Early Medieval Architecture

History of
Li
as
ay
oe
&
L Any
an Pap) . thFr
a”¥
Early Medieval Architecture
WITHDRAWN
Oxford History of Art
Roger Stalley is Professor of the History of Art at Trinity College,

Dublin. His previous books include Architecture and Sculpture in
Treland 1150-1350 (1971), The Cistercian Monasteries ofIreland (1987),
Trish High Crosses (1991), and Irelandand Europe in the Middle Ages
(1993). He has published over 50 articles on various aspects of
medieval sculpture and architecture. He is a member of the Royal
Irish Academy and an Honorary Member of the Royal Institute of
Architects of Ireland.
This book is given by

Friends of the Danville Library
in grateful recognition of
Mr. and Mrs. Ken Studer’s
support of its Endowment Fund in 2012

Titles in the Oxford History of Art series are up-to-date, fully illustrated introductions to
a wide variety of subjects written by leading experts in their field. They will appear
regularly, building into an interlocking and comprehensive series. In the list below,
published titles appear in bold.
WESTERN ART Modern Architecture Native North American

Archaic and Classical Alan Colquhoun Art
Greek Art Contemporary Janet Berlo & Ruth Phillips
Robin Osborne . Architecture Polynesian and
Classical Art Anthony Vidler Micronesian Art
From Greece to Rome Architecture in the United Adrienne Kaeppler
Mary Beard & States South-East Asian Art
John Henderson Dell Upton John Guy
Imperial Rome and WORLD ART Latin American Art
Christian Triumph
Aegean Art and WESTERN DESIGN
Jas Elsner
Architecture
Twentieth-Century Design
Early Medieval Art Donald Preziosi &
Jonathan Woodham
Lawrence Nees Louise Hitchcock
American Design
Medieval Art Early Art and Architecture Jeffrey Meikle
Veronica Sekules of Africa
Art in Renaissance Italy Peter Garlake Nineteenth-Century
Design
Evelyn Welch African Art
Gillian Naylor
Northern European Art John Picton
Fashion
Susie Nash Contemporary African Art
Christopher Breward
Olu Oguibe
Early Modern Art PHOTOGRAPHY
African-American Art
Nigel Llewellyn The Photograph
Sharon F. Patton
Art in Europe 1700-1830 Graham Clarke
Nineteenth-Century
Matthew Craske American Photography
American Art
Modern Art 1851-1929 Barbara Groseclose Miles Orvell
Richard Brettell Contemporary
Twentieth-Century
After Modern Art American Art Photography
1945-2000 Erika Doss WESTERN SCULPTURE
David Hopkins
Australian Art Sculpture 1900-1945
Contemporary Art Andrew Sayers Penelope Curtis
WESTERN Byzantine Art Sculpture Since 1945
ARCHITECTURE Robin Cormack Andrew Causey
Greek Architecture Art in China THEMES AND GENRES
David Small Craig Clunas
Landscape and Western
Roman Architecture East European Art Art
Janet Delaine Jeremy Howard Malcolm Andrews
Early Medieval Ancient Egyptian Art Portraiture
Architecture Marianne Eaton-Krauss Shearer West
Roger Stalley
Indian Art Eroticism and Art
Medieval Architecture Partha Mitter Alyce Mahon
Nicola Coldstream
Islamic Art Beauty and Art
Renaissance Architecture Irene Bierman Elizabeth Prettejohn
Christy Anderson
Japanese Art Women in Art
Baroque and Rococo Karen Brock
Architecture REFERENCE BOOKS
Hilary Ballon Melanesian Art
The Art of Art History:
Michael O’Hanlon
European Architecture A Critical Anthology
1750-1890 Mesoamerican Art Donald Preziosi (ed.)
Barry Bergdoll Cecelia Klein
Early Medieval
Architecture
Roger Stalley
OXFORD
UNIVERSITY PRESS
Oxford University Press, Walton Street, Oxford ox26DP
Oxford New York
Auckland Bankok Buenos Aires CapeTown Chennai
Dar es Salaam Delhi Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kolkata
Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Mumbai Nairobi
Sao Paulo Shanghai Taipei Tokyo Toronto
Oxford 1s a trade mark of Oxford University Press
© Roger Stalley 1999
First published 1999 by Oxford University Press
All rights reserved. No part ofthis publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or trans-
mitted, in any form or by any means, without the proper permission in writing of Oxford University
Press. Within the UK, exceptions are allowed in respect ofany fair dealing for the purpose of research or
private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Dest:gn and Patents Act; 1988,
or tn the case ofreprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms ofthe licences issued by the
Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside these terms and in other coun-
tries should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above.
This book 1s sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way oftrade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,
Aired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’ prior concent in any form of binding or cover
other than that in which tt 1s published and without a similar condition including this condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Data available
Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data

Data available
ISBN978-0-19-284223-7
LOND
S 7,
Picture research by Elisabeth Agate

Designed by Esterson Lackersteen
Typeset by Paul Manning
Printed in China on acid-free paper

by C&C Offset Printing Co., Ltd
Contents |
Acknowledgements 7
Map r: Northern Europe g
Map 2: Southern Europe 10
Tatroduction 3
Chapter 1 The Christian Basilica 17

Chapter Jee The Carolingian Renaissance: The Basilica Transformed aT
Chapter 3 Symbolic Architecture oe

Chapter 4 Secular Architecture in the Age of Feudalism 83
Chapter 5 Patron and Builder 103
Chapter 6 Art and Engineering 121
Chapter 7 Architecture and Pilgrimage 147
Chapter 8 Architecture and Monasticism 167
Chapter 9 The Language of Architecture IgI
Chapter 10 Diversity in the Romanesque Era 213
Epilogue: The Shadow of Rome ag
Notes 236
List of Illustrations 242
Bibliographic Essay 247

Timeline
Indes
tell. <i -
sy cone
er 7
=A aint
=
4 a
” ‘ k
oi cb aeedtl ibis
‘ . at =e
é
noes ait,—
ia
_
oa
=
Te m
Acknowledgements
Over the years many friends and colleagues have given me pieces of in-
formation or offered ideas which have contributed to the writing of
this book. I should mention Peter Kidson, who first introduced me to
the subject 30 years ago. I am particularly grateful to Lawrence Hoey of
the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee for reading the entire text
through in draft, an exercise which saved me from numerous errors. In
different ways I have been helped by Britta Kalkreuter, Eric Fernie,
and Malcolm Thurlby. I should also like to acknowledge the encour-
agement and help received from colleagues in Trinity College, Dublin,
notably Edward McParland, Terence Barry, Kathleen Coleman,
Rachel Moss, Aisling O’Donoghue, Leo Dungan, and Brendan
Dempsey. The Benefactions Fund of the Faculty of Arts and BESS in
Trinity College provided a number of travel grants, which allowed me
to visit far more buildings than would otherwise have been the case. I
am especially grateful to Lisa Agate for her energetic work in tracking
down suitable illustrations, and I should also like to thank Polly Buston
and Paul Manning for their care in editing and designing the book.
Finally I must acknowledge a debt to Simon Mason, editor of the
Oxford History of Art, without whose enthusiastic support the text
would not have been written.
Roger Stalley
Map 1:N hern Europe, showing monuments mentioned in the text (major sites appear in bold)
irkwall
, Jarrow
Monkwearmouth
jurham
o>! Bertin oe = feshen Cologne
e ey
- $tRiquier S
r < i by Si
jumieges Ambieny Maria Laach e°
oe ae @ Rheims © ghdhath td .
tl Mens Trier. einbach
Paris ® —_! Mainz | °
af sa
chartre e
Lorsch :
5 s
antec @ Nuremberg
-Benoit-. :
i-Loire \.Clairvaux Ma rautel
Germigny-des-Prés.
.
eral @ Auxerre Fontenay if
eae ee ‘Ottmarsheim —
a-Charité-sur-Loire .
«8 Dijon Reichenau
oirkae
apo | oie Cit
ea © St Gall
_ Paray-le-Monial
ee :
» @ Clermont Ferrand Gravedona

ie a 5 e@
Be sy Comoe. Almenno
@ Chiaravalle Milanese
© Venice
Pomposa
Bologna®
& Frejus - Lucca~ a @ Ravenna
Ny e@
Le Thoronet © Psat og
Florence
Rome
@ San Vincenzo al Volturno
@ Montecassino Trani
Sant’ Angelo in Formis@ Seopa
Molfetta ©
Nocera @ e
@ Salerno ™ Venosa
e
Monreale
II
ia
Ey
t
E
oe
shite Sreeln Osh Pa

Introduction
This book examines the architecture of western Europe over a goo-

year period, from the edict of Milan in 313 ap to the gradual demise of
the Romanesque style in the years around 1200. These two chronolog-
ical boundaries deserve a brief explanation. As architectural develop-
ment during the period was dominated by the Christian Church, the
edict of Milan forms a logical starting point, the moment when the
emperor Constantine gave Christianity an official status within the
Roman Empire. Within a few years some of the most famous churches
of Christendom had been founded, including St Peter’s in Rome and
the church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Buildings of this so-
called ‘Early Christian era’ provided a core of ideas which lay at the
heart of medieval architecture. The year 1200 provides a less precise
chronological boundary. It relates to the shift from Romanesque to
Gothic, which represents a fundamental change in architectural style.
It is difficult to say exactly when this break occurred, for in some coun-
tries (including Germany, Spain, and Italy) Romanesque traditions
flourished well into the thirteenth century. Historians of style some-
times forget that spectacular Romanesque monuments were still being
erected long after the first Gothic churches were complete.
In historical terms, the period extends from the late Roman world,
with its sophisticated urban society, to the rise of feudalism in the
eleventh and twelfth centuries. During this time the political geogra-
phy of Europe was reshaped on a number of occasions. After the fall of
the Roman Empire in the fifth century, and the era of mass migrations,
western Europe disintegrated into a confused pattern of locally based
principalities. The Carolingian Empire in the eighth century brought
a semblance of unity, but by the end of the ninth century this in turn
collapsed under the onslaught of Vikings, Magyars, and Moslems. By
the eleventh century greater stability and economic progress had been
attained, though in political terms much of Europe remained a patch-
-. Castle Rising (Norfolk), work of separate feudal states. Throughout these centuries, the one in-
c.1140 stitution that provided a measure of unity was the Christian Church.
3)
In 313 no more than a third of the population of Rome was Christian;
by the twelfth century Christianity was taken for granted by virtually
all the peoples of Europe. Recent converts included the Viking popu-
lations of Scandinavia, along with the Slavs on the eastern borders of
Germany, whilst further south Christian warriors were driving hard
against Moslem enclaves in Spain. The spread of Romanesque archi-
tecture to almost every corner of Europe reflects the ultimate triumph
of the Christian church.
One of the difficulties in presenting a picture of architecture in
these years is that the sample of surviving buildings is desperately un-
even. While the history of Romanesque architecture can be written
largely on the basis of existing monuments, for earlier periods the his-
torian is heavily dependent on archaeological research. We have many
thousands of churches in the Romanesque style, but very few from ear-
lier ages, at least few that remain intact,'and those that do survive are
not necessarily representative. Most of the great churches of Europe
have been rebuilt, often on several occasions, and where the
Romanesque building survives, it is usually the last in a sequence of
structures. In terms of architectural ‘stratigraphy’, we have been left
only with the top level. The history of the famous abbey church of St
Denis in Paris providés a good illustration of the process. Beginning
life as a small funerary chapel in the fifth century, it was enlarged under
the Merovingian kings before being replaced by a great Carolingian
basilica between 750 and 775. This itself was extended on various occa-
sions, before being dramatically remodelled between about 1135 and
1144. The last sections of the Carolingian building were replaced by a
Gothic design in the thirteenth century. While the detective work in-
volved in unravelling the history of such buildings can be fascinating,
architectural fragments and reconstruction drawings are no substitute
for complete monuments. The Carolingian era was a creative period in
European architecture, but it is difficult for non-specialists to grasp the.
full measure of what was achieved.
Architectural historians have been criticized for their preoccupa-
tion with ecclesiastical building, as if nothing else was constructed dur-
ing the early Middle Ages. Houses, palaces, castles, and other
fortifications have been left in the domain of the archaeologist. The
traditional response to this accusation is that church architecture at-
tained a level of sophistication which was rarely matched in secular
buildings. Although this reflects the accumulation of wealth by the
Church, it was not simply a case of money. Even in castles, it was the
chapel that received the most architectural attention. In devoting so
much attention to religious buildings, early medieval society was
scarcely unique: the architecture of the Greeks—or that of the Khmer
in Cambodia for that matter—is principally associated with temple
building. There is no ignoring the fact that, after the fall of the Roman
I4 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

wt
Empire, church building became the highest form of architectural ex-

pression.
The traditional picture, however, remains one-sided. Architectural
history tends to be concerned with stone and brick, an inheritance
from the classical emphasis in European scholarship. Yet throughout
the so-called Dark Ages the natural building material in northern
Europe was timber. The royal halls uncovered in England at Yeavering
and Cheddar were elaborate structures, so too Hrothgar’s great hall as
described in Beowulf, but the fact they were built of wood has relegated
them to the second class. It is sometimes forgotten that prior to the
eleventh century many a church was built of timber. But where stone
survives, timber decays; it is not easy to analyse the quality of a building
when all that remains are rows of post holes. A modern history of tim-
ber building between 300 and 1200 has still to be written, despite the
amount of valuable information hidden in archaeological journals and
reports.
Although some topics are covered in chronological sequence, the
aim of this book is not to provide a linear narrative. Nor is it designed
to be comprehensive. Each chapter is designed to explore a particular
issue or group of issues, and they can be read in almost any order. Given
the complexities of the traditional ‘developmental’ approach, it seems
worth asking, in general terms, what the architects and builders of the
early Middle Ages managed to achieve. A number of things come im-
mediately to mind. There was the transformation of the Early
Christian basilica through the addition of towers, transepts, crypts,
and ambulatories. In addition there were numerous experiments with
centralized buildings, some of them quite bizarre. The rational organi-
zation of monastic buildings around a central cloister was an innova-
tion which had consequences far beyond the Middle Ages. Indeed the
concept of the enclosed cloister garth, surrounded by arcaded passage-
ways, was to become one of the most delightful features of European
architecture. Then there was the development of the fortified dwelling,
illustrated by the great keeps of Norman England. In engineering
terms, builders mastered various types of stone vaulting, and managed
to construct, often on the basis of faith rather than judgement, towers
of unprecedented height. In artistic terms, masons learnt to model the
basic structure of their buildings with extraordinary finesse, through
the addition of shafts, mouldings, and sculptured decoration. By the
twelfth century the often rudimentary structures of earlier ages had
been transformed into great works of art. These were no mean achieve-
ments; they represent the main themes of this book.
INTRODUCTION I5
ance
ake
y
a
|
; ;
; i
a
=
‘
4 a
aor
‘Lhe Christian
Basilica
Anyone who travels through the towns of southern Europe will sooner
or later encounter the word ‘basilica’, frequently used to describe a large
Christian church, normally one belonging to the Roman Catholic
faith. For architectural historians, however, the term has a more precise
meaning, relating to a specific type of building, the origin of which
goes back several centuries before the advent of Christianity. Once
adopted for Christian worship in the fourth century ab, the basilica re-
mained at the heart of church building in western Europe for the next
1,500 years. It has proved to be one of the most enduring and adaptable
inventions in the history of architecture.
By the mid-fifth century ap, the city of Rome possessed a series of
splendid basilicas, amongst which was the church of Santa Sabina, a
building of simple elegance, situated on the Aventine Hill above the
valley of the Tiber [1]. Santa Sabina gives a good impression of the
maturity which Christian architecture had achieved by this time. Its
design is characteristic of the ‘basilica’, with a high central nave, sepa-
rated by colonnades from aisles on either side. Above the columns,
clerestory windows bring light to the central space, and the building
has a pronounced longitudinal axis, as the eye is led forward to the
semicircular apse at the east end.
Between the fourth and sixth centuries most of the great cities of
the Roman Empire were furnished with churches of basilican design,
those in Rome and Ravenna being among the best known. The beauty
of these early churches is derived from their interior space and decora-
tion, and this is very much the case at Santa Sabina. Immediately no-
ticeable are the 24 marble columns, 12 on each side, cut from the
quarries at Proconnesus in the Sea of Marmara. Each column has
flutes that are delicately reeded for a third of their height, a finesse
matched in the carving of the Corinthian capitals. Above the capitals,
the spandrels of the arches are filled with coloured marble inlays
(known as opus sectile) bearing emblems of theEucharist—the chalice
Detail
of 8 and the paten [2]. A soft light, coming from a series of huge clerestory
uy
1 Rome, Santa Sabina, windows, 14 feet in height, illuminates the central space of the church.
422-32
The completion of these windows was one of the more demanding .
The columns and capitals
were already two or three technical tasks confronting the fifth-century builders, for they were
centuries old when reused by filled not with glass, but with thin semi-translucent sheets of mica,
the Christian builders.
originally fitted into latticework made of stucco (transennae).:
An inscription in mosaic indicates that Santa Sabina was founded
by the ‘presbyter’, Peter the Illyrian, sometime between 422 and 432
The dates are significant, for only a few years had elapsed since Rome,
the seemingly impregnable city, had been plundered by Alaric and his
‘barbarian hordes’, an event which came as a devastating shock to the
citizens of the empire (in some quarters the disaster was blamed
on
Rome's abandonment of the ancient gods, an argument to counter
which St Augustine was persuaded to write his City ofGod). Yet there
is
no indication of the calamity in the serenity of Santa Sabina, except
perhaps in the presence of recycled masonry. The south door, for ex-
ample, is made up of pieces of reused classical architrave, gathere
d
18 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE
from some derelict or abandoned building, and scholars are convinced
that the 24 gleaming columns along with the capitals were taken from a
monument of the second century ap. Many a Christian basilica was,
like Santa Sabina, built out of the spoils of ancient Rome.
One of the key elements of Santa Sabina is that, contrary to tradi-
tional Roman practice, the columns support brick arches, not horizon-
tal architraves of stone. When the Romans built structural arches—as
in the Colosseum or the Theatre of Marcellus—they were supported
on solid piers of square or rectangular form. The use of free-standing
columns to support arches was not in fact a Christian innovation, for
the technique had already been employed occasionally, as in
Diocletian’s palace at Split (c.300—-306), but it was Christian architec-
2 Rome, Santa Sabina,
422-32 ture that popularized the technique. This development in the years
The spandrel decoration is around 300 AD was of fundamental importance, for the round arch
made from inlaid marble,
supported on columns or piers was to become a basic feature of me-
known as opus sectile. The
motif of the chalice and paten dieval church design. It is also worth noticing that the arches at Santa
is a reminder that celebration Sabina spring abruptly from the top of the capital, without any inter-
of the Eucharist was the chief
vening abacus or impoét (in fact there is an impost of stone, but it is
ceremony that took place in
the Christian basilica. hidden under the plaster and not expressed as part of the design). Later
basilicas, particularly those built under Byzantine influence, overcame
this problem with the insertion of a large wedge-shaped dosseret or
impost block, providing a transition between capital and arch.
By the time that Santa Sabina was completed, the basilica had been
in use by Christians for over a century. It came to be accepted as an ap-
propriate form for church design in the aftermath of Constantine’s
edict of Milan in 313, which, for the first time, gave Christianity an of-
ficial status within the Roman Empire, bringing, in the words of
Eusebius, historian of the early Church, ‘unspeakable happiness’ to all
those who believed in Christ. In a matter of months the position of the
Church was transformed. Only ten years earlier Christians had en-
dured a brief but violent persecution under the emperor Diocletian,
when churches had been ransacked or even demolished, sacred books
burnt, bishops arrested, and the more inflexible believers tortured or
sent for execution. Constantine’s rise to supreme power and his sup-
port for the Christian faith represented an extraordinary change of for-
tune, which for many Christians was scarcely credible. Although not
baptized until he was close to death in 337, Constantine was active in
promoting the Church. With official support, the size of the Christian
community grew rapidly. At last secure in the ownership of property, it
now had the confidence and wealth to build on a scale as never before.
While the new religion flourished, it is important to remember that
Rome was still fundamentally pagan, and remained so until the old
cults were finally banned by the emperor Theodosius (379-95). For
many centuries to come, classical temples, not Christian churches,
dominated the layout of the ancient city.
THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 19

There has been much debate about whether a distinctive Christian
architecture existed before 313. During the first three centuries of
Christianity, observance involved two major activities, one centred on
regular weekly meetings of the faithful, the other on commemorative
ceremonies at the graves of the dead. In both cases some form of shelter
or meeting hall was required. Despite the occasional outbursts of per-
secution, Christianity was generally tolerated, though viewed with
considerable suspicion: it is not difficult to understand how the private
meetings of Christians, their emphasis on brotherly love, and their in-
terest in a sacrament that involved ‘the body and blood’ of Christ could
lead to wild theories about the true nature of the cult. Before 313 it
seems that Christians already possessed some quite substantial build-
ings, to judge from accusations that they were imitating the structures
of temples. Before the edict of Milan Christian observance was con-
centrated on private houses, adapted to suit the needs of worship. The
architecture of these buildings, known as sitwli, after the ‘title’ of the
person who possessed the rights of ownership, did not possess any dis-
tinctively Christian character. Twenty-five such ¢itu/i existed in Rome,
most of which were replaced by basilicas during the course of the
fourth century. A remarkable instance of this came to light at San
Clemente, the twelfth-century church not far from the Colosseum.
Since the seventeenth century the building has been owned by the
Trish Dominicans and in 1857 the prior, Joseph Mullooly, began to ex-
cavate below his church. He not only discovered a fourth-century
basilica, much of it substantially intact, but below that a domestic
house which may have functioned as a ¢itu/us. Since Joseph Mullooly’s
discoveries, Christian meeting houses have been uncovered in various
parts of the empire, their designs tending to confirm the view that be-
fore 313 Christian architecture was essentially utilitarian and discreet.
All this changed dramatically with the edict of Milan and the en-
thusiastic patronage of Constantine. The emperor himself founded a
series of splendid churches not just in Rome, but also in his new city of |
Constantinople, and in the Holy Land. At Jerusalem the bishop was
instructed to build a basilica more beautiful than any other, and was al-
lowed to draw on the imperial treasury for marble columns and the
gilding of the coffered ceilings. The latter was spectacular in appear-
ance, to judge from the report of Eusebius: ‘the inside of the roof was
decorated with sculptured coffering, which, like some great ocean,
covered the whole basilica with its endless swell, while the brilliant
gold with which it was covered made the whole temple sparkle with a
thousand reflections’.? In Rome Constantine’s generosity is underlined
by the list of gifts bestowed on the Lateran basilica of St John: these in-
cluded a large quantity of gold weighing 500 pounds for covering the
vault of the apse, a huge ciborium of hammered silver, as well as 70 sil-
ver chandeliers and 50 silver candelabra.

3 Trier, Aula Nova, 305-12 Although actively involved as a patron of the Christian Church,
Built by the emperor neither the emperor nor his officials appear to have exercised any cen-
Constantine. This was a
secular basilica, designed as tralized control over the designs, for the various basilicas he endowed
an imperial audience hall. The differed quite substantially in appearance. At Jerusalem, for example,
giant arcades which frame the
the basilica built between 326 and 335 was provided with galleries above
windows exerted considerable
influence in the Middle Ages. the aisles and there was a circular structure at the west end (the church
was ‘orientated’ to the west) [34]. Eusebius explained that the head of
the basilica was ‘encircled as a wreath by 12 columns, like the number of
the apostles’.* Even in Rome the basilicas founded by Constantine dif-
fered significantly from each other. What was expected of imperial pa-
tronage was not so much uniformity as an appropriate degree of
magnificence, a magnificence that, in contrast to pagan temples, was
lavished on interiors rather than exteriors. Only when entering the
church would the full splendour of the Christian setting have become
apparent—the polished marble columns, the silver and gold of the
liturgical furnishings, the coloured mosaics on the walls, and the flick-
ering lights of chandeliers. As befitted one of the ‘mystery’ religions of
the East, the architecture of the Early Christian church was essentially
inward-looking.
The basilica as an architectural type had a long history before it was
adopted by the Christians. To the Roman populace the word ‘basilica’
was not so much a designation of an architectural form as a description
of a general meeting hall that was used for a variety of functions.
Virtually every Roman city had its basilica, serving as a market hall, a
court house, or as a place for business or commercial transactions.
Basilicas were also constructed by the emperors to serve as imperial au-
dience chambers, like the huge aisleless basilica which still remains at

Trier [3]; some were constructed within imperial palaces, as in
Domitian’s palace in Rome or in Hadrian’s ‘villa’ at Tivoli. Indeed the
word basilica, Greek in origin, means royal, which suggests the term
was initially applied to royal halls. Just as the functions varied, so too
did the designs. Basilicas were usually rectangular in plan and fre-
quently had an apse or exedra opening off one side to provide a point of
authority, which might be used for a presiding judge or, in the case of
imperial basilicas, for the throne of the emperor himself. The more
splendid basilicas were given aisles, which were divided from the main
space by colonnades, like the huge example in Rome, known as the
Basilica Ulpia, erected under the emperor Trajan (97-117 AD).
In purely structural terms, the public basilicas of Rome were not very
exciting buildings, especially when compared with the great palaces and
bath houses constructed by the emperors: They were usually covered by
timber roofs and timber ceilings, so the builders avoided the sort of en-
gineering challenges encountered when constructing stone vaults and
domes. It is not difficult to understand why Constantine and the leaders
of the fourth-century Church opted for traditional building types. For
their acts of worship the Christians needed a communal meeting hall,
and this is precisely what the basilica provided. In essence it was like a
great shed, which could be adapted to local requirements, with sections
divided off by curtains or screens to suit the needs of the liturgy. As later
centuries were to prove, it could be augmented and extended with rela-
tive ease. The system of clerestory lighting ensured that the central area
was adequately lit, so there was plenty of space and light. The very fact
that the structure was not particularly complex meant that it could be
erected quickly and cheaply. Moreover, the design was familiar to
builders throughout the Roman world. Although based on traditional
models, however, the Christian basilica was far from being a mere con-
tinuation of what had gone before, and there is much debate about its
origins. It has been described, appropriately, as a ‘new variant within the -
framework of a traditional genus’.’ In a Christian basilica aisles were
usually restricted to the long sides only, and the main entrance was al-
ways on the short side opposite the apse, giving the building a longitu-
dinal axis. In many cases this axis was further emphasized by the
presence of an atrium or courtyard in front of the main entrance.
While the main elements of the building were familiar enough, the
construction of a Christian basilica was not necessarily without its
problems. Suitable monoliths to serve as the columns had to be found,
something which became an increasing problem as time progressed.
Another area of potential difficulty was that of the windows, in partic-
ular the question of how to obtain translucent materials to fill them.
Coloured glass as well as thin sheets of alabaster and mica were used in _
the Early Christian era, but they were expensive and their supply could
not be taken for granted.

4 Ravenna, Sant’Apollinare Despite these potential difficulties, the traditional basilica was well
Nuovo, mosaic of the palace
of Theodoric (491-526)
suited to the needs of the Christian faith, but how exactly was it used?
Although depicted here ina It is not easy to form a clear picture of the furnishings or indeed of the
secular palace, arcades filled services in the fourth century, though Eusebius and other writers do
with curtains were a feature of
the early basilicas. The
provide some clues. The more spacious and highly decorated churches
curtains replaced figures that constructed after 313 evidently contributed to an increase in the formal-
were originally set within the ity of proceedings, and in this respect it was the architecture that had a
arches (a hand can be seen on
one column). The palace itself
direct impact on the liturgy. In a characteristic basilica the altar, cov-
no longer survives. ered by a canopy or ciborium, was located close to the chord of the
apse, with the clergy seated in a semicircle around the wall behind.
There was usually a throne for the bishop, who sat within the apse like
a magistrate in a secular basilica. The altar and the area in front of it
were enclosed by screen walls (or cance//i) approximately one metre in
height, which acted as a barrier to the general public. Often these were
made of marble, decorated with ornament and Christian symbolism,
fragments survive in a number of early churches, and at Santa Sabina
an attempt has been made to recreate the early layout [1]. According to
Eusebius, the screens at Tyre consisted of wooden trellis work,
‘wrought by craftsmen with exquisite artistry’.° In front of the enclosed
chancel there was sometimes a ceremonial pathway or so/ea which ex-
tended down the nave towards the main doors of the church. When
excavations were carried out at the Lateran basilica in Rome in 1934-8,
socket holes designed to support the side panels of the so/ea were found
under the floor.”? But what happened to the laity and were they ex-
pected to stand throughout the services? Although Eusebius mentions
‘benches arranged conveniently throughout’, it is unlikely there was a
seat for everyone. Men and women occupied different areas and dis-
tinctions were also made between full members of the Christian com-
munity and catechumens who had yet to be baptized. At Tyre the latter

were restricted to the aisles. Mosaics and ivory carvings frequently
show curtains hung between columns or tied to one side, and there is
no doubt this became a traditional practice in both palaces and
churches [4]. Under Pope Hadrian I (772-95) 65 curtains were pre-
sented to St Peter’s to hang between the nave columns, 70 for San
Paolo fuori le mura, and a further 57 for the Lateran. With the curtains
drawn and the aisles obscured, in effect reducing the church to a single
undivided hall, the spacious impression of the basilicas, so often ad-
mired today, must have been badly compromised.
History tends to be written by the victors and not everyone in the
Roman world was happy with the triumph of Christianity. Many of
the older aristocratic families of Rome clung to their traditional beliefs,
hoping perhaps that a future emperor might reverse Constantine’s pol-
icy, something which actually happened for a while during the reign of
Julian the Apostate (361-3). Eventually, under the emperor Theodosius
(379-95), the temples were closed for good, their revenues confiscated,
and pagan sacrifices banned. As Gibbon concluded, with characteristic
gravity, ‘Rome submitted to the yoke of the gospel’ and ‘the solitary
temples were abandoned to ruin and contempt’.* The defeat of pagan-
ism left the problem of what was to be done with hundreds of redun-
dant temples, not just in Rome but throughout the empire. In some
places Christian fanatics destroyed the buildings out of fear of a return
to the old ways, but in Rome there was a reluctance to see the splen-
dour of the city defaced by wanton destruction. In 408 a decree recom-
mended that temples were to be put to new uses, while being protected
as public monuments. This was wishful thinking, however. The build-
ings began to deteriorate and ancient sites were soon overgrown with
bushes and trees. In 459 despoliation was officially permitted, at least in
those cases where a structure, temple, public building, or mansion was
‘beyond repair’. As the fabric of ancient Rome began to disintegrate,
the recycling of architectural features became one of the most success-
ful businesses in the city. The Church showed little interest in taking
over redundant monuments, though it was ready to cannibalize them
when the need arose. In fact it was not until 609 that a pagan temple
was adapted for Christian use and this was a rather unique case, involv-
ing the Pantheon in Rome, the vast circular temple built by the em-
peror Hadrian (98-117). In Rome there are several well-known cases
where the church took over secular buildings: Santa Pudenziana was
fashioned out of the hall of a shermae or bath house and a guardroom in
the Forum became the church of Santa Maria Antiqua.’
Constantine is reputed to have founded seven churches in Rome, of
which the most important were unquestionably St John Lateran and
St Peter’s. The Lateran was the official seat of the bishop and func-
tioned in effect as the cathedral of the city. Although rebuilt in the sev-
enteenth century by Borromini, a fair amount is known about
the

design of the original church." Parts of the building have been exca-
vated, some decorative fragments survive, and there are a number of
drawings made before the reconstruction. The most curious feature of
the architecture was the pair of projecting chambers at the east end of
the outer aisle, a sort of proto-transept. Their purpose is far from clear,
though they may have functioned like later sacristies or as places for
collecting the offerings of the faithful. The interior of the church was
filled with magnificent decoration. The beams of the ceiling were cov-
ered in gold, and near the entrance to the apse was a splendid ciborium
made of silver. Across the opening to the apse was a colonnaded screen
or fastigium, echoes of which can be detected in many other churches
throughout the early Middle Ages [12, 65].
St Peter’s has a more unusual early history. It lay outside the walls of
Rome and was not initially designed as a regular place of worship. It
corresponds to the site of a Christian cemetery, where the apostle Peter
had been buried after his execution. The church founded by
Constantine in about 321 or 322 AD was intended to cover his burial
place and to provide a shelter for visitors and pilgrims." St Peter’s was
also a cemetery church where Christians could bury their dead and cel-
ebrate their anniversaries. These were not necessarily the quiet, digni-
fied ceremonies that one might imagine, for the commemorations
involved banquets with plenty of eating and drinking. In the late
fourth century, for example, we know that the senator Pammachius
gave a feast to the poor in St Peter’s on the anniversary of the death of
his wife.!? Gradually, however, these activities waned and the church
came to be regarded almost exclusively as a great shrine built in honour
of the apostle. As the chief of the apostles, the first bishop of Rome, the
‘rock’ on which Christ had built his church, and the saint who held the
keys of heaven, St Peter assumed an immense stature within the
Christian world. It is no surprise that his church in Rome became one
of the most influential buildings of the Middle Ages. While not the
most distinguished monument of the Early Christian era, it was the
association with St Peter that mattered, not the quality of the design.
The reputation of the apostle guaranteed the building a vibrant future
as an architectural model.
Although demolished in the sixteenth century to make way for the
great church of Bramante and Michelangelo, drawings made both be-
fore and during the demolition provide plenty of information about
the architecture of Old St Peter’s [5]. The fourth-century church was a
huge structure, the top of the clerestory walls rising 120 feet above the
pavement. Flanking the nave was an imposing sequence of columns, 22
on each side, which varied both in colour and in size. The lack of con-
sistency in the dimensions is a sure sign that these were spoils, recov-
ered from some Antique building. As Krautheimer noted, the columns
were tightly spaced, and since their diameters ranged from three to

party uetreris Vaticane Basihek 2%
‘ as
eS wa >
=
5 Rome, Old St Peter’s, four feet, this must have produced a dense, solemn effect, not obvious
pounded ca lee in the ancient drawings. The classical dignity of the building was fur-
Drawing by Giacomo Grimaldi
(c.1620) showingsectionof ther enhanced by the use of horizontal architraves rather than arches.
the nave Either side of the nave lay a double set of aisles, separated from each
The contrast between the other by further colonnades. The nave and aisles alone contained some
arches in the outer aisle and 8eeolimne
the straight architraves cou. iy rae
flanking the central nave are In one important respect, the plan of St Peter's differed substan-
very apparent, so too the tially from other Early Christian basilicas. Between the nave and the
relative fragility of the upper : : ;
wells: apse was an extensive transept, stretching continuously across the
building [6]. It opened into the nave through a great arch, and at a
much lower level there were triple openings into each aisle. The
transept was a huge uninterrupted space, roofed at almost the same
level as the nave. At each end three arches led into chambers projecting
north and south beyond the main walls of the building. The purpose of
this transept has occasioned much discussion, but there is general
agreement that it must have had something to do with the shrine of St
Peter, located on the chord of the apse. Evidently it provided a conve-
nient space for those gathering to venerate the burial place of the apos-
tle. The shrine itself was identified by a great ‘baldacchino’ or canopy,
supported on twisted columns, forming one of the most memorable
features of the church. Although the ‘continuous’ transept of St Peter’s

