This chapter sets out a general model for how the creation of Romanesque architecture in England in the late-eleventh-century was determined by three factors: the intended functions of the building; the prevailing conditions limiting the possibilities of its realisation; and the practical processes surrounding its actual construction. The model is then illustrated by three major churches for which we have a reasonable body of documentary source material, and for which we have substantial surviving fabric or, at least, good archaeological evidence for their appearance: the Cathedral and St Augustine’s Abbey at Canterbury, and St Albans Abbey. The diverse available sources throw light on the buildings: first on their liturgical usage, symbolic expression and projection of status; then on the financial resources to fund them; and finally on the procedures for administering the construction and the craftsmen employed.
The power and patronage of Matilda of Canossa extended over a vast area: while traditional scholarship has emphasised her influence over rural monasteries, the evidence from cities under her sway, particularly Modena, Cremona and Piacenza, is no less revealing. This chapter lays out the evidence for a relationship between a change in narrative models and a change in the structure of power in the different towns, reinforcing a geography of power for the pro-papal faction, linked to burial and a closely-related set of workshops.
Cathedral-building in the Middle Ages was a process which engaged a number of different people, groups and institutions. Bishops and Chapters are the first to be mentioned, although the laity – whether noble or not – may also have contributed. In eleventh and twelfth century Northern Italy a particular set of circumstances seems to have emerged: on the one hand, the role of bishops was weakened as a result of the reform of the Church, on the other, we begin to encounter more self-conscious citizens, who increasingly organised themselves into communes.
The reconstruction of several cathedrals in northern Italy opened as these new circumstances began to bite, during an interregnum, in the period between bishops. This indicates that the construction of a cathedral was increasingly regarded as the task of the commune in its proper sense: a commune that embraced all its members – clergy and laity – as equal patrons. The process of building also created an opportunity to redefine the role of, and the relationship between, the major ecclesiastical and secular institutions. Finally, it facilitated and perhaps even encouraged the establishment of new institutions such as the communes themselves, or the incorporation of some of their members into specialist organisations, like guilds. The construction of the well-known cathedrals of Modena and Piacenza will be reconsidered in light of the above.
Catalan cathedral canonries underwent significant architectural redevelopment during the eleventh century; redevelopment that coincided with a period of cultural prosperity and political stability. These changes developed from existing traditions that can be traced back to the sixth century, but which survive only in the documentary record, or can be seen in an exceptional architectural ensemble such as Terrassa (which lost its episcopal status in the 8th century). This chapter emphasizes the importance of this early medieval substrate, which predates the eleventh-century reforms, as well as innovations that were developed as a part of the reforms themselves. At the same time, I argue that the reconstruction of Catalan cathedral complexes was not due to the agency of a single man - the celebrated Bishop Oliba of Vic. Rather, these architectural changes must be attributed to a group of bishops, all of whom participated in a programme of cultural renewal. From a material point of view, I will consider a series of ‘church complexes’ known from documents, which, with the exception of Seu d’Urgell, share the tendency, common in European Romanesque architecture, to bring together separate cult spaces into a single building.
This chapter examines the role that kings and bishops played in three fundamental works of Romanesque architecture in Navarre and Aragon: the monastery of Leire and the cathedrals of Jaca and Pamplona. Both the documentary evidence and the historical context show that royal intervention was limited to promotion and funding, and to the churches’ monumental character. The role of the bishops was significantly more direct and determining. It is very likely that Sancho, abbot-bishop of Leire, visited Cluny, where he befriended Abbot Odilo; and that Pedro de Rodez, bishop of Pamplona, had been a monk at Conques and later visited Toulouse and Santiago de Compostela. In all three cases, it is clear that construction was intended as a monumental manifesto for the new direction taken by their respective institutions under the banner of ecclesiastical reform. As regards Jaca Cathedral, the author proposes certain new considerations that help us understand the overall configuration of the building. The two portal programmes, and the more legible and intentional facets of the building’s architecture, were probably conceived by Bishop Pedro (1086–99), a former monk of San Juan de la Peña. They reflect a spirituality with monastic roots, enhanced by political allegories that might have been addressed to King Sancho Ramírez.
This chapter aims to point up the conflicts, changing interests and alliances among different protagonists as patrons. By focusing on the object, and the period from c. 1075 to c. 1140, the question of who supported the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela will be posed, along with its opposite - who refused – sometimes only temporarily – to support the enterprise for special reasons. This chapter is based on a rereading of three important historical sources, the Concordia de Antealtares, the Liber Sancti Jacobi, and the Historia Compostelana, as well as the new archaeological investigation undertaken by a research group from the University of Cottbus under the direction of Professor Klaus Rheidt. In analysing these texts, I would like to stress those interests that can be related to artistic patronage, as well as the ambiguities and omissions in the texts. The result is a vivid mosaic of claims, interests and expectations, different to that which would emerge if one focused on the patronage of a single person.
