storici della Toscana: Da Firenze a Siena, da Arezzo alla Maremma. Empoli: Editori dell’Acero, 2002. Bruchi, Bruno, Aldo Favini, and Alessandro Naldi. Piccole città del Medioevo in Toscana: Storia, architettura e paesaggio. Empoli: Editori dell’Acero, 2011. Bruzelius, Caroline. Preaching, Building, and Burying: Friars in the Medieval City. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014. Bughetti, Benvenutus. “Tabulae Capitulares Provinciae Tusciae O.M.F. (saec. XIV-XVIII).” Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 10 (1917): 413-497. Caby, Cécile. “Il costo dell’inurbanamento: Monaci e frati a confronto.” In L’economia dei conventi dei frati minori e predicatori fino alla metà del Trecento, 295-337. Spoleto: CISAM, 2004. Cannon, Joanna. Religious Poverty, Visual Riches: Art in the Dominican Churches of Central Italy in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013. Christie, Neil. From Constantine to Charlemagne: An Archaeology of Italy AD 300-800. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006. Coleman, Edward. “Cities and Communes.” In Italy in the Central Middle Ages, edited by David Abulafia, 27-57. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

239

dal Pino, Franco. I frati Servi di S. Maria dalle origini all’approvazione (1233 ca. - 1304). Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain, 1972. Dameron, George. Episcopal Power and Florentine Society, 1000-1320. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991. Del Gross, F., G. C. Romby, and Renato Stopani. La chiesa francescana del Borghetto. Poggibonsi: 1990. Dodson, Alexandra. “Mount Carmel in the Commune: Promoting the Holy Land in Central Italy in the 13th and 14th Centuries.” PhD diss., Duke University, 2016. Emery, Richard. The Friars in Medieval France. New York: Columbia University Press, 1962. Freed, John. The Friars and German Society in the Thirteenth Century. Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1977. Ennen, Edith. Die europäische Stadt des Mittelalters. Göttingen: Vandenhoech & Ruprecht, 1972. Translated as The Medieval Town. Oxford: North-Holland Publishing Company, 1979. Giles, Kate, and Christopher Dyer, eds. Town and Country in the Middle Ages. Leeds: Maney, 2007. Fossier, François. “La ville dans l’historiographie franciscaine de la fin du XIIIe et du début XIV siècle.” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome 89 no. 2 (1977): 641-55. Francovich, Riccardo, and Richard Hodges. Villa to Village: The Transformation of the Roman Countryside in Italy, c. 400-1000. London: Duckworth, 2003. Francovich, Riccardo, and Marco Valenti, eds. Poggio Imperiale a Poggibonsi. Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana, 2007. Gauthiez, Bernard, Elisabeth Zadora-Rio, and Henri Gelinié, Village et ville au Moyen Age: les dynamiques morphologiques. Tours: Presses Universitaires François Rabelais, 2003. Ginatempo, Maria, and Andrea Giorgi. “Documentary Sources for the History of Medieval Settlements in Tuscany.” In Reconstructing Past Population Trends in Mediterranean Europe, edited by John Bintliff and Kostas Sbonias, 173-93. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1999. Giusti, Martino, and Pietro Guidi, eds. Rationes Decimarum Italiae nei secoli XIII e XIV: Tuscia II. Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1942. Gombac, Boris. Atlante storico delle diocesi toscane. Sommacompagna: Cierre, 2015. Guidi, Pietro, ed. Rationes Decimarum Italiae nei secoli XIII e XIV: Tuscia I. Città del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1932.