6 Rome, Old St Peter’s
Plan
This plan shows the church as
itwas modified c.590 with the aes a es
insertion of a ring crypt under
the apse. The focus of the oo oe
church layto the west, not the

east as was normal in
Christian churches.
ESS ro
a ss
| 50
ips
100
1
150 feet
was unusual in the context of Early Christian architecture, it came to

be copied in a number of medieval buildings. It was one of the defining
characteristics of Old St Peter’s.
Before reaching the main doors of the church, the visitor had to pass
through a great colonnaded court or atrium, finished in about 390 AD.
In this respect Christian builders followed Roman precedent, for most
of the grander temples of the empire had been approached through a
colonnaded forum. Eusebius provided an elegant description of the
Christian atrium at Tyre, where there was a fountain, with an ‘ample
flow of fresh water’ so that everyone could purify themselves before en-
tering the church. Eusebius also explains that the atrium was ‘the first
stopping-place, lending beauty and splendour to the whole and at the
same time providing those still in need of elementary instruction with
the station they require’.’’ In Italy the atrium continued to be a feature
of church planning until the twelfth century. One of the most attractive
is found at Salerno, where the atrium was rebuilt in about the year 1100
with coloured marble inlays. Better known is the rather dour brick ex-
ample which precedes the Romanesque church of Sant’Ambrogio in
Milan.
St Peter’s was just one of several large cemetery churches that were
erected outside the walls of Rome in the fourth and fifth centuries."*
These were huge buildings, basilican in form, to which a variety of pri-
vate mausolea were attached along the sides. In some cases, as at San
Sebastiano and Sant’Agnese, a significant modification was intro-
duced to the basilican structure. Instead of the aisles terminating at the
entrance to the apse, they were continued around the apse as an ambu-
latory, an arrangement to be followed many centuries later by
Romanesque church builders. Most of the great cemetery churches
survive only as fragments, but one remained virtually intact until 1823
when it was badly damaged in agreat fire. This was the church built in
honour of St Paul, generally known as San Paolo fuori le mura
(c.382-400) [7]. San Paolo was obviously modelled on St Peter’s, for it

7 Rome, San Paolo fuori le was given a colonnaded forecourt, double aisles, and a continuous
mura, c.382-400
transept (though without the extensions north and south). Moreover,
Engraving by Piranesi, 1749
This enormous basilica, along the columns employed in the nave were spoils, the builders in this case
with Its painted decoration, managing to acquire examples that were consistent in size. In contrast
was badly damaged by fire in
to St Peter’s the columns supported a sequence of arches. Until the
1823.
middle of the fifth century the choice between arch or horizontal ar-
chitrave seems to have remained open, but thereafter arches became
the norm. This change, which marks a departure from the formality of
classical architecture, may have had something to do with the problem
of finding suitable blocks of stone for the architraves; but there is no-
doubt that, from a technical point of view, the arch provided a far more
effective structural form. It is possible that in some of the older basili- _
cas cracked architraves were already a cause for concern.
Throughout the fourth and fifth centuries Christian basilicas were
erected in many parts of the Roman Empire, both in the Byzantine east
and in the Latin west. At Trier, which had been Constantine’s head-
quarters before he became sole emperor, a pair of basilicas were con-
structed alongside each other. Further south the cathedral at Lyon
appears to have been a five-aisled basilica, and outside the town a ceme-
tery basilica was erected in c.500 with transepts and external porticoes.
In about 470 a huge church with 120 columns and 52 windows, almost
certainly some form of basilica, was built at Tours in honour of St
Martin. Following the conversion of the Franks to Christianity a five-
aisled basilica was erected in Paris under the auspices of King

Childebert (511-18). This was the cathedral of St Etienne, the founda-
tions of which have been discovered below the pavement in front of
Notre Dame.” In Spain traces of a fourth-century basilica have been re-
vealed under the cathedral of Barcelona and fragments of another
fourth-century basilica have recently been uncovered in central
London."
While the political fabric of the Roman Empire disintegrated dur-
ing the fifth century, the Christian Church continued to provide a
measure of unity and continuity. The seizure of power by so-called
‘barbarian’ kings from the north did not have an immediate effect on
ecclesiastical architecture, a point well illustrated in the buildings of
Ravenna. The city experienced three different regimes in just over a
century and impressive basilicas survive from each period. There were
certainly changes and developments, but the continuities are equally
striking. Situated close to the Adriatic coast of Italy, Ravenna was open
to eastern influences long before Byzantine troops occupied the city in
540. This is reflected in a number of architectural details found in the
churches: for example, apses were given a polygonal outer wall, an im-
post block was inserted above the capitals of the main colonnades, and
ready-carved capitals were imported from quarries in the Aegean.
These features can all be found at Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, erected
around 490 AD during the reign of Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths.
Theodoric, who had been educated in Constantinople, made Ravenna
his capital, building an elaborate palace there. Many of the features en-
countered at Sant’Apollinare Nuovo reappear 50 years later at
Sant’Apollinare in Classe, a church consecrated in 549 after the
Byzantine conquest of north Italy. Even without its full complement of
mosaics, Sant’Apollinare in Classe must be regarded as one of the most
beautiful of all the early basilicas, spacious in proportion, abundant in
its lighting, and sumptuous in its choice of materials [8]. The distinc-
tive marble of the columns, with its white diagonal streaks, was im-
ported from the East, either from Proconnesus or from quarries at
Hymettus in Greece.
After dominating church building in western Europe for over 200
years, the popularity of the basilica began to wane. The reasons for this
are not hard to discern. The basilica was introduced to cope with large
congregations in the populous cities of the Roman Empire, but by the
sixth century the Church was confronting a very different world. In the
West the empire had disintegrated and the provinces were now gov-
erned by new dynasties from the north, many of them pagan. The new
‘barbarian’ kingdoms were rurally based, and urban life was in decline.
Even in Rome there were huge demographic changes. A population
which is thought to have stood at 800,000 in 400 AD dwindled to per-
haps 100,000 in the course of a century. In these circumstances the
technological skills associated with brick or stone building were diffi-

# : * "
o
[<a]
<x
[4
4
SH = -
<2)
Mg
Q
[<2]
>
s
4
<x
mm i 3 %. ~~
: a
is)
oO
&
5 sa mae
[a | e F OTs Es,
[<2] Nur>
|
OF TT NOMET EMIS
0 Os
watt
= a | oO ca BE s Z Q < a 4 -
wn < 31
8 Ravenna, Sant’Apollinare cult to sustain, particularly in remote areas. Spacious basilicas were
in Classe, consecrated in 549
scarcely suited to rural communities with small congregations and lim-
Built following the Byzantine
reconquest of northern Italy. ited resources. Nor were they necessarily suited to the needs of monks,
With its richly-veined marble who were playing an increasingly prominent role in the life of the
columns, this is one of the
finest of all the early basilicas.
Church. Almost everywhere there was a drift towards relatively small,
The floor of the apse was simple buildings, divided into separate chambers or compartments.
raised in the ninth century Fragmented space replaced the unified interiors of the Early Christian
when a crypt was inserted
below.
basilica.
An impression of these developments can be obtained by a glance at
the architecture of Visigothic Spain and Anglo-Saxon England. The
Visigoths were already Christian (though initially followers of the
heretical teachings of Arius) when they established themselves in
Spain in the second half of the fifth century. Over the course of two
centuries they developed a remarkable architecture of their own, char-
acterized by the horseshoe arch and by the employment of large blocks
of superbly crafted ashlar, fitted together without the use of mortar.
There has been much debate about the origins of Visigothic architec-
9 San Juan de Bafios

(Palencia) c.661
This tiny church built by King
Recceswinth takes the form of
a miniature basilica, complete
with arcade and clerestory.
Note the horseshoe arches,
characteristic of Visigothic
building in Spain.

10 San Pedro de la Nave
(Zamora), c.691
Acruciform-planned church,
parts of which are covered by
stone barrel vaults. The
detached columns have a
strong entasis, suggesting that
they were recycled from a
Roman monument.
ture, and buildings in both Africa and Syria have been invoked to ex-
plain it. While familiar with basilican models, the Visigoths tended to
prefer the Greek-cross plan, with the side compartments taking on the
appearance of mini-transepts. There is, however, an intriguing adapta-
tion of the basilican theme at San Juan de Bafios de Cerrato (Palencia),
a church founded in 661 by King Recceswinth, a ruler who is best
known for the splendid votive crown bearing his name, discovered
amidst the Guarrazar treasure in 1858. The church at Bafios was in ef-
fect a miniature basilica, with small, reused columns supporting the
horseshoe arches of the nave, the latter not much more than 30 feet in
length [9]. The capitals are valiant, though rudimentary, attempts by
the Visigothic sculptors to reproduce classical Corinthian forms. Tiny
windows, filled with decorative stone lattices, allow narrow shafts of
light to filter into the interior. This was a far cry from the spacious
basilicas of Italy, and the curious plan of the east end, with mini-
transepts and eastern chapels, sets it even further apart. Intimate and
secluded, at Bajios the basilica was transformed into a very private
place of worship.
The chancel at Bafios was covered by a stone barrel vault, one of the
ed
first examples in medieval architecture. Barrel vaults were employ
more extensively in the Visigothic church of San Pedro de la Nave
1931,
(Zamora), a building which was moved stone by stone in 1930 and
Here the
when the valley of the Esla was flooded to form a reservoir.
equal
centre of the building is marked by a ‘regular crossing’, with
The central
arches opening towards all four arms of the church [10].
in
piers are embellished with monolithic columns, probably antique
masonr y of San
origin. Like other Visigothic churches, the exquisite
11 San Pedro de la Nave Pedro was decorated with a series of crisply cut friezes, comprising fo-
(Zamora), c.691, north wall
liage and abstract motifs [11]. Historians have for long been intrigued
of the chancel
Visigothic architecture is by the way in which Visigothic buildings foreshadow the emergence of
distinguished by superb Romanesque architecture four centuries later, for the decorative carv-
ashlar masonry and bands of
ing, the use of barrel vaults, and the presence of the ‘regular crossing’ all
crisply cut ornament.
seem to point to the future. How Visigothic architecture might have
developed we shall never know, for in 711 the Iberian peninsula was
overrun by Moslems from North Africa. Christian building came to an
abrupt halt.
As in Spain, the basilica had only a limited influence on the archi-
tecture of seventh-century England. In some ways this is puzzling, for
unlike the Visigoths the Anglo-Saxon Church maintained close con-
tacts with Rome and the Papacy. The first Christian mission had been
sent from Rome in 597 and throughout the seventh century Anglo-
Saxon churchmen looked to Rome for guidance and inspiration. The
abbot of Monkwearmouth-Jarrow, Benedict Biscop, who made five
visits to Rome bringing back books, relics, and pictures, had plenty of
opportunities to admire the great basilicas of the city. His churches
were dedicated to the Roman saints, Peter and Paul, and he even man-
aged to persuade the arch-chanter of St Peter’s to come to
Northumbria to teach his monks the Roman liturgy and chant.
Despite these contacts, most of the stone churches of seventh-century
England were simple, aisleless buildings, like the example that survives
at Escomb. There was, however, one Northumbrian church that was
evidently more ambitious in conception. This was erected at Hexham
by Wilfrid, one of the most colourful and controversial ecclesiastics of
his day, a man who had travelled extensively in Europe, with long stays
in both Rome and Lyon. The church at Hexham (672-8) had side aisles
(or ‘porticus’) and ‘galleries’, as well as a crypt (the only part of Wilfrid’s
church to survive), and the different levels of the building were reached
by ‘various winding passages with spiral stairs leading up and down’.””
The twelfth-century historian William of Malmesbury states that
Wilfrid brought masons from Rome and cited contemporaries who
claimed that at Hexham one could see ‘the glories of Rome’. Although
the precise design has been the subject of much confusion and argu-
ment, Wilfrid’s church appears to have been some form of basilica.
To the Anglo-Saxons, whose natural building material was timber, the
very use of stone was regarded as a ‘Roman custom’. While their mod-
est churches might seem far removed from the Christian buildings of
Italy, the mere fact that they were built of masonry was itself a huge
symbolic link.
In the south of England there are the remnants of a group of
churches erected not long after the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons to
Christianity. One of the finest was that built in the old Roman fort at
Reculver (Kent) in 669 by a priest called Bass, a church demolished as

recently as 1805 [12]. Although lacking aisles, it was furnished like
other churches in the group with side chambers or ‘porticus’. Its most
distinctive feature was the triple arch which divided the nave from the
apse, a simplified version perhaps of the fastigium that existed at St
John Lateran and other Early Christian churches.
In the history of the basilica, it is customary to see the sixth and sev-
enth centuries as a period of decline. The social consequences of the
fall of the Roman Empire and the scarcity of expertise that accompa-
nied it meant that in most parts of Europe this type of structure was no
longer a practical model, and there was a danger that it would become
obsolete. In the second half of the eighth century, however, the
Carolingian Renaissance brought a renewed vigour to Christian archi-
tecture, and with it a renewed status for the basilican form.
12 Reculver (Kent),
St Mary’s church, 669
Plan of the church
This Anglo-Saxon church was
demolished in 1805. Side
chambers or ‘porticus’ were
eventually erected around
three sides ofthe building.
Note the two columns which
supported arches atthe
entrance to the chancel and
the indication of a bench for
the clergy around the inner
wall of the apse.
0 5 10m
= = J
r = ia 1
0 10 20 30 feet

|
:
FI
| || |
* ‘: q x t¢ 3 ‘ k 3 F 3 ‘; i 5 3 > 3 , Hq ‘ i
pL
‘The Carolingian
Renaissance:
‘The Basilica
‘Transformed
The Benedictine abbey church of Maria Laach (c.1093-¢.1250) is one of
the more spectacular monuments of Romanesque Germany, its broken
silhouette of towers and turrets conveying the impression of a romantic
fortress rather than a church [13]. At first sight the building appears to
have little in common with the architecture of the Early Christian
world. In the hands of medieval builders the long horizontal form of
the early basilicas has been translated into a dynamic, vertically ori-
ented composition. In fact the design of Maria Laach demonstrates
very effectively the way in which the traditional basilica was manipu-
lated by medieval architects. Squeezed between the towers at each end
of the building is a basilican nave, flanked by the customary aisles and
illuminated by clerestory windows. A courtyard or ‘paradise’ in front of
the west portals furnishes an even more specific link with the churches
of late Antiquity. These traditional features provide a nucleus to which
have been added a variety of extra elements, most obviously the towers
many
and turrets, additions which it is easy to take for granted. Like
is a composite structure, an
early medieval buildings, Maria Laach
historian is to ex-
amalgam of separate parts, and one of the tasks of the
useful
plain how the various components came to be united. Indeed, a
el-
way of analysing medieval churches 1s to begin by identifying those
Maria Laach
ements which have been added to the basilican core. At
the transepts, the
the list would include the western group of towers,
stair turrets,
extended chancel, the western apse, the crypt, the eastern
of these
13 Abbey church of Maria and the crossing tower. To understand the origin and meaning
Carolingian
features, one must go back three centuries, to the so-called
Laach (Rhineland
Palatinate), begun c.1093,
in the history of
but not finished until the Renaissance, a period of remarkable invention
thirteenth century European architecture.
breed of
During the long reign of Charlemagne (768-814) a new
The addition of towers was one
of several features that
of Christian ar-
transformed the appearance confident and ambitious clerics redefined the nature
ty of building
of the basilica. The low chitecture. The scale of operations and the sheer quanti
it has been reck-
was quite breathtaking: in Charlemagne’s reign alone,
buildings in the foreground
~ -enclose a small courtyard in
were either newly
front of the church oned that some 16 cathedrals and 232 monasteries
37
founded or reconstructed.! The list includes the monastery of St
Riquier (also known as Centula), rebuilt by Angilbert, one of
Charlemagne’s friends and advisers. Designed to accommodate 300
monks, it was, as a later chronicler explained, constructed with ‘extra-
ordinary industry’ and ‘superb lavishness’ [18]. Equally ambitious was
Ratger, abbot of Fulda from 802 to 817, whose monks complained that
they were exhausted by his relentless building campaigns. They took
their complaints to the emperor, and so bad were relations with the
abbot that they compared him to a wild unicorn attacking a flock of
sheep. While Angilbert and Ratger may have been exceptional indi-
viduals, the Carolingian clergy in general displayed a remarkable de-
gree of enterprise, the impact of which extended to all parts of the
empire and beyond its frontiers. The passion for architectural renewal
is well illustrated by recent excavations at San Vincenzo al Volturno, a
Benedictine monastery 60 miles south of Rome, where the remains of
a Carolingian basilica have been uncovered within the last few years. It
was known that Abbot Joshua had embarked on a new church in 808,
but its site, some distance from the old monastic buildings, was hith-
erto unknown. In the early years of the ninth century, the process en-
countered at San Vincenzo was being repeated throughout the
Carolingian world. A spirit of optimism seemed to prevail, along with
the conviction that a new Christian order had arrived, feelings no
doubt encouraged by the improved economic conditions of the age.
How much was this due to Charlemagne himself? By consolidating
and extending the empire that he inherited from his father, by attracting
learned and intelligent advisers to his entourage, and by accepting an
ideology of power which looked back to the Roman past, the emperor
certainly influenced architectural developments, albeit in an indirect
way. When he acceded to the throne in 768, Frankish power already
stretched across much of western Europe. His grandfather, Charles
Martel, had dramatically raised the prestige of the Franks in 732 by re-
pulsing an invading Moslem army, and just over 20 years later his father
Pepin forged a crucial alliance with the Papacy in Rome. Charlemagne
himself undertook five expeditions to Italy, the first from 773 to 774
when he captured Pavia and crushed the kingdom of the Longobards.
By the time of his fifth visit in 800 the Frankish Empire stretched from
central Germany to northern Spain, from the river Elbe to the
Pyrenees. The relative stability which these vast territories enjoyed was
to a large degree the product of Charlemagne’s ferocious military en-
ergy and the wisdom of his administration, a stability which helped to
nourish the more grandiose architectural ambitions of the age. There
were however other factors at work, not least the extraordinary collec-.
tion of learned men who gathered around him (creating what in mod-
ern terms might be regarded as a cultural ‘think-tank’). Charlemagne
conversed easily with his friends and advisers—even when he was dress-

ing and putting on his shoes, according to his biographer, Einhard. He
enjoyed receiving foreign visitors, and his entourage included an extra-
ordinary mix of peoples from all over the known world. Fluent in Latin,
the emperor built up an extensive library, one of his favourite books
being St Augustine’s City of God, a text which could scarcely be de-
scribed as light reading. The Carolingian court was thus a place where
ideas were allowed to flourish and ambitious projects were given en-
couragement. According to Einhard, Charlemagne often took the lead,
commanding bishops and churchmen ‘to restore sacred edifices which
had fallen into ruin ... wherever he discovered them throughout the
whole of his kingdom’.’
On Christmas day 800 Charlemagne was crowned Roman Emperor
by Pope Leo III. The ceremony took place at St Peter’s in Rome, a
church for which the emperor had a special reverence. Soon after, his
royal seal proclaimed the event with a symbolic image of Rome accom-
panied by the inscription RENOVATIO ROMANI IMPERI, ‘the revival of the
Roman Empire’. Charlemagne made ‘four visits to Rome and there is no
doubt that he was impressed by the glories of classical Antiquity. But it
was the Christian era that was most admired, with Carolingian concepts
of power centring on the notion of an IMPERIUM CHRISTIANUM. Even
before he was crowned emperor, Charlemagne was being hailed as a
‘New Constantine’. By exploiting models from the Early Christian era,
artists and craftsmen helped to authenticate the imperial ideology of the
Carolingian court. Roman imagery was even transferred to Aachen, the
site of Charlemagne’s palace: a bronze she-wolf was carried across the
Alps and a bronze pine cone, like that in the atrium of St Peter’s, was set
up in front of the palace chapel. To complete the picture a bronze eques-
trian statue (of Theodoric, the Ostrogothic king) was brought from
Ravenna, along with a batch of marble architectural components.
In architecture this ‘renaissance’ was expressed in a variety of ways.
Charlemagne himself took a practical interest in the early churches of
of St
Rome, providing timber and lead for the reconstruction of the roof
Peter's. The Early Christian churches of Rome were copied by
Carolingian architects and the basilica once again became a dominant
type. In the monastery at Lorsch an explicit homage to Rome was pro-
a chamber on
vided in the form ofa curious three-arched structure, with
known as
the first floor, reached by stair turrets at either end [14]. Now
the ‘Torhalle’, this was not a gateway, but a free-standing monument,
n. The arches
the function of which has provoked considerable discussio
engaged columns, and the
are supported on Roman-style piers, with
While
building stands like a triumphal arch in the middle of a forum.
on, it is hard
the polychrome masonry conveys a rather bizarre impressi
the Arch of
to avoid the conclusion that the building was inspired by
ian era was seen as a
Constantine, a structure which in the Caroling
symbol of Christian triumph.
THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 39

THE CAROLINGIAN RENAISSANCE:
“pd
> |
><
“>
oo
ee
>< pa#
|
|ae
>
> apa
pa
pa
pe
“pd
p<|
| X}-
pd
ba
pa
14 Lorsch (Hesse), The most famous building associated with C harlemagne is his
‘gatehouse’ of the monastery,
palace chapel at Aachen (792-805) [37], a double-shell structure with
late eighth century
Inspired by the Arch of an octagonal core, modelled on the church of San Vitale in Ravenna
Constantine in Rome, this is (consecrated 547) [35]. The design was simplified, however, and the
one ofthe first structures in
Carolingian composition lacks the subtlety of the curved exedrae found
medieval architecture on
which engaged columns were in the Byzantine-inspired model. The cultural aspirations of
used. The patterns of coloured Charlemagne’s court are reflected in the classical details found on both
tiles may have been derived
from the Roman technique
the bronze railings of the gallery and the splendid set of bronze doors.
known as opus reticulatum. The design of Aachen became an architectural icon, intimately associ-
ated with the prestige of C harlemagne and notions of Christian power.
Although frequently copied in later centuries, it was an exceptional
monument, and the Carolingian contribution to church architecture
is
more explicit in the realm of monastic building, not least in the work of
Abbot Ratger at Fulda.
The monastery at Fulda had been founded in 744 by a disciple of St
Boniface, the Anglo-Saxon missionary who came to be venerated as
the apostle of Germany. By the 7gos a huge new church was being con-
structed in honour of the saint. It took the form of acolumnar basilica,
terminating at the east in an apse and with a crypt below [15]. While

Ratger was abbot (802-17) a huge transept was added at the west end of
the building, together with a second apse, designed to accommodate
the shrine of St Boniface. The fact that the transept was continuous
and located at the west end of the building (rather than the east) leaves
no doubt that the model was St Peter’s in Rome [6]. In fact the archi-
tect at Fulda went so far as to repeat the extensions at the north and
south extremities of the transept, as found at St Peter’s. The choice of
model is not hard to explain: the monks of Fulda were demonstrating
the status of St Boniface, the apostle of Germany, by equating his
shrine with that of the prince of the apostles in Rome. The Roman
flavour of the architecture at Fulda was maintained under Ratger’s suc-
cessor, Eigel, who in 822 laid out a new cloister, not to the south of the
church, but ‘in the Roman custom’ to the west, on the model of an
Early Christian atrium. Unfortunately none of this Romanizing work
is to be seen, for the church at Fulda was rebuilt in the Baroque style by
Johann Dientzenhofer at the beginning of the eighteenth century.
Long before the coronation of Charlemagne in 800, the
Carolingian church had established a close relationship with Rome.
For two years between 753 and 755 Pope Stephen II stayed in France,
spending much of his time in the abbey of St Denis, the church which
housed the tombs of the Frankish kings. One of the consequences of
this sojourn was the replacement of the Gallican liturgy by the Roman
liturgy, a change which involved a range of alterations in religious rit-
ual, chanting, and ceremonial processions. At St Denis the liturgical
changes encouraged Abbot Fulrad to transform the architectural set-
15 Fulda (Hesse), monastic

church, c.790-819
Built in honour of St Boniface.
The continuous transept at the
west end ofthe building was
derived from St Peter’s in
Rome.

16 Seligenstadt (Hesse),
Sankt Marcellinus and Sankt
Petrus, founded in c.831
North arcade of the nave
The church at Seligenstadt
was built by Einhard to house
relics brought from Rome. The
replacement of columns by
square piers became common
practice in the early Middle
Ages.
ting as well and between 755 and 775 he reconstructed his church in the
form of a large basilica. Like many Carolingian churches, Fulrad’s
building was furnished with a crypt below the chancel. The develop
-
ment of crypts, with their subterranean network of passages and cham-
bers, forms one of the most intriguing episodes in early
medieval
architecture, a development intimately related to the collection
of
relics and the elaboration of the liturgy (see chapter 7).
The monolithic shafts required for basilicas, as at Fulda,
St Denis,
or in the small basilica at Hiéchst in the suburbs of Frankfurt,
were not
always easy to obtain. An obvious alternative was to replace the
columns with square or rectangular piers, which is what
Einhard,
Charlemagne’s friend and biographer, did in the two churches
he
founded at Steinbach (827) [17] and Seligenstadt (c.831) [16].
A broad
pier offered solid support, particularly when the walls above were
made
of rubble. Although the technique was not new, a rectang
ular pier,

built of brick, ashlar, or even rubble masonry, became a respectable al-
ternative to the column. The visual implications were important, for
the smooth surface of the pier encouraged continuity with the wall
above; two centuries later this visual connection was to be further em-
phasized with the introduction of pilasters and engaged shafts, leading
to the compound pier of the Romanesque style.
Excavation has shown that St Denis may have had a second or
‘counter’ apse at the west end of the church, as was the case at Fulda.*
Given that most churches erected in the basilican tradition have a
doorway in this position, the arrangement at first sight seems very odd.
An apse at either end of the building 1s occasionally found in late
Antiquity—there are a number of examples in north Africa, for exam-
ple—and it became quite common in Carolingian architecture. The
church outlined on the famous plan of St Gall (c.830) [123] followed
this scheme, and so too did the cathedral of Cologne (consecrated 873).
The ‘double-ended’ scheme survived for several centuries in Germany,
and later examples include the church at Maria Laach [13]. One of the
more curious examples can be found at Essen, in a church (1039-58) be-
longing to a highly aristocratic community of nuns; in this case the
counter apse consisted of three sides of an octagon, the elevation bor-
rowed from Charlemagne’s palace chapel at Aachen, complete with
galleries. The advantage of the western apse was that it offered a sec-
ond liturgical focus, providing locations for two altars of equal status at
either end of the church. This reflects the growing tendency for
churches to multiply the number of altars within the building, a trend
which had been gathering strength since the fourth century. It also had
the advantage that northern churches could follow the exact arrange-
ments laid down in the ordines Romani, the liturgy of the Lateran basil-
these
ica in Rome, where the apse was located at the west. Despite
liturgical attractions, the counter apse never became a universal feature
end
+n medieval architecture, no doubt because its location at the west
conflicted with the preferred location for the main entrance.
It was during the Carolingian era that transepts became established
varied
as a standard component of Christian building, though they
transept’,
considerably in location and form. Fulda had a ‘continuous
transverse
- where the transept remained undivided, creating a great
[15]. Someti mes de-
block of space quite distinct from that of the nave
placed at
scribed as a‘T” transept, the effect is of two separate buildings
Christian
right angles. The prototype is to be found in the great Early
Peter’s and San Paolo fuori le mura
buildings of Rome, most notably St
l architec-
[6]. When a continuous transept was employed in medieva
d. The best
ture, a direct reference to Rome was frequently intende
not however
place to judge the effect of such transepts, which were
church at
widely employed after the Carolingian age, is in the ruined
a fire in 1037 or 1038."
Hersfeld, a Carolingian foundation rebuilt after
43
CAROLINGIAN RENAISSANCE: THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED
THE
17 Steinbach im Odenwald
(Hesse), St Marcellinus and
St Petrus, consecrated in
827
Plan of the church
Founded by Charlemagne’s
biographer, Einhard. An
extensive ‘corridor’ crypt
survives under the church.
(6) 5 10m
L 1 J
a Oh
6) 10 20 30 feet
A second form of transept, known as a ‘low transept’, is illustrated

by the church at Steinbach, which was built by Einhard, and conse-
crated in 827 [17]. It was designed to house relics of St Peter and St
Marcellinus, which had been brought from the catacombs in Rome.
According to legend, the saints were not impressed with their new
home and they managed to persuade Einhard to transfer their relics
elsewhere (they were subsequently transferred to Seligenstadt).
Steinbach takes the form of a basilica, with rectangular piers rather
than columns. The space of the nave ran unbroken through to the east-
ern apse; the transepts, which were roofed at a lower level, were entered
by arches opening off the final bay of the nave. They were thus very
much subsidiary elements in the design. By the twelfth century ‘low
transepts’ of this type had become relatively rare, though they survived
in the region of the Meuse and in some Cistercian churches.
The classic form of transept was the ‘regular transept’, centred on a
crossing from which four equal arches opened towards both transepts,
as well as towards the choir and the nave. In contrast to the continuous
transept, the space was divided, each arm having its own identity.
Regular transepts, combined with a well-defined central crossing,
eventually became the standard form in medieval architecture. There
are no well-preserved examples from the Carolingian era, though
many scholars believe this was when they became established in north-
ern Europe. One of the earliest surviving examples is that in the
Ottonian church of St Michael at Hildesheim (1010-33) in Saxony
[25, 26, 27].
But what exactly was the purpose of the transept? There is no
straightforward answer to this question, as both function and meaning
seem to have changed quite considerably over the course of time. The

continuous transept at St Peter’s and San Paolo fuori le mura helped to
define the area of the main shrine, providing a gathering point for pil-
grims and worshippers outside the main body of the basilica. But its
functional value came to be overshadowed by its associations with
Rome. As a piece of architectural ‘iconography’, it provided a visible
link with the great shrines of Christendom. In later centuries the con-
tinuous transept was exploited as a convenient location for additional
altars, usually through the construction of chapels in the eastern walls.
The eleventh-century church at Ripoll in Catalonia (c.1020-32) has a
huge continuous transept, inspired by St Peter’s, with no fewer than six
apsidal chapels. In most cases, therefore, transepts played a liturgical
role, either containing or providing access to additional altars. But
there is no doubt that the symbolical connotations of churches laid out
in the form of a Latin cross proved attractive to clergy from an early pe-
riod and there are many references to churches in modum crucis (in the
form of a cross). The precise layout did not matter much. An early ex-
ample of the practice came in 382 when St Ambrose laid out the church
of the Holy Apostles in Milan, stressing that it was meant to symbolize
the victory of Christ and His cross. With the whole structure embody-
ing a reference to Christ’s crucifixion, it is no surprise that such plans
became part of the very image of what a great Christian church should
be.*
The crossing tower, positioned at the junction of the nave and
transepts, was another feature that became established during the
Carolingian age. The reconstructed church at St Denis (755-75) had a
tower 30 feet high, and a rare example still survives at Germigny-des-
Prés, admittedly over a very different type of building. Crossing towers
provided an impressive visual accent, and their location, often close to
the high altar, served to pinpoint the main liturgical focus of the
church. They represent one of the more audacious structural develop-
ments of early medieval architecture, but as we shall see (chapter 6),
they were also a source of potential disaster.
Two circular towers dominated the church at St Riquier, as seen in a
famous eleventh-century drawing of the abbey, known through seven-
teenth-century copies [18]. St Riquier was burnt by the Vikings in 881,
to
so there is some doubt about how much of these towers belonged
Angilbert’s time.° The low outer crypt, seen to the extreme right of the
church, was definitely a later addition, being constructed under abbot
im-
Gerwin (1045-75). Nonetheless the drawing provides a spectacular
pression of a great Carolingian monastery, along with some precious
cov-
architectural details. In the foreground is a huge courtyard with
St
ered arcades, leading to two separate churches dedicated to
section, and
Benedict and St Mary.’ The main church had a basilican
ions
the low aisle and the clerestory windows are clearly visible (excavat
in the
have shown that the nave was considerably longer than it appears

SCLESIAR/VAB ANGILBERTO-APYD -CENTVL — oe
ae s —__ EKMATEI0'
2 161a-
18 St Riquier, also known as drawing). There were eastern transepts, probably furnished with gal-
Centula (Somme), built
leries. The church terminated in an apse (the curve identified by a
c.790-9 half
Engraving of 1612 based ona window), and this was preceded by a short chancel. Circular stair tur-
lost drawing of the eleventh rets were fitted into the angle of the transepts. The composition was
century
This was the elaborate
repeated at the west end of the building, giving the church a dual em-
monastery constructed by phasis. Indeed the structure at the west end of St Riquier appears to be
Angilbert, who belonged to the earliest known example of a ‘westwork’, one of the most dramatic
Charlemagne’s circle of
advisers. Excavation has
innovations of the Carolingian era.
revealed that another The term ‘westwork’ was invented in the nineteenth century to de-
courtyard, not shown in the
scribe what Carolingian writers called a castellum or turris at the west
engraving, lay immediately to
the south of the church. end ofa church. Although there are plenty of references to them in the

documents, the only Carolingian example to survive intact is that at
Corvey in Germany, built between 873 and 885 [19, 20]. The structure
at Corvey was heightened in the twelfth century, but it is not difficult
to distinguish the original rubble masonry of the ninth-century build-
ing. Approaching from the west, the facade is dominated by two square
towers and by a tall central porch, the latter projecting from the other-
wise flat surface of the building. On the ground floor is a crypt-like
chamber, its groin vault supported in the centre by four stout columns
with Corinthianesque capitals. To the east the chamber opened into
the main body of the church, long since reconstructed in the Baroque
style. Each tower contains a staircase which leads up to one of the most
impressive interiors of the Carolingian age, albeit much restored. It
consists of a huge central space, roughly square in plan, surrounded by
an aisle and (on three of the sides) by a gallery [21]. Square piers, with
moulded bases and imposts, support the arches which lead into the
aisles. A broad tower once existed above this upper chamber, creating,
along with the stair towers, a formidable external silhouette. The de=
sign is a more developed version of the scheme seen earlier at St
Riquier (c.799), the elimination of the round towers allowing for a
more compact and coherent plan.
The function of the Carolingian westwork has been debated for
over a century. German scholars have claimed that such forceful-look-
ing structures must have had a political dimension, arguing that west-
or
works were associated with the emperors, serving as royal chapels
even audience chambers. In support of the argument, it has been
at
pointed out that a type of westwork existed in the palace chapel
g
Aachen, where Charlemagne’s throne was located in the adjoinin
so, it is ar-
gallery. he emperor was the protector of the Church, and
19 Corvey (Westphalia),
westwork of abbey church,
c.873-85
Cross-section and plan of
upper chamber
The ground floor served as an
entrance passage, with stairs
inthe corner turrets leadingto
the upper chapel.