The March of Gothia is not widely referred to in the literature on the architectural history of France in the eleventh century. The chapter offers an assessment of its relevance to the First Romanesque architecture of what is now known as lower Languedoc. It examines the political history of the area from the Romans to the eleventh century, the route by which the style was introduced (via Provence or via Catalonia), and the relationships of the buildings to others, especially those of Catalonia.
This chapter is devoted to a great monument of Mediterranean culture – the Armenian cathedral of Saints James in Jerusalem – specifically to its patronage and to the origins of its architecture. Sources for the cathedral can be found in Armenian and Eastern Christian buildings, while several motifs that are used belong squarely within a Latin tradition. It has been suggested that Melisende, Queen of Jerusalem (1131–61) and Armenian on her mother’s side, was instrumental in commissioning the cathedral and that her role was instrumental in facilitating facilitated a process of cultural exchange. The study concludes that Melisende was important, though not so much in ensuring the inclusion of significant Armenian national features in the building, but by effectively inserting an Armenian cathedral into the wider panoply of Latin and pan-European art. It also seems clear that the cathedral architect’s method of combining different architectural ideas came about as the result of instructions from the patron.
Although the documentary records for the Limousin abbey of Grandmont are awash with forgeries and dubious legends, they are nonetheless accurate in attributing the role of patrons of the abbey to Kings Henry II, Richard and John. Pipe Rolls record the despatch of lead for the roof from Newcastle in 1175–77, and interest in Grandmont was shown by the kings’ seneschals between 1192 and 1214. Unfortunately the abbey buildings no longer survive and the recent excavations were complicated by numerous reconstructions. However, we can at least be confident that the monastic church had a long and narrow aisleless nave and a large apse. This chapter will argue that the church was not built in a specifically ‘Angevin’ manner, but was related to both local and international ascetic trends. Two other buildings within the diocese of Limoges will be discussed: the mother-church of the Order of L’Artige and the Cistercian abbey church of Bonlieu. In its turn, Grandmont is said to have provided a model for the smaller houses of the Order, all of which resemble one another, whether they are in England or in Languedoc. Built at the beginning of the 13th century, they represent a type of ‘tardorromanico’ – the term here not intended pejoratively.
The female Hospitallers’ convent at Sigena and its famous chapter-house (where the wall-paintings were largely destroyed in 1936) are discussed from the point of view of the Hospital’s leaders in the 1180s. The European mission of Heraclius, patriarch of Jerusalem, in 1184/5 and the role of the knights in the mission are also discussed. Various candidates are mentioned as possible intermediaries in relation to the painter or painters who, as is well known, figure among the later artists of the Winchester Bible. The personal and political connections between England and the Hospital could explain the presence of a leading ‘English’ painter in Aragon in the 1180s.
The desire to link anonymous masterpieces with famous names, whether of artists or of patrons, is deep-rooted, as can be seen with the number of works of art which cluster around such names as Nicholas of Verdun and Abbot Suger. The magnificent illuminated bible at Winchester Cathedral has long been associated with one of the most celebrated art patrons of the age, Henry of Blois, bishop of Winchester from 1129 to 1171. Indeed, the bible has been associated with three of the outstanding personalities of the age. Not only has Henry of Blois been credited with its inception, but St Hugh of Lincoln and King Henry II have also been connected to it, at a later stage in its production. Current scholarly opinion tends to accept Henry of Blois’ involvement, while questioning the bible’s association with St Hugh and Henry II. In this chapter I propose to re-examine the evidence for both claims.
Until the middle of the twelfth century, Catalonia was not a centre but a periphery. Being outside the orbit of the major royal powers, and therefore without a courtly art, the former Marca Hispanica remained distant from the artistic foci of Carolingian and Post-Carolingian art. Besides, it was without a metropolitan see until the conquest of Tarragona. Hence, from the very outset the local Church, together with the lay magnates, exerted artistic agency in an attempt to shore up their ecclesiastical and political status, based on their alliance with the Papacy. In this regard, Oliba, abbot of Ripoll and Cuixà and bishop of Vic, along with his comital family, were leaders in what many authors have defined as the Catalan mini-renaissance of the eleventh century, while Saint Ot of La Seu d’Urgell and his relatives, the counts of Pallars, were a driving force in the transformation of the monumental arts during the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries. The distinctive role of aristocratic women in the promotion of the minor arts (metalwork and embroidery) during the comital period is also a topic that deserves detailed analysis.