240

Bibliography

Guidoni, Enrico. “Città e ordini mendicanti: Il ruolo dei conventi nella crescita e nella progettazione urbana del XIII e XIV secolo.” Quaderni medievali 4 (1977): 69-106. —. “Ordini mendicanti e organizzazione dello spazio urbano nelle città toscane.” In Gli ordini mendicanti a Pistoia, edited by Renzo Nelli, 5568. Pistoia: Società pistoiese di storia patria, 2001. Gustafson, Erik. “Tradition and Renewal in the Thirteenth-Century Franciscan Architecture of Tuscany.” PhD diss., New York University (IFA), 2012. Gutiérrez, David. Los Agostinos en la edad media 1256-1356. Roma: Institutum Historicum Ordinis Fratrum S. Augustini, 1980. Hamerow, Helena. Early Medieval Settlements: The Archaeology of Rural Communities in North-West Europe 400-900. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Hewlett, Cecilia. Rural Communities in Renaissance Tuscany: Religious Identities and Local Loyalties. Turnhout: Brepols, 2008. Hilton, R.H. English and French Towns in Feudal Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Hinnebusch, William. The History of the Dominican Order. 2 Vols. New York: Alba House, 1965-1973. Hodges, Richard. Dark Age Economics: The Origins of Towns and Trade AD 600-1000. London: Duckworth, 1982, 2nd edition 1989. —. Towns and Trade in the Age of Charlemagne. London: Bristol Classical Press, 2000. Hodges, Richard, and David Whitehouse. Mohammed, Charlemagne & the Origins of Europe: Archaeology and the Pirenne Thesis. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983. Hooke, Della ed. Medieval Villages: A Review of Current Work. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1985. Hyde, J.K. Society and Politics in Medieval Italy. London: Macmillan Press, 1973. Jasper, Kathryn L. “Reforming the Monastic Landscape: Peter Damian’s Design for Personal and Communal Devotion.” In Rural Space in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age, edited by Albrecht Classen, 193207. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012. Lawrence, C.H. The Friars: The Impact of the Early Mendicant Movement on Western Society. 2nd edition. London: I.B. Tauris, 2013. Le Goff, Jacques. “An Urban Metaphor of William of Auvergne.” In The Medieval Imagination, 177-180. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

241

—. “Apostolat mendiant et fait urbain dans la France médiéval: L’implantation des ordres mendiants.” Annales 23 no. 2 (1968): 33545. —. “The Image of the City in Twelfth Century French Literature.” In The Medieval Imagination, 151-76. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992. —. “Ordres mendiants et urbanisation dans la France medieval: État de l’enquête.” Annales 25 no. 4 (1970): 924-46. Luzzati, Michele. “Firenze e l’area Toscana nel Medioevo.” In Comuni e signorie nell’Italia nordorientale e centrale, edited by Giuseppe Galasso, 241-466. Storia d’Italia VII/I .Torino: Utet, 1987. Martini, Laura, ed. Chiusi Cristiana. Chiusi: Edizioni Lui, 1997. Maxwell, Robert. The Art of Medieval Urbanism: Parthenay in Romanesque Aquitaine. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007. McCormick, Michael. Origins of the European Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Milani, Giuliano. I comuni italiani: secoli XII-XIV. Roma: Laterza, 2009. Morini, Augustino, and Peregrino Soulier, eds. Monumenta Ordinis Servorum Sanctae Mariae. Vol. 7. Bruxelles: Société Belge de Librairie, 1905. Mouthon, Fabrice. Les communautés rurales en Europe au Moyen Âge: Une autre histoire politique du Moyen Âge. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2014. Nicholas, David. The Growth of the Medieval City: From Late Antiquity to the Early Fourteenth Century. London: Longman, 1997. —. Urban Europe 1100-1700. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. Pellegrini, Luigi. “Gli insediamenti degli ordini mendicanti e la loro tipologia: Considerazioni metodologiche e piste di ricerche.” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome: Moyen Age 89, no. 2 (1977): 563-573. —. Insediamenti francescani nell’Italia del Duecento. Roma: Edizioni Laurentianum, 1984. —. “Insediamenti rurali e insediamenti urbani dei Francescani nell’Italia del secolo XIII.” In San Bonaventura Maestro di Vita Francescana e di Sapienza Cristiana, edited by A. Pompei, 197-210. Roma: Pontificia Facoltá Teologica, 1976. —. “Per una discussione sui primi in Toscana.” In La presenza francescana nella Toscana del ‘200, 63-79. Firenze: Convento di S. Francesco, 1990. Pirenne, Henri. Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1925, reprinted 2014.