=Hloo} ro)< 2) a mal = a ra) i = z < ro 5) (a5) & a) (e)Bb 5 m4 a]
20 Corvey (Westphalia), gued, ‘the towers must be seen as symbols of power and justice’ (Hans
westwork of abbey church, Thiimmler).® Not all the churches with westworks, however, had im-
c.873-85
This is the only Carolingian
perial connections, and it is now accepted that these complex struc-
westwork to survive. The tures evolved from the liturgical demands of the Carolingian church.
upper sections were added in They were in fact an ingenious solution to the problem of how to com-
the twelfth century, as
indicated by changes in the bine an impressive entrance to the church with a liturgical focus at the
character of the masonry. west end of the building. At St Riquier the main upper chamber of the
westwork contained an altar dedicated to the Saviour, which became
the centre of attention on great feast days. The entire community
would gather here at Easter to watch the unfolding of the liturgy and
the drama associated with it. On these occasions a boys’ choir was posi-
tioned in the galleries: at Corvey ‘neumes’, an early form of musical no-
tation using letters of the alphabet, have been discovered engraved on
the plaster of the gallery walls. The ground floor at St Riquier con-
tained the capsa maior, a collection of 25 Christological relics, which
the faithful encountered as they entered the building. The westwork
thus functioned like an independent church, a sort of vertical shrine,
emphasized by the great tower above. In his chronicle of St Riquier
(1088), Hariulf tells a story of a monk named Hugh, who was sitting in
the choir stalls at the east end of the church when he heard ‘sweet
voices emanating from the tower where the altar of St Saviour was lo-
cated ... Lifting his gaze to this place, which was sanctified by the pres-
ence of angels and the Holy Innocents ... he saw a light filling the
whole tower’, which then spread across the rest of the church. The reli-
gious connotations of the westwork could not be more explicit.’
Although the westwork was a common feature of major
Carolingian churches, it is significant that only one ninth-century ex-
ample has survived. In its complete form with an upper chapel, as seen
at Corvey, it soon became obsolete. As early as 976 the westwork at
Rheims Cathedral, which like St Riquier contained an altar to St
Saviour, was demolished by Archbishop Adalbero on the grounds that
he wished to lengthen the nave. When westworks were erected in the
tenth century at Werden (St Saviour) and Cologne (St Pantaleon) sub-
stantial changes had been effected in the design. Instead of a crypt sup-
porting an elevated sanctuary, a single space now filled the main body
of the structure, and at Cologne this was linked to the rest of the
church. On the outside, however, the structures looked as impressive as
ever, the three (rebuilt) towers at Cologne forming an architectural
composition of immense power. The decline or rather the transforma-
tion of the westwork is best explained by changes in the pattern of wor-
ship: it was no longer regarded as a suitable setting for the altar of the
Saviour; instead the cult of St Michael, the saint associated both with
‘high places’ and the Last Judgement, came to occupy the space pro-
vided by upper chapels and galleries. In England a westwork con-
structed at Winchester (971-80) was evidently designed to house the
THE CAROLINGIAN RENAISSANCE: THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 49

(2)
wm
<q a4 <)ae = fe Q |> < < ia 1S) q Es ico)(2) BR =) m4 a
21 Corvey (Westphalia), shrine of the local saint, St Swithun. The construction of westworks,
westwork of abbey church,
along with crossing towers, belfries, and wooden spires, gave early me-
c.873-85, the upper chapel
It is now known that the
dieval churches a vertical élan that was lacking in the Early Christian
elevated chapel within the period. Compared with the unbroken horizontal mass of buildings like
Carolingian westwork
Santa Sabina, it was as if the main architectural emphasis had been ro-
contained an altar dedicated
to the Saviour, as at St Riquier tated go degrees.
Many variations on the theme of the westwork appeared between
the tenth and the twelfth centuries, especially in Germany, France, and
the Low Countries. The famous narthex at Tournus (Burgundy) is in
effect an elongated westwork, complete with two turrets as found in
Carolingian examples. In this case the large upper chapel was dedicated
to St Michael. One of the final echoes of the Carolingian formula can
be found in the twelfth-century church at Marmoutier in Alsace [22].
In many instances the two alternative solutions to the design of the west
end—the counter apse and the westwork—were ingeniously combined.
At Celles-les-Dinant (in modern Belgium), for example, an eleventh-
century tower, flanked by stair turrets; contains a choir complete with its
own crypt and side galleries. A more ambitious solution was to con-
struct a large apse projecting from the centre of the westblock, as hap-
22 Marmoutier (Alsace), west

facade of abbey church,
c.1150-60
The composition of a square
central tower flanked by two
smaller turrets continues the
tradition of the Carolingian
westwork.

23 Jumiéges (Seine- pened at Maria Laach [13] and St Gertrude at Nivelles. In the latter
Maritime), abbey church,
case the western massif has a central tower, with turrets north and
west facade, 1040-67
The projecting porch along south; the apse is preceded by a choir opening to the rest of the church,
with the chamber above have and hidden high above is a series of impressive domed chambers. There
antecedents in the Carolingian
westwork. Compare 20.
are many parallels for this type of structure amongst the Romanesque
churches of the Rhine and Meuse. The westwork was destined to leave
a complex and exciting architectural legacy, which far outlived the litur-
gical practices that brought it into being.
Specific features of this legacy include the tower porch, a chapel or
gallery over the doorway, and the concept of the twin-towered facade,
the so-called “harmonic fagade’ which became a fundamental ingredi-
re

ent of both Romanesque and Gothic design. In the case of the twin-
towered facgade the link with the Carolingian world is well illustrated at
Jumiéges, one of the more celebrated abbey churches of Normandy
(1040-67) [23]. Here the two western towers are separated by a porch
with a gallery above, the whole arrangement forming a sort of com-
pressed westwork. The projecting porch is reminiscent of that at
Corvey, underlining the Carolingian antecedents of the design. After
Jumiéges the twin-towered arrangement was repeated in William the
Conqueror’s church of St Etienne at Caen, whence it passed into gen-
eral use in Anglo-Norman architecture."
As the Carolingian Empire began to disintegrate in the later years
of the ninth century, monasteries in France, like those in Britain, were
exposed to the onslaught of the Vikings, for whom monastic settle-
ments offered easy pickings of food and treasure. Monasteries along
the Mediterranean coast were equally vulnerable to raiding Moslem
armies, while in the east the Magyars made a series of devastating for-
ays into the lands of the former empire, 30 of them between 898 and
955. Monastic chronicles are filled with reports of churches ablaze,
treasuries looted, and monks suffering violent deaths. San Vincenzo al
Volturno was one of hundreds of monasteries that suffered in this way:
on 10 October 881 the abbey was attacked by ‘Saracens’, and the horror
of the event has been underlined in the recent excavations, which have
uncovered the debris of a great fire and numerous heavy arrowheads
fired from a bow of Moslem type. Faced with relentless attacks, the po-
litical fabric of Europe disintegrated into a series of locally based prin-
cipalities. It was in Germany that a measure of stability was first
re-established, with the rise of the Ottonian dynasty in Saxony. Otto I
(936-73) gradually established control over the German duchies, and
his prestige received a huge boost when he destroyed the Magyars at
the battle of the Lech (955). In 962 he was crowned emperor in Rome.
Otto I was a hard-headed individual and his revival lacked the ideology
of Charlemagne’s. Nonetheless the Church prospered and it became
one of the main bastions of imperial power. Although based on the
legacy of the Carolingians, Ottonian architecture included a number
of new features, two of which can be seen at Gernrode.
The church at Gernrode belonged to a nunnery, which was founded
in 961 by Margrave Gero, Otto I’s lieutenant on the Thuringian march.
Although savagely restored between 1859 and 1865, the church provides
a good insight into Ottonian design [24]. There is a basilican nave, an
eastern transept, and a square-planned choir, with a crypt below. The
west end, which was remodelled in the twelfth century, originally hada
large upper gallery with circular stair turrets on each side. The two
most original features are the galleries which run the full length of the
nave and the presence of both piers and columns to support the main
arcades.

w al = [<> A ica} < < % O ae = i) oO = 5 a4) <a)
24 Gernrode (Saxony These galleries have attracted much interest. Although rare in
Anhalt), founded 961
Ottonian architecture, they became a feature of many of the great
Builtas a church for nuns by
Margrave Gero after 961. The churches of Europe during the eleventh century and their origin and
alternating supports of the function are hotly debated topics. Several Early Christian basilicas in
nave are subtly linked to those
the East were provided with them (including the basilica at Jerusalem)
in the gallery. Gernrode was
one ofthe first basilican and two fifth-century examples still survive at Salonika. They were
churches in northern Europe also present in one of the Early Christian basilicas at ‘Trier, so the con-
to include galleries.
cept was not unknown in northern Europe. It is not so much the origin
that presents a problem, but the purpose. How were the galleries used
by the nuns at Gernrode and why did they become such a fundamental
element in Romanesque churches? It has been claimed that in the
Byzantine world galleries were used by female members of the congre-
gation, but there is no evidence to suggest that this was how they were
employed in the West.
In many instances altars were located in the galleries, particularly
towards the east end of the church. At Santiago de Compostela, for ex-
ample, the author of the Pilgrim's Guide (c.1130) mentioned three altars, |
the principal one dedicated to St Michael. Research on the liturgy of
the early medieval church has demonstrated that upper chapels could
occupy an important role in the routine of worship: in some cases gal-
leries were used for antiphonal singing on feast days. But these require-
ments scarcely justified the enormous galleries found in Romanesque
buildings such as St Etienne at Caen [152], Ely Cathedral [142], and
Santiago de Compostela [101]. It has been suggested that in some of
the great pilgrimage churches galleries provided additional accommo-
dation, particularly during major celebrations, and one scholar has
even claimed that pilgrims slept there. However, without stepping to
the very edge (a dangerous undertaking), the eager pilgrim would have
found it difficult to get a view of what was going on below; indeed, the
low parapets would have posed a serious hazard when large crowds
gathered together (the palace chapel at Aachen was one of the few
buildings where the architect was sufficiently security conscious to
provide railings). An alternative explanation, in aesthetic and emo-
tional terms, is offered by the Pilgrim’ Guide. Having compared
Santiago de Compostela with a regal palace, the author suggests that
‘he who visits the galleries, if sad when he ascends, once he has seen the
pre-eminent beauty of this temple, is rejoiced and filled with gladness’.
The words in fact come from Tertullian, but the architectural feeling
appears genuine enough. While the purpose and meaning of galleries
in medieval architecture remain uncertain, they seem to have been a
mark of status rather than a functional necessity. Galleries were usually
quiet, secluded places, as a monk from St Martin's at Trier appreciated:
he retreated there to sleep off periodic bouts ofdrunkenness."
The second novelty at Gernrode, the insertion of a square pier into a
line of columns [24], may have had some structural rationale, though
RENAISSANCE: THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 55

THE CAROLINGIAN
25 Hildesheim, St Michael,
1010-33
Built under Bishop Bernward.
The unusual sequence of
columns and piers enhances
the sense of geometrical order.
the arrangement was probably valued as an aesthetic device. A solitary

pier in each arcade, acting like a punctuation mark, divides the nave
into two sections, a division which is carried through into the gallery.
The visual consequences of this are significant: in place of the smooth
horizontal flow found in a columnar basilica, one can begin to read the
elevation as a pair of vertical elements.!2 This ‘alternation’ of piers and
columns was exploited in a number of Ottonian churches in Saxony,
the best known being St Michael at Hildesheim (1010-33), where there
are two columns for each pier [25]. St Michael’s was founded by
Bishop Bernward, a colourful individual, who had served as tutor and
adviser to Otto IIT. The design of St Michael’s has a remarkable sense
of geometrical clarity, for the square space of the crossing is repeated in
each transept and is then repeated three times to establish the length of
the nave [27].1° The alternation coincides with this geometry, for the
three units of the nave are defined by the location of the square piers.
This visual definition of the space was to become a feature of the
Romanesque style.

1010-33
External form. The
arrangement of ‘masses’ at
both ends of the building was
a feature derived from
Carolingian architecture.
1010-33
Plan
A large crypt was built under
the western choir. Note the
manner in which the presence
of piers divides the nave into
three sections.
30 60 feet

Symbolic
Architecture
Large buildings for congregational worship were not the only architec-
tural requirements of the early Church. Baptism was an important cer-
emony, a solemn rite of initiation, which usually took place in a
separate building, or at least a separate room. In addition, following
Roman funerary traditions, private mausolea were required by affluent
and powerful members of the Christian community. Then there was
the desire to preserve the memory of saints and martyrs through the
construction of monuments which would glorify their achievements, a
class of building generally known as martyria. What unites these dif-
ferent categories—baptisteries, mausolea, and martyria—is that they
were almost invariably centralized in design, in other words the plan
was symmetrical around a central vertical axis. Simple geometrical
forms—squares, circles, octagons, cross shapes, and a variety of poly-
gons—were all exploited to produce designs which were remarkable
for their visual impact and subtlety. The forms adopted for each type of
building were not discrete; there were occasions when virtually the
same layout was employed for each of the three categories, despite
their different functions.
The geometrical purity of centralized buildings made them partic-
ularly susceptible to symbolic interpretation. As the medieval world
regarded almost everything in terms of symbol and allegory, architec-
tural forms were readily associated with specific Christian beliefs. In
many cases the symbolic meaning of the structure, in effect its ‘iconog-
raphy’, proved to be more important than its utilitarian function.
28 Fountain of Life
Unravelling the layers of meaning in medieval architecture has proved
From Gospel Book of St a complex process: meanings were not immutable, and, as modern
Médard of Soissons, early scholarship has emphasized, interpretation could differ according to
ninth century
the situation of the onlooker.
In the early Church baptism was usually administered by the local
Imbued with symbolic
meaning, a font surmounted
by columns like that found in bishop at Easter or Pentecost, the catechumens normally being adults.
Within the baptistery, the ceremony took place around a large piscina,
many early baptisteries
(compare 29) lies at the centre
of Paradise. set in the floor, with two or three steps allowing access down into the
59
water [29]. Once candidates had been immersed, they were anointed
and received a white robe to signify entry into a new, purified life. Most
baptisteries were relatively straightforward buildings, sometimes
square or circular in plan, though by the fifth century the most popular
shape was the octagon. In some cases alternating rectangular and semi-
circular niches opened off the central space, as at Lomello, south-west
of Milan [30]; elsewhere the octagon was incorporated into a square,
with niches set into the four angles. This was the case at Fréjus, in
southern France, where eight granite columns define the interior of the
octagon, above which is a circular drum and a dome. The more elabo-
rate interiors were furnished with blind arcades and engaged columns,
as in the Orthodox baptistery at Ravenna. Some baptisteries were
more ambitious in design, employing a double-shell structure, with an
interior colonnade: Such was the case at the Lateran in Rome, where
the baptistery had an octagonal core ‘defined by eight free-standing
columns. Perhaps the finest baptistery is that at Nocera, east of Naples,
where there is a tight inner ring, made up of 15 paired columns [29].
This belongs to the sixth century, and like most baptisteries it was cov-
ered by a dome.
The provision of a large water basin within a vaulted chamber has
led scholars to assurne that the Christian baptistery was adapted from
the Mediterranean bath house. While there are certainly parallels,
there are equally strong links with funerary architecture. This may
sound surprisingly morbid, but it is important to remember that dur-
ing the rite of baptism candidates experienced what was regarded as a
mystical death, being born again in Christ. St Paul in his teaching
equated baptism with Christ’s death and resurrection,! a link that was
made explicit when the ceremony was held at Easter. It is not difficult
29 Nocera (Campania),
baptistery, sixth century
Engraving by L. J. Despréz,
1783
The twin columns defining the
central space are reminiscent
of those at Santa Costanza
(31), though at Nocera they
lack an entablature. The
columns surrounding the font
add to the veritable forest of
columns inside the building.

30 Lomello (Lombardy), to see why the octagon became a favourite shape. Eight was a symbol of
Santa Maria Maggiore, regeneration—the world started on the eighth day of Creation—and it
was also a symbol of resurrection, for Christ rose from the dead on the
eleventh-century church with
baptistery attributed to the
eighth century alongside eighth day of the Passion. St Ambrose and other Early Christian fa-
The octagonal baptistery has a thers emphasized that, as a spiritual regeneration, baptism was repre-
sequence of semicircular and
rectangular projections at sented by the number eight. But the symbolism of baptisteries
ground-floor level. Although extended beyond mere numerology. The basin of water, often enclosed
much restored, the church is a
good example of the style
by a ‘ciborium or canopy as at Nocera, was interpreted as the Fountain
known as ‘first Romanesque’. of Life.2 The meaning is made very clear ina Carolingian gospel book,
Note the line of niches below in which a baptismal water basin, surrounded by eight thin columns, is
adored by the animals of Paradise [28]. Here was an allusion to ‘the
the roof of the apse at the
pure water of the river of life’, which in Christian teaching was equated
extreme right.
with the blood that Christ shed on the cross.* The symbolism of bap-
were
tism operated at many levels, which in the minds of onlookers
wedded to the architecture and decoration of the baptistery itself.
There is a heavy concentration of baptisteries in northern Italy,
ex-
where they are almost invariably built of brick. The distribution
into Dalmatia. North of
tends along the south coast of France and also
seem to have
the Alps baptisteries are rare and it is curious that so few
been erected in the seventh and eighth centuries, when mass conver-
north.
sions were taking place among the Germanic peoples of the
infant bap-
Perhaps the numbers were too great and time too short. As
tism gradually became the norm, separate baptisteries were abandoned
is clearly
and replaced by fonts set up in the nave of the church. One
SYMBOLIC ARCHITECTURE 61
di
i
hid
mae)
Pam
2
ey
a tesa
MSI
Mresdicnten

31 Rome, Santa Costanza,
c.350
Built for Constantina (d. 354),
daughter of the emperor
Constantine. Designed as a
mausoleum adjoining the
church of Sant’Agnese; recent
research suggests it was
erected on the site of a
baptistery.
32 Rome, Santa Costanza,

c.350
Plan
Centralized in design,
although a slight variation in
the spacing of the piers, along
with niches in the outer walls,
provides a subtle allusion to
the Cross.
marked, for example, on the plan of St Gall (c.830) [123]. Italian cities,
however, clung to the tradition of a separate building, and the towns of
Florence, Parma, Cremona, and Pisa built monumental examples’in
the eleventh and twelfth centuries. These were far grander than any-
thing required by the rite of baptism, a point which underlines the
strength of religious and historical tradition over the practical require-
ments of the liturgy.
Turning to Christian mausolea, the outstanding example in Rome
is the church of Santa Costanza, built for Constantine’s daughter,
Constantina (died 354), apparently on the site of an earlier baptistery.
Originally attached to the church of Sant’Agnese, it was designed on
concentric principles, with the central circular space being surrounded
by a colonnade, followed by an ambulatory, and, outside the main
walls, a circular portico (the latter now destroyed) [32]. The colon-
nade, formed of 12 pairs of Corinthian columns, has an extraordinary
dignity, like a group of mourners moving ina dignified, circular proces-
sion [31]. Sixteen clerestory windows throw light into the central
space, which is covered by a hemispherical dome. Although circular in
plan, the building includes a subtle allusion to the Cross: the arches on
the four cardinal points are slightly wider than the others, and they
correspond to apses set within the outer wall. Constantina’s splendid
porphyry tomb, which stood under the eastern arch, is now in the
Vatican museum (a copy remains in the church). While Santa
Costanza was a Christian building, its design owed much to the tradi-
tion of Roman imperial mausolea, not least the combination of the cir-
cle and the dome. Between the fourth and sixth centuries, similar
mausolea, though usually much smaller in ‘scale, were added to the
flanks of Old St Peter’s and other great cemetery churches of Rome.
33 Ravenna, mausoleum of Two well-preserved mausolea at Ravenna illustrate the variety of
Theodoric (d. 526)
centralized forms that were open to Christian patrons. One was built
Planned in the form ofa
decagon and built in ashlar about 424 (perhaps initially as a chapel rather than a mausoleum), for
masonry, with a roof made of a Galla Placidia, sister of the emperor Honorius. Constructed beside the
single block of stone, this is
one of the best-preserved
church of Santa Croce, its architectural interest is rather overshadowed
mausolea from the late by the fame of its mosaic decoration. It is built of brick, with a central
Antique era. A gallery tower, and its plan is that of a Greek cross. Very different in design is
originally surrounded the
the mausoleum of Theodoric, the Ostrogothic king, who died in
upper level. Note the joggled 526.
joints in the stones of the Constructed of ashlar masonry, unusual in Ravenna, it is a two-store
arches.
y
structure, with a ten-sided base supporting a cylindrical drum [33].
The exterior of the cylinder was originally furnished with colonettes
and arches, making it somewhat less dour than it now appears.
The
gloomy lower chamber has a cross-shaped plan, while the room above
is circular. The monument is celebrated for its domed roof, cut
out of a
single block of Istrian limestone, 35 feet across, a tour de force in terms
of
quarrying, carriage, and construction. The pierced spurs
around the
roof were presumably intended to help in lifting the stone, though
it is.

curious that they were never shaved off. Although the general shape
recalls imperial mausolea of an earlier age, certain details of the design,
including joggled voussoirs and the use of stone rather than brick, sug-
gest the involvement of craftsmen from the East. It.is worth noting
that the mausolea of Constantina, Galla Placidia, and Theodoric were
planned, respectively, on the basis of concentric circles, an equal-
armed cross, and a circle within a decagon, a geometrical range which
gives an indication of the diversity of funerary architecture in the Early
Christian world.
Closely related in design were the martyria, churches designed to
commemorate the burial places of saints and martyrs, to shelter their
relics, and to honour places associated with the life of Christ. During
the fourth century concerns for the memory of those who had been
killed or executed for their faith, allied to the new architectural confi-
dence of the Church, meant that martyria began to appear in many
parts of the empire. At Bethlehem an octagon, attached to a basilica,
was built over the grotto which marked the site of the Nativity, and in
about 378 another octagon (known as the Imbomen) was erected on the
Mount of Olives from where Christ ascended into Heaven. This had
an inner circular core, supported on 16 columns, encircling the foot-
prints of Christ, the latter miraculously preserved after more than
three centuries. The most sacred martyrium of all, however, was that
constructed over the tomb of Christ, the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.
The construction of a church on this site was no easy task. The rock-
cut tomb lay buried under a Roman temple, which first had to be de-
molished, a task begun in 325 on the orders of Constantine. For some
time the tomb was left in the open, covered only by a baldacchino, but
between 348 and 380 it was enveloped by a large centralized building,
known as the Anastasis Rotunda (anastasis being the Greek word for
resurrection).*
Unfortunately only fragments of this original building survive. It
was burnt in 614 by the Persian king Chosroes Parviz, and then in 1009
the Arab ruler Caliph Al Hakim made a systematic attempt to demol-
ish it. Reconstructed in 1048 under the direction of the Byzantine em-
peror Constantine Monomachus, the Rotunda was again ravaged by
fire in 1808. Despite this troubled history, descriptions by early pil-
grims, miscellaneous drawings, and a steadily accumulating body of ar-
chaeological evidence have allowed scholars to establish the broad
outlines of the building as it appeared in 380 and after 1048. As the
church was much copied in the West during the early Middle Ages, it
is important to distinguish the two main phases of its architectural his-
tory.
The Rotunda was designed as a double-shell construction, with an
outer polygonal wall and an inner arcade supported on piers and arches
[34]. The central space, enclosing the tomb, was thus surrounded by an
SB Ed =See Ba © Go bd: ed Bb = BR Bad ©EER Bel -Bee © it
Be elo S68 bee Sheed © bob ee ad© betes ae oC one bel oe ob
esl= 50 © be 2 ied ©one = bee eee © Beeb bee Cone eel=eee ee
Ss aedBd 0 eed ee eee Bee Bed” Bel ee > a (~b
34 Jerusalem, church of the ambulatory. There were 20 supports in all, 8 piers and 12 columns, the
Holy Sepulchre
latter over 23 feet high. Two piers were placed together on the four main
Plan of c.380. (1) atrium; (2)
basilica; (3) Rock of Calvary; axes, which gave the impression to some visitors that they formed a
(4) courtyard; (5) repository of solid stretch of wall with an opening in the centre. Between the twin
True Cross; (6) tomb of Christ;
piers came the columns, arranged in groups of three. The symbolism
(7) Anastasis Rotunda
The Anastasis Rotunda implied by the 12 columns must have been deliberate and it was certainly
housing the Holy Sepulchre not lost on later generations of pilgrims. The inner ring supported a
was linked to a courtyard,
wooden roof, conical in shape, apparently with a hole or oculus in the
beyond which lay a large five-
aisled basilica. centre to provide a direct link between the tomb and the Heavens. The
outer wall of the ambulatory included three apsidal projections, placed
on the northern, western, and southern sides, providing a discreet allu-
sion to the Cross, as at Santa Costanza. On the eastern side, the ambu-
latory was interrupted by a portico, which communicated directly with
the central space of the Rotunda. The portico opened onto a courtyard,
at the south-east corner of which lay the Rock of Calvary.
Substantial modifications were introduced to the design of the
Rotunda when it was reconstructed under Constantine Monomachus
in 1048. The main columns were reduced to half their original height,
and a gallery was inserted above the ambulatory. Both the ambulatory
and the gallery were vaulted in stone. The portico was replaced by a
huge apse, which was itself removed when the church was extended by
the Crusaders in the twelfth century. The present condition of the
Anastasis Rotunda, patched and remodelled over the years, is very dis-
appointing, giving little indication of the building that greeted the
Crusaders when they arrived in Jerusalem in 1099.
There is general agreement among scholars that the design of mar-
tyria owed much to Roman mausolea. The circular form, the presence
of niches in the wall, and the masonry domes can all be traced to this
source. In a funerary context the circle suggested both perfection and
eternity, while the shape of a hemispherical dome evoked thoughts of
the cosmos. As martyria were ‘the mausolea of the saints’, it was nat-
ural for Christian architects to exploit these well-established tradi-
tions. Often referred to as heroa, imperial mausolea were far more than

mere burial places; they developed into quasi-temples, which provided
a focus for the cult of the deceased emperor. The fact that some of these
heroa were associated with the enemies of the Church did not seem to
matter. Ironically, the huge domed mausoleum at Split, built for the
emperor Diocletian, a persecutor of Christians, has often been com-
pared with Christian martyria. But the architecture of the Christian
buildings drew on a far wider range of sources, particularly in the use of
‘double-shell’ designs, with interior colonnades and peristyles; these
invite comparison with palace architecture, garden buildings, and the
great bath houses, rather than with the traditional mausoleum.
Unusually complex in its geometry is the church of San Lorenzo in
Milan, built about 370. By this time Milan had become one of the prin-
cipal cities of the empire and it produced an exciting array of Christian
buildings. San Lorenzo, which was founded outside the walls of the
city, has a centralized plan of extraordinary beauty, composed of inter-
locking squares and quatrefoils. The central space can be read as a a
square, the corners defined by L-shaped piers, with arcades curving
outwards on each side. Surrounding the central core are ambulatories
and galleries. As Richard Krautheimer explained, ‘the double-shell
construction, the ensuing complexity of the spatial design, and the
overlapping views combine with the contrasts of light and shade to cre-
ate an interplay of superb richness’.° From the outside the silhouette of
the building was equally extraordinary, with the central dome (its orig-
inal form is unclear) rising between four corner towers. San Lorenzo
was substantially rebuilt during the Renaissance, and, while one can
appreciate the design, the interior has unfortunately lost its original
decoration and its ancient atmosphere. But what exactly was the
church built for? It does not appear to have housed the body of a saint
or martyr, so it was not a martyrium in the strict sense. Some authori-
ties believe it was an imperial chapel, an argument which is supported
by its apparent similarities to the ‘Golden Octagon’, a centralized
church founded by Constantine at Antioch (327-41). What seems clear
is that double-shell structures, with arcades that curved outwards from
the central space, had a background in palace architecture, specifically
in the design of imperial audience halls.
The ideas expressed at San Lorenzo were later exploited in a group
of buildings erected during the reign of the eastern emperor Justinian.
Hagia Sophia in Constantinople was the supreme example, but a re-
lated design was used for the church of San Vitale in Ravenna
(c.530-47). The church is said to have been funded by a local banker,
known appropriately as Julianus Argentarius. The interior has an opu-
lence worthy of the benefactor’s profession, and, with many of its mo-
saics and marble revetments still intact, its atmosphere of mystic
splendour is unforgettable [35]. The central octagon, which is defined
by massive piers at each angle, is surrounded by an ambulatory and
en ena ace
_ be
van el he
35 Ravenna, San Vitale, gallery, both originally with timber ceilings. Seven of the octagon’s eight
consecrated 547
sides open into monumental exedrae or niches, composed of superim-
One of the most complex
designs ofthe late Antique posed groups of triple arches. The effect is to create screens of curving
era, with its galleries and arcades, a dynamic feature which suggests that the central space is
‘billowing niches’ surrounding
the central octagonal space.
bursting out of its confines. The eighth side leads into a square chancel
The design is closely related to and an apse, adding a longitudinal accent to what is otherwise a sym-
buildings in Constantinople. metrical design. There has been much discussion over the issue of
whether San Vitale is a Byzantine or a western building. The marble
columns and capitals were evidently imported ready-carved from the
Byzantine quarries at Proconnesus and at least some of the mosaics ap-
pear to be by artists from Constantinople. The overall design must also
have come from the East. But some of the building techniques are local
and these include a curious way of constructing the central dome. This
is in reality an eight-sided ‘cloister vault’, formed out of a continuous se-
ries of clay tubes, in effect hollow cylinders of brick (the same method
was used in the Orthodox baptistery at Ravenna). San Vitale is the most
accomplished of all the centralized churches in the West, its simple geo-
metrical forms producing an interior space which is truly visionary.
The addition of a chancel, which compromised the logic of the cen-
tralized design, illustrates a widespread reluctance on the part of the
Church to place the altar in the centre of the building. Yet this was the
spot where the altar and its relics would have acquired most emphasis.
Instead the central space came to be used like the nave of a basilica.
Soon after it was finished, San Vitale was actually described as a basil-
ica, an indication that by the sixth century the functions of basilica and
martyrium were thoroughly confused. Initially the two architectural
types appear to have served different purposes. Basilicas were intended
for the regular liturgy of the Church, to accommodate large crowds
meeting for mass on Sundays and during Christian festivals, while
centrally planned martyria were erected for commemorative purposes.
The distinction, which had never been absolute, became increasingly
blurred over the course of time. In the Byzantine Empire centralized
buildings with domes eventually became the dominant form of church
building, while in the West basilicas began to absorb some of the fea-
tures of centralized buildings. Once ordinary churches began to ac-
quire relics of their own, they took on the commemorative functions of
the martyrium. Indeed one of the principal tasks confronting western
architects in later centuries was the design of appropriate settings for
relics within the context of a basilican structure. It is interesting to ob-
serve that in a few instances the problem was resolved by adding
a
complete rotunda to a church of basilican type, an arrangement already
foreshadowed in the fourth century at Bethlehem.
The baptisteries, mausolea, and martyria of the Early Christian
pe=
riod shared a common repertoire of forms, the majority of which
were
inherited from Roman imperial architecture. To appreciate these in-
7° EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

terconnections one only has to compare the mausoleum of
Constantina with the church of Santo Stefano in Rome or the baptis-
tery at Nocera, each consisting of a double-shell building, an inner ring
of columns, and a central dome. While this might seem puzzling, it is
important to remember that in allegorical terms the buildings had
much in common. Ideas of death, burial, resurrection, and salvation
were associated with baptism, just as they were with the graves of the
saints. Baptism and death, the two poles of Christian existence, were
thus firmly linked in iconographical terms, being represented by build-
ings that were centralized in plan and covered with a dome or vault.
Two and a half centuries after it was completed, the church of San
Vitale was employed as a model by the architects of the palace chapel at
Aachen [36, 37]. Charlemagne had visited Ravenna and it seems likely
that, at a personal level, he was deeply impressed by the architecture and
decoration of the church.° He evidently ordered his own version, trans-
ferring the architecture of Ravenna north of the Alps, just as he had
transferred more portable objects like the statue of Theodoric. San
Vitale was an ambitious model to take, and certain features of its design
were simplified [36]. The curved exedrae were removed and the triple-
arched screens were restricted to the gallery. Without the curve, the
columns of the upper screen hit the main arch of each bay in an arbitrary
fashion, a solecism that no classically trained architect would have tol-
erated. Yet only the most perceptive members of the Carolingian court
would have spotted these details; with its mosaics (now lost), marble ve-
neers, domed interior, and triple screens, the chapel must have seemed a
good approximation of the great church in Ravenna.
From the start the palace chapel was intended to be viewed as an
image of the Heavenly Jerusalem, as suggested by an inscription on the
interior cornice.’ It cannot be a coincidence that the circumference of
36 Ravenna, San Vitale (left),

and Aachen, palace chapel
(right)
Comparative plans
The ‘billowing niches’ seen at
Ravenna were probably too
complex for the Carolingian
builders. Note also the
different shapeof the outer
walls.
ARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE
37 Aachen, palace chapel, the inner octagon (measured along the inner face of the piers) comes to
completed 805 144 Carolingian feet, just as the walls of the Heavenly Jerusalem de-
Although simplified in design,
the architecture was inspired
scribed in the Book of Revelation (21:17) came to 144 cubits. The use of
by San Vitale in Ravenna, variegated marbles heightened the celestial atmosphere, which culmi-
which Charlemagne had seen nated in the dome, where the four and twenty elders were depicted
during his expeditions to Italy.
The quality of the materials, adoring the throne of God (Revelation 4:1-4). Charlemagne’s own
including the bronze of the throne was situated in the gallery, an elevated position halfway, it must
railing, is very evident.
have seemed, between earth and Heaven. Carol Heitz described the
arrangement as presenting a ‘pyramid of power’, demonstrating the
emperor's status both in relation to God and to ordinary mortals, most
of whom would have been restricted to the ground floor of the build-
ing.® The Carolingians thus adapted the architectural form of San
Vitale to a new context, using the design to express the ideological as-
sumptions of the imperial court. It is interesting to observe that the
double-shell scheme may well have originated in the palace architec-
ture of the Roman emperors, before being exploited for Christian
churches; in historical terms, therefore, it was a highly appropriate
choice for the design of a palace chapel. Whether or not Charlemagne
and his advisers were aware of this is an open question.
The palace chapel at Aachen was one of the most influential build-
ings of the Middle Ages, a popularity that had more to do with its asso-
ciations than with its design. As the burial place of Charlemagne, as
well as the setting for imperial coronations, it became both a dynastic
shrine and an icon of imperial power. The influence of the chapel oper-
ated in two distinct ways, producing visual copies and what might be
called ‘functional copies’. In several cases the plan was reproduced
quite accurately, as at Nijmegen in Holland and Liége in Belgium. The
example at Liége was commissioned by Bishop Notger (972-1008), ap-
parently as his private chapel and burial place. While this was a logical
use of the model, it is not so easy to explain why, during the eleventh
century, the Aachen design attracted the interest of nuns: the interior
elevation was repeated in convent churches at Essen, where it was used
for three bays of the west choir, at St Maria im Capitol in Cologne,
where one bay was employed as a screen across the west end of the
nave, and at Ottmarsheim in Alsace, where the entire plan was repro-
duced, albeit in a somewhat simplified form [38].° In each case the ar-
chitect must have travelled to Aachen to examine the prototype. At
Essen the nuns may have wanted to remind everyone of the convent’s
imperial connections, but the other nunneries were probably more in-
terested in the fact that Aachen was dedicated to the Virgin Mary and
possessed the remains of her shroud. The architecture of the palace
chapel thus came to be associated with a variety of ideas, not all of
which were connected with notions of imperial power or the heroic ex-
ploits of Charlemagne.
The English chronicler William of Malmesbury cited Aachen as
38 Ottmarsheim (Alsace),
abbey church, c.1030
Built to serve.a community of
nuns, the church was clearly
modelled on the palace
chapel at Aachen (37).
the source for a chapel at Hereford, which at first sight bears little re-
semblance to the supposed model. William explained that Robert,
bishop of Hereford (1079-95), built ‘a church of elegant form, having
copied for its design the basilica at Aachen’. Historians have for long
identified this building with a double chapel belonging to the bishop
that was demolished in 1737 and is now known only from engravings;
whether or not this was the building William of Malmesbury had in
mind is an open question.'° Nonetheless the building that survived
until 1737 is of great interest as its design is linked to a group of episco-
pal chapels within the German Empire, the so-called Doppelkapellen.
Roughly square in plan, the chapel at Hereford contained two storeys
linked together by an open well in the centre of the building. While the
rather meagre square opening at Hereford could scarcely be compared
to the great octagonal space at Aachen, the bishop could nonetheless
worship in the elevated position of the gallery, while his more humble
retainers gathered below. It was the hierarchical arrangement, conve-
niently expressing the social order of the time, that may have suggested
the comparison with Aachen.
Within the empire the concept of the double chapel was well estab-
lished by the end of the eleventh century, when it became a common
formula for both imperial and episcopal chapels, no doubt because
of
the supposed connection with Charlemagne. There are (or were) ex-
amples at Goslar, Speyer, and Mainz, along with another in the
castle
at Nuremburg. The twelfth-century chapel of St Godehard at Mainz
74. EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