Sant Miquel de Cuixà was an outstanding Catalan monastery. Founded in the 9th century and closely associated with the counts of Cerdanya, it enjoyed successive moments of splendour before starting to fade in the late twelfth century. This chapter is concerned with the work that can be associated with two abbots – Oliba (1008–46) and Gregorius (c. 1120–1146) – and argues for an unusual sensitivity shown in the patronage of one for the other.
This chapter studies the background of the patronage of the Limousin ciborium found in the region of la Cerdanya in Catalonia and presently preserved in Barcelona, in the collection at the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya. Formal analysis of the ciborium’s style confirms the traditionally established links with the famous Maître Alpais ciborium, yet it also enables us to relate it to a series of Limousin works produced for the Order of Grandmont. Contacts between the Catalan royals and the aforementioned order, which held important priories in the Languedoc (at that time controlled by Catalans), provide support to the hypothesis regarding specific Catalan patronage of this ciborium, which may have been commissioned by an individual who most likely had close ties to the court, and later imported into Catalan lands.
The marriage, around 1071, between Sancho Ramírez, King of Aragon, and Felicia of Roucy, with the acquiescence of the Papacy, highlighted his aspirations to bind his reign to the ideology of the Gregorian Reform. In this context, Felicia de Roucy’s commission of the Jaca ivories is evidence of her intellectual efforts to reinforce her husband’s political outlook. It also operates as a mirror that reflects the mutability of medieval women’s identity in their interaction with elite society. The link between Felicia and the female convent of Santa Maria de Santa Cruz de la Serós, for whom the work was commissioned, could have epitomized the spirit that moved her husband in the construction of Jaca Cathedral. A critical review of the acquisition, manufacture and reuse of the ivories and their arrangement as a memento allows us to reconsider the concept of the copy, the use of formal vocabularies from both Byzantine and Romanesque traditions, the functional ambiguity of these works, and a wider dialogue among the arts.
Scholars have typically studied the eleventh-century Aemilian reliquary from the Spanish monastery San Millán de la Cogolla in order to reconstruct its original appearance and to compare its imagery to historical sources. This article uses these studies in conjunction with medieval liturgical evidence to compare the form and iconography of the reliquary with contemporary religious practices. In doing so it demonstrates that the Aemilian reliquary was designed to resonate visually with the devotions of a range of worshippers under different circumstances, from the monks themselves to the laity. As a result, this object stands as the first extant example of a type of reliquary that became popular at monasteries throughout Europe given the diverse ways in which it could be used.
The aim of this study is to analyse the extent to which patrons were important in the construction of the cathedral of Tarragona. Rather than concentrating solely on the archbishops, until now the focus of most research, we will use the material evidence available (epigraphs, iconography, texts) to analyse the role of other key players in the building’s design. In this respect, members of the clergy are shown to have been active participants in the construction of the cathedral, irrespective of their standing within the community. Consequently, the first part of this article focuses on determining the precise role that they played in this process. At the same time, the fact that we are also investigating the heraldic emblems carved on certain imposts in the cloister means that we can trace its complex and extended chronology in much greater detail. In general, despite the biased and confusing documentary sources, we aim to provide an analysis that brings together the prosopographical sources to determine the role of the patrons in terms of their economic, political, social and religious status, both within and without the cathedral. Only then can we understand the singularities of this exceptional building as a setting for the manifestation of power.
During the second half of the twelfth century, Augustinian houses attached to the congregation of Saint-Ruf at Avignon held a significant number of manuscripts (Vitae, Passio and Miracula) and liturgical texts that refer to the sainted archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket. This important corpus demonstrates that the cult of Becket spread quickly through the congregation of Saint-Ruf. The means whereby devotion to Becket was disseminated around the Mediterranean more generally has yet to be determined satisfactorily – and it may be that there were several different agencies. This chapter examines one example, and argues that the presence of an Anglo-Norman canon – Arveus or Harveus (Harvey) – could have been the driving force behind the Romanesque paintings depicting the martyrdom of Thomas Becket in the church of Sta Maria at Terrassa, and therefore of the adoption of the cult of Becket in at least one Augustinian house. Harvey played an important role in the house of canons regular at Terrassa, in as much as he was a scribe and signed documents during the second half of the twelfth century.
This chapter considers one particular medium of Romanesque art, slab relief sculpture, by focussing on the Portal of the Lamb at San Isidoro in León. Through this case study it reviews several aspects of process: an ‘umbrella’ level of direction from the papacy, the involvement of multiple ‘patrons’, the use of Roman sarcophagi as archetypes and the agency of artists.