242

Bibliography

Raspi Serra, Joselita, ed. Gli ordini mendicanti e la città: Aspetti architettonici, sociali e politici. Milano: Guerini Studio, 1990. Reyerson, Kathryn. “Medieval Walled Space: Urban Development vs. Defense.” In City Walls: The Urban Enceinte in Global Perspective, edited by James Tracy, 88-116. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Reyerson, Kathryn, and J. Drendel, eds. Urban & Rural Communities in Medieval France: Provence and Languedoc, 1000-1500. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Rigon, Antonio. “Mendicant Orders and the Reality of Economic Life in Italy in the Middle Ages.” In The Origin, Development, and Refinement of Medieval Religious Mendicancies, edited by Donald Prudlo, 241-75. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Rörig, Fritz. Die europäische Stadt und die Kultur des Bürgertums im Mittelalter. Göttingen: Vandenhoech & Ruprecht, 1955. Translated as The Medieval Town. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. Ruiz, Teofilo. “Urban Historical Geography and the Writing of Late Medieval Urban History.” In A Companion to the Medieval World, edited by Carol Lansing and Edward English, 397-412. Oxford: WileyBlackwell, 2009. Sabatini, Andrea, ed. Atti dei capitoli provinciali di Toscana dei Carmelitani 1375-1491. Roma: Institutum Carmelitanum, 1975. —. “Origini e antichità della provincia toscana dei carmelitani,” Analecta Ordinis Carmelitarum 14 (1949): 187-201. Sanfilippo, Mario. “Il convento e la città: Nuova definizione di un tema.” In Spazio dell’umiltà, 327-41. Fara Sabina: Centro francescano Santa Maria in Castello, 1984. Schenkluhn, Wolfgang. Architektur der Bettelorden: Die Baukunst der Dominikaner und Franziskaner in Europa. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000. Schofield, John, and Alan Vince. Medieval Towns: The Archaeology of British Towns in their European Setting. London: Equinox, 2003. Smet, Joachim. The Carmelites. Darien: Carmelite Spiritual Center, 1988. Tabacco, Giovanni. The Struggle for Power in Medieval Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Tangheroni, Marco. “I comuni e le città.” In Storia della Toscana, edited by Elena Fasano Guarini, Giuseppe Petralia, and Paolo Pezzino, 91101. Roma: Laterza, 2004. Toubert, Pierre. Les structures du Latium médiéval: Le Latium méridional et la Sabine du IXe à la fin du XIIe siècle. Rome: École Française de Rome, 1973.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

243

Valenti, Marco. L’insediamento altomedievale nelle campagne toscane. Borgo San Lorenzo: Edizioni All’Insegna del Giglio, 2004. van Luijk, Benigno. Le monde augustinien du XIIIe au XIXe siècle. Assen: van Gorcum & Comp., 1972. Verhulst, Adriaan. The Rise of Cities in North-West Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Wickham, Chris. Community and Clientele in Twelfth-Century Tuscany: The Origins of the Rural Commune in the Plain of Lucca. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Zazzeri, Tullio. Eremi agostiniani della Tuscia nel Tredicesimo secolo. Tolentino: Biblioteca Egidiana, 2008. Zoi, Piero. Chiusi: I luoghi, gli itinerari, la storia. Città di Castello: Edimond, 1996.

Chapter Seven Arxiu de la Corona d’Aragó. Ms. San Cugat 10. Andreu Galmés, Jaume. “Les ordinacions de Jaume II de Mallorca per a la creació de viles (any 1300): Planificació urbana en quadrícula i dotació de servis; El cas de Petra.” In XVII Congrés d’Història de la Corona d’Aragó. El món urbá a la Corona d’Aragó del 1137 als decrets de la Nova Planta, Vol. 3, 11-28. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, 2003. Eiximenis, Francesc. Dotzè llibre del Crestià: Primera part; Volum primer, ed. Xavier Renedo. Girona: Universitat de Girona, 2005. —. Lo regiment de la cosa pública en el Dotzè del Crestià. Translated by Vicent Martines Peres and María Justiniano Ortuño. Madrid: Centro de Lingüística Aplicada Atenea, 2009. Martínez Sopena, Pascual, and Mertxe Urteaga Artigas, eds. “Las villas nuevas medievales del suroeste europeo. De la fundación medieval al siglo XXI. Análisis histórico y lectura contemporánea.” Special issue, Boletín Arkolean 14 (2006): 217-38. Owens, Edwin J. The City in the Greek and Roman World. London: Routledge, 1991. Franchetti Pardo, Vittorio. Historia del urbanismo: Siglos XIV y XV. Madrid: Insituto de Estudios de Administración Local, 1988. Randolph, Adrian. “The Bastides of Southwest France.” The Art Bulletin 77, no. 2 (1995): 290-307. Renedo, Xavier, and David Guixeres. Francesc Eiximenis: An Anthology. Translated by Robert D. Hughes. Barcelona: Tamesis, 2008.