39 Mainz Cathedral, St
Godehard’s chapel, twelfth
century
Acharacteristic example of
the German Doppelkapelle, in
which a ground-floor chapel
was linked by a central
openingto the upper level.
is characteristic of the group [39]: roughly square in plan, each floor is

divided into nine bays by four piers or columns; both storeys are
vaulted but the centre bay of the ground floor is left open, connecting
the two levels, as was the case at Hereford. A small chancel with an
apse opens to the east. A more sophisticated Doppelkapelle exists at
Schwarzrheindorf, where it formed part of a castle belonging to Count
Arnold von Wied (archbishop of Cologne, 1151-6). The original design
had a cruciform plan, but shortly before Arnold’s death the chapel
passed to a community of nuns, who compromised the centralized em-
phasis by adding a short nave. In this case the two floors of the building
are connected by an octagonal opening. With its external arcades and
galleries, the chapel at Schwarzrheindorf is like a miniature version of
the great Romanesque churches of the Rhineland, though this local
identity should not obscure the fact that in its plan it belongs to a class
of buildings whose ultimate pedigree can be traced back to the palace
chapel at Aachen.
The square plan, with four internal piers or columns, as seen in
many of the German Doppelkapellen, provides the core of the brick-
built church belonging to the fortress at Kalundborg (Denmark) [40].
However, the parallels cease at this point, for Kalundborg did not have
two storeys and its plan was extended in each direction to form a Greek
cross. Four slender granite columns in the centre support a square
tower, and four other towers, octagonal this time, rise from the extrem-
ity of each arm to produce asilhouette which is one of the most memo-
40 Kalundborg (Denmark),
church of Our Lady, late
twelfth century
Founded by Esbern Snare.
Built in brick in the form of a
Greek cross, with a central
tower and four corner towers.
The church was extensively
rebuilt in the nineteenth
century, following the collapse
of the central tower.
rable architectural sights in Europe. Its builder, Esbern Snare, was par-
ticularly agitated by the fall of Jerusalem to the Moslems in 1187 and his
church at Kalundborg managed to convey an emphatic image of mili-
tant Christianity.
The most frequently copied building in medieval Europe was not in
fact the chapel at Aachen but the church of the Holy Sepulchre in
Jerusalem. The copies usually take the form ofa rotunda, with an inner
space separated from an ambulatory by a ring of columns. The ‘round
church’ at Cambridge (c.1125) is a good example of the genre. In this
case the inner core is supported on eight stout Romanesque columns,
with a low gallery anda clerestory above [41], reflecting the three levels
found at Jerusalem after 1048. The fact that the number of columns
rarely coincided with the number used in Jerusalem did not seem to be
a matter of concern (it is worth remembering that there were 12 in the
Holy Sepulchre until 1009, 14 after the rebuilding of 1048). The
builders at Neuvy-Saint-Sépulcre (Berry) managed to produce an
inner ring with 1 columns, which is difficult to explain unless they
were relying on reports of pilgrims who could not count. Perhaps the
most puzzling ‘copy’ is that erected by Bishop Meinwerk of Paderborn
in 1036. He had taken the trouble to send an emissary to the Holy Land
to collect the measurements, but the building that emerged was a
cru-
ciform structure without an ambulatory, bearing no apparent relation-
ship to the supposed model."
In 1942 Richard Krautheimer attempted to explain these inconsis-

41 Cambridge, St Sepulchre,
c.1130
Engraving by Rupricht Robert
Furnished with massive is
cylindrical piers, typical of
Anglo-Norman Romanesque,
its centralized form alludes to
the Anastasis Rotunda In
Jerusalem (34).
tencies in a study that has proved highly influential.’ He argued that

imitation was a selective process and that in the minds of the medieval
clergy a few points of resemblance were sufficient to make a connec-
tion. This might include copying certain measurements, or repeating
the number of the piers, or incorporating an ambulatory and gallery,
but not necessarily reproducing them all. The essential requirements
were that the building should be round or polygonal and include a ded-
ication to the Holy Sepulchre. Krautheimer’s argument put an intel-
lectual gloss on the distinctions, some of which can be explained in
more prosaic terms. At Paderborn for example the bishop chose the
wrong moment to copy the Holy Sepulchre, for it had been almost
obliterated by Caliph Al Hakim 25 years before. Medieval builders
could make reasonably accurate copies when the opportunity arose—
witness the unknown architect at Ottmarsheim. The problem with the
Holy Sepulchre was that it was so far away and builders had to depend
on the rather amateurish recollections of clergy and other pilgrims.
But why were the clergy and their patrons keen to reproduce the
church of the Holy Sepulchre? One reason is that by repeating the
physical setting of the Resurrection they could encourage devotion to
liturgy,
one of the central mysteries of the Christian faith. The Easter
Passion and Resurrection, must
with its dramatic re-enactments of the
have had a special intensity in such a setting. Moreover, by construct-
ing an image of Jerusalem, the copies allowed everyone to share in the
the
spiritual benefits of pilgrimage, without having to experience
42 Almenno (Lombardy), San rigours of the journey. At Bologna several of the holy places at
Tomaso, twelfth century
Jerusalem were replicated, not just the Anastasis Rotunda.’ This was a
Although the function and
early history of this Lombard medieval equivalent of a modern theme park, allowing visitors to move
church remains unclear, it through a cluster of buildings and courtyards as if touring Jerusalem it-
shares many of the features
associated with copies of the
self. A twelfth-century polygonal church, which represented the
Anastasis Rotunda. Inside, the Anastasis, is a double-shell structure, best known for the exotic pat-
central space is defined by terns of coloured brickwork on its exterior walls. As was normally the
eight columns and there is a
gallery above the surrounding
case in such copies, it contained a model of the tomb of Christ. Exotic
aisle. Note the series of square masonry is a feature of another copy of the Anastasis Rotunda, the fa-
putlog holes used to take the mous baptistery at Pisa, designed with marble stripes by the master
scaffolding.
mason Dhiotisalvi in 1153. What makes the comparison with the Holy
Sepulchre unusually precise in this case is the steep conical roof, which
still survives within the outer dome. As we have already observed, bap-
tism and resurrection were closely related in Christian thinking, so the
choice of the Holy Sepulchre as a model was not inappropriate.
Attempts to assess the influence of the Anastasis Rotunda are com-
plicated by the fact that many circular churches were not dedicated to
the Holy Sepulchre and have no documented link with Jerusalem. The
church of San Tomaso at Almenno near Bergamo is an example. This
is a delightful building, its exterior mass composed of three diminish-
ing cylinders, its walls articulated by a sequence of engaged shafts [42].
The smallest ‘cylinder’ at the top forms a cupola which rises from the
central dome. Inside there is a ring of eight columns, and both the am-
bulatory and gallery are stone vaulted. A small chancel opens to the
east. The history of the church is obscure and, as with other rotundas in
northern Italy, a formula ultimately derived from the Holy Sepulchre
may have been overlaid with other more local meanings.
A further complication is the fact that even when medieval
churches were dedicated to the Holy Sepulchre they were not neces-
sarily modelled on the prototype in Jerusalem. At Torres del Rio
(Navarre) there is an octagonal church (c.1200), beautifully articulated
on the exterior with blind arcades and engaged shafts, which, despite a
dedication to the Holy Sepulchre, owes nothing to the Anastasis. It
contains a spectacular vault with intersecting ribs, clearly derived from
the Islamic architecture of southern Spain [43]. More intriguing is the
church of La Vera Cruz (dedicated in 1208), constructed on a rocky
plateau outside Segovia, a site which must have been chosen because of
its analogies with Calvary. In this case an inscription confirms the ded-
ication to ‘the blessed sepulchre’. The plan is based ona dodecagon, the
outer wall broken by three apses which open to the east. Instead of an
inner ring of piers or columns, there is what initially appears to be a
huge hollow pier in the centre, also shaped as a dodecagon [44]. This is
a ‘model’ of the tomb, designed with two storeys, stairs leading up toa
tiny chapel on the upper level. The surrounding space is covered by a
continuous annular barrel vault.!* The hollow central pier also appears
74s) EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

Bs
a
i
E s%
ia
&
oe
i @
e
a=
43 Torres del Rio (Navarre),
c.1200
Despite a dedication to the
Holy Sepulchre, this octagonal
building has little resemblance
to the Anastasis Rotunda,
apart from the centralized
plan. The unusual display of
ribs under the dome is clearly
derived from Islamic
prototypes in southern Spain.
44 Segovia, La Vera Cruz,

c.1200
The church is situated outside
the walls of the ancient town,
its dedication to the true cross
suggesting a link with the Holy
Land. The unusual structure
in the centre of the building
was evidently intended as a
model of the tomb of Christ.

at Osterlars in Denmark, one of a group of circular churches on the is-
land of Bornholm.’ These formidable tower-like churches have usu-
ally been interpreted in military terms, but it is not impossible that the
circular form was inspired by visits to the Holy Land, like that under-
taken by King Sigurd between 1107 and 111.
By the twelfth century centralized plans were thus being exploited
in a variety of contexts, as private chapels, as churches dedicated to the
Holy Sepulchre, and as funerary chapels. The schemes employed were
equally varied, from double-shell rotundas to simple octagons and cir-
cles. In some cases the buildings attained a geometrical purity normally
associated with Renaissance architects such as Bramante or Giuliano
da Sangallo: the tiny funerary chapel at Montmajour (Provence),
planned as a perfect quatrefoil, is a good example.
One final category of centralized buildings, usually interpreted ex-
clusively in utilitarian terms, is the monastic lavabo. During the
twelfth century many Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries erected
separate pavilions in the cloister to house the water fountain, where the
monks washed before proceeding into the refectory. At first sight it
seems odd that so much prominence was given to a building that was in
effect the bathroom. Washing was, however, an act of purification,
which awakened memories of baptism; moreover, it seems likely that
the continuous flow of water in the lavabo was associated with the
Fountain of Life, the means of salvation. To monastic communities the
lavabo offered a range of symbolical connotations. Such buildings
could be planned as a square or a hexagon, though the most common
form was the octagon, as with the ancient baptisteries. There is a richly
decorated example in the Cistercian monastery at Mellifont in Ireland,
where the very name of the monastery, Fons Mellis (Fount of Honey),
awakened thoughts of Paradise. When building their lavabo (about
1210), the Irish monks, without perhaps realizing it, were drawing on
an architectural iconography that was at least seven centuries old.
Secular
Architecture in the
Age of Feudalism
In 864 Charles the Bald, king of the western Franks, issued an order
that anyone who had made ‘castles and fortifications and enclosures
without our permission shall have them demolished by rst August’, a
command that represents one of the earliest indications of the exis-
tence of castles in the sense in which they came to be known in the
Middle Ages.' The rise of the castle, which has traditionally been de-
fined as the fortified residence of an independent lord, was a direct
consequence of feudalism, the social structure which emerged in
Europe following the disintegration of the Carolingian Empire. The
switch from communal, urban defence to private fortifications in the
countryside represents one of the fundamental distinctions between
late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. As power descended to local level,
the castle became the principal means through which a military aris-
tocracy exerted its authority.
When considering the design of their castles, medieval lords had a
fairly consistent set of requirements: a decent hall was needed for feast-
ing and entertaining, along with private sleeping quarters, a kitchen,
and a chapel. There was also a need for workshops and stables, the lat-
ter best located in a fortified courtyard or ‘bailey’, where horses could
45 Dover Castle
be watered and fed in safety. As a mark of status, at least one tower was
View from the north. The outer essential. But the way these requirements were expressed varied enor-
curtain wall belongs to the mously and there is little sign of the consistency of layout seen meccle=
siastical architecture. Most castles were in fact an amalgam of separate
early thirteenth century, but
the inner curtain, defended by
square flanking towers and a buildings, erected at different times by different owners, forming an
twin-towered gateway, was agglomeration of structures rather than a single monument. The pref-
erence for sites with natural fortifications, on a cliff edge or rocky out-
built late in the reign of King
Henry Il (1154-89). Beyond is
the great keep, constructed at crop, was a further impediment to unified planning. This was the case
enormous expense in the
at Loarre, a fortress built in the eleventh century by the kings of
Aragon, close to the frontiers with the Moslem world [46]. Here the
1180s. In the distance is the
Anglo-Saxon church of St
a
Mary-de-Castro. The lower original castle included two rectangular towers, which, together with
years of
chapel, were enclosed by various curtain walls. In the closing
parts of the tower to the right of
the church belonged to a
Roman lighthouse. the eleventh century a more impressive chapel was added outside the
83
46 Loarre Castle (Aragon),
eleventh century
The irregular layout of walls
and towers was conditioned
by the mountain location.
original enceinte (enclosure), the new chapel taking the form of a sub-
stantial Romanesque church, covered with a dome.? In its parched
mountain setting, Loarre illustrates the sort of additive and frag-
mented approach to building encountered almost everywhere in the
castles of the early Middle Ages.
This lack of consistency is one reason why the study of castles has
never been given much prominence in books on architecture. They
have been seen as robust, functional buildings, in which design was
dictated by defensive rather than visual considerations. They appear to
lack the sophistication of contemporary Romanesque churches, giving
the impression that there was a fundamental difference in quality be-
tween secular and religious architecture. While castle builders cer-
tainly had different priorities, the distinctions were not as acute as
sometimes imagined. Part of the problem is the lack of continuity:
whereas churches have remained in use, castles generally survive as
ruins, the bare rubble walls leaving a lot to the imagination. In most
cases all the internal fittings have gone—floors, roofs, doors, external
timber hoardings, drawbridges ete.—making it difficult to compre-
hend the original form. As for the many hundreds of wooden castles
that once existed, they have vanished altogether. In recent years the
main emphasis of castle studies has been to recover the design of indi-
vidual monuments and to establish sequences of construction, chiefly
through archaeological investigation. In this world of detailed analysis
and careful reporting, general architectural issues relating to design,
planning, proportional relationships, and the use of decoration,
as well
as the symbolic and romantic associations of the buildings, have
often
been overlooked. Medieval lords took great pride in their castles
and.
we should not take the appearance of their buildings for granted.
One proud owner was William d’Albini, a Norman magnat
e who

47 Castle Rising (Norfolk), constructed a magnificent keep at Castle Rising (Norfolk), one of the
c.1140 . finest dwellings to be built in twelfth-century England [47]. Like
Keep built by William d’Albini.
The entrance and stair
many such keeps, it takes the form of a rectangular block, built of rub-
passage are embellished with ble masonry with cut-stone dressings. The exterior walls are articu-
an array of Romanesque lated by pilasters and there is a substantial sloping plinth, conveying an
ornament.
impression of enduring solidity. The entrance is contained in a fore-
building. To reach the main floor one climbs a broad staircase, pro-
tected by three separate doors, before reaching a vestibule. This has a
decorated doorway (now blocked) which opened into a spacious hall,
served at the far end by a kitchen and buttery. Alongside the main hall
is a smaller, more private chamber, and to one side of this is an ornate
chapel, complete with its own nave and chancel [48]. The building is
well supplied with garderobes, both public and private, their shutes
neatly fitted into the thickness of the walls. The whole structure is the
result of thoughtful planning, with the requirements of aristocratic liv-
ing neatly integrated into one rectangular shell. But there was more to
Castle Rising than security and domestic convenience; it was intended
IN THE AGE OF FEUDALISM 85

SECULAR ARCHITECTURE
48 Castle Rising (Norfolk),
goa as
c.1140
Plan of the keep at first floor
level isin ;
Note the elaborate door
leading into the hall and the
chapel fitted alongside the
main chamber. Great hall
First floor
to look impressive and the design incorporated many features usually

associated with church architecture: Romanesque decoration around
the doorways, pilasters articulating the walls, intersecting wall arcades,
sculptured corbels, as well as stone vaults, all demonstrating that there
was nothing uniquely ecclesiastical about the Romanesque style. In
1138 William d’Albini had married Queen Alice, widow of King Henry
I, and, as a local chronicler explained, this had a dramatic effect on his
lifestyle: “William now became intolerably puffed up, would recognize
no one as his peer, and looked down upon every other eminence in the
world except the king’.’ The keep at Castle Rising was designed as a
house fit for a queen, a visual proclamation of William’s new-found
status.
‘Keep’ has long been a favourite term in castle studies, but the word
was unknown in the Middle Ages. At that time such buildings were’
usually described as ¢urris or magna turris. Nowadays a keep is assumed
to be a well-fortified tower, providing the ultimate point of defence
within a castle, an interpretation which places too much emphasis
on
its military functions. The French term donjon (derived from the Latin
dominium meaning lordship) is more instructive since it conveys the
idea that such towers were intended as a demonstration of power.
Even
when castles were built of timber, as most were until the twelfth
cen-
tury, an essential ingredient was a substantial tower, frequently
placed
at the summit of an earthen motte. The political connotations
were
quite explicit: a French chronicler described how Seguin,
lord of
Chatillon-Coligny (Loiret), built ‘a tower of wood’, adding the
words.
‘for he was a powerful man’.* This was in the ro6os. The upper
storeys
at Chatillon-Coligny contained an apartment for Seguin and his fam-

TAS
Mey
ae a
\ Gerae?
BAYEUX
OF
CITY
THE
PERMISSION
SPECIAL
BY
REPRODUCED
49 Bayeux tapestry, ily, with cellars and chambers of various sorts underneath. A tower was
c.1066-82 (detail) thus a defining characteristic of a castle, though the way such towers
King Harold feasting at
Bosham before his voyage to were designed and the uses to which they were put varied enormously.
France. The action evidently At one extreme were the great stone keeps like those at Loches [50],
takes place in a ‘first-floor
Falaise, Caen, Rochester, Dover [45], and Castle Rising, where a sin-
hall’, reached by an external
staircase and constructed gle multi-purpose building contained a network of domestic cham-
above what may have been bers, as well as a hall and chapel. Then there were more modest towers,
intended as a vaulted
basement.
designed for residence, but with just a single room on each floor, a type
sometimes described as a chamber or ‘solar’ keep. Finally there were
towers designed almost exclusively for defence and military display,
without fireplaces or latrines, like the Bergfriede of Germany, which
were never intended as living accommodation.
From an architectural point of view, most interest centres on the
huge rectangular keeps of France and England, where the integration
of residential needs into a single building called for a high degree of or-
ganization and planning. A crucial monument is the Tower of
London, the so-called ‘White Tower’, founded as a royal residence by
William the Conqueror, probably in 1078. This was a gigantic struc-
ture, measuring 118 by 107 feet (externally), and rising to a height of go
feet. At ground level the walls were 15 feet thick. No secular building on
this scale had been seen in England since the fall of the Roman Empire
left
and, by casting a shadow over the city of London, the citizens were
in no doubt about the authority of the new Norman regime. In the
twelfth century it was appropriately described by William FitzStephen
as an ‘arx palatium, a palatial fortress. The design of the White ‘Tower
established the fundamentals of the English keep: the rectangular plan
with corner turrets, external pilasters, a cross wall to provide support

for the floors and roofs, wall passages, and the incorporation of a hall
and a chapel. At the White Tower the chapel took the form of a large
barrel-vaulted church, terminating in an apse which projected outside
the building. A similar keep, on an even larger scale, was built at
Colchester, and over the course of the next hundred years there fol-
lowed a succession of related designs, culminating in Henry II's keep at
Dover in the 1180s [45]. None were planned in exactly the same way
and in some cases the hall was given particular emphasis. At Rochester,
for example, the central spine was replaced by Romanesque arches, al-
lowing the hall to encompass the full width of the building; it also rose
through two storeys, so that a gallery could be built around the upper
walls like the clerestory passages in a contemporary church. A similar
arrangement can be found at Castle Hedingham (Essex), but in this
case the spine wall: was replaced by a single arch [137]. Clothed
throughout in ashlar masonry, and relatively tall in proportion, Castle
Hedingham is the most elegant of the English keeps. But it remains a
puzzling building. There are no private chambers and it is difficult to
see how it could have functioned as a residence, for most of the space is
occupied by the splendid hall. Built by Aubrey de Vere at about the
time he was created earl of Oxford (1142), it was evidently intended pri-
marily for show.°
There has been much speculation about the origin of the residential
or ‘hall’ keep. It has been argued that it was a Norman invention, de-
vised after the conquest of England in 1066; it has also been suggested
that it evolved from timber towers, some ofwhich are known to have
been structures of great complexity. A wooden castle at Ardres, de-
signed by a carpenter called Louis in 117, included a series of private
rooms, as well as a kitchen and a chapel, all apparently fitted into a sin-
gle tower perched on the top of a motte.° But timber buildings scarcely
provide a precedent for keeps on the scale of those at London
or
Colchester. Some scholars have searched for an origin in Normandy,
where there is at least one keep—at Ivry-la-Bataille (Eure)—with
many of the same features.” However, there is plenty of evidence
to
suggest that the residential keep evolved from the simple stone
hall,
and that the key developments took place in the Loire valley. By
the
eleventh century, many castles were equipped with rectangular
halls,
with the hall itself being placed on an upper level over some
form of
basement. Access to the upper storey was usually by means of
an exter-
nal staircase, generally made of wood. As early as 950 a building
of this
type, belonging to Theobald, count of Blois, existed
at Doué-la-
Fontaine (Maine-et-Loire), and over the course of
the next two cen-
turies it became a standard form, especially in France.
When Brionne
was besieged by William the Conqueror between 1047
and 1050, the
castle was described as ‘a stone-built hall serving the defenders
as a
keep (arx)’.8 There is a good example of the type in the
Bayeux tapestry,

at the point where King Harold is shown feasting at Bosham [49]. In
the early years of the eleventh century masons in the Loire valley trans-
formed this concept into a far more monumental structure, a change
which marks the genesis of the residential keep. The person responsi-
ble appears to have been Fulk Nerra, duke of Anjou (987-1040), one of
the more notorious barons of the Middle Ages.
Fulk is familiar to historians as a man of extraordinary brutality who
interspersed his evil deeds with bouts of remorse and atonement.
During his reign he systematically extended his territories along the
Loire, capturing most of Touraine, though not the city of Tours itself.
To support his strategy, he is said to have built 13 castles, which in-
cluded Langeais, Montbazon, and Loches. The keep at Langeais
(Indre-et-Loire), founded about 994, was an enlarged version of the
stone hall, with two turrets projecting on the east face, linked by a
gallery. The main chamber on the first floor was reached by an external
staircase, and it is possible that there was a more private chamber
above. Altogether more sophisticated is the keep at Loches; in fact so
sophisticated that until recently it has been assigned to the years
around 1100 and not to the reign of Fulk Nerra. With its smooth walls
of ashlar masonry, divided by engaged shafts, this is a mature piece of
Romanesque architecture [50]. The keep is unusually high, containing
three storeys as well as a tall basement. The main staircase, which was
located in a forebuilding, leads up to the first floor, where there is a
large hall illuminated by a row of five windows and equipped with ac-
50 Loches, castle (Indre-et-

Loire), c.1012-35
Keep built by Fulk Nerra, duke
of Anjou. One ofthe first
examples of the multi-
storeyed keep, its early date
belied by the use of ashlar
masonry and engaged shafts.

51 Loches, castle (Indre-et-
Loire), c.1012-35
Plan of the keep atfirst-floor
level
A sequence of five windows
illuminated the main hall,
which is surrounded on two
sides bya passage in the
thickness ofthe wall.
0 10 _20 30 feet
cess to latrines. The floors above contained more private chambers, the
upper level being reached only by a spiral stair. In several ways Loches
anticipates the great keeps of the twelfth century: the multiplication of
storeys, the chapel placed on the upper storey of the forebuilding, and
the passageways through the thickness of the walls [51]. Although the
design would not be out of place in the early years of the twelfth cen-
tury, dendrochronology has proved otherwise, the analysis of construc-
tion timbers revealing that the keep was built in three stages between
c.1o12 and ¢.1035.” These results, published in 1996, have had a sensa-
tional impact, requiring a dramatic reappraisal of the early history of
the keep. The evidence from Loches demonstrates that most of the el-
ements of the great keep were in place by the 1030s and that Fulk Nerra
played a key role, bringing about the fusion of the residential hall and
the fortified stone tower. Moreover, some of the architectural fea-
tures—engaged shafts, passageways in walls, and the use of ashlar ma-
sonry—appeared at Loches before they became widespread in church
architecture, demonstrating that the distinction between secular and
religious architecture was not as sharp as is sometimes thought.
The great keeps of England and France were not necessarily the
most attractive buildings in which to live. There were a lot of stairs to
climb, the thick walls meant that living accommodation was often dark
and cramped, they were difficult structures to alter or extend, and there
was a limit on the size of the hall. They also took a long time to build,
perhaps a decade or more, and involved operations which required
a
huge annual investment. It has been suggested that, on average, con-
struction progressed at a rate of only ro to 12 feet per year.!° A unique
insight into matters of speed and finance is supplied by the English
pipe rolls, which record the expenditure on several royal castles during.
the reign of Henry II (1154-89). Between 1172 and 1177 the sum of £912
10s 9d was spent on building the keep at Newcastle, the annual expen-

diture in the busiest years ranging between £142 and 4185. These were
modest sums compared with the £4,000 expended between 1181 and
1188 on the massive keep at Dover." For a nobleman with limited
means, the construction of a great keep could tie up resources for years
on end and there was no guarantee that one would live to see it fin-
ished. Dendrochronology has suggested that construction of the elab-
Ed
«
om orate keep at Trim in Ireland came to a halt in 1186, when its founder,
~ fe
Hugh de Lacy, was clubbed to death with an axe.”
er
=
Thy!
ey
During the course of the eleventh and twelfth centuries there were
many improvements to the domestic amenities of the castle. A healthy
52 Carrickfergus Castle water supply was obviously crucial, particularly when a large contin-
(Antrim), c.1180 gent was in residence. In contrast to the average monastery, it was not
Keep built by John de Courcy,
normally possible to divert a stream or local spring into the bailey, so
soon after his conquest of
Ulster. Latrines serving three water either had to be stored in a cistern or extracted from the ground.
different levels were gathered Most castles had a well, in many cases incorporated into the keep. At
together at the south-west
Rochester it was fitted into the spine wall in such a way that it was ac-
corner.
cessible at different levels, and at Dover and Newcastle lead pipes con-
ducted the water around the building. The well at Dover is most
impressive: lined in Caen stone to a depth of 172 feet, it continues a fur-
ther 70 feet through the bare chalk. Latrines were also more systemati-
cally organized, with the chutes often linked neatly together in a single
turret, as at Castle Rising or Carrickfergus [52]. Access was usually
along a passageway with at least one sharp turn, an arrangement as-
sumed to be a way of restricting the spread of unpleasant odours. All
too frequently, however, excrement was splattered outside at the base
of the walls, which, together with the inevitable staining of the ma-
sonry, must have done little to enhance the beauty of the buildings.
Heating was another important consideration. In single-storey
buildings an open fire or a brazier could be lit in the centre of the floor,
with smoke being drawn out through a louvre in the roof. Where this
was not practical, a fireplace had to be built in the side wall. In the
keeps at Rochester and Castle Hedingham [137] the halls are
equipped with arched fireplaces decorated with Romanesque chevron
ornament. By the closing decades of the twelfth century, builders had
discovered the advantages of the straight hood, a well-preserved exam-
ple of which, with joggled joints, exists at Conisborough (Yorkshire).
Early fireplaces usually had short flues, fitted into an adjoining pilaster
or buttress, but, by the time the keep at Conisborough was designed
(c.1180), it was known that an extended flue produced a stronger
draught. A further development worth noting is the introduction of
the window seat. By fitting benches into the reveals of the windows,
residents could make better use of the light and relax while contem-
plating the view.
These domestic improvements tend to be overshadowed by ad-
vances in the technology of defence; by 1200 many of the military fea=
ARCHITECTURE IN THE AGE OF FEUDALISM 91

SECULAR
tures associated with medieval castles had already made an appearance.
The gradual shift from timber to stone was fundamental, for wooden
structures were always vulnerable to fire. The first castle that Hugh de
Lacy erected at Trim, for example, was burnt by the Irish (1172-3). As
well as being more durable, stone buildings also /ooked more perma-
nent. While a great tower usually remained as the ultimate stronghold,
the twelfth century saw a shift of emphasis towards the defence of the
curtain walls, with timber palisades being replaced in stone. Flanking
towers, which gave defenders better control over what was happening
outside, also became more common, and they were systematically or-
ganized in the royal castles at Orford (1165-73) and Dover (c.1185) [45].
The main gateway, a point of potential weakness, was another fea-
ture subject to progressive improvements. In the twelfth century the
gate was usually located within a tower, which allowed for the incorpo-
ration of a portcullis as well as murder holes over the entrance passage.
At Dover the gate was formed by a pair of towers, one of the first exam-
ples of the so-called twin-towered gateway, which became a standard
form in the later Middle Ages. During the course of the century arrow
slits became more common, allowing defenders to fire through the
walls with little risk of being hit themselves. Further protection was
provided by wooden ‘brattices’, fighting galleries which projected for-
ward from the upper walls of a keep or curtain wall. A more permanent
alternative was the use of machicolation, stone corbels which sup-
ported a solid defensive platform. In primitive form the technique was
employed by Richard I at Chateau Gaillard (c.1196-8), the fortress built
on a cliff above the river Seine with the aim of protecting Normandy
from invasion by the French. It should be noted that several of the
techniques mentioned above were not invented in the Middle Ages.
The Romans, for example, were familiar with both the portcullis and
the arrow slit, and for much of the Middle Ages Gallo-Roman walls
with flanking towers could be seen in many a French town. There is a
popular view that the improvements were a direct result of the
Crusades, during which Christian knights became hardened in siege
warfare. The advantages of flanking towers, deep rock-cut ditches, and
a strong enceinte protected by arrow slits were all appreciated in the
Holy Land, but in general it was new techniques of attack, rather than
architectural forms, that the Crusaders brought back to Europe. The
first Crusader castles were not all that radical in design, and were built
with different functions in mind.
The interest in military matters has encouraged historians to inter-
pret almost every feature of castle design in defensive terms, ignoring
any aesthetic or romantic considerations which might have influenced
the builders. The late-twelfth-century poet Chrétien de Troyes often
alluded to the beauty of contemporary castles, speaking of wonderf
ul
buildings, situated beside rivers or lakes, the architecture ‘superbl
y

strong and rich’.’ In a passage worthy of a modern estate agent, the ec-
clesiastic Gerald of Wales described his family castle at Manorbier in
thoroughly nostalgic terms, dwelling not just on the turrets and crenel-
lations, but also on the beautiful orchard, the vineyards, the fish ponds,
the surrounding woods, and the wonderful views across the ‘Severn sea’
towards Ireland.'* While towers and turrets undoubtedly had a defen-
sive role, they also contributed to an image. Some twelfth-century
keeps are so unorthodox in form that they can only be explained as a
way of cutting a dash and impressing the neighbours. At Ambleny
(Aisne), for example, a structure built by the lord of Pierrefonds in
about 1140, the keep was planned like an extended quatrefoil, with four
semicircular projections attached to a polygonal core [53]. Although
two of the projections were separated from the main space to form a
private chamber and a latrine, the plan is hard to explain in terms of
practical convenience, or indeed in terms of defence. With its moulded
walls built of high-quality ashlar, the shape of Ambleny, however, was
instantly memorable. The design may have been inspired by the royal
keep at Etampes (c.1130) [54], which followed a more regular quatrefoil
plan. Equally unorthodox was the keep at Provins (Seine-et-Marne),
built between 1150 and 1175, which has an octagonal core, from which
circular turrets project on four of the eight faces. There were also some
startling experiments in England. In terms of visual impact the most
remarkable was the keep at Conisborough, built in the 180s by
Hamelin Plantagenet, half-brother of Henry II. It has a cylindrical
core, from which six enormous buttresses project like the spokes of a
53 Ambleny (Aisne), the

keep, c.1140-3
Built by the lord of
Pierrefonds, Ambleny was one
of several French keeps
designed to a quatrefoil plan.