Anselmo da Baggio became bishop of Lucca in 1057 and remained bishop even after he was elected Pope, taking the title Alexander II (1061–73). The Tuscan city thus experienced a condition normally unique to Rome during his pontificate. Written sources celebrate Anselmo da Baggio as the patron of the Romanesque Cathedral and speak of his intention to extend the Gregorian reform across the city. Anselmo/Alexander II also effected important changes in Lucca’s liturgy. The liturgy is revealed to have been the principal vehicle whereby the role of the church of San Martino was enhanced, emerging as a single, integrated and reformed cathedral church.
Romanesque images of patronage commonly show a donor offering or transferring a miniature model of a gift. A relatively novel type of image, however, emerged in the eleventh and twelfth centuries where text played an unprecedented role. This chapter proposes to view that new iconography in relation to transformative quality of the written word in those centuries. Diplomatics especially – with its attendant notarial formulas and language, seals and sealing, rituals and performances – brought new consequences for the relationship of the donor to his or her donation. Significantly, this development extended to lay, including non-royal, individuals, and this chapter argues that imagery increasingly portrayed the laity as having agency in the diplomatic handling of their donations. Some images show patrons in the act of preparing a charter of donation themselves, while others show them as readers of their gift’s diplomatic record, and still others position lay donors as diplomatic authorities managing written records. The imagery points to donors’ growing implication as actors in the specifically textual culture of diplomatics, positing the patron as a ‘literate’ agent of that culture. It also presents an unexpected picture of how claims to the power of ‘literacy’ gradually became part of a visual language of donation.
Patron inscriptions are usually clearly visible, meaning that they are present to viewers. Some patron inscriptions, however, are of limited visibility, a patron inscription of so-called restricted presence. In this article the Juliana-relief in the eastern sanctuary of Worms Cathedral is used as the major example of this second type. It is directed towards the altar and is not visible to church visitors. The patron inscription ADELBRAHT MONETARIVS is one of three inscriptions on this relief. Its placement raises several questions concerning its function. Why did Adelbraht have his name placed in a position that afforded limited visibility? There could be several reasons: the inscription might have functioned as a legal document; or the patron could have thereby taken care of his own memoria, since the priest is able to see the inscription before the Mass; finally, the process of inscription could be connected with the inscribing of his name in the ‘Book of Life’. There is also the question of the level of importance given to proximity to the altar or to the tomb or relic of a saint. This could be analogous to the tradition to being buried as close as possible to the bodies of saints.
This chapter uses long-neglected evidence – two twelfth-century deeds from the archive of St Brigit’s church, Bridekirk, printed by William Dugdale in 1673 – to examine the circumstances which resulted in the building of the first stone church on the site and the carving of the magnificent font. This evidence reveals the combined contribution of two leading laymen of Cumberland, the small body of priests serving the church of St Brigit and the mason, Rikard, and his team of workmen. The result is a study of the interplay of authority, devotion and artistic craftsmanship in one corner of the twelfth-century West.
This chapter proposes a review of the roles of the artist and the patron in the design and execution of a mural in the Romanesque period. The direct written and figurative evidence we have on this subject is unfortunately very limited. Nevertheless, the importance of the patron’s role in medieval creation is the focus of numerous studies, to the detriment of that of the painter, often regarded as a mere executor. By drawing on alternative sources, such as treatises on artistic technology, it is possible to reconsider the approach to these issues. Thus, the purpose of this article is to focus on the role of the painter, as the holder of knowledge, tools and skills essential in the design and execution of a wall painting cycle. In the pictorial project, the result of a dialogue between the different actors, one cannot deny the influence of the habits and requirements of artistic practice on intellectual projection and the achievement of a painted work. The painter is no longer merely a passive executor but a co-author. The mastery of drawing is of prime importance in this enterprise.
This essay takes as its focus the frontispiece of the Liber Feudorum Maior, an illuminated cartulary commissioned by Alfonso II, King of Aragon and Count of Barcelona (r. 1162–96). This miniature – iconographically unique in the history of medieval art – constructs an image of the patronage of the manuscript itself, with an emphasis on the active roles played by King Alfonso as its patron, and Ramon de Caldes, Dean of Barcelona Cathedral and head of the royal chancery, as its compiler. I contextualise this image in relation to unresolved questions surrounding the manuscript’s chronology and patronal history. At the heart of this mystery is the book’s incorporation of two stylistically divergent sets of illuminations – one in keeping with Romanesque pictorial traditions in Catalonia, the other embracing a more naturalistic approach associated with the so-called Channel Style or Year 1200 Style. While various scholars have suggested that this latter group of illustrations should be dated c. 1220, long after the deaths of both Alfonso and Ramon, I argue that the full spectrum of stylistic, iconographic and patronal evidence makes an earlier date more likely. Beyond addressing a simple dating controversy, this essay demonstrates that Alfonso’s cartulary represents an ideal case study for examining the complexities of royal patronage; it also considers the investigation of patronage as an art historical methodology more broadly.