244

Bibliography

Rubio Vela, Agustín. “La ciudad como imagen: Ideología y estética en el urbanismo bajomedieval valenciano.” Historia urbana 3 (1994): 2337. Serra Desfilis, Amadeo. “La belleza de la ciudad: El urbanismo en Valencia, 1350-1410.” Ars Longa 2 (1991): 73-80. Viera, David J. Bibliografia anotada de la vida I obra de Francesc Eiximenis (1340?-1409?). Barcelona: Fundació Salvador Vives Casajuana, 1980. Vila, Soledad. La ciudad de Eiximenis: Un proyecto teórico de urbanismo en le siglo XIV. Valencia: Diputación Provincial de Valencia, 1984. Williams, John. The Illustrated Beatus: A Corpus of the Illustrations of the Commentary on the Apocalypse. 5 vols. London: Harvey Miller, 1994.

Chapter Eight Alberti, Lorenzo. Ten Books on Architecture. Translated by Cosmo Leoni. Edited by James Rykwert. London: A. Tiranti, 1966. Andrews, David. “Medieval Domestic Architecture in Northern Lazio.” In Medieval Lazio: Studies in Architecture, Painting and Ceramics. Papers in Italian Archaeology III, edited by David Andrews, John Osborne, and David Whitehouse, 1-121. Oxford: BAR International Series 125, 1982. Argan, Giulio Carlo. The Renaissance City. New York: George Braziller, 1969. Braunfels, Wolfgang. Mittelalterliche Stadtbaukunst in der Toskana. Berlin: Verlag, 1953. Bruschi, Arnoldo. Ed. Tempio della Consolazione a Todi. Todi: Banca Popolare di Todi, 1991. Ceci, Getulio. Todi nel Medioevo. Todi: Formi, 1897. Ceci, Getulio, and Pensi, Giulio. Statuto di Todi del 1275. Todi: A. Trombetti, 1897. Collins, George R., and Christiane Crasemann Collins. Camillo Sitte: The Birth of Modern City Planning. New York: Dover Publications, 1986. De Angelis D'Ossat, Guglielmo. Il Tempio di San Fortunato a Todi. Milan: Silvana, 1982. De Giovanni, Cesarina. “L'ampliamento di Assisi nel 1316”. Bollettino della deputazione di storia patria per l'Umbria 72(1975): 1-78. Edgerton, Samuel. The Renaissance Rediscovery of Linear Perspective. New York: Harper & Row, 1975. Friedman, David. Florentine New Towns: Urban Design in the Late Middle Ages. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988.

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

245

Gillerman, David. “S. Fortunato in Todi: Why the Hall Church?” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 68 (1989): 158-71. Grondona, Carlo. Todi: Storica ed Artistica, 6th edition. Todi: Ediart, 1981. Gruber, Samuel. Medieval Todi: Studies in Architecture and Urbanism. Ph.D. diss., Columbia University. Ann Arbor: UMI, 1998. —. “Ordering the Urban Environment: City Planning and City Statutes in Medieval Todi, Italy.” In Ideas of Order in the Middle Ages. Edited by Warren Ginsberg, 121-35. Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, 1990. Guidoni, Enrico. Storia dell'Urbanistica: Il Duccento. Bari: Laterza, 1989. —. "Città e ordini mendicanti, il ruolo dei conventi nella cresciuta e nella progettazione urbana del XIII e XIV secolo." Quaderni Medievali 4 (1977): 69-106. —. "Appunti per una storia dell'urbanistica nella Lombardia tardomedievale.” In Lombardia—Il territorio, l'ambiente, il paesaggio. Edited by Carlo Pirovano, vol. I, 109-62. Milan: Electa, 1981. Lotz, Wolfgang. “Review of ittelalterliche Stadtbaukunst in der Toskana by Wolfgang Braunfels” in Art Bulletin 37 (1955): 65-67. Petti, Luca Alberti. In Commentarii ovvero memorie di Todi, 6 MSS vols. Todi: Archivio Comunale di Todi, 1630. Sitte, Camillo. In Der Stadtebau nach seinen kunstlerischen Grundsatzen. Wein: Graeser, 1889. Spilner, Paula. “Ut Civitas Amplietur.” Studies in Florentine Urban Development, 1282-1400. Ph.D. diss., Columbia University. Ann Arbor: UMI, 1987. Sznura, Franek. L'espansione urbana di Firenze nel dugento. Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1975. Trachtenberg, Marvin. “What Brunelleschi Saw: Monument and Site at the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 40, no. 7 (1988): 1-44 —. “Archaeology, Merriment, and Murder: The First Cortile of the Palazzo Vecchio and Its Transformation in the Late Florentine Republic.” Art Bulletin 71, no. 4 (1989), 565-609. —. Dominion of the Eye. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.