54 Twelfth-century keeps
Comparative plans:
(a) Ambleny; (b) Etampes;
(c) Provins; (d) Conisborough;
(e) Orford; (f) Trim
0) 10 20 30 feet
wheel [55]. At a high level one of the buttresses contains an exquisi

te
chapel, covered with its own ribbed vault. The power of Conisborough
is enhanced by the steep plinth and by the fact that it was constru
cted
throughout in ashlar masonry. The plan is difficult to explain in
exclu-
sively military or structural terms, for, given the width of the walls,
the
buttresses were scarcely necessary. It looks utterly impregnable
and it
was looks that mattered as much as actual strength. Even
today the
stark geometry seems menacing and formidable.
One change which has been attributed to military progress was
the
growing fashion for circular rather than square towers.
A series of
keeps erected by the French king Philip II (1180-1223) took a
cylindri-
" 55 Conisborough Castle
(Yorkshire), c.1180
Keep built by Hamelin
Plantagenet. The six
‘buttresses’ were probably
intended for visual effect as
much as for added strength.
cal form, and by 1200 similar designs were appearing in Wales and
Ireland. Flanking towers built to a semicircular plan had already ap-
peared by the middle years of the twelfth century, an approach which
became universal in the following century. It has been argued that the
quoin stones of a square tower were vulnerable to picking and that
round towers were less easily undermined. This explanation is only
part of the story. The keep which Hugh de Lacy was building at Trim
was not
in the 1180s contained no fewer than 12 external angles, so he
perturbed by the dangers of picking or mining; more important to him
can
was the geometrical symmetry of the Greek-cross plan [54]. Nor
circular towers be regarded as a new discovery. In France a cylindrical

56 Avila, city walls, c.1090
The sequence of semicircular
towers reproduces a
technique familiar in Roman
fortifications.
keep had been erected at Fréteval by 1100, and flanking towers built to a
semicircular or “D’ plan were to be seen in Roman cities and forts all
over Europe. After the battle of Toledo in 108s, the Spanish king
Alfonso VI fortified the town of Avila with a powerful circuit of walls,
reinforced with a regular sequence of ‘D’ towers [56]. While the shift
to circular forms in the late twelfth century may owe something to mil-
itary theory, Roman precedent and aristocratic fashion also played a
part. In addition, there were practical considerations. By avoiding the
need for well-dressed quoin stones, circular towers may have been
more economical to build.
Throughout the early Middle Ages a substantial hall remained the
focus of communal life within a castle, and indeed within all types
of
aristocratic dwelling. For kings, princes, bishops, and feudal lords,
a
splendid hall was a mark of status just as much as a great tower or other
fortifications. This was a building designed for ceremonies, where
kings entertained their barons, conducted business, received
officials,
or met with foreign ambassadors. It was the place where politica
l deci-
sions were made, where councils assembled, and where matters
of state
were scrutinized and debated. It was also the setting for periodic
feasts,
and for the singing and dancing which accompanied such
events.
Whether one is dealing with the Germanic kings of the seventh
cen-
tury, the emperors of the Carolingian world, or the Norman
rulers of
England after 1066, a spacious hall provided the setting
for the great
ceremonial events of the age.
There were two distinct strands which contributed to the
architec-
ture of the medieval hall, one of which descended from
the imperial ar-
chitecture of late Antiquity, the other from the timber
feasting halls
associated with the Germanic kings of northern Europe
. The design of
the great audience hall built by Charlemagne at Aachen was clearly
based on Roman precedent. Although only fragments remain, it is
known that this formed the northern flank of the huge palace complex,
laid out by Charlemagne’s builders on a square grid of 360 Carolingian
feet (reckoned to be 33.29cm compared with the English foot of
30.48cm). The hall was constructed on an ambitious scale, the external
walls measuring 138 by 68 feet and, like many a Roman (secular) basil-
ica, it culminated in a broad apse at one end; there were further apses
midway along each of the side walls. The external walls were decorated
with pilasters, probably linked at the top to form arches like those on
the late Roman audience hall not far away at Trier [3]. The choice of
Roman models was both practical and ideological: the emperor now
had an architectural stage on a par with that of the Roman emperors,
one that was worthy of his status at the head of a universal Christian
empire. There were other great halls belonging to the Carolingian em-
perors, at Paderborn and Ingelheim, the latter celebrated in a famous
poem written in c.825-6 by Ermoldus Nigellus. The royal palace ‘with a
hundred columns’ was furnished with a vast cycle of paintings depict-
ing scenes from Greek and Roman Antiquity, which were juxtaposed
with the heroic achievements of the Carolingians.’* As at Aachen, the
hall terminated in an apse. Little now remains of the splendid
Carolingian palaces; for buildings which survive intact we have to look
outside the frontiers of the empire.
On the slopes of Mount Naranco, a couple of miles north of the
Spanish city of Oviedo, is an enchanting hall built by Ramiro I, who
ruled over the small Christian kingdom of the Asturias between 842
and 850. Like the palaces of the Carolingian world, Ramiro’s building
contains some very deliberate references to the architecture of late
Antiquity, while at the same time anticipating several features of the
Romanesque style. The hall at Naranco is a long rectangular building,
the main floor being lifted well above the ground over a vaulted under-
croft [57]. At each end there is a loggia, which is defined by meticu-
lously worked arches, resting on ornamental columns. The main
chamber is barrel-vaulted, with a series of transverse arches dividing it
into bays. The sides walls are furnished with arcades, supported by
clusters of decorated shafts. As well as crosses and other Christian em-
blems, the building is decorated with sculptured discs, a motif known
to have been employed in the palace architecture of late Antiquity.
Built in roughly-dressed masonry, with tufa in the vaults, Ramiro’s hall
was much admired by contemporary chroniclers, who seemed to ap-
preciate that a completely vaulted structure of this sort was quite rare.
The timber halls of northern Europe, like Hrothgar’s ‘large and
noble feasting hall’, described in Beowulf, represented a very different
tradition. It is difficult to know whether the architecture was as mag-
nificent as the literary sources suggest. When the monster Grendel de-
SECULAR ARCHITECTURE IN THE AGE OF FEUDALISM 97

57 Naranco (Asturias),
palace of King Ramiro I,
(842-50)
Subsequently the church of
Santa Maria. The hall was built
over a vaulted basement, with
an open loggia at either end;
its unique qualities were
celebrated by local Spanish
chroniclers.
scended on Hrothgar’s gabled hall, he saw ‘the mead-drinking place

nailed with gold plates’ and the door he ripped open was toughened
with iron bands and hinges. ‘Gold embroidered tapestries glowed from
the wall."° The poem is thought to have been composed in England
about 700 AD and its words no doubt reflect the splendour of the royal
halls of the Anglo-Saxon kings. But what did such buildings look like?
Did they have aisles and were they made of solid timber? Excavations
at such places as Yeavering (Northumbria) and Cheddar (Somerset)
have provided some answers, though the fact that timber buildings had
a relatively short life complicates the picture. Yeavering was the site of
the palace of King Edwin (616-33), and one of the halls there was
erected with cut planks, using a form of tongue-and-groove jointing.
For archaeologists the problem is that the workmanship at foundation
level is often crude and it may fail to provide an accurate impression of
the architecture as a whole.

58 Oakham Castle (Rutland),
aisled hall, c.1180
Furnished with capitals and
mouldings well abreast of
fashions in ecclesiastical
architecture.
Just how much the great timber buildings of northern Europe con-
tributed to the architecture of the later stone halls is a debatable ques-
tion. After the Norman conquest in 1066, several fine secular halls were
erected in England, including an enormous example, 240 feet in
length, in the palace at Westminster, completed in 1099 at the behest of
William Rufus, who was said to have ‘spared no expense to manifest
the greatness of his liberality’. The internal span of 67 feet is so wide
that, before the insertion of the famous hammerbeam roof in the four-
teenth century, it must have had intermediate piers. The walls con-
tained arcaded passageways running in front of the windows,
foreshadowing the type of arrangement seen in the keeps at Rochester
and Castle Hedingham [137]. The castles at Leicester, Farnham, and
Hereford possessed halls which, though built with stone walls, had
aisle posts of timber, complete with wooden capitals, a technique that
certainly implies some continuity from the timber halls of the Anglo-
Saxon era. The ground-floor hall reached its apogee in the castle at
Oakham (c.1180), where stone arcades were built with all the finesse of
contemporary church architecture [58]. By this stage the alternative
ways of designing a hall were very clear: either it was built at ground
level and, if necessary, provided with aisles, or it was raised up over a
basement, following the tradition established in France in the eleventh
century. In most castles the hall was an independent building, and even
ARCHITECTURE IN THE AGE OF FEUDALISM 99

SECULAR
59 Gelnhausen (Hesse), when there was a substantial chamber within a keep, a further hall was
palace, 1170-1200
often built outside. Thus at Caen, one of the main dwellings of the
Founded by the emperor,
Frederick Barbarossa. As in Norman kings, a spacious ground-floor hall, now known as the
many German palaces, the Exchequer, was erected by Henry I (1100-35) within a few years of the
residential block (to the right)
was ornamented with
construction of a great residential keep. It is also worth remembering
decorated arcades. To the left that many of the more sumptuous halls of the twelfth century were
is the main gateway, above built not by secular lords but by bishops. The episcopal castle at
which was a chapel.
Durham, for example, still retains a magnificent hall, the entrance to
which was embellished with extravagant late Romanesque ornament.
The bishops of Durham wielded vast powers in the north of England
and the symbolic connotations of their palatial buildings should not be
underestimated. Indeed, the style and design of a hall conveyed politi-
cal signals, as Henry II was well aware when he came to Ireland
(1171-2). A hall was erected in Dublin especially for his visit, a ‘wonder-
ful structure of wattlework’, built deliberately in the native style to
avoid giving offence to the Irish kings."
The most powerful ruler in Europe at this time was the German
emperor, Frederick Barbarossa (1152-90), who is credited with building
numerous castles and several fine palaces. The German approach to
secular architecture was very different from that found in England and
France. In the imperial palaces, there was less emphasis on fortifica-
I0O EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

tion, the main focus of the design consisting of a large residential
block, without defensive characteristics. There are the ruins of such a
building at Gelnhausen (Hesse), a castle founded by Frederick
Barbarossa in about 1170. The domestic range, which was not finished
until after his death, was an elegant two-storey structure, built in red
sandstone over a basement [59]. The main facade was designed with
two levels of arcaded windows, furnished with twin columns and intri-
cately sculptured capitals. These arcades appear to have opened into
galleries or corridors, with the main chambers set further back. The
palace at Gelnhausen was surrounded by a curtain wall and the en-
trance was protected by a substantial gatehouse, which incorporated a
chapel on the upper level. The ruins illustrate several features common
to German princely architecture: the residential block with arcaded
openings, the interior gallery, and the combined chapel and entry gate.
The chief means of display in these monuments came from the hori-
zontal bands of windows and arcades, an arrangement magnificently
expressed in the Wartburg, a castle built by the margrave of Thuringia
at Eisenach.
The design of the arcades at Gelnhausen would not be out of place
in a monastic cloister. Such parallels make it difficult to sustain the oft-
quoted opinion that developments associated with Romanesque and
early Gothic had little relevance for secular architecture, in particular
for castle building. In both areas one encounters the gradual shift from
timber to stone; the recent discoveries relating to the origin of keeps
show that the early decades of the eleventh century were a turning
point, just as they were in ecclesiastical architecture (see chapter 9); the
proportional methods used by the architects were also similar and the
study of sculptural details and masons’ marks shows that the workforce
moved freely amongst all types of building; finally, the increasing con-
cern for order, regularity, and geometrical precision evident in church
design undoubtedly had an impact on castle building, as the keep at
Conisborough amply testifies [55].
SECULAR ARCHITECTURE IN THE AGE OF FEUDALISM IOI

reser
sr)
rete
eCe
OBS
at
oem
Patron
and Builder
Medieval chroniclers had no doubt about who deserved the credit for
the great buildings of their age. When the Romanesque cathedral of
Chartres was completed, it was, we are told, largely the work of
Fulbert, bishop from 1006 to 1028: ‘It is by his industry, his labours, and
his money that he rebuilt the cathedral from its foundations and led the
enterprise almost to completion, with a grandeur and a beauty worthy
of all praise.’' There is no mention of an architect or builder. Even
Abbot Suger of St Denis, who wrote at great length about the way in
which he had reconstructed his abbey church, found no space to men-
tion the names of his master craftsmen. In our eyes this attitude seems
outrageously self-centred, a massive injustice to those who designed
and actually constructed the buildings. But the situation was not quite
as straightforward as it sounds. Modern conceptions of the role of the
architect, a person with creative skills and in complete control of the
design, are founded on humanist values derived from the Renaissance;
what might seem an injustice today would have been viewed in a differ-
ent light in the eleventh century. Although the term ‘architect’ was
used in the early Middle Ages, it was employed loosely, sometimes re-
ferring to a cleric who commissioned a building, sometimes to the
leading masons or carpenters.’ It is misleading to think in terms of one
individual planning and designing the work and supervising its con-
struction through to completion. The duties of the patron and builder
60 Desiderius, abbot of
Montecassino (1072-87)
Painting at Sant’Angelo in were not sharply defined, and, as a consequence, it is difficult to deter-
Formis (Campania) mine with any precision who was responsible for the design of early
The image ofthe patron
presenting amodel of his
medieval buildings. The tasks of patron and builder could, and often
church to Christ or the saints is did, overlap.
found throughout the early It is important not to minimize the role of the patron. In church
building the bishop or abbot usually took the initiative, sometimes in
Middle Ages. The portico in
the model has obvious
similarities with the example the face of considerable opposition: monastic communities could be
he
which still survives at very conservative institutions, as Ratger discovered to his cost when
Sant'Angelo in Formis (66),
continued the reconstruction of the abbey church at Fulda between 802
_ though this is probably later in
date. and 817. The patron had to raise the cash (often sacrificing much of his
103
own income), seek out suitably qualified craftsmen, and resolve diffi-
culties over the supply of stone and other materials. It was a task that
demanded self-belief, energy, and determination. The responsibilities
of one enlightened patron are vividly described by Leo of Ostia in his
account of the rebuilding of Montecassino by Abbot Desiderius [60].
The abbot conceived a plan for a new church which involved demol-
ishing the old one: “Io most of our leading brethren this project
seemed at that time entirely too difficult to attempt. They tried to per-
suade him from this intention by prayers, by reasons, and dy every other
possible way |my italics], believing that his entire life would be insuffi-
cient to bring such a great work to’an end.’ In fact Desiderius con-
founded his critics and rebuilt the church in five years, from 1066 to
1071. According to Leo, it was Desiderius who decided to level the top
of the mountain as a’ platform for the new building. He also went to
Rome where, ‘after consulting each of his best friends’, he purchased
huge quantities of columns, bases, epistyles, and marble. He organized
the transport of these materials back to Montecassino, no easy feat
given that the monastery lies at the summit of a precipitous mountain.
On his return from Rome he hired ‘highly experienced workmen’.3 No
doubt Desiderius had assistants, but he clearly took most of the deci-
sions himself. To a considerable extent he was the architect of
Montecassino.
There are many recorded instances in which bishops and abbots ac-
quired reputations as great builders, men such as Angilbert, abbot of St
Riquier around 800, Oliva, abbot of Vich, who was active on both sides
of the Pyrenees in the early eleventh century, or Roger, bishop of
Salisbury from 1102 to 1139, who built castles and palaces, as well as a
splendid new choir for his cathedral. We know that some senior clergy
possessed a considerable degree of technical expertise. Bernward,
bishop of Hildesheim, for example, was an accomplished craftsman
whose talents included architecture. According to his biographer, .
Thangmar, he ‘taught himself the art of laying mosaic floors and how
to make bricks and tiles’; he also had a taste for polychrome masonry,
arranged in alternating patterns of white and red stone.’ It was
Bernward who constructed the church of St Michael at Hildesheim
(c.10r0-33), and, in the light of Thangmar’s comments, he presumably
had a major voice in its design [25, 26, 27]. Wilfrid, the Anglo-Saxon
bishop of Hexham, is said to have ‘made many buildings by his own
Judgement |my italics] but also by the advice of the masons whom the
hope of liberal reward had drawn hither from Rome’. It is worth re-
membering that the St Gall plan, a wonderfully systematic piece of de-
sign dating from c.830, was almost certainly drawn up by an ecclesiastic
[123]. In their work as scribes and illuminators, monks were well used
to laying out complex designs on vellum, sometimes employing the
same proportional ratios that are found in contemporary buildings.®

The difficulty confronting historians is to decide how far the role of ec-
clesiastics extended beyond organizational matters. Gundulf, bishop
of Rochester, who supervised the building of the Tower of London be-
tween ¢.1078 and 1087, was said to be ‘knowledgable and effective in the
work of masonry’, but it is unlikely that he had any practical experience
in the art of cutting stone. While he may have devised the plan of the
Tower, his skills no doubt lay in the field of administration. A century
later the construction of the royal keeps at Dover and Newcastle was
supervised by an engineer (‘imgeniator’) called Maurice, a significant
change in personnel, suggesting that by then professionals were in con-
trol.
There are many references to monks participating in the physical
work of construction. Thus in the seventh century the Irishman
Columbanus, despite his great age, assisted in the building of a new
monastery at Bobbio in northern Italy. Aethelwold, when abbot of
Abingdon in the years after 960, paid a physical penalty for his archi-
tectural enthusiasm. He had a reputation as a ‘magnus aedificator ,but
when he was assisting in the construction of his church, a huge post fell
on him, breaking his ribs and knocking him into a pit. Ona few per-
haps rare occasions, monasteries included monks who had been
trained as masons: this was the case at La Trinité, Vend6me, where a
monk named John was allowed to work for the bishop of Le Mans
(c.1097-1125). His reluctance to return provoked a series of angry letters
from his abbot.’
With their emphasis on the value of manual labour, Cistercian
monks were often involved in building operations. The Norman
chronicler Ordericus Vitalis explained how “all Cistercian monasteries
are constructed in deserts and in the middle of woods, and the monks
build them with their own hands’. This claim has usually been treated
with scepticism by historians, the quality of Cistercian stone architec-
ture being so high that it must have been the work of professionals.
What Ordericus probably had in mind were the timber buildings
erected in the first months of a monastic settlement. Certainly St
Bernard of Clairvaux thought there was nothing odd about the clergy
wielding axes and chopping timber. In his biography of St Malachy of
Armagh, he explains the saint’s none too proficient involvement in
building a wooden church at Bangor (Down): ‘It happened one day
that while he was cutting with an axe that one of the workmen acciden-
tally got in his way while he was raising the axe and it fell on his spine
with full force.’ Miraculously the workman escaped unhurt. During
St Bernard’s lifetime the Cistercian order possessed at least three ex-
perts in building, who were sent from Clairvaux to advise newly estab-
lished communities. While the order depended on professional
masons, recruited from outside the order, the monks maintained some
control over the design and layout of their buildings. In remote abbeys
PATRON AND BUILDER 105

61 Setting-out marks
Christ Church Cathedral,
like that at Boyle (Roscommon), the church included a number of spe-
Dublin. Section-of engaged cific features derived from Burgundy that could have been transmitted
shafts, c.1200.
only by the monks. The details of the stonework, however, reveal that
A series of circles with
differing radii were used to the work was carried out by local masons.
define all the main elements of Given the nature of the documentary sources, it is difficult to dis-
the design. This stone
tinguish between those in charge of organization and those responsible
probably served as a template
for cutting further sections of for design and construction. By the twelfth century the operations
the shafts. might be administered by a custos operis, a magister operis, or an operar-
ius, who was not usually a mason by training. This was a task for a well-
62 Masons’ marks at
Sénanque (Vaucluse) educated clerk, used to handling figures. One such individual is
The incised marks of commemorated on the south wall of the ornate church at Chadenac
individual masons reflect the (Charente-Maritime) [144], where there is an inscription which reads:
growing professionalism and
improved organization ofthe ‘Here lies William the Poitevin, clerk of William, builder but not the
building trade. carver’ (‘structor non fictor’).? The author of the inscription was evi-
dently concerned to point out that William the Poitevin was not per-
sonally responsible for the sculptured portals, though he was in charge |
of the overall building. At the monastery of Grandmont, c.1140-63, a
master of the works called Gerald made the mistake of venturing too
close to building activities. The workers, we are told, inconsiderately
allowed a stone to fall from an arch which flattened Gerald, who fell to
the ground, apparently dead. The prior rushed to the scene and or-
dered Gerald to rise and return to work, which, miraculously, he did.”
The incident at Grandmont is just one of dozens of accidents recorded
in the sources, which underlines the point that building in the early
Middle Ages, as today, could be a hazardous occupation.
There can be little doubt that the increasing sophistication of archi-
tectural design during the eleventh century had repercussions on the
way building was organized. The use of engaged shafts, compound
piers, and complex systems of ornament called for forward planning
which only an experienced mason could handle. While difficult to

63 Durham Cathedral, pier in
the nave, c.1104-28
For each pier over 200 stones
were pre-cut using just one or
two different patterns; once
these were brought to the site
the pier could be assembled
very rapidly.
prove, it is clear that the development of the Romanesque style en-

hanced the status of the professional builder. The technical demands of
the style—the fitting together of sculptured archivolts for example—
must have diminished the role of the patron and clerical advisers. The
development of quarries, the expanded use of ashlar masonry, and the
increase in sculpture and ornament, along with the sheer growth in the
amount of building, were all factors that helped to make building an
increasingly technical operation. Anyone who has handled
Romanesque masonry will be aware of the practical geometry that was
needed to shape the individual stones. In some cases the incised lines of
the square and compass are still visible on the inner surface [61]. It is
no coincidence that masons’ marks, the personal signs of individual
craftsmen used for the purpose of payment, first become common at
this time [62]. Another sign of professionalism is a drift towards
greater standardization of parts. In most early medieval structures em-
ploying ashlar masonry, the individual stones that make up a wall or
pier can vary considerably in dimensions; by the twelfth century build-
ings were being erected in which dressed stone was cut far more sys-
tematically, as if mass-produced. Obvious examples are the decorated
piers of Durham Cathedral [63]. The incised spirals, lozenges, and
zigzags which are such a prominent feature of the cathedral were
carved on the stones in advance, with the patterns so arranged that
only one or two different types were required for each pier. In the nave
cylin-
288 blocks, all approximately the same size, were required for the
drical piers.
is
The conventional view of the architect in the early Middle Ages
much re-
of a humble, anonymous craftsman who was not accorded
in-
spect. The official teaching of the Church suppressed the notion of
from God.
dividual genius, insisting that creative skills were a gift
arts,
Theophilus, the author of an early-twelfth-century treatise on the
urged artists to retain their humility, and a contemporary theologian,
Rupert of Deutz, warned that ‘skilled craftsmen ought to be admon-
ished lest they devote divine skill to the pursuit of gain, for their talents
are not their own, but bestowed on them by their creator’. But for all
the assertions of humility, the creative skills of master craftsmen were
frequently admired. Thus at Modena and Pisa inscriptions on the walls
of the cathedral celebrate the talents of the architects concerned:
Lanfranco at Modena [133], Buschetto at Pisa. The latter was com-
pared with Daedalus, who ‘built dark labyrinths whereas Buschetto’s
temple was as white as snow’. A master carpenter in the north of
France was also compared with Daedalus. This was Louis, who built
the tall and elaborate timber house for the lord of Ardres in 1117, the
chapel of which was likened to Solomon's temple. Contrary to general
impression, dozens of names are recorded in documents from the
eleventh century onwards, such as that of Blitherus, a top-ranking fig-
ure who worked at St Augustine’s, Canterbury after 1070, or Bernard
the elder, the chief mason at Santiago de Compostela, who was praised
in the Pilgrim’ Guide as a ‘mirabilis magister.’*The use of the epithet
‘magister is especially interesting. Generally employed for academic
qualifications in the liberal arts, its extension to architecture implies a
recognition of the expertise of the man in charge. An early example
comes at Conques, where a Magister Hugh was in control of opera-
tions at some point between 1035 and 1065. We hear of Hugh because
of an incident that occurred during the transport of stone from a quarry
on a nearby mountain, when his leg was trapped under the wheel of a
loaded cart.“
Procuring stone was just one of many tasks for which the master
mason was responsible. On arrival at the building site, he had to work
out the dimensions of the new work and lay out the plan on the ground.
He had to prepare templates for his masons and ensure a smooth flow
of material from the quarries. He was also responsible for the scaffold-
ing as well as the cranes and pulleys needed for lifting stone and timber.
Among the few relics of this process are the square ‘putlog’ holes, visi-
ble in dozens of medieval buildings, showing where the timber scaf-
folds were once inserted [42, 134]. The best insight into building
practice as it had developed by the twelfth century can be found in
Gervase’s account of the rebuilding of the choir of Canterbury
Cathedral after it was destroyed by fire in 1174. Gervase gives the im-
pression of a thoroughly professional operation, led by the master
mason William of Sens. By this stage in the Middle Ages it is clear that
the architect, not the patron, was the controlling force; there is little
sign of ecclesiastical involvement, at least not until William had the
misfortune to fall from the scaffolding in 1178.
Sadly, almost nothing is known about the education and training of
masons. Even in the twelfth century some were clearly illiterate, to

judge from mistakes in inscriptions. Nor is anything known about the
way in which master masons were appointed, the sources merely
telling us that they were summoned from distant parts or ‘from lands
across the seas’. William of Sens was said to have had a good reputa-
tion, but how did the monks of Canterbury know about this in advance
and how did they go about contacting architects? Presumably much
depended on word of mouth, information being passed along both ec-
clesiastical and aristocratic channels.
Throughout the period, masons were prepared to travel great dis-
tances. In about 670 Benedict Biscop, abbot of Monkwearmouth and
Jarrow, managed to recruit masons from Gaul, and shortly afterwards
Wilfrid brought masons all the way from Rome to Hexham. The
broad distribution of churches in the ‘first Romanesque’ style along the
Mediterranean seaboard, and across the Alps and up the Rh6ne valley,
also implies the presence of mobile groups of masons. Buildings in this
area have been attributed to the ‘Comacini’, supposedly groups of
Lombard masons taking their name from the town of Como (though
the etymology of the word is far from secure). In any building enter-
prise the selection of the architect is a decisive moment, but how did
patrons in the early Middle Ages ensure that their master masons
would stay to complete the job? During the Gothic era, written con-
tracts became normal, but evidence for them in our period is scarce. In
1175 a certain Raimond Lombard, architect and operarius, came to an
agreement with the bishop and chapter of Seo d’Urgell in Spain, in
which he promised to work for seven years, building all the vaults of
their church along with stair turrets and a lantern tower. It is possible
that the drawing up of such contracts was already a standard practice.
Between 1073 and 1088 the abbot of the monastery of Lérins on the is-
land of St Honorat, off the south coast of France, drew up an agree-
ment with certain masters to build a new tower at a cost of 500 solidos.
The abbot was to pay for the transport of stone and the workmen were
to be fed in the monks’ refectory.””
Raimond Lombard agreed to bring four assistants with him to Seo
d'Urgell. This group, all presumably experienced masons, must have
represented only a fraction of the workforce required, the intention no
doubt being to hire others locally. In major projects the master mason
rs,
was required to supervise a large team, comprising masons, carpente
sharp-
labourers, glaziers, plumbers, and smiths, these last crucial for
Bernard the elder is said to
ening saws, axes, chisels, and other tools.
de
have had 50 masons working under his direction at Santiago
Compostela—a rare statistic; in most cases we can only guess at the
size of the workforce.
The chronological sequence of building is.a subject that has for long
to
fascinated historians. Religious communities were usually impatient
the choir
occupy at least part of their new churches, and for this reason

and transepts were often finished in advance of the rest of the structure.
Where an older building existed on the site, this could make sense for
practical reasons as well. In such cases the existing church was retained
until at least part of the new building was ready for occupation; only
then could the old work be demolished and the new structure be com-
pleted. This approach led to churches being constructed section by
section, a method often visible in the archaeology of the fabric. This is
evident at Durham Cathedral, where a pause in building occurred just
west of the crossing [146]. The break is highlighted by the presence of
~ chevron ornament which was introduced only after work resumed on
the nave, providing a ‘fossilized’ record of the building sequence.
Durham Cathedral is one of many Romanesque churches in which the
design ‘evolved’ as work progressed. Indeed at Durham some fairly
radical changes—including the extension of ribbed vaulting to the
whole building—were introduced during the course of construction.
The unity of a building could be badly compromised by such changes.
At St-Savin-sur-Gartempe, one of the most resplendent hall churches
of western France, compound piers (replacing cylindrical piers) were
introduced in the western bays of the nave, along with transverse
arches in the vault, disrupting what is otherwise a harmonious design
[140]. When building’ extended over many years, it was evidently hard
to resist the temptation of bringing the design up to date. But for every
church that was modified in this way, there are many more that are re-
markable for their consistency over a long period—Santiago de
Compostela, for example, or St Sernin at Toulouse.
While many large churches were constructed section by section,
there are plenty of cases in which the walls rose uniformly all around
the building. This made good sense if the site was clear of other struc-
tures and if there was no immediate hurry to move into the new
church. It has been argued that this happened at Cluny after 1088. The
new church (Cluny III) lay to the north of the existing building (Cluny
II), so the monks could worship without interruption while construc-
tion continued. Cluny also had the resources to maintain a huge labour
force, allowing it to build on a ‘wide front’ across the whole of the site
[110]. The same approach is illustrated in a remarkable manner at
Venosa in the south of Italy, the location of a Benedictine abbey
founded by the de Hauteville family, the Norman conquerors of
Apulia. A church designed in atraditional Early Christian manner had
been erected soon after 1059, but during the early years of the twelfth
century a sumptuous replacement was under construction. This build-
ing was never finished. Today the walls stand much as they were when
the workforce was withdrawn from the site: the nave, transepts, choir,
and ambulatory are all built to approximately the same height, with the.
east end slightly in advance of the west [64].!° Venosa was designed to
be a spectacular building, one of the few in Italy to have a French-style
II0 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

64 Venosa (Basilicata), La ambulatory and radiating chapels. Massive quantities of well-dressed
Trinita, early twelfth century stone, cannibalized from the Roman town of Venusium, were used for
the walls, with Roman sculptures and inscriptions incorporated into
Unfinished church. Built with
excellent masonry, the new
building was taken to the top the Christian building (one, ironically, commemorates a team of gladi-
ofthe aisle walls before being ators!). The reason for the abrupt halt in building remains a mystery.
The church was intended as a mausoleum for the de Hauteville family,
suddenly abandoned. The
new work was laid out to the
east of the old church, a and its abandonment may represent a transfer of patronage away from
practice which allowed Apulia to Sicily, where the Norman dynasty now had its base.
The style of building at Venosa is consistent, perhaps the product of
buildingtocontinue without
causing any interruption to the
liturgical life of the monastery. a campaign lasting two or three years. There is a widely accepted fal-
lacy that all early medieval buildings were constructed at a very slow
pace. Some certainly took decades to complete: Durham took 40 years
(1093-1133), Cluny 42 years (1088-1130), and Santiago de Compostela
44 years (1078-1122). But these lengthy time spans conceal periods of
intense activity, interspersed with periods when progress was slow or
ceased altogether. At Durham, for example, Bishop Flambard
(1099-1128) ‘concerned himself with the work of the church with
greater or less energy according as money from the offerings to the
altar and burial fees flowed in or was lacking’.’” Even at Canterbury
1183
Cathedral, one of the richest sees in Europe, work came to a halt in
for a whole year for want of money. But when adequate resources were
The
available, medieval builders could move with remarkable speed.
a
new church at Montecassino was erected in five years (1066-71),
years (767-84), and Lanfranc’ s
basilica at Lorsch was built in eight
PATRON AND BUILDER III

65 San Miguel de Escalada
(Léon), consecrated in 913
View looking west down the
nave. The horseshoe arches
underline the Spanish
character of what is otherwise
a fairly standard basilican
church. A screen of arches
separates the nave from the
chancel. Compare the
arrangement at Reculver,
(Kent) (12) and San Nicola,
Bari (105).
huge Romanesque church at Canterbury was almost finished in seven

(1070-7). Smaller buildings were obviously built faster, though much
depended on the amount of dressed masonry involved. The church
which Benedict Biscop erected at Monkwearmouth in 674 was com-
pleted in one year; so too apparently the church of San Miguel de
Escalada (913) near Leon [65].
Good progress was impossible without a steady supply of materials,
both timber and stone. There are several stories about abbots and other
churchmen leading the search for suitable quarries or scanning the
forests for oaks of the right size. With the collapse of the Roman
Empire in the fifth century, most commercial quarries were gradually
abandoned, though the island of Proconnesus in the Sea of Marmara
continued to export its white marble to Italy for some considerable
time. Elsewhere stone was quarried sporadically, as and when it was
needed, and it was not until the eleventh century that quarrying was
revived on a major scale. It proved far easier to recycle stone from aban-
doned Roman buildings than to cut new stone from the rock face:
throughout Europe there were columns, capitals, lintels, slabs, and un-
II2 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

66 Sant’Angelo in Formis
(Campania), west porch
The columns, capitals, and
bases were assembled from a
heterogeneous collection of
Antique fragments.
67 Gravedona (Lombardy),
Santa Maria del Tiglio,
banded ashlar masonry,
twelfth century
An arrangement of beautifully-
cutashlar, exploiting different
types of stone. The widespread
use of ashlar masonry was one
of the characteristics of
Romanesque architecture
from the late eleventh century
onwards.
68 Pomposa (Emilia-
Romagna), Santa Maria,
narthex, eleventh century
Asiunning combination of
brick, marble, terracotta, and
stone sculpture.
PATRON AND BUILDER

carved blocks there for the taking, and many patrons did not hesitate to
reuse them [66]. In the ninth century the Gallo-Roman walls of
Rheims were dismantled to provide stone for rebuilding the cathedral
and in the tenth century the abbots of St Albans assembled their own
stockpile of Roman brick, taken from the neighbouring town of
Verulamium. Some Anglo-Saxon churches contain complete arches
made from Roman material, as at Escomb, Barton-upon-Humber,
and Alkborough.'* It was not just Roman stone that was exploited: any
suitable stone would do, and Norman builders in England were quite
"ready to cut up redundant Anglo-Saxon crosses when the opportunity
arose. [hese examples of random reuse should be distinguished from
the occasions when ancient material was deliberately exploited, both
for its quality and for the status it conveyed. Thus Charlemagne’s
builders at Aachen brought columns and marble slabs from Rome and
Ravenna, and Otto I’s new cathedral at Magdeburg (c.955) was one of
many buildings deliberately furnished with Roman sfolia.
Between the fifth and the eleventh centuries the majority of stone
buildings were constructed using some species of rubble masonry, the
techniques of which varied considerably. In late Antique structures, rel-
atively small blocks of stone, roughly dressed, were arranged in neat
horizontal courses, sometimes with brick separating bands (as in the
early basilica at Siponto). This type of masonry (though normally with-
out the brick) survived in many areas of Europe and is often encoun-
tered in Carolingian buildings. At the opposite extreme are walls of
random rubble, where the stones are laid without much dressing and
without any attempt at regular coursing. The early stone churches of
Ireland provide some wonderful examples of this, including a type
dubbed ‘Cyclopian’ in which large slabs were set on edge and fitted to-
gether with remarkably fine joints. One of the characteristics of the so-
called ‘first Romanesque’ style was a quick, economical style of
masonry, made up of roughly coursed blocks with a limited amount of
dressing, a technique mastered by builders over a wide area of southern
Europe [128].
Already by this stage a revolution in the art of building was under
way in the north, with the development of ashlar masonry. One of the
celebrated features of the tower which Abbot Gauzlin built at St-
Benoit-sur-Loire (c.1026) was the use of ‘squared blocks’, brought
down the Loire from the Nivernais [126], and at about the same time
Fulk Nerra, duke of Anjou, was using well-dressed ashlar in his castle at
Loches [50].!° Over the course of the next hundred years the use of
ashlar spread almost everywhere: thus in the 1130s the historian
William of Malmesbury enthused over the new choir at Sarum, ex-
plaining that the stones were so precisely laid that the joints escaped the
eye. The production of ashlar required the opening up of good quarries,
along with experienced craftsmen to work the stone [67]. For reasons

69 Medieval builders
Saint-Savin-sur-Gartempe
(Vienne). Painting on the nave
vault c.1100: The Tower of
Babel. The mason atthe top of
the tower holds a square, and
to the leftabucket is being
raised ona simple hoist.
of cost, local quarries were exploited whenever possible. Ox carts were

the chief means of transport and the maximum they could shift was
about ro tons per load. When the distance exceeded 12 miles or so, the
cost of transport was likely to exceed the cost of the stone. The bias to-
wards local quarries contributed much to the appeal of Romanesque:
yellow limestone in the Saintonge, dark arkose in the mountains of the
Auvergne, warm-coloured granite in Galicia [101], and red-flecked
marble in the eastern Pyrenees. A few quarries managed to extend their
trade beyond the immediate locality, one or two developing an interna
tional status. The limestone from Caen in Normandy was shipped all
over southern England after the invasion of 1066, when the rapid ex-
pansion of building placed huge demands on local supplies. Both the
major churches of Canterbury imported three different types of stone
by sea: Caen from Normandy, Quarr from the Isle of Wight, and
Marquise from the neighbourhood of Boulogne on the French coast.
Water-borne transport was of course infinitely cheaper than carriage
overland, but it was not without its problems. Heavily laden ships were
easily submerged beneath the waves: sometime between 1070 and 1087
14 vessels laden with Caen stone destined for Westminster were lost ina
storm in the English Channel.” Among the achievements of
Buschetto, the architect of Pisa Cathedral, was his skill in transporting
immense columns across the sea and, it should be noted, his skill in re-
covering them after a ship sank.
When William of Sens took over the workshop at Canterbury in
1174, one of his first tasks was to send templates to the quarry at Caen.
This indicates that some carving was carried out at the quarry, a prac-
tice which no doubt helped to reduce the costs of transport. In the late
Antique era quarries manufactured complete components, ready for
assembly at the site. Capitals from Proconnesus were about 75 per cent
complete at the time they were despatched to their final destination.
PATRON AND BUILDER II5

A sunken ship discovered off the Sicilian coast was found to be carry-
ing marble from Proconnesus, already shaped into an ambo, chancel
screens, and columns for a ciborium, the complete furnishings for a
Christian church.”! There are occasions when the same practice was
adopted in the Romanesque era. The stone purchased from Marquise
by St Augustine’s Abbey at Canterbury between 1070 and 1087 had al-
ready been cut into capitals, columns, and bases and it has been sug-
gested that the concept of the cushion capital, new to England at the
time of the Norman Conquest, was introduced from the continent in
prefabricated form. It is an indication that quarries may have played a
small but perhaps significant role in the transmission of stylistic ideas.
One of the most challenging questions concerning early medieval
building is the extent to which theoretical ideas affected the practice
of architecture. It is known that certain proportional ratios were
favoured, but it is unclear whether these were merely formulae passed
down from one mason to another or whether they were actively de-
bated and understood. Scholars were familiar with classical works on
architecture and geometry, notably the writings of authors like
Vitruvius, Vegetius, and (in the twelfth century) Euclid, but whether
this knowledge had any significant effect on architecture is far from
clear. Cassiodorus, writing on behalf of King Theodoric (490-526),
urged an architect at Ravenna to study Euclid, as well as Archimedes
and Metrobius.” This was probably wishful thinking, and few if any
master masons in the Middle Ages acquired such erudition. A further
problem is the extent to which architects made preparatory drawings.
Apart from the St Gall plan [123], none survive. Even the monk
Gervase, who was so well informed about the reconstruction of
Canterbury Cathedral after 1174, makes no mention of them. It is
known that buildings were marked out on the ground with ropes and
pegs—as if being drawn at full scale—and that specific details were
worked out im situ as building progressed. But for more elaborate .
works some preparatory diagrams and drawings could scarcely ‘be
avoided; this certainly ocurred at Auxerre, where the plan of the
ninth-century crypt at St Germain is said to have been worked out in
wax by the builder, presumably a reference to wax tablets.?> Before
cutting the templates of a pier or arch, a master mason had to be cer-
tain of the overall form. In Gothic design such features were drawn at
full scale on walls or plaster floors, and it is possible that some equiva-
lent technique was adopted by Romanesque masons. There were
well-documented occasions when patrons sent emissaries to study
other buildings in search of ideas: in 1026 the bishop of Arezzo pro-
vided his architect, Maginardo, with the cash needed to visit Ravenna
to make a study of the monuments there, and it is hard to believe that -
such expeditions ended without a single sketch or drawing. Whatever
happened, these episodes illustrate the way in which existing build-

70 Lomello (Lombardy),
Santa Maria Maggiore,
eleventh century
Plan of the church
Irregular plans were frequently
the result of piecemeal
rebuilding, though this does
not appearto have been the
case at Lomello.
neal
Lee eae |
QO 10: 20) 30)feet
ings were taken as the basis for new designs, the choice of an appropri-
ate model being of critical concern for the patron.
For over a century scholars have scrutinized monuments in an at-
tempt to discover medieval principles of proportion. The task is far
from easy. Some buildings, especially those that were reconstructions
of earlier works, are so irregular in layout that they appear to make
nonsense of this approach, the church at Lomello being an extreme
case [70]. But the layout of medieval buildings—churches, monastic
buildings, castles, and halls—was not an arbitrary process, and one of
the greatest weaknesses in studies of medieval architecture has been
the failure to recognize the importance of proportional systems.
Although Romanesque building has been praised for its clarity and
order, in most cases we do not know how this was achieved. In the past
there has been an assumption that design was based on modular princi-
ples or ‘square schematism’ as it has sometimes been called.** Thus the
German scholar Hanno Hahn argued that Cistercian abbeys were laid
out through the use of two large squares, the sides of which had a 3:4
ratio to each other [71].2° Unfortunately, accurate surveys of individual
abbeys have demonstrated that Hahn’s proposed scheme rarely fits ex-
71 Eberbach (Hesse),
Cistercian church, completed
c. 1170-86
Plan showing Hahn's
suggested schema based on
two square units in the ratio to
each other of 3:4. The validity
ofthis interpretation has been
questioned in recent years.
PATRON AND BUILDER I17

72 The square root of two
Simplified diagram showing
how the ratio between the side
of asquare and its diagonal
could be used to lay out a
cloister and adjacent
buildings.
actly. It can be argued that this is just what one should expect. As walls
were first outlined by ropes on the ground, and as they could measure
four or five feet in width, an underlying proportional system might
easily be compromised, depending on whether foundations were dug
to the right or left of the rope, or down the centre. A further complica-
tion affecting all such investigations is the fact that the medieval foot
was not a consistent unit of measure, its value differing according to
time and region.
In some buildings Hahn’s system involves squares which have sides
of 42 and 56 (English) feet. The use of a dimension of 42 feet is signifi-
cant. This was a measurement generated using one of the favoured ra-
tios of the Middle Ages, one to the square root of two, which in
geometrical terms represents the ratio of the side of a square to its diag-
onal. Its mathematical equivalent is 1:1.414. The way this was used by
the Cistercians was quite simple. If a cloister garth was laid out as a
100-foot square, a rope swung from the diagonal to the side would gen-
erate an extra 41% feet [72]. At Jerpoint Abbey the cloister was laid out
in just such a manner, producing an east range 42 feet wide. In recent
years numerous studies have underlined the importance of this proce-
dure. At Norwich Cathedral (a good example since the building was.
laid out on an unencumbered site) the square root of two formula runs
through all aspects of the design, including the plan of the piers [73];”°
at Durham it controls the main elements of the elevation.” There was
nothing particularly mysterious about the method, which was also
used by scribes and illuminators. Other ratios detected in Romanesque
monuments include 1:V 3 (rt1.73), iV 5 (1:2.236) and the ‘golden section’
(1:1.618), all involving irrational numbers derived from geometrical
shapes. The ratio of 1:V3 for example is taken from an equilateral trian-
gle, a form which governed the section of a number of major buildings,
including San Michele at Pavia and the abbey church at Fontenay
[116]. Builders did not of course think in terms of square roots. They
either worked directly from the geometrical forms that generated the
ratios or from arithmetical approximations. Thus the ratio of 12:17 was
employed as a convenient equivalent of 1:V2. Nor were the methods the

exclusive preserve of ecclesiastical builders. The plan of the royal castle
at Orford in Suffolk begun in 1165 was based on an equilateral triangle,
the design involving ratios of both 1:2 and 1:3."
Why, it might be asked, were these systems employed? Some have
argued that they introduced a symbolic harmony, which in church ar-
chitecture endowed the building with divine or mystical connotations.
Medieval churchmen were certainly disposed to think in this way,
though writers such as Honorius of Autun and Durandus of Mende,
who discussed the symbolism of churches, make no reference to ratios
and proportions. For the master mason the ratios were probably re-
garded as a convenient way of making decisions, timeless principles of
architecture which had been hallowed by centuries of use and which
were known to produce satisfying results. Irrational ratios were funda-
mental to the aesthetics of Greek and Roman architecture, and for me-
dieval architects, as Peter Kidson has pointed out, ‘any suggestion of
dispensing with them would have seemed as unthinkable as using a
language other than Latin for the liturgy’.”
73 The square root of two

The aisle bays of Norwich
Cathedral, showing the use of
the ratio of one to the square
root of two [after Fernie]. Transverse
arch
Outer wall
PATRON AND BUILDER IIg

Artand
Engineering
When the newly constructed tower at Beverley Minster collapsed in

around 1200, a local writer had no doubt about the cause of the disaster:
‘The craftsmen in charge of the work were not as cautious as they
should have been, nor as judicious as they were outstanding in their art,
they were intent on beauty rather than strength, on delighting the eye
rather than ensuring stability’. According to the chronicler, the tower
had been constructed on the existing piers of the church, like a new
patch ‘sewn into an old garment’.' When a stone spire was added, the
piers were overloaded to such a degree that catastrophe became un-
avoidable. Medieval masons of course had no theoretical way of calcu-
lating the structural behaviour of their buildings. Experience was the
best guide, but as projects became increasingly ambitious, some indi-
viduals were prepared to take extraordinary risks. The remarkable ad-
vances that occurred in architectural engineering were almost entirely
the result of trial and error, an empirical process which is difficult to
analyse, since, by definition, the failures have not survived. Disasters—
or near disasters—were probably more common than we realize.
Despite the setbacks, spectacular progress was made in two particular
areas, tower building and vault construction, progress which prepared
the way for the structural achievements of the Gothic era.
Towers and turrets are such an inherent part of our vision of the
Middle Ages that it is easy to take their origin for granted. As far as we
know, it was not until the Carolingian era that they became a common
feature of church design, though their origin goes back to late
Antiquity. Some early towers were quite extravagant, like that at
Nantes (535-82), which started square but turned into a circular form.
74 Salamanca, Old
Cathedral, begun 1152 and
finished in the early Its ‘stupefying height’ sent the poet Venantius Fortunatus into rap-
thirteenth century
The ribbed dome rises above a
tures, as he admired its ‘ascending sequence of arches’ and the way it
two-storey drum or cimborio, dominated the church like ‘the summit of a mountain’. While the
which is supported on lower parts of the tower at Nantes may have been made of stone, the
upper parts were almost certainly constructed of timber. Several
pendentives. The windows in
the drum casta pool of light
-into the centre of the church. Carolingian buildings are known to have had crossing towers; the rem-
nants of one (though extended and much rebuilt) survive at
Germigny-des-Prés. Two circular towers, apparently housing chapels,
flanked the west end of the church depicted on the St Gall plan (c.830)
[123], and the church at St Riquier (c.800) had substantial towers at
both ends of the building, along with several circular stair turrets [18].
Many early towers, both in churches and castles, are known to have
been timber-framed and, though none survive, there are drawings and
carvings which give an impression of their appearance. In Anglo-
Saxon England timber architecture inspired the design of the stone
towers at Earls Barton [75] and Barton-upon-Humber, where the ma-
sons even replicated the mitred joints of the carpenters.* These two
late-tenth-century towers provide a useful hint of the complexity of
the lost wooden architecture of early medieval Europe.
On the continent of Europe the enthusiasm for tower construction
continued unabated during the Ottonian era, and by 1100, towers, ei-
ther at the west end of the church or over the crossing (or both), had
become a standard feature of even quite modest buildings. The great
Burgundian church at Cluny was built with six towers [110], so too
was the abbey church of Maria Laach [13]; and the Norman cathedral
at Winchester was planned with a combination of no fewer than nine?
75 Earls Barton
(Northamptonshire), Anglo-
Saxon tower, late tenth
century
The stripwork appears to be
derived from timber-framed
buildings. The bloated
baluster shafts seen at belfry
level are widespread in Anglo-
Saxon building, so too the
distinctive ‘long-and-short’
masonry used at the angles.

As stone had to be hoisted high above the ground, towers were expen-
sive to build. Moreover, there were structural risks, particularly acute in
the case of crossing towers, which were suspended on arches above the
main body of the building. In England the collapse at Beverley was
foreshadowed by similar disasters at Winchester (1107) and Worcester
(1175). Given the expense and the dangers, why were medieval church-
men so anxious to spend their money on what to some observers were
nothing more than towers of Babel?
The most obvious reason is human pride: towers conveyed an in-
stant impression of status, and advertised the importance of a religious
house, especially when seen from a distance. They looked impressive,
no doubt exciting medieval spectators in the way that modern visitors
are enthralled by the skyscrapers of Chicago, New York, or Hong
Kong. From an artistic point of view, towers dramatically improved the
external composition of churches: this is particularly the case with
crossing towers, which provide a unifying focus, drawing the various
parts of the building—nave, chancel, and transepts—into a synthetic
whole. The construction of a tower over the crossing may also have of-
fered some practical advantages, since the roof of each arm of the
church could be built up against the walls, simplifying the joinery, and
allowing each section of roof to be erected independently. In functional
terms their chief purpose was for hanging bells, the ringing of which
occupied a crucial place in the liturgical life of the Middle Ages. The
higher a bell was located, the further its sound would travel. A tall bel-
fry was thus seen as a way of instilling discipline and ensuring punctual
attendance at the daily offices. These developments had repercussions
far beyond the confines of religious communities, since, in an age with-
out clocks, the sound of church bells came to govern the daily routine
of people in every walk of life. But the need to make bells audible
hardly justified the proliferation of towers that took place in the great
churches of northern Europe. This was certainly the opinion of the
Cistercian order, which concluded that bell towers were a needless ex-
travagance and banned them in 1157.
Modern commentators have pointed out that towers may have en-
hanced the symbolic meaning of church architecture. A majestic array
of towers provided the visual and emotional excitement necessary to
invite comparisons with the Heavenly Jerusalem. In some cases towers
or
were used more specifically to emphasize the position of altars
of
shrines, as at St Riquier, where one tower marked the site of the altar
[18]. As we have already seen
St Riquier, the other that of the Saviour
k,
(chapter two), Carol Heitz believed that the Carolingian westwor
Holy
with a tower rising above, was intended as a reference to the
Sepulchre. Symbolic connotations are also suggested by the crossing
Spain,
towers of a number of twelfth-century churches in France and
had been
which took the form of a rotunda, as ifa shrine or mausoleum
ART AND ENGINEERING 123

76 Anzy-le-Duc (Sa6ne-et- elevated above the rest of the building [80]. Whether the original ar-
Loire), Cluniac priory church, chitects chose these forms with deliberate symbolical intent, we do not
crossing tower, first half of
twelfth century know; some scholars feel they can be interpreted quite adequately in
The octagonal form, with terms of aesthetic choice. It has been argued that the twin towers that
clearly defined stages, is flank the chancels of some Rhineland churches conveyed a political
found in many Burgundian
churches. message about the status of bishops and, whatever the truth in this in-
stance, there were certainly occasions when tower construction was
motivated by political considerations.* The twin towers found at
Cormac’s Chapel (1127-34), Cashel (Tipperary), for example [131],
provided a succinct way for a local king and his supporters to proclaim
their international credentials.
Romanesque towers were normally square or octagonal in plan, the
choice of arrangement tending to follow regional patterns. Thus the
churches of Burgundy and the Auvergne are surmounted by octagonal
towers, often constructed in two or more stages, like the elegant exam-
ples at Anzy-le-Duc [76] and St Saturnin [149]. When an octagonal
tower was constructed over the crossing, special measures were re-
quired to effect the transition between the square plan of the crossing
and the octagonal base of the tower. To solve this problem builders
normally employed ‘squinches’, short bridges of stone cutting across
the angles [149]. The problem did not arise when towers were built to
a square plan, as was usually the case in England and Normandy.
Compared with the elegant towers of Burgundy or the Auvergne, the
Anglo-Norman examples, as at Lessay, Tewkesbury [77], Southwell,
or St Albans, are altogether more monumental and robust in appear-
ance.
One important distinction in the handling of a crossing tower con-
cerns the way in which it relates to the internal space of the building.
Normally the existence of the tower is concealed by the insertion of a
ceiling or vault at the same level as the adjoining nave; in some cases,
however, the lower storeys of the tower were left open, producing the
so-called ‘lantern tower’. With the windows high above casting a pool
of light into the centre of the church, the effect can be very dramatic, as
in the (rebuilt) tower at St Etienne at Caen or in the pilgrimage church
at Conques. Similar effects were achieved in three major Spanish
churches, the cathedrals at Salamanca and Zamora, and the collegiate
church at Toro. In these examples the space of the crossing is covered
by a dome set above a drum filled with continuous windows, the whole
arrangement embellished with a rich display of mouldings and arcades
[74]. The transition from the square space of the crossing is achieved
effortlessly by the use of pendentives, rather than the more awkward
squinches generally employed elsewhere. The sublime composition of
on
space, light, and pattern created inside these churches is matched
the exterior by the sheer power of the central drum, its appeal en-
hanced by blind arcades and extra turrets [78].
77 Tewkesbury Abbey
(Gloucestershire), crossing
tower, first half of twelfth
century
This is one of the more ornate
|
examples of the square
crossing tower, which was a
feature of Romanesque
building in Normandy and
England.
a
78 Toro (Zamora), collegiate

church of Santa Maria Mayor,
dome over crossing, c.1200
Compared with an earlier
dome at Zamora, the dramatic
effect is enhanced by the two-
storeyed drum and the
isolation of the four corner
turrets.

79 Selby Abbey (Yorkshire),
settlement in the nave,
c.1100-20
The north-west crossing pier
(to the right) dragged down
the first bay of the nave. To
save the situation, the gallery
arch was partially blocked.
The main structural problem encountered in the erection of cross-

ing towers was the danger of differential settlement. The extra load
placed on the four crossing piers meant that they were liable to sink
further into the ground than neighbouring parts of the structure, thus
introducing distortions into the fabric, with the eventual possibility of
complete collapse. The best guarantee of stability was to ensure that
the foundations laid out at the beginning of the work were capable of
sustaining the additional weight, a principle that was not universally
understood. The problem was compounded by the fact that, as at
Beverley, towers were often added to existing buildings or increased in
height, thereby adding loads which the original masons had never en-
visaged. A remarkable illustration of this problem can be seen, fos-
silized in the fabric, at Selby Abbey, where the construction ofa central
tower (c.1120) seriously distorted the adjoining bays of the nave [79].
Rather than dismantle the damaged masonry, the builders patched and
strengthened the existing stonework as best they could.
a fea-
At Beverley disaster came with the addition of a stone spire,
of
ture usually associated with Gothic architecture. In fact the origin
the spire can be traced back to at least the sixth century, though it was
only in the Carolingian era that it became a common feature of church
design. The early spires were constructed around a wooden framework

80 Cruas (Ardéche), abbey and covered by lead or wooden shingles. An ambitious example was
church of Sainte-Marie,
twelfth-century crossing
erected by the monks of St Bertin in northern France soon after 860,
tower when they constructed what they called a sristegum, a tall three-stage
The circular tower at Cruas is spire, in which each level was built like a wheel, with spokes coming
unusual in this region of
France. Builtin two stages,
out of a central post.° Some decades earlier, a more orthodox scheme
with a narrow upper storey, the had been commissioned by Abbot Ansegis (823-33) of St Wandrille, in
design is reminiscent of the form of ‘a square pyramid thirty-five feet in height, constructed of
Roman mausolea, as well as
centralized buildings inspired turned wood’. It was covered with lead, tin, and gilded copper, and
by the Holy Sepulchre at contained three bells. The shape of the spire at St Wandrille became
Jerusalem (41, 42).
one of the standard forms of the early Middle Ages, consisting of a
81 Stenkyrka (Gotland),
four-sided roof brought down to the outer edge of the stone tower
helm tower, late thirteenth which supported it. A variant of this type is the ‘helm’, in which the
century
roof structure is rotated by 45 degrees, with gables terminating the ma-
The stone gables at the base of
the spire and the open
sonry of the tower, allowing the flat surfaces of the spire to descend into
arcades in the body of the the angles. This form, which was restricted to northern Europe, was
tower were derived from
employed in both England and Germany, and several fine examples
German Romanesque
architecture, as seen for survive in Gotland [81].
example at Maria Laach (13). Wooden spires were vulnerable to both wind and lightning, and by
the twelfth century there was a general realization that the stone spire
offered greater security. In this the French were the pioneers and there is

82 Chartres Cathedral,
south-west tower, third
quarter of the twelfth century
The steep gable which carries
the eye towards the spire was
a motif with several
precedents in the
Romanesque architecture of
western France.
ff
Ld
comb
ee
nee‘ie
a series of stunning examples in the western regions of the country.

Some are conical in form, for example those at Poitiers (Notre Dame la
Grande) and Saintes (Notre Dame), but the octagonal shape is more
common. When a spire was erected over a square tower, as was often the
case, the architects were faced with the problem of how to effect a
smooth flow from one to the other. In many cases the transition was
concealed by small turrets or miniature spires placed at the angles, which
contribute to the vertical flow of the design. Elsewhere steep gables on
the main faces of the tower enhanced the vertical emphasis, as at
Brantéme (Dordogne), Vendéme (Loir-et-Cher), and St- Léonard-de-
Noblat (Haute-Vienne), a type sometimes known as the clocher
Limousin. These ideas were triumphantly brought together in the south
tower at Chartres, where a combination of gables and corner turrets
leads the eye effortlessly towards the spire, stretching over 300 feet into
the sky [82].
From the tenth century onwards, in Italy and other parts of south-
ern Europe, tall belfries were often built as independent structures, an
approach which avoided any structural interference with the fabric of
the church and allowed the shape of the traditional basilica to be main-
tained. Divided into regular stages by Lombard arcades (see pp. 195-6),

they are intimately associated with the style known as ‘first
Romanesque’. Particularly distinctive is the way in which the size and
number of the window openings increase with each storey, bringing
the composition to a natural climax at the belfry openings. A few of the
Italian campanili are circular rather than square in plan, and there is a
cluster of such towers at Ravenna, built in brick. But the most glam-
orous circular tower is that at Pisa, the famous ‘Leaning Tower’, which
is enveloped by arcading and bedecked in white marble [136]. The cir-
cular belfry is also encountered in Ireland, where it is described in the
local annals as cloictheach or bell house [83]. Such towers first appeared
in the tenth century in circumstances which have never been satisfac-
torily explained; presumably there was some connection with Italy.
Although somewhat gaunt compared with their Italian counterparts,
the Irish towers were built with a subtle ‘batter’, tapering slightly as
they rise, and they were surmounted by conical roofs of stone, a form
conceived long before stone spires became widespread in Europe.
Isolated towers were not immune from structural catastrophe: at Pisa
the tower had already begun to lean while under construction and in
Ireland several towers were blown over by high winds in 981, collapses
83 Kilmacduagh (Galway),
round tower, probably which probably had more to do with inadequate foundations than with
eleventh century the exceptional weather.®
The pronounced lean ofthis
typical Irish bell tower was
The outstanding engineering achievement of the early Middle
probably the result of building Ages was unquestionably the development of the stone vault. Until the
over earlier graves. eleventh century Christian basilicas were normally covered by some
form of timber roof, occasionally with a separate wooden ceiling fixed
below. Although the architects of imperial Rome had mastered the
mechanics of both groin and barrel vaulting, the upper walls of a colon-
naded basilica were too lightweight to withstand the forces generated
by a masonry vault. In the post-Roman world vaults were employed in
crypts and other relatively small spaces, but nobody dared to construct
them over the broad span ofa large basilica. This was the challenge fac-
ing masons in the eleventh century, when various alternative solutions
were put to the test.
The building of a masonry vault was no easy task. During construc-
tion, timber centering was required as a temporary support until the
vault was complete. The top of the centring was made of planks or wat-
tle mats, which provided a surface on which the stones of the vault were
laid. Most early medieval vaults were made of rubble or roughly
dressed masonry, which called for a liberal supply of mortar. As the
mortar itself did not have the tensile strength to lock the masonry into
a solid shell, the stability of the vault depended on its geometrical
shape and the fact that the stone was disposed in such a way that it re-
mained under compression. With the vaults complete, the centering
could be removed, a nervous moment for the masons involved, provid-
ing the first independent test of the structure.

84 Stone vaulting in the early
Middle Ages
19 {LHRES
ro =
(a) barrel vault; (b) groin vault;
(c) ribbed vault
lesteet
AH
ez?
The two main types of vault used in the early Middle Ages, the
groin vault and the barrel vault [84], both exerted substantial lateral
force on the upper walls of the building. These pressures had to be neu-
tralized in some way, the precise extent of the forces depending on the
nature of the masonry employed and the thickness of the vault itself.
Romanesque vaults were usually a foot or more thick, which means
that in an average church, hundreds of tons of masonry were sus-
pended above those who worshipped inside. The lateral forces gener-
ated by this weight often led to serious distortions in the fabric, as in
the church of the Collegiata del Sar at Compostela, where the main
piers are so badly twisted that the building was only saved from col-
lapse through the addition of external buttressing [85]. Faced with
such difficulties, Romanesque masons opted for massively thick walls,
further reinforced by buttresses, as the best means of ensuring stability.
85 Santiago de Compostela,
Collegiata del Sar, twelfth
century
The piers of this hall church
have peen pushed outwards
in aclassic demonstration of
vault mechanics. The exterior
walls have been provided with
massive buttresses to counter
any further movement.
ART AND ENGINEERING I[31

Of the two major types of vaults available, barrel vaults were easier
to build, since they were regular in shape and the semicircular center-
ing could be reused as work progressed. A disadvantage was the fact
that the lateral forces were spread evenly along the supporting walls,
making the introduction of windows a more hazardous operation. This
problem could be avoided through the use of groin vaults, where the
forces were directed to particular points of the wall, allowing windows
to be opened in the intervening spaces. The centering of a groin vault,
however, was more complex. The diagonal angles formed on the un-
derside of such vaults do not normally prescribe a semicircle [119],
which made the wooden supports complicated to assemble. As a result,
it was never easy to achieve a smooth curve along the groin.
The difficulties and dangers involved in the construction of stone
vaults raise the question of why patrons and builders were so anxious to
erect them. The conventional explanation is that they were an insurance
against the fires which devastated many a great church in the Middle
Ages. The specific catalyst is often thought to have been the attacks on
religious communities in the ninth and tenth centuries by the Vikings,
Magyars, and Moslems. This oft-recited view is too simplistic, given that
the areas of Europe which suffered most devastation were not those in
the vanguard of structural development. Nonetheless stone vaults did
have a protective value. Once fire caught hold in a wooden roof, it was
virtually impossible to stop it destroying the whole building, as burning
timbers fell into the church below. A stone ceiling constructed under the
outer roof thus served as an effective barrier. Most fires were caused by
accident, as at Canterburyin1174, when sparks from a local house fire set-
tled on the roof of the Romanesque choir. In an age which depended on
candles for illumination, the risks were all too obvious. In 1o15 a multi-
tude of dignitaries, who had gathered at Mainz to celebrate the comple-
tion of a new cathedral, watched it burn down on the day of consecration.
Stone vaults were, however, regarded as far more than an insurance
against fire. When they were added to the church of St Hilaire at Poitiers
in the twelfth century, a contemporary source explained that the purpose
was to provide ‘protection from fire’ and improve the ‘composition of the
work’.’ The juxtaposition of the two phrases is significant, leaving no
doubt that vaults were prized for their aesthetic appeal. They trans-
formed the atmosphere of the building, adding a dignity and monumen-
tality which was lacking when the interior culminated in an open timber
roof. These qualities were recorded bya chronicler at Angers around 1150
when he explained how the bishop ‘took down the timber beams of the
nave of the [cathedral] church, threatening to fall from sheer old age, and
began to build stone vaults of wondrous effect [my italics], spending £800
of his own money on the work’.* It is also possible that stone vaults were
appreciated for their acoustic properties, an important consideration as
singing and chanting came to occupy a prominent role in the opus Dei.

The precise circumstances in which stone vaulting on a grand scale
was mastered by Romanesque builders have proved difficult to estab-
lish: crucial monuments have been destroyed or reconstructed, and the
chronology of those that survive is often the subject of debate. As early
as 957 a church at Banyoles in Spain was covered in stone following a
fire, and it is clear that by the early decades of the eleventh century
some ambitious projects had been undertaken in Catalonia, notably at
San Pedro de Roda and Cardona.’ San Pedro de Roda is a spectacular
monument, situated on the cliffs above the Mediterranean, just south
of the modern Franco-Spanish border. The interior of the church is
thoroughly Roman in flavour, with two superimposed sets of columns
flanking the main piers, the latter set on high plinths, recalling the
arrangement found on many a triumphal arch [86]. The barrel vault
(c.1035), which adds to the spirit of Romanitas, is buttressed by quad-
rant vaults in the aisles, a system which allows the lateral forces of the
86 San Pedro de Roda

(Catalonia), c.1035
One of several examples of
early barrel vaulting in
Catalonia. The detached
columns and high plinths are
strongly reminiscent of Roman
architecture.