CONTRIBUTORS

Mickey Abel’s (Ph.D. Art History, University of Texas at Austin, 2001) scholarly interests revolve around Medieval Architectural space—its historical analysis, its contextual setting, its liturgical and experiential perception, and its geographical determinants. Following her book, Open Access: Contextualizing the Archivolted Portals of Western France and Northern Spain within the Theology and Politics of Entry (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012), she is currently working on a monograph examining the political/familial/spatial/geographical relationship between the Abbey of Maillezais and its sister abbey in Bourgueil. Catherine Barrett (Ph.D., Art History, University of Washington, 2010) is Assistant Professor of Architecture at the University of Oklahoma. She has published on the French bastides and has a book manuscript under review about the architecture of medieval Languedoc. Samuel D. Gruber (B.A., Medieval Studies, Princeton University; Ph.D., Architectural History, Columbia University) is an architectural historian and historic preservationist. He has taught part-time in the Jewish Studies Program at Syracuse University since 1994, and has frequently taught elsewhere. Gruber has researched medieval urbanism and monastic architecture, including serving for several seasons as architectural historian at the excavation at San Vincenzo al Volturno (Molise, Italy). He is also an expert on many aspects of Jewish art, architecture, and archaeology, and since 2006 he has studied Jewish settlement patterns in pre-modern Europe, including the early history of the Venice Ghetto. Gruber is author of Synagogues (1999), American Synagogues: A Century of Architecture and Jewish Community (2003) and reports, articles and websites on art, architecture, and urbanism. Erik Gustafson (Ph.D., Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, 2012) has taught at George Mason University, Fordham University, and the University of California, Berkeley, and held a Rome Prize fellowship at the American Academy in Rome from 2007-2009. An architectural historian of medieval and renaissance Europe and the Mediterranean, Gustafson is broadly interested in the engagement of historical viewers

Medieval Urban Planning: The Monastery and Beyond

247

with architectural space. He is particularly interested in the phenomenology of historical religious experience, and in how the constant dialogue between traditions of the past and the needs of the present produced architectural culture. Gustafson has forthcoming articles on Franciscan architecture as charismatic space and on a Crusader portal reused on a Mamluk madrasa in Cairo, and is completing a monograph entitled Building Franciscanism: Space, Tradition, and Devotion in Medieval Tuscany. Estefanía López Salas (Ph.D., Architecture and Restoration, University of A Coruña, Spain, 2015, and M.A., Architectural Restoration, 2010) is an architect (2009). She is currently a professor at the School of Architecture, University of A Coruña, Spain. Shelley E. Roff (Ph.D., History of Art and Architecture, Brown University, 2002) is an Associate Professor at the University of Texas at San Antonio. Her research and publications have focused on the politics, economics, and technology of the built environment in medieval and early modern Spain. Dr. Roff is the recipient of numerous grants and fellowships, including the Fulbright Foundation, NEH, and the Samuel H. Kress foundation. She has a book manuscript forthcoming on the urban development of late medieval Barcelona. Sarah Rose Shivers (B.A., Anthropology and Linguistics, and M.A., Art History, University of North Texas) is currently the Patricia Rose Fellow at Florida State University. Her projects focus on the medieval art and architecture of the British Isles and Eastern Europe. Her research employs archaeology and geographical and spatial theory to understand manifestations in architectural and material production as they related to geographical and topological constructions of medieval spaces. Janet Snyder (Ph.D.) is Professor of Art History in the School of Art and Design at West Virginia University and holds the J. Bernard Schultz Endowed Professorship from 2015 to 2018. Her best-known work analyzes depicted textiles and clothing in medieval monuments: Early Gothic Column-Figure Sculpture in France: Appearance, Materials, and Significance (Ashgate, 2011), “Vestiary Identity in Twelfth-Century Seals.” in Solway (ed.) Medieval Coins and Seals: Constructing Identity, Signifying Power (Brepols, 2015), and “Vestiary Signs of Pilgrimage in Twelfth-Century Europe,” in Robinson and de Beer (eds.) Matter of Faith: An Interdisciplinary Study of Relics and Relic Veneration in the Medieval Period (The British Museum, 2015). Related publications address the

248

Contributors

transportation and quarrying of stone. She participates in the colloquium All Things Stone, New Research into Masons and Sculptors during the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries colloquia, during which in 2013 the experience of the capitals of Notre-Dame la Daurade (1120-1130) in Toulouse led to her ongoing collaboration with neuroscientist Mary Shall concerning responses of the human brain to medieval narrative sculpture.