(maaeliaey Uaee
O 10 20 30 feet
87 Cardona (Catalonia), San nave vault to be transferred efficiently to the outer walls of the building.
Vincente, consecrated in
1040
The masons in this case were cautious in their approach to structural
The barrel vault over the nave matters: the aisles are narrow and there are no clerestory windows to
was supported with small weaken the upper walls of the building. The church at Cardona, conse-
groin vaults in the aisle, three
crated in 1040, is a more compact and harmonious building, with barrel
per bay. The niches around
the apse and the hall crypt vaults throughout the main spaces of the church. It was designed to
under the chancel suggesta serve a religious community living within the castle of the local count.
link with Italy.
As at San Pedro de Roda, the aisles are narrow, but otherwise the struc-
tural system is quite different. Clerestory windows pierce the upper
walls of the nave, and the aisles are covered by a series of small groin
vaults, three per bay, which are too low to provide much support for the
main vaults [87]. Several aspects of the design of Cardona relate to
Lombardy (including the hall crypt and a series of blind niches around
the interior of the apse and choir), raising the possibility that the vaults
88 Tournus (Sa6ne-et-Loire),
St Philibert, interior of the
may have been inspired by lost monuments in northern Italy.
narthex, 1023-56, ground There is a mistaken assumption that medieval methods of vaulting
floor followed a neat typological progression. In fact the masons of the
The groin vaults in the main
eleventh century experimented with a number of different systems,
space are buttressed by at
transverse barrel vaults in the least some of which ended in failure. It was not particularly difficult to
aisles, a sound structural erect vaults over single-aisled buildings, where the walls could easily
arrangement which the be
Romans used ona grand
buttressed, but in aisled structures the forces of the central vault some-.
scale seven centuries earlier in how had to be transferred across to the outer wall. The way in which
the Basilica of Maxentius. the aisle (or the gallery above) was vaulted thus became a crucial con-

< > < Z Q <2) Z © é <a <2) 2 e Z © 135
89 Alternative structural
forms: cross-sections
(a) Santiago de Compostela;
(b) Notre-Dame-la-Grande,
Poitiers (hall church);
(c) Cluny III; (d) St Trophime,
Arles (Provencal type)
ae =a
Ess
aay
—_
cern. One of the most successful solutions was that employed in the
pilgrimage churches at Santiago, Toulouse, and Conques, where quad-
rant vaults in the galleries reinforce the upper walls of the church just
below the springing point of the main vault [89a]. In these examples
the builders opted for stability rather than light. There are no windows
at clerestory level, so that even on the brightest days the churches pre-
serve a degree of shade and mystery.
An alternative approach to vaulting a three-aisled space is repre-
sented by the so-called ‘hall’ church, in which each aisle is constru
cted
at approximately the same height [89b, 140]. In structural terms this
90 Tournus (Saéne-et-Loire), has considerable advantages, since the vaults over the outer
aisles are
St Philibert, nave vault, high enough to buttress the central vault, allowing the lateral forces
c.1060 to
be transferred to the outer perimeter of the building. The compac
The sequence of transverse t
section of a hall church is thus quite different from that of the
barrel vaults allowed for
tradi-
excellent lighting effects, but tional basilica. The visual effects inside are also differen
the system was rarely copied, t, with the
more open space dominated by tall unbroken piers. Although
no doubt because of the hall.
excessive load placed on the churches were not immune from structural problems
(witness the
transverse arches. Collegiata del Sar [85]), they offered a reliable way of constru
cting a

m & < Z Q <a) Z 2) Z io) <2] a4 a © Land
io
completely vaulted building, one reason perhaps why they became
popular during the eleventh century, especially in western France and
northern Spain.
The best illustration of the experiments that took place in vault con-
struction are to be found in the Burgundian church of St Philibert at
Tournus, where several different methods were employed within a few
years of each other.'° The ground floor of the westwork (1023-56) has
an arrangement which can be traced back to imperial Rome: here the
central space is covered by groin vaults, reinforced in the aisles by a se-
quence of transverse barrel vaults [88]. This is a logical arrangement,
with the solid mass of masonry in the haunches of the barrel vaults but-
tressing the central vaults. Transverse barrel vaults in the aisles were
subsequently employed elsewhere in Burgundy and the system was
later exploited by the Cistercians, most notably in the church at
Fontenay [116]. In the upper storey of the westwork at Tournus,
known as the chapel of St Michael, the space was treated like an ortho-
dox basilica, with a high nave and clerestory windows. Here the nave is
covered with a barrel vault, which exerts considerable stress on the
upper walls; wooden tie beams were therefore inserted to counter the
danger of lateral movement. Quadrant vaults in the aisles were set too
low to provide any serious reinforcement for the vault above. The
arrangement is far from perfect, and it illustrates one of the main prob-
lems that confronted Romanesque builders: how to reinforce a high
vault while at the same time retaining windows at clerestory level.
In the main body of the church at Tournus this problem was tack-
led in an ingenious way. Sometime after 1056 the nave was barrel
vaulted, not with a single continuous vault, but with a series of barrel
vaults set transversely across the building [90]. The main forces of the
vaults descend onto the transverse arches, which were built of care-
fully cut stone. As the upper walls were relieved of much of their load-
bearing function, clerestory windows could be inserted without
weakening the structure. The system produced spectacular lighting
and spatial effects, but the excessive stress on the transverse arches
meant that it remained a brilliant though flawed solution; there
is only
one known copy.
In the last two decades of the eleventh century, Romanesque engi-
neering became increasingly ambitious. Particularly adventurous
was
the great church at Cluny (Cluny IID), begun in 1088, where the high
vaults extended almost too feet above the ground [89c,
112]. What
made this such a daring piece of architecture was the presenc
e of a
clerestory with three windows per bay, providing a continuous strip
of
glazing immediately below the vaults. Although pierced by window
s,
the upper walls were extremely thick; they were in fact
wider than the.
piers which supported them below, creating an overhang known
to
French scholars as porte afaux. Perhaps sensing the structu
ral dangers,

the builders employed barrel vaults with pointed profiles, a shape
which helped to reduce the horizontal forces. ‘This is one of the first
uses of the pointed arch in Western architecture, a form commonly
thought to have been borrowed from the Islamic world. Whatever its
origins, the crucial fact is that the builders of Cluny were prepared to
use an alien form. The willingness to depart from tradition must be
linked to the scale of the building and to the realization that the
pointed arch offered structural advantages. Pointed forms were used
only in load-bearing positions, not for windows or doors, indicating
that the change was made for structural rather than aesthetic reasons.
It is ironic that a church with fluted pilasters and other explicit refer-
ences to ancient Rome should abandon one of the fundamental com-
ponents of classical design.
The structural audacity of the Cluniac masons was called into ques-
tion even before the abbey church was finished. In 1125 a section of the
high vaults of the nave collapsed, and subsequent repairs must have in-
volved a reassessment of the original design. As a precautionary mea-
sure external arches—or flying buttresses—were used to reinforce the
upper walls of the nave [110]. Although flyers are generally regarded as
a Gothic ‘invention’, it is worth noting that they first came into use as
an emergency repair.
Compared with other great buildings of the time the structural sys-
tem of Cluny was far from perfect. A more solid and reliable approach
was adopted by the masons at Speyer Cathedral, working under the
patronage of the emperor Henry IV. In the years after 1081 the main
body of the cathedral was covered by groin vaults, each vault extending
over two bays of the elevation [148]. Where the stress of the vaults was
greatest, the piers were enlarged through the addition of broad pi-
lasters or ‘dosserets’, forming a system of interior buttressing. The fact
that groin vaults were employed meant that clerestory windows could
be incorporated without weakening the structure. The result is an inte-
rior of monumental power, albeit stark and prismatic when compared
with contemporary French buildings, but one which conveys an im-
pression of Roman gravitas, an impression singularly appropriate for a
ruler with the political pretensions of Henry IV. There are many fea-
tures of Speyer which relate to northern Italy, the area from which the
German masons acquired their technological expertise.
In the closing decades of the eleventh century, high vaults were also
erected in a number of Anglo-Norman buildings, though only over the
chancels: two still survive at Caen, in the churches of La Trinité and St
Nicolas. While there were perhaps economic and structural reasons for
restricting the high vaults to the eastern limb of a church, the arrange-
ment provided a convenient way of demarcating the most sacred part of
high
the building, the vaults acting like a giant baldacchino over the
altar.

The introduction of ribbed vaulting has occasioned more debate
and more misunderstanding than any other feature of medieval archi-
tecture. The origin of the rib has been hotly disputed, so too its struc-
tural and aesthetic functions. For over a century the arguments have
been distorted by the opinions of Viollet-le-Duc and his followers, in
particular the theory of structural rationalism, which imputes a struc-
tural function to almost every feature of Gothic design. The rib has
been heralded as one of the great discoveries of the Middle Ages, many
writers taking it for granted that, from the start, its purpose was to pro-
vide a structural frame. Given the importance of the rib in subsequent
Gothic design, much energy has been devoted to tracking the ‘inven-
tion’ of the rib, that moment of creativity when the idea was supposedly
first born. Unfortunately the issues are not quite so simple.
By the closing decade of the eleventh century, the technique of
ribbed vaulting was familiar to masons in England, Germany, and
Lombardy. It is often thought curious that some of the earliest ribs are
to be found at Durham Cathedral [91], situated on the northern out-
posts of the Romanesque world. This remains a puzzle only if ribs are
regarded as a technological feature. In fact Durham was the most richly
articulated building of its time, massively adorned with engaged shafts
and soffit rolls [146]. As we shall see in Chapter 9, one of the chief aes-
thetic aims of Romanesque architects was to emphasize and define the
main components of their buildings. In a work as ornate as Durham,
undecorated groin vaults would have looked badly out of place, and by
stressing the angles of the vault the architect was merely following the
approach used everywhere else in the building. In fact recent studies
have shown that the early ribs, both at Durham and elsewhere, were not
necessarily built as a separate frame to which the rubble cells were then
added; the structural (and constructional) advantages of the rib
emerged gradually over the course of time. At Durham the first ribs
were erected in the choir aisles in 1096 and these were followed by the
high vault of the choir in 1104. As the latter was replaced in the early
years of the thirteenth century, the earliest high vaults to survive are
those over the north transept [91]. When building began at Durham in
1093, it appears that the intention was to erect vaults only over the choir
and not over the nave and transepts. As work progressed, the builders
became more confident, constructing vaults over walls with clerestory
passages, and effecting radical changes to the geometry of the vaults.
The later vaults (1128-33) were also embellished with chevron
orna-
ment, adding an exotic flavour to the visual gymnastics already provided
by the ribs [146].
The early ribbed vaults of Lombardy were quite different in form.
They were usually applied to buildings with an alternating system
and
the vaults tended to have a domical shape, the centre rising
well above
the framing arches. The ribs themselves were rectangular
in profile,

91 Durham Cathedral, ribbed lacking the mouldings normally found in England. Although the his-
vaults in the north transept, tory of ribbed vaulting in Lombardy is clouded by chronological argu-
ment, the technique appears to have been well established by the last
c.1104-10
These are the earliest high
vaults to survive at Durham. In quarter of the eleventh century; the ribs over the church of San Nazaro
contrast to the later vaults of in Milan (c.r075-93) have some claim to being the earliest remaining.
By the end of the century Lombard techniques had found their way to
the nave, the transverse
arches are rounded in form.
northern Europe. The Mariakerk at Utrecht (r081-99), complete with
galleries and ribbed vaults, was as impressive as any Lombard church in
Italy and we are fortunate that, before its destruction in the eighteenth
century, the details were meticulously recorded in the paintings of
Pieter Saenredam [92]."!
Contrary to prevailing opinion, Romanesque masons did not re-
gard ribs as an instant panacea which would render all other forms of
vaulting immediately obsolete. Even in England groin vaults contin-
ued to be built in aisles and subsidiary spaces, suggesting that masons
saw no immediate benefit from using ribs. In the Rhineland groin
vaults were still being erected in the second half of the twelfth century
[119], no doubt because they were not out of place in monuments
where the articulation was relatively austere. Ribs were a visual en-
hancement, used as a means of drawing attention to important sections
of a building. Those erected over the transepts at Speyer (c.1106), for
example, have been interpreted as part of the general embellishment of
ART AND ENGINEERING I4I

Si a ic3)<x [a4 4 Sy = i) fa) S| S J < m4 1S) eo = <3) (2) be =) [24 rea)
92 Utrecht, Mariakerk, view this part of the cathedral, which Henry IV evidently wanted to turn
of the nave, built after 1081
into a pair of imperial burial chapels.” In such contexts ribbed vaults
Painting by Pieter Saenredam
(1638) had an iconographical significance, marking out areas of special sanc-
Although the church was tity, a meaning aptly conveyed by the French term crotsée d ogives.
demolished long ago, the
The emphasis on formal development, which has governed the
painting shows that it was
erected in a Lombard style, writing of architectural history, has tended to obscure the symbolic and
complete with domical ribbed aesthetic qualities associated with the art of stone vaulting. Barrel
vaults. This may have been
one ofthe first examples of
vaults, groin vaults, and ribbed vaults did not follow each other in a
ribbed vaulting in northern neat technological sequence. In England many churchmen were not
Europe. even convinced of the need for vaults at all, despite the spectacular
achievements at Durham; in some parts of the country timber ceilings
were regarded as a perfectly acceptable alternative. Opinions might
have been different had the fate of the splendid ceiling of Canterbury
Cathedral been known (it was destroyed in the fire of 1174). However,
stone vaults were not necessarily a perfect solution either, as the canons
of Lincoln discovered in 1186, when tons of masonry fell from the
vaults, splitting their cathedral apart.

Sal
uf
Bs
ef
a
iM
Me,
Architecture
and Pilerimage
A solemn translation of relics was one of the highlights in the life of a

medieval monastic community, a ceremony that underlined the bond
between church architecture and the cult of the saints. At Durham
such an event took place in 1104, when the remains of St Cuthbert were
moved into the recently completed choir, 11 years after building opera-
tions had begun.' In the eyes of the local Benedictine monks the new
structure was not just a monastery and cathedral church, but a shrine
for their patron saint. With dozens of prelates and other dignitaries
present, the ¢rans/atio was both a religious occasion and a public rela-
tions exercise, a ceremony designed to enhance the reputation of the
saint and to bolster the income of the building fund, the latter an im-
portant consideration. Throughout the Middle Ages relics, pilgrim-
age, miracles, money, and construction were closely entwined.
In architecture the impact of the cult of relics is particularly evident
in the development of crypts and the proliferation of chapels around the
choir. But indirectly the effects extended far beyond matters of planning
and design. Relics were used to justify grandiose architecture and they
helped to produce the cash to pay for it. They provoked competition be-
tween neighbouring monastic houses and they provided the raison d étre
of pilgrimage, from which hundreds if not thousands of medieval
churches benefited. Pilgrimage in its turn encouraged the spread of ar-
chitectural knowledge as information about church design was dissem-
inated along the pilgrimage routes: many a benefactor was inspired by
But
what he had seen in Rome, Jerusalem, or some other distant shrine.
by the veneratio n of
to what extent was church architecture dictated
relics and how valid is the oft-used phrase ‘pilgrimage church’? The is-
sues are more complex than they might seem: between the eighth and
churches in
eleventh centuries, relics and altars were incorporated into
93 St James as a pilgrim
St Marta de Tera (Zamora),
in the twelfth cen-
south portal. Early twelfth all manner of disparate and unexpected ways. Even
century. The saint's bag is tury there was no architectural consensus about the best way of accom-
modating shrines or about how to cope with the throngs of pilgrims
decorated with a scallop shell,
the emblem ofthe pilgrimage
“te Santiago. who turned up for the great religious festivals.
147
Religious communities took enormous pride in their relic collec-
tions, which might contain two or three hundred separate items. The
monastery of Peterborough, for example, was the proud possessor of
the right arm of St Oswald, ‘more precious than gold’, along with part
of his ribs and some of the soil on which he fell when he was martyred.
The monks also had portions of the swaddling clothes of the Christ-
child, pieces of the manger, a shoulder-blade of one of the holy inno-
cents, remains of the five loaves with which Christ fed the five
thousand, and relics of six of the Apostles.2 The monastery at
Charroux in France claimed to have the foreskin of Christ; so too did
the Pope in his collection in the chapel of San Lorenzo in the Vatican.
As early as 831 St Riquier had 30 separate reliquaries, made of gold, sil-
ver, and ivory. The status of religious houses was defined by the relics
they possessed, which explains why, in the twelfth century, Abbot
Suger of St Denis was so anxious to discover how his collection com-
pared with those at Constantinople andJerusalem. It is tempting to re-
gard the enthusiasm for relics as a product of the ignorance and
credulity of the ‘Dark Ages’, a flight from the rationalism of the classi-
cal world. But in fact this ‘pernicious innovation’, as Edward Gibbon
described it, started in late Antiquity and its origins can be traced back
to the fourth century, if not before. From early times Christians had
been accustomed to worship at the graves of saints and martyrs, which
were generally located in cemeteries outside the walls of cities and
towns.* A stone mensa or altar table was usually erected above the
grave, so that, during the celebration of the eucharist, the sacrifice of
Christ was equated with that of the martyr. The authorities in Rome
prohibited the removal of corpses from their original burial site, which
meant that commemorations had to take place within the cemeteries.
But it was not long before the bones of the saints were on the move, as
Christian leaders were tempted to transfer them to more convenient
locations. In 385 Ambrose, bishop of Milan, transferred the relics of
two obscure saints, Gervasius and Protasius, into a new basilica he had
built for himself (Sant’Ambrogio), placing them in a grave under the
altar, thus linking the altar with relics as had been the case in cemetery
churches.* The practice was inspired or at least justified by a passage in
the Book of Revelation (6:9): ‘I saw under the altar the souls of them
that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they
held’. In 4or the Council of Carthage declared that all altars should
contain relics, a canon that was repeated at various times in later cen-
turies. Initially most of the relics incorporated into altars were sec-
ondary items, things which had merely come into contact with the
remains of a saint: portions of oil burnt alongside the grave, for exam-
ple, or strips of linen known as brandea, which had been
lowered into’
the tomb. But once bodies were being lifted and moved about,
it was
tempting to dismember them, so that the bones of a single
saint might

94 Reliquary of St Andrew’s
sandal, made between 977
and 993
Trier Cathedral Treasury. One
of the many thousands of
shrines made in the early
Middle Ages to hold the relics
of the saints. In this case a
model of the saint’s foot has
been placed on a portable
altar.
be shared out among different communities. Size did not matter too
much, for all relics, however small, provided a tangible link with the
supernatural, a point of contact between earth and Heaven. During
the seventh and eighth centuries, they played a crucial role in the con-
version of the Germanic countries and by the ninth century the de-
mand for new relics had become almost insatiable, with unscrupulous
dealers raiding the catacombs in Rome to supply the monasteries of the
north.
Crypts originated in the Early Christian era, when a number of
basilicas were furnished with a small chamber (or ‘confessio’) under the
altar. The faithful could get a glimpse of the relics through a window
(fenestella), from which brandea could be dangled down into the grave.
However, the relics were still rather remote, so passageways were con-
structed to provide direct access into the chamber, allowing pilgrims to
venerate the relics at close quarters. In about 590 a crypt of this form
was installed at St Peter’s by the future pope, Gregory the Great, and it
was this work that really established the crypt as an important ingredi-
ent in Christian architecture. Gregory inserted a passageway around
the inside wall of the apse, from the outer point of which a further pas-
sage led back to the confessio and to the grave of St Peter [6]. The sys-
tem allowed for an orderly viewing of the relics, with a separate
entrance and exit. On the floor above, the high altar and its ciborium
were carefully sited over the confessio. Although crypts give the im-
pression of being gloomy subterranean structures, they were not always
built below the ground. Rather than excavate to a great depth, the floor
above was sometimes raised instead, an arrangement which trans-
formed the chancel into a stage, making the performance of the liturgy
both more visible and more theatrical.
ARCHITECTURE AND PILGRIMAGE 149

During the seventh and eighth centuries crypts of various types
began to appear in churches north of the Alps. A design on the model
of St Peter’s was introduced at St Denis soon after 755, and by the early
ninth century the annular or ring crypt, as it is variously known, was
well established in the Carolingian world. It was this type of crypt that
Einhard built in his second church at Seligenstadt, to which he trans-
ferred his prized relics from Steinbach [17]. A crypt was also included
in the proposals for the reconstruction of St Gall (c.830), and the fa-
mous plan spells out the details quite carefully [123]. In this case the
passageways are straight (crank-shaped) rather than semicircular in
layout, the designer indicating with curved lines that they were to be
barrel vaulted. A central passage leads back to the confessio with its
relics of St Gall, the Irishman who had founded the monastery over a
century before. The crypt envisaged at St Gall was relatively straight-
forward, but before long plans became increasingly complex, a point
reflected in the well-preserved example at St Germain, Auxerre
(841-59). Here the central confessio (which may date back to the sixth
century) has three barrel-vaulted aisles, which are separated by
columns lifted from some Gallo-Roman building [95]. The encircling
passage (which is definitely Carolingian) has flanking chapels, north
and south, and to the east it led round to a circular chapel on the axis,
housing an altar to the Virgin Mary [96]. The crypt at Auxerre is espe-
cially important for two reasons: the Carolingian additions were con-
structed outside the walls of the original church, producing a form
generally described as an ‘outer crypt’; secondly, this once had upper
storeys, so the crypt was like a two-storey building wrapped around the
east end of the main church. When the crypt was consecrated in 859 in
the presence of the emperor Charles the Bald, the monks had acquired
space for at least six new shrines or altars, and this of course was the
point of the operation.
Although early crypts are fascinating to explore, their architecture
was often rudimentary, a surprising point perhaps, given that these
were the most sacred parts of the church. But it should be remembered
that the rough walls and vaults seen today were once enveloped in —
colour. Much still remains at Auxerre, where one of the chapels was
painted with the stoning of the first martyr, St Stephen, a highly ap-
propriate subject. At San Vincenzo al Volturno, south of Rome, a small
Carolingian crypt discovered in the nineteenth century 1s still covered
with paintings from the period 824 to 842 that have lost little
of their
original brilliance.
By the eleventh century crypts had developed into far more articu-
lated pieces of architecture. This was the age of the ‘hall crypt’,
in
which a whole area was treated as a continuous entity, with a groin-
vaulted ceiling supported on free-standing columns. An early exampl
e
can be found at Agliate in Lombardy, where the three-aisled crypt
ex-
95 Auxerre, St Germain,
the ‘confessio’
This was the inner chamber of
a complex crypt which was
enlarged c.841-59.
Surprisingly the barrel vaults
are supported on oak lintels.
96 Auxerre, St Germain
Plan of the crypt
The confessio was surrounded
by an ambulatory which gave
access to a series of additional
chapels.
ARCHITECTURE AND PILGRIMAGE ISI

97 Agliate (Lombardy), San tends under both the apse and the chancel [97]. The hall crypt became
Pietro, crypt
a standard form in Italy and Germany, and in both countries it was
The date ofthis ‘hall crypt’ is
much debated; although sometimes extended under the transepts as well as the chancel. In such
sometimes placed in the late circumstances it became a vast cavernous space, filled with a forest of
ninth century, it may belong to
the early years of the eleventh.
columns. The monumental crypt at Speyer Cathedral (c.1030—61) has
42 bays of groin vaulting, supported on 20 cylindrical piers. In this case
the architectural clarity is quite exceptional, a result of the precise exe-
cution of the base mouldings and the cushion capitals, together with
the emphatic system of transverse arches. The cathedral at Speyer was
built by the German emperors and its huge crypt, while providing
space for altars, was primarily intended as a mausoleum for the mem-
bers of the Salian dynasty.
Following the Norman Conquest of 1066, the hall crypt was intro-
duced to England, where there is a magnificent example at Canterbury
Cathedral. This stretched under the entire area of the extensive new
choir, which was added between 1096 and 1130. The central space is
filled with a double enfilade of 11 free-standing columns, which were
given an exotic treatment: alternate columns were decorated with spi-

98 Canterbury Cathedral,
crypt under Anselm’s choir,
begun c.1096
An unusual system of
alternation was employed in
which plain columns were
given decorated capitals
whereas the decorated
columns received plain
capitals, perhaps a device to
increase the speed of
building.
rals, zigzags, and other patterns, while the intermediate plain columns
were furnished with ornate capitals [98]. Decorated columns were not
unprecedented in crypt design. There are examples in the Low
Countries, at Utrecht and Deventer, and there was an early example in
the Anglo-Saxon crypt at Repton. Far from being a stylistic fashion,
spirals were a way of adding a liturgical emphasis to the design, an
arrangement derived from the twisted columns in front of the shrine of
St Peter.in Rome.
Over the course of seven or eight centuries crypts had developed
from tiny chambers to vast semi-subterranean churches like those at
Speyer and Canterbury. Yet by the time the Canterbury choir was
completed (1130), they were already becoming obsolete, a consequence
of changes in religious and liturgical fashion. It was now normal for
major relics to be encased in sumptuous shrines, which were far more
likely to be displayed behind the high altar than in the gloom of the
crypt [108]. The growth of pilgrimage may have encouraged the trend.
At major shrines it was not easy to manage the huge crush on feast
days, if the turmoil experienced at St Denis is anything to go by. On
many occasions, so Abbot Suger claimed, monks were forced to jump
through the windows, relics in hand, to escape the rioting crowds.”
One of the most satisfactory ways of dealing with pilgrims was by
constructing a church with an ambulatory and radiating chapels, the
solution adopted at Santiago de Compostela (c.1078-1122) [100].
Visitors could pass up the side aisles and around the high altar, causing
the minimum of interference with the daily offices in the chancel. The
scheme also provided convenient access to the altars situated at the east
end of the church. As well as being practical, the arrangement looked
impressive [113]. Inside the church, the apse terminated in a semicir-

cular ring of columns, six or eight in number, which formed a backdrop
to both the high altar and the reliquary shrines. Beyond lay the ambu-
latory and the low radiating chapels, forming a diminishing hierarchy
of spaces. Exterior views were equally satisfying, the simple geometri-
cal forms gradually building up through the chapels to the ambulatory,
culminating in the sanctuary and a crossing tower, so creating the
‘stepped massing’ characteristic of Romanesque architecture [111]. At
Santiago the arrangement has been submerged under Baroque incrus-
tation, but it can still be seen in its original form at Conques, Toulouse
(St Sernin), St-Nectaire, Paray-le-Monial, St-Benoit-sur-Loire, and
many other places in France. Combining beauty and convenience, the
ambulatory and radiating chapel plan was one of the finest achieve-
ments of early medieval architecture.
Not surprisingly, historians have been anxious to establish the ori-
gin of the scheme, and there is a lengthy and rather arid literature de-
voted to the subject. It is clear that the plan type was well established in
France in the early years of the eleventh century, long before Santiago
was begun. Part of the background lies in the design of crypts, for the
semicircular ambulatory has much in common with the ring crypts of
the Carolingian age. The relationship is well illustrated at Tournus in
Burgundy, where a crypt, built soon after 1009, has an inner confessio
surrounded by an ambulatory and radiating chapels, the latter rectan-
gular in shape. The choir above followed the same plan. It is important
to remember that the ambulatory was not in itself new in Christian ar-
chitecture, having appeared in many centralized churches as well as in
several of the cemetery churches of Rome.
Given the complexity of the arguments, the subject is better ap-
proached in conceptual rather than evolutionary terms. In effect the
ambulatory scheme was the equivalent of half a martyrium attached to
the end of a basilican church, and viewed this way the plan can be seen
as a perfect synthesis of the two main building types of the Early
Christian church. As early as the fourth century, notably at Bethlehem,
there had been attempts to combine the two types, not always with
much success, and at least three Carolingian crypts included rotundas
at the east end. A more spectacular union of basilica and martyrium
appeared at Dijon, in the church of St Bénigne (1001-18), where a mas-
sive circular structure survived until the French revolution [99]. An ex-
cellent series of engravings confirms the statement by the local
chronicler that the oratory was ‘encircled by three rings of columns,
forty-eight in number, geometrically ordered’.° This was a multi-
storeyed building, furnished with a crypt (that still survives), as well
as
galleries. The central space was surmounted by a dome, with a circular
opening at the top, inspired no doubt by the Holy Sepulchre
in
Jerusalem. To the east was a rectangular chapel, also constructed in
three levels. The relics of St Bénigne, revered as the apostle of

99 Dijon, Saint Bénigne, Burgundy, lay in the crypt, and throughout the complex structure there
consecrated 1018,
cross-section of the rotunda
was a carefully ordered sequence of altars. Flanked north and south by
Engraving by Dom Plancher circular stair turrets, the great circular martyrium at Dijon was a most
The three levels of the imposing structure, a veritable Pantheon of the medieval world. A
building, each of which was similar building was erected at Charroux, where all that is left is an
vaulted, were linked by an
open well in the centre. Only open tower, presenting an architectural conundrum to the uninitiated:
the crypt level survives today. it is in fact the central core of the rotunda, which, as at Dijon, con-
tained three concentric rings of supports. One of the problems en-
countered at St Bénigne and possibly at Charroux was the complexity
of linking the rotunda to the basilican section of the church. The am-
bulatory and radiating chapel scheme solved this problem with greater
simplicity, and it is no surprise that the elaborate arrangements at
Dijon and Charroux were rarely copied.’
By the early years of the twelfth century, the church at Santiago de
Compostela had managed to turn itself into the most popular pilgrim-
age destination in Europe. The long journey across northern Spain and
through the Cantabrian mountains, which might have been regarded
as a deterrent, was turned to advantage and advertised as part of the
penitential value of the route. The remarkable story of how the body of
the apostle St James was brought by boat to Galicia in seven days and
then lay unnoticed for centuries before being miraculously rediscov-
Huy bieltin le la CHG el ec Gite reste LES ANC cenkgltses lh SvtHee Stele EL
ae
cles trots Rotondtes Me NAMM N10 le
A Bit here dete premiere Ealise bittic par 8 Creare Eveque de lathes at Eb. Rotonde den bas ¥ Rotendeda mit Co Bet
vurwrevnieat de Serine wale aboulissant dovicitente le Rutonde Letoba: li haul W. Dome le quatre canes place ite sbi dhe
bo Sawnid tae dela prenucre Barlice de SCV ¢IOUe , OU SANE Locident a lt tes Rotondes L.@eutes evterwuures di
%
Rotende de wilict EK culate dla Pomearre louvers yite bob ta 6
© Chaprelle ste Ot Mihel convtrudte aceonzscre Stole sur les usury he bir Tourde ta Retende die cote dua mity, rey reconic
premiere Bolise de 8’ bregure « MARE 8 PBMC AYPOMMEE apoutee apy llevcen

an Ht die le 137
Four yuarres fondece et apayec OME TOS MES de
[Raver de le eonde olive bitlie prar 8 breeoire
we wivienee Siecle et ornue purlthbe Cadlairtre
AR COVA
AER EARLE hte VL
Tonbea de 8 Benane -
Aneiciiie Chaise de StL ING

ered in 813 by a local bishop seems to have heightened rather than di-
minished the enthusiasm of the faithful. Towards the end of the
eleventh century, Bishop Diego Pelaez was determined that Santiago
would become a second Rome; his successor Diego Gelmirez even got
Papal permission to allow the canons to be described as cardinals. The
start of an impressive new church in 1078 was all part of the strategy.
Support from the Church in France, particularly from the abbey of
Cluny, helped to ensure the success of the pilgrimage, which became
one of the most extraordinary religious phenomena of the Middle
Ages.
Despite the occasional use of cusped arches and other Spanish de-
tails, Santiago was essentially French in design, sharing many features
with four important churches in France. These were situated on the
routes taken by the pilgrims: Toulouse (St Sernin), Conques (Ste Foi),
Limoges (St Martial), and Tours (St Martin). Although the churches
at Limoges and Tours do not survive, it is known that all five buildings
terminated in an ambulatory and radiating chapels and that each was
furnished with aisled transepts [100]. All had two-storey elevations,
with a high gallery above the main arcade; in four cases (the exception
is Tours) the gallery arches were elegantly subdivided by a pair of
columns [101]. The imposing interiors of the three surviving buildings
owe much to a comprehensive system of vaulting: barrel vaults across
the main spaces, quadrant vaults over the galleries, and groin vaults
over the aisles. Engaged shafts, which rise to support the transverse
arches beneath the vault, provide strong visual accents, dividing the
space into clearly marked bays. Although separated by distances of up
to 700 miles, the five churches formed one of the most distinct groups
in Romanesque architecture. It is clear that some of the same skilled
masons were employed at several of the sites.
The buildings were, however, far from exact copies. The choice of
materials was one fundamental difference. St Sernin, for example, is
built of red brick, whereas Santiago is made from a golden-coloured
granite. Nor were the plans identical. Two of the churches, St Martin
at Tours and St Sernin, Toulouse, were provided with double aisles in
the nave; and Ste Foi at Conques, which is smaller in scale than the
others, has only three ambulatory chapels (the rest were given five).
There has been a rather futile debate about which building served as
the prototype, a difficult question since all were under construction at
more or less the same time. The architectural background was unques-
tionably French; the wide transepts and high galleries, for example,
were already foreshadowed at St Rémi at Rheims before 1049, a build-
ing that was itself an important pilgrimage church.
The well-known Pilgrim’s Guide (c.1130), which described the vari-
ous routes that led from France to Compostela, mentions 26 shrines
that a pilgrim might visit on the way. Few have much in common with

100 Santiago de Compostela
Plan of the church in the
twelfth century.
The ambulatory with its five
radiating chapels, together
with the broad transepts
furnished with aisles on each
side, were features of the so-
called ‘pilgrimage group’ of
churches.
the five so-called ‘pilgrimage churches’, so it is important to appreciate

that this group is not representative of pilgrimage churches as a whole.
St Trophime at Arles, for example, or St Eutrope at Saintes were both
designed according to local fashion rather than to any specific pilgrim-
age formulae [89d]. The shrine of St Front at Périgueux was every bit as
prestigious as others along the routes, yet the church begun about 1120
was conceived with five great domes, covering vast interior spaces [102,
103]. Although domes are characteristic of Romanesque in Périgord,
St Front is not a locally inspired building. The domes are supported on
wide arches which descend to broad piers, each of which is made up of
four ‘legs’. In effect these are hollow piers which allow a narrow aisle to
run continuously around the building. St Front was a disciple of the
apostle St Peter and one might have expected the clergy at Périgueux to
have looked to Rome for their models. But it was the shrine of another
apostle, that of St Mark in Venice (begun 1063), which caught their
imagination. The structural system is so distinctive that there is no
doubt about the relationship. The design of St Mark’s was in turn de-
rived from the church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople
(536-50), as reconstructed during the reign of Justinian, so Périgueux
had an illustrious pedigree.* St Front was designed in grandiose terms,
replacing an older basilican-style church, and one gets the impression
that the authorities were determined not to be overawed by Santiago or
St Sernin at Toulouse. In fact interest in eastern models was already
well established. In 1077, almost half a century before the new church
was started, the tomb of St Front had been ‘built with the greatest care
in a round form as the sepulchre of the Lord’ by a certain
Guinamundus, a monk from La Chaise-Dieu.’ The shrine was sur-
mounted by a pyramidal roof, which was later repeated like an advertis-
ing slogan at the corners of each of the five domes of the church.

101 Santiago de A pilgrimage to Santiago was a major undertaking which could take
Compostela, c.1078-1122 up to 16 weeks for travellers from England and northern Europe. This
View across the transepts. The
main piers have a subtle
was the amount of time the authorities at Hereford Cathedral allowed
alternation in form, one ofthe their canons if they wished to make the journey to Galicia; the same
features which distinguish amount was allowed for a pilgrimage to Rome, compared with a whole
Santiago from other buildings
inthe so-called ‘pilgrimage’ year for the trip to Jerusalem. But most people had to be content with
group. local shrines, whose reputation and popularity fluctuated over the
years. In the second half of the twelfth century, for example, the shrine
of St Frideswide at Oxford began to attract attention and the
Augustinian canons, who owned the saint’s relics, must have been well
aware of the potential of her cult when they reconstructed their abbey
church. In 1180 the remains of the saint were translated into the new
building, designed in a characteristically English Romanesque man-
ner, with giant cylindrical piers [104]. At Oxford the piers embraced
both the main arcade and the triforium, creating a so-called ‘giant
order’. The main space of the chancel terminated in a straight east wall,
without any specific arrangements to cater for pilgrims. The relics
themselves were placed not in the choir itself but in a chapel on the
north side.'° Some English churches opted for the French system of an
ambulatory and radiating chapels, but there was no consistent pattern.
Whereas the four-bay choir at Durham (1093-1104) terminated in
three apses [147], following the scheme favoured in Norman monas-
teries, the enlarged choir at Canterbury (1096-1130) was furnished
102 Périgueux, St Front,

begun c.1120
The design ofthis important
pilgrimage church, with its
sequence of domes and ‘four-
legged’ piers, can be traced to
St Mark’s, Venice. Regrettably
itwas reconstructed in the
nineteenth century under the
direction of Paul Abadie.

103 Périgueux, St Front
Plan
The Greek-cross structure
with its five domes replaced a | | Original church (of various dates)
ilican =a
Oe a GZ Church with cupolas (apse & porch modern)
church, fragments of which
survive at the west. Unfinished cupola
104 Oxford, St Frideswide’s

(Cathedral), interior of the
choir, 1160-80
The relics of St Frideswide
became a focus of local
pilgrimage, the relics
themselves being kept ina
chapel to the north of the high
altar. The church is one of
several English buildings
which employed a ‘giant
order’, embracing both main
arcade and gallery.

105 Bari, San Nicola with an ambulatory and three radiating chapels, a layout repeated in
Plan of the church both the main floor and the crypt.
Like several Apulian
churches, the apses which
One church built deliberately to attract pilgrims was that of San
open off the transept were Nicola at Bari in southern Italy. The town was one of the chief commer-
enclosed by a continuous cial ports of the Mediterranean, a point of embarkation for -both
straight wall, which also
embraced corner towers. Constantinople and the Holy Land. In 1087 a group of Bari merchants,
outwitting Venetian rivals, managed to seize the relics of Saint Nicholas
106 Bari, San Nicola, from their resting place at Myra in Asia Minor. With Bari now firmly
founded 1087
With its galleried nave and
implanted on the pilgrimage map, a new church to house the relics was
continuous transept, San begun almost immediately. This had a “T-shaped plan, consisting of a
Nicola introduced a new type six-bay nave and a transept with three apses [105]. In contrast to
of design into Apulian church
architecture. The three-
Romanesque churches in northern Europe, there was no eastern limb,
arched screen which the main apse opening directly into the space of the transept [106]. This
separates the nave from the was the Early Christian pattern, seen in Rome at St Peter’s and San
transept follows a tradition
inherited from Early Christian Paolo fuori le mura. An unusual feature of the design was a screen wall,
times. Compare 12 and 65. running across the east end of the building, which enclosed the apses
and also embraced towers at the north and south corners. There is no
obvious explanation for this, though it has the effect of tidying up the
east end into a monolithic rectangular block. Stretching under the
whole of the transept is a spacious crypt, comprising 36 groin-vaulted
bays, supported on 24 free-standing columns. This was where the body
of San Nicola was placed in 1089 and where it still remains. The three-
storey nave has a columnar arcade, with triple arches in each bay of the
gallery. The whole design was new to Apulia and there has been consid-
erable debate about its origin. Whatever the sources, the building had
little in common with the so-called ‘pilgrimage churches’ of France and
100 feet

Spain. San Nicola helped shape the character of Apulian Romanesque,
its influence being very obvious along the Adriatic seaboard.
Within a few years a rival pilgrimage church was founded a few
miles north at Trani, though the local saint, Nicola Peregrino, was
scarcely in the same league as San Nicola of Myra. This Nicola was a
youth from Corfu who, having run around Greece and Dalmatia,
brandishing a cross and crying ‘Kyrie Eleison’, managed to get himself
killed at Trani in 1094. The church built in his honour is one of the
most striking monuments of southern Italy, its stark mass rising like a
cruise ship beside the waters of the Adriatic [107]. As at Bari, there is a
‘T’-shaped plan, but without the enclosing wall to the east. The three
apses are thus fully visible, the cylindrical forms projecting boldly from
the face of the massive transept. The eastern crypt (c.1ogg—1142) and
the lower sections of the transept were initially built as additions to a
seventh-century basilica and it was well into the thirteenth century be-
fore the entire cathedral was reconstructed. The nave has galleries like
those at Bari, though it differs in having twin columns to support the
main arcade. In both churches the crypt remained the premier location
for relics, as it did in many of the churches of twelfth-century Italy.
Given the enormous differences that existed among the so-called
‘pilgrimage churches’ of Europe, what then was the effect of pilgrim-
age on church architecture? There is no doubt that the need to promote
a shrine encouraged some churches to look at models outside their own
locality, to Venice, Rome, or Constantinople, for example, as clearly
happened at Périgueux and Bari, and in certain respects at Durham.
There is no doubt too that pilgrimage encouraged sumptuous build-
ing: a splendid monument confirmed the importance of the relics in-
side and was a valuable way of reassuring pilgrims that their journey
had been worthwhile. Customers were not always satisfied. In the
ninth century when the German monastery of Priim acquired relics of
St Chrysantus and St Daria, a certain woman hurried to offer assis-
tance, ‘taking with her a wagon loaded with food, drink and other
goods’. But on her arrival, the local chronicler explains, ‘she saw that
their tomb did not shine with gold and silver, she looked down on the
place and ridiculed it, as dull and irreligious minds are accustomed to
do’. She took her followers away claiming that ‘nothing holy was con-
tained there’.’ Although it was the lack of a precious reliquary that dis-
appointed the woman at Priim, it is easy to see how the same attitude
might be transferred to architecture. The twelfth-century historian
William of Malmesbury noted that ‘the more grandly constructed a
church is, the more likely it is to entice the dullest minds to prayer and
to bend the most stubborn to supplication’."2 There are several in-
stances in which the author of the Pilgrim's Guide stresses the beautyof
churches on the route to Santiago and his careful description of the
church at the final destination [101] was obviously designed to encour-

107 Trani Cathedral (Apulia),
begun 1089, completed in
thirteenth century
The Apulian churches were
not provided with chancels,
which meant that the main
apse projected directly from
the transept.
age potential visitors. He concludes in euphoric terms: ‘In this church,

in truth, one cannot find a single crack or defect: it is admirably built,
large, spacious, luminous, of becoming dimensions, well proportioned
in width, length and height, of incredibly marvellous workmanship,
and even built on two levels as a royal palace’, the last comment evi-
dently a reference to the galleries. Scale was obviously an important
consideration, for otherwise pilgrims would find it difficult to partici-
pate in the celebrations during religious festivals. From the clergy’s
point of view security was an equally serious matter. Relics were a pre-
cious commodity, which needed to be guarded against fire and theft,
hence the advantage of having a crypt. In the 1180s the monks of Bury
very nearly lost the relics of St Edmund when a fire broke out behind
the high altar;* during the fire which destroyed the cathedral of
Chartres in 1194, the tunic of the Virgin Mary was ‘miraculously’ pre-
served, simply because it had been stored in a stone-vaulted crypt. As
for theft, there are many notorious episodes besides that associated
with San Nicola of Bari, one of the best known being the capture of the
relics of Saint Foi by the monks of Conques. Without this felony, one
of the great pilgrimage churches of southern France might never have

been built. As early as the fourth century, fragments of the Holy Cross
at Jerusalem had to be carefully guarded when the faithful took turns to
kiss them on Good Friday, the fear being that someone would take a
bite rather than a kiss. Many centuries later the monks of Fécamp
looked on in horror as they showed their precious relic, the arm of St
Mary Magdalene, to Bishop Hugh of Lincoln. Having sliced off the
cloth bandages with a knife, he bit at a finger with his teeth, ‘first with
his incisors and finally with his molars’. The bishop then proceeded
to offer a spurious religious justification for his act of vandalism. By the
twelfth century most pilgrims did not get within touching distance of
relics, let alone biting distance. At some shrines relics were displayed
only on special occasions—once every seven years at Charroux and at
St Martial, Limoges—and there were riots at Conques when pilgrims
discovered they were not allowed to see the relics of Saint Foi.
From at least the ninth century it was customary to display minor
relics on a beam, usually fixed on columns in the vicinity of the high
altar. In Conrad’s choir at Canterbury two wooden columns, ‘grace- _
fully ornamented with gold and silver’, supported a beam which was
carried across the church above the high altar. As well as carrying three
images (the Majestas Domini, St Dunstan, and St Elphege), the beam
held seven chests ‘covered with gold and silver, and filled with the relics
of divers saints’ (Gervase). The advantage of the arrangement was that
the reliquary chests, while visible from afar, were safe from prying
hands. When fire destroyed the choir in 1174, the beam collapsed,
spilling the relics across the floor. In northern Europe it was custom-
ary by this time for the relics of the patron saint to be placed in a casket
behind the high altar, as was the case at Durham or Bury St Edmunds
[108]. Where there was an ambulatory or aisles flanking the choir, the
faithful could get relatively close without difficulty. One of the devel-
opments that took place later in England was to isolate the area around
the shrine as a separate ‘feretory’, so that pilgrims did not have to en-
croach on the sanctuary.
The major contribution of pilgrimage to church architecture came
in the form of cash. Saints were the fundraisers of the Middle Ages
and, as Christopher Brooke observed, ‘relics bred money’.'® It is im-
possible to judge just how much of the income required to build
churches like those at Santiago, Toulouse, Bari, or Périgueux came
from the donations of pilgrims, but it was clearly a significant propor-
tion. In the middle years of the eleventh century the monastery of St
Trond near Liége was besieged with visitors and several men were
needed in the evening to collect up the money. The local chronicler ad-
mitted that the offerings exceeded all the other revenues of the abbey
combined.”” At St Denis in the twelfth century, Abbot Suger put aside
£200 a year for the building of the new choir, 75 per cent of which came
from offerings. At Bury St Edmunds a special box was placed beside

108 Display of relics the door to the choir to collect money for the construction of the great
By the twelfth century it was tower, and pilgrims were rarely left in doubt about the need to be gen-
common practice for relics to
be preserved ina casket erous when confronted with the money chests. The obligation was
placed above and behind the particularly heavy on those who had been cured at a shrine or had ben-
high altar.
efited from some other miracle. The sermon Veneranda Dies, associ-
ated with Santiago, states quite explicitly that pilgrims who die with
Reliquary
money in their pocket will suffer the eternal torments of Hell.'*
Though valuable, pilgrim offerings could be a precarious source of in-
come, as revealed by the crisis that occurred when a mason was badly
injured in a fall at St-Benoit-sur-Loire. One monk explained:
We were afraid that if he died the whole building programme would be inter-
rupted as a result of a sudden fall in contributions to the building fund. For the
vulgar mob is very fickle and bends like a reed whatever way the wind blows it.
If the mason had died they might have murmured that St Benedict did not
care about his own monastery or the troubles that befell it.1°
The three most popular destinations for Christian pilgrims were

Santiago, Rome, and Jerusalem. In looking at the European shrines, it
is important not to forget the huge numbers that travelled to the Holy
Land even before the capture of Jerusalem by the Crusaders in 1099. In
1064-5 the bishop of Bamberg led a party that numbered approxi-
mately 7,000. The notorious duke of Anjou, Fulk Nerra, made three
separate visits in the early years of the eleventh century and Robert,
duke of Normandy is said to have made the journey barefoot from
1034-5. Seeing the places where Christ himself had lived and died—
Bethlehem, the river Jordan, the Mount of Olives, Calvary—was a
deeply emotional experience. It is no surprise that the church of the
Holy Sepulchre exerted such an impact on western architecture. Nor
should the influence of Rome be minimized. While many clergy trav-
elled there on official business, pilgrimage to the tomb of St Peter was
skilfully exploited by the Papacy as a way of buttressing its authority.
The Christian shrines of the city, particularly St Peter’s, were a con-
stant point of reference for church builders throughout the Middle
Ages. The continuous transept, double aisles in the nave, twisted
columns, and the annular crypt were all features which could be ex-
ploited to express a relationship with Rome. The monk Eadmer, de-
scribing the Anglo-Saxon cathedral at Canterbury, claimed that it was
‘duly arranged in some parts in imitation of the church of the blessed
Prince of the Apostles, Peter’, a comment that was obviously intended
to convey instant status, regardless of its veracity.” By the twelfth cen-
tury Santiago might have been competing in terms of numbers, but
during the Middle Ages as a whole it was pilgrimage to Rome and
Jerusalem that exerted the most impact on architecture.

PeaeLs A
Sala ake
ar
ARES etre e rt cone nn
mma $< $$$
ile
Architecture
and Monasticism
Monks dominated religious activities in the early Middle Ages. Most

of the great churches of Europe were built to serve monastic communi-
ties, a list of which includes such famous monuments as Cluny II, La
Madeleine at Vézelay, Ste Foi at Conques, St Sernin at Toulouse, St
Trophime at Arles, and St Bénigne at Dijon, to name just a few.
Already by the ninth century there were over 1,000 monasteries within
the confines of the Carolingian Empire and by the twelfth century the
number had increased quite dramatically. In England there were ap-
proximately 50 religious houses at the time of the Norman Conquest in
1066, a figure which had risen to over 500 by 1154.' Anyone travelling
across Europe at this time would not have had to go many miles before
encountering the walls of a monastery or a convent. As the various dif-
ferent orders of monks and nuns—Benedictine, Cluniac, Cistercian,
Premonstratensian, Augustinian, Carthusian—had their own distinc-
tive way of life, historians have long been interested in the way the
ethos of each order affected the design of its buildings.
At one extreme lay the eremetical approach, consisting of commu-
nities that sought a life of utter simplicity and self-denial, where a
regime of physical hardship and isolation was regarded as the only way
to achieve a closer union with God. This was the ideal set by the first
Christian monks and hermits of the Egyptian desert, an ideal espoused
by the monasticism of the early Celtic Church. At the opposite ex-
treme were communities that devoted their time to worship, where the
main task of the monk was to participate in a rich liturgical pageant,
with carefully rehearsed chanting and well-ordered processions, main-
tained according to a precise timetable throughout the year. Whatever
109 Rome, San Paolo fuori le its ideals, no community could survive without a body of rules to main-
mura, cloister arcades,
c.1200
tain order and discipline and it was the Rule of St Benedict (c.480-543),
With its twisted columns and drawn up for the monastery that he founded at Montecassino in 529,
inlaid mosaic, this is one of the that provided the foundations of medieval monasticism. For St
most extravagant cloister
designs of the Romanesque
Benedict communal worship or the opus Dei was the principal task of
era. the monk. This was divided into seven major services or ‘offices’, a divi-
167
110 Cluny III sion which echoed the words of the psalmist, ‘seven times a day will I
Plan and elevation of the praise thee O Lord’. The different offices (matins or lauds, prime,
abbey church c.1700 by 5 : a f
Gia ientronhe ced terce, sext, nones, vespers, and compline) were spread throughout the
Designedonamonumental day, the first beginning in the early hours of the morning. The remain-
scale with a five-aisled nave ing time was divided between reading and private prayer (/ectio divina),
and double transepts, the ‘ - 3
bitidine terminated ivan and practical tasks required for the running of the monastery (opus
ambulatory and radiating manuum). St Benedict envisaged a self-contained, self-sufficient com-
Pi poe ace eniie munity, in which individual monks could work out their own spiritual
buttresses along the nave, y i : ec
almostcertainly added after relationship with God. The Rule, with its 73 short chapters, has always
the collapse ofthe nave vaults) been admired for its humanity, common sense, and balance, qualities
in 1125.
which explain why it eventually received universal acceptance. During
the Carolingian Renaissance it became the basis of monastic reform: a
common Rule observed throughout the empire was seen as a way of
bringing order and coherence to a monastic world, hitherto frag-
mented by disparate local customs and observances.
The most magnificent of all Benedictine monasteries was the great
abbey of Cluny, founded in southern Burgundy in the year gog [110,
111, 112]. Cluny developed its own distinctive version of the
Benedictine Rule, in which the liturgy and communal worship took
precedence over every other aspect of monastic life. The number of of-
fices was increased, the chants became more complex, and the daily rit-
ual became so elaborate that the monks spent up to ten hours each day
2a .
Anne. Ben@DTam = da 2 as
> ro © . @ & @ © r < 5 ee 2

OOOH.O © 9 GKO O © @ ° ap oo ee
3 G =
orgy - ode & & aie &®6e 0 > © 0.@ oa ot
@ @ Ponte 9 Ome 000 © decane

SOS SSSMEDPHEHES
v > £ 8 3. @
tz oN
7a Bae

in church. The underlying concept was that of the vita angelica, a per-
fect life of almost continuous praise, in which the chants of the Cluniac
monks rose to join the singing of the angels. Through their worship,
the monks helped to ward off the forces of the devil, interceding with
the Almighty on behalf of the local community. While life as a Cluniac
monk was disciplined and ordered, it was not ascetic: performing the
elaborate liturgy was a tough task, demanding concentration, and to be
done properly it had to be carried out by well-fed monks, not by half-
starved brethren, a point made by Hugh of Semur, abbot of Cluny
(t049-1109).” During the course of the tenth and eleventh centuries,
the splendour of Cluniac observance made such a deep impression on
those who witnessed it that the abbey was called on to reform other
monastic houses. In this way Cluny gradually built up an ‘empire’ of
dependent monasteries and priories: it has been estimated that by 1109
there were at least 815 Cluniac houses in France alone, not to mention
further houses in Spain, Germany, Italy, and England. The impact of
Cluny, particularly its resplendent liturgy, was felt throughout much of
western Europe.
The monastic values of Cluny were firmly expressed in architecture,
particularly in the great church erected between 1088 and 1130, known
as Cluny III. By this stage the abbey had acquired immense wealth,
further boosted by a donation of 10,000 talents from King Alfonso VI
of Aragon, following his victory over the Moslems at the battle of
Toledo (1085). The new church, built to the north of its predecessor
(Cluny II), eventually reached a length of 635 feet [110]. One practical
objective was to provide space for the growing community, which in-
cluded 460 choir monks by the time of Abbot Peter the Venerable
(1122-56). Plenty of ancillary chapels were required, to allow those
monks who were ordained priests opportunities to say individual
masses. This was achieved by incorporating an ambulatory with five
radiating chapels, as well as double transepts, which gave access to a
further ten chapels. Other practical needs included room for proces-
sions and a choir large enough to accommodate all the monks. As a
contemporary explained, the choir of the old church was so cramped
that different grades of monks were mixed together and positions got
confused, whereas in the new building ‘the uncluttered spaces revive
the monks as if they have been released from prison’.*
The sheer scale of the building, along with the choice of architec-
tural detail, was intended to proclaim the status of Cluny within the
Christian world. The abundant use of fluted pilasters and Corinthian
capitals was a deliberate reference to the classical past, a means of
equating the abbey church with the buildings of Early Christian Rome
[112]. As at St Peter’s there were double aisles in the nave. It is impor-
tant to remember that Cluny was dedicated to St Peter and St Paul, the
two principal saints of Rome. But governing the whole design was a
ARCHITECTURE AND MONASTICISM 169

111 Cluny Ill desire to express the beauty of Cluniac worship in material terms, to
Reconstruction by K. J. provide a heavenly setting worthy of the angelic praises of the monks.
Conant
Conant’s drawing conveys the
Contemporaries had no doubt that it succeeded, to judge from the
cumulative force ofthe comments of the author of the Life of St Hugh: ‘if it were possible for
design, with its stepped those who dwell in heaven to take pleasure in a house made by human
massing, characteristic of
Romanesque. Beginning with hands, you would say this was the walk of angels’ (‘deambulatorium
the five radiating chapels in Angelorun’), a fitting eulogy of the ambulatory of Cluny III with its
the foreground, the design
reached a crescendo with the
eight delicate and slender columns.* Sculpture and painting added to
four great towers that the visionary power of this great building.
dominated the east end ofthe - The design of Cluny II included many unusual features. The main
church. The tower to the south
(left) is the only one ofthe four
load-bearing arches were pointed in form, the first time such arches
surviving today. had been used consistently north of the Alps.° The arches were also ex-
ceptionally high, supporting a relatively narrow triforium and
clerestory, both of the latter being ornamented with fluted pilasters
and Islamic-looking cusps [112]. Unlike many of the great churches of
eleventh-century France, there were no galleries. The main spaces of
the building were covered with barrel vaults, strongly pointed in the
transepts, less so in the nave. The use of the pointed arch was an auda-
cious decision, made apparently for structural reasons. The five-aisled
nave was graded in section, the outer aisle being 39 feet high, the inner
aisle reaching 60 feet; and the central space rising to 98 feet [89c, 112].
This ‘triangular’ profile, which had its roots in St Peter’s, was later to

112 Cluny Ill
Reconstruction by K. J.
Conant
The interior of the abbey
church as envisaged by
Kenneth Conant, showing the
sanctuary and the entrance to
the ambulatory. The design of
the triforium with its fluted
pilasters was derived from
Roman antiquity, whereas the
pointed arches and the use of
cusped arches (seen in the
triforium) have been attributed
by some scholars to Islamic
influence.
influence the Gothic design of Bourges Cathedral. The width of the

building and the small scale of the clerestory windows made the inte-
rior very dark, ‘tota subobscura in the words of one seventeenth-century
visitor. But if the interior of Cluny II was gloomy, the exterior view
from the east represented one of the most satisfying architectural sights
of Europe: in characteristic Romanesque fashion, a series of clearly de-
fined elements, beginning with the ambulatory chapels, led the eye up-
wards in a well-ordered crescendo, terminating in four mighty towers
over the transepts [111].
The abbey of Cluny survived until the end of the eighteenth century
before falling victim to the French Revolution, when its ostentatious
wealth seemed to epitomize the evils of the ancien régime. Between
1800 and 1810 the great church was systematically demolished, only the
south transept and adjacent parts of the choir being spared. The octag-
onal transept tower, with its rich bands of ornament, remains today as
an isolated reminder of Cluniac artistic ideals. Although excavations
carried out by the American scholar Kenneth Conant, along with his
study of ancient drawings and plans, have done much to clarify the de-
sign of the abbey church, not everyone accepts Conant’s conclusions
and Cluny has become a cause célébre in academic circles, a scholarly
ARCHITECTURE AND MONASTICISM I7I

113 Paray-le-Monial (Sa6ne- ‘fault-line’, where alternative approaches to medieval art confront each
et-Loire), priory church, first
other.° There is, for example, disagreement over the sequence of build-
half of twelfth century
A faithful copy of Cluny Ill, the ing operations. Conant believed that construction began with the am-
elevation includes fluted bulatory chapels and that the church was erected steadily from east to
pilasters and the curious
west, an argument which is difficult to sustain given anomalies in the
alteration to the main
responds at the base of the surviving fabric. There are disputes over the chronology of the build-
triforium. Compare 112. ing, Conant insisting that it was largely finished by 1109, 21 years before
the dedication by Pope Innocent II in 1130. Then there is the question
of the disaster of 1125. The Norman chronicler Ordericus Vitalis states
quite explicitly that the ‘great nave [avis] of the abbey church which
was newly built fell in ruins [corruit], but thanks to God’s protection
injured no one’.’ Local historians do not record the event, and it is dif-
ficult to assess the extent of a calamity which must have been a desper-
ate blow to the pride of the abbey. Was it the nave vault that fell, as
Conant believed, or the vault over the.north transept, as the French
scholar Frangois Salet has maintained? And was the failure the conse-
quence of faulty design? Equally controversial is the status of the archi-
tect. According to a local story contained in the Life of St Hugh, a
retired abbot from Baume named Gunzo was shown the plan in a
dream by St Peter and St Paul. This pious tale was a useful way of
claiming divine sanction for what was by any standards a profligate
building enterprise. Nevertheless Conant was ready to accept Gunzo
as the architect, seeing him as the author of a beautifully conceived
monument, worked out in detail at the start of operations according to
a sophisticated dimensional system, and executed more or less as
planned. This rather idealistic interpretation is hard to believe, espe-
cially in the light of some very odd features within the south transept.
But who was the architect and where did he come from? Conant envis-
aged a cosmopolitan figure, who drew on arange of distant sources and
revolutionized Burgundian architecture in the process, while others
have stressed the extent to which the design grew out of local practice.®
The architecture of Cluny III had an immediate impact in the sur-
rounding area. ‘The church at Paray-le~Monial is a close copy, albeit on
a reduced scale [113], and echoes of the great abbey church can be
found in several other Burgundian churches. Further afield, the enor-
mous church at La-Charité-sur-Loire, with its high arcade, pointed
arches, and barrel vaults, was clearly inspired by Cluny, its ornament
being even more exuberant. But while Cluny III set new standards of
architectural splendour, it did not provide a model for the order as a
whole. Cluniac communities generally followed local methods of
building, though they were perhaps more willing than others to invest
large sums on architecture and sculpture. This was certainly the case at
Vézelay, the pilgrimage church in north Burgundy. In 1120 the nave
was destroyed in an inferno which, according to one report, killed over
a thousand people. Although sculptors from Cluny ITI were employed

< x 12) ra S is] 12) a (= a4 fx < Z al = fe) Z < wnEe g 4 = Lan)
ea)
>. [sa < a4 | > = (e2] a) QQ > < J < [a4 S rc E [ea) Oo = 5 2 <2)
114 Vézelay, La Madeleine, in the reconstruction, the architecture followed more traditional lines
the nave, c.1120-32
with a straightforward two-storey elevation [114]. The new work was,
The straightforward two-storey
design was embellished with however, richly articulated with engaged shafts, pilasters, polychrome
polychrome masonry, masonry, rich cornices, and a sumptuous array of carved capitals. It was
sculpted mouldings, and an
the decoration rather than the architecture which provided the Cluniac
array of carved capitals.
identity. A taste for opulent effects can also be detected in some of the
English Cluniac houses, as in the facade at Castle Acre [115], or the
interior wall of the chapter house at Much Wenlock [130], though
such displays were certainly not restricted to the Cluniac order.
The architecture of Cluny II represents one extreme of monastic
thinking, the conviction that the more perfect the building, the greater
the offering to the Lord. It was a conviction that brought Cluny close to
bankruptcy well before 1125, the year in which the collapse of the vaults
deepened the financial problems of the abbey. Even Cluny with its im-
mense resources had overreached itself. Most Benedictine houses
would, like Cluny, have taken it for granted that the worship of God re-
quired the most beautiful setting that man could devise (or afford).
Abbots were consistently praised for their building achievements and it
seemed undeniable that holiness and beauty went together, as the words
115 Castle Acre Priory

(Norfolk), west fagade of the
church, mid-twelfth century
The elaborate system of blind
arcades, while characteristic
of English Romanesque,
offered an appropriate degree
of splendour for this Cluniac
house.

of David implied: ‘Lord I have loved the beauty of your house and the
place where your glory dwells’ (Psalm 26:8). This conviction was rein-
forced by the suggestion that artistic beauty, as a manifestation of the
divine, had a spiritual function in guiding the mind towards an under-
standing of the eternal beauty of God, a neo-Platonic argument used by
Hugh of St Victor, when he explained that a wise man could consider
‘the external beauty of the work’ and so comprehend ‘how wondrous the
wisdom of the Creator is’.” This rather abstruse line of reasoning was
later seized on by Abbot Suger (1122-51) as a welcome means of justify-
ing his lavish expenditure at the Benedictine abbey of St Denis. Both
the Cluniacs and the Benedictines had their critics and as the eleventh
century advanced these became more vociferous. Peter Damien, for ex-
ample, was devastating in his comments on one of the great builders of
the age, Richard, abbot of St Vanne (1004-46): in a vision of hell he
claimed to have spotted Richard ‘anxiously building towering machines
as though constructed for besieging castles. For this abbot worked in
death as he had lived, since he had expended almost all of his efforts in
constructing useless buildings and had wasted much of the Church’s re-
sources in such frivolities.”"° The ascetic strain in European monasti-
cism had never completely vanished: as monastic building became more
grandiose during the eleventh century, isolated hermits and small
‘protest’ groups abandoned conventional monasteries, seeking solitude
amongst the woods and mountains. One such group settled at Citeaux
in 1098, an event which marked the birth of the Cistercian order,
though at the time few people would have guessed that this was the start
of one of the most powerful religious movements of the Middle Ages.
By 1115 Citeaux had attracted enough recruits to send out four daughter
houses, one of which was founded at Clairvaux, with St Bernard as its
abbot. It was Bernard who became the chief spokesman of the new
monasticism and by the time of his death in 1153 over 300 monasteries
belonged to the order. In their search for peace and solitude, ‘far from
the haunts of men’, the Cistercians produced some of the most romanti-
cally situated buildings of the Middle Ages. While there is debate as to
whether they were a reactionary or progressive force, there can be no
doubt that they redefined the nature of monastic architecture.
The Cistercians objected to the wealth of the Benedictine houses,
to their preoccupation with feudal rights and the management of es-
tates. They disliked the extravagance of the Cluniac liturgy which al-
lowed little time for private devotion or study and they condemned the
comfortable life which many contemporary monks seemed to enjoy.
Stripping away the excesses of Cluniac monasticism, they insisted ona
more literal interpretation of the Rule of St Benedict. They dedicated
themselves to lives of poverty, manual labour, worship, and prayer,
stressing the virtues of humility and simplicity. Unlike some monastic
orders, they were prepared to accept uncultivated or ‘waste’ land on the

margins of Europe, a strategy which eventually brought great prosper-
ity to the order. But why did the austere life of the Cistercians, with its
strict diet and rigorous discipline, appeal to so many young people?
The poetic words of Ailred, abbot of Rievaulx, offer at least a clue:
‘everywhere peace, everywhere serenity and a marvellous freedom from
the tumult of the world’.
It was not until the 1130s that a distinctive Cistercian approach to
architecture began to emerge. The key building was Clairvaux, where
St Bernard, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to the construction of a new
church in 1135. This was a crucial moment, for Bernard was an outspo-
ken critic of contemporary monastic architecture. He had already at-
tacked the immoderate length and height of Cluniac churches, as well
as their sumptuous decoration, which, he argued, impeded devotion
and diverted the attention of the monks. His condemnation of
Romanesque sculpture is well known: ‘those ridiculous monstrosities
in the cloister where the brethren are reading —those extraordinary de-
formed beauties and beautiful deformities’."! Far from encouraging de-
votion, he argued, works of art were a distraction. Moreover, expensive
architecture was quite contrary to the humility expected from a monas-
tic community; the money expended would be better spent on the
poor. Bernard’s arguments were not new, but unlike earlier critics he
had an army of followers to put them into practice.”
During the French Revolution Clairvaux suffered a fate similar to
that of Cluny (the site is now a prison, so examination is not easy).
Although St Bernard’s church has been destroyed, its design is known
from ancient descriptions and drawings. Its most distinctive feature
was a short rectangular presbytery, flanked on each side by three
transept chapels, the latter linked together by a common outer wall.
This straightforward rectilinear planning, which reflects the simple
liturgy of the Cistercians, purged of Cluniac accretions, was to be re-
produced in countless Cistercian houses, particularly within the affilia-
tion of Clairvaux. In the absence of Clairvaux and Citeaux (which has
also been destroyed), the church at Fontenay, consecrated in 1147, 1s
frequently taken as representative of Cistercian design in the time of St
Bernard [116]. With its bare walls and lack of sculptural ornament,
Fontenay seems to be the very embodiment of Cistercian austerity,
though there is more subtlety to the design than is sometimes allowed.
Like the order as a whole, the church has an interesting mixture of ar-
chaic and contemporary features. The plan, which was to become
something of a ‘norm’ in Cistercian circles, included a simple pres-
bytery, along with two roughly square transepts, each with two chapels
[117]. The entire church is covered by pointed barrel vaults, a struc-
tural form established in Burgundy with the building of Cluny II.
Although the nave lacks both a triforium and a clerestory, it is firmly
articulated by a series of pilasters and half columns. More conservative

116 Fontenay, Cistercian
abbey church, begun 1139
Built in a simplified version of
the local Burgundian
Romanesque style, the design
of Fontenay may reflect that of
its destroyed mother house at
Clairvaux.
117 Fontenay
Plan of the Cistercian abbey
The form of the church, with
two straight-ended chapels in”
each arm ofthe transept, was
repeated in many churches
belonging to the affiliation of
Clairvaux. A square lavabo
originally projected into the
cloister garth, almost opposite
the entrance to the refectory.
The detached building, known
as the ‘forge’, is now used by
the community as workshops.
CECE
Zz
12th century ml; rebuilt

13th century GS; rebuilt
16th century
0 10 20 30 m
118 Presentation scene
(0) 50 100 feet
Dijon, Bibliotheque
Municipale Ms 130, fol. 104,
twelfth century
Abbots of St Vaast and Citeaux
present their churches to the
Virgin Mary, to whom all
Cistercian churches were
dedicated.

hoe wirtuf merutt- parrufeh oC ge
Ps
sns.o
3Nie
rf
-ae
aFa
¥@Aivuo1y
©9
: fetes
r\ | eee s$eaud
Fist
HIVE
DSA
GOA
No
1VI
LOVLYE U0-3¥-$
Ute
¥AB
L OS

features include the transverse arrangement of the aisle vaults and the
fact that both the presbytery and the transepts are vaulted at a relatively
low level, making the nave the dominant space within the church.
These features hark back to Burgundian buildings of the eleventh cen-
tury, reflecting Cistercian nostalgia for the simplicity of the past.
While far from rudimentary in design, the church at Fontenay cer-
tainly expresses the ideals of the order: it was intended to be a ‘work-
shop of prayer’, not a microcosm of the Heavenly Jerusalem. Restraint
is equally apparent on the outside of the building, particularly the east
end, with its low roof lines and simple rectangular forms. There are no
towers, a small turret being all that was necessary to house the monas-
tic bell. In 1157, not long after Fontenay was completed, the General
Chapter prohibited the construction of bell towers on the grounds that
they were signs of excess, contrary to the humility expected from the
order. The contrast with the Cluniac approach was stark and deliber-
ate. Purged of inessentials, the beauty of Cistercian building depended
solely on architectural values: purity of form, clarity of proportions,
functional efficiency, and a high standard of construction, all qualities
which eight centuries later were espoused by the architects of the
International Modern Movement. Mies van der Rohe’s dictum ‘less is
more’ would have delighted St Bernard of Clairvaux.
As each new Cistercian house was colonized from an existing
monastery, architectural knowledge tended to radiate outwards from
the centre. In practice this meant that a number of specific features as-
sociated with Burgundy were carried to diverse parts of Europe, where
they were generally combined with local techniques. The ‘Fontenay
plan’ was widely adopted, no doubt because of its practicality. It can be
found, for example, at Boyle in the west of Ireland, where the earliest
parts of the church (c.1161-70) reveal a clear debt to Burgundy in the
form of pointed arches and pointed barrel vaults, along with a charac-
teristic ‘low’ presbytery, as at Fontenay. The ‘Fontenay plan’ was also
adopted in Sweden, as at Alvastra and Nydala, both founded as daugh-
ter houses of Clairvaux in 1143. To these remote corners of the world,
where local traditions of church building were not particularly strong,
the Cistercians brought European modes of design.
Where Romanesque architecture was more advanced, the
Cistercian identity is not so obvious. At Eberbach, a daughter house of
Clairvaux, the church (c.1r70-86) was begun along Burgundian lines,
but before construction had proceeded very far it was transformed into
a thoroughly Germanic building [119]. The unadorned square piers
and the double-bay system of groin vaulting have many analogies in
the middle Rhine. By the end of the twelfth century the Burgundian
elements in Cistercian architecture were increasingly submerged by
local styles. This is apparent in northern Italy, where the two well-pre-
served churches of Chiaravalle Milanese and Chiaravalle della

119 Eberbach (Hesse),
Cistercian church,
c.1170-86
While the air of austerity is
characteristic of Cistercian
design, the construction of
groin vaults over double bays
relates to local practice in the
Rhineland. Prominent
pilasters, supporting the
transverse arches, introduce
an alternating rhythm in the
piers.
120 Le Thoronet (Var),

Cistercian church, founded
1146
Designed with characteristic
simplicity, the church has
many features which relate to
the local neighbourhood of
Provence.

Colomba were built of brick in the Lombard manner, only the use of
the ‘Fontenay plan’ exposing a clear link with the Cistercians.
In general the Cistercian identity was conveyed not by specific ar-
chitectural features, but by a tone of simplicity and restraint. The ab-
sence of sculpture, the lack of towers, the rejection of triforia and
galleries, the simplicity of mouldings around doors and windows, the
use of monochrome glass (grisaille) rather than stained glass, and the
lack of mural painting, all contributed to a distinctive atmosphere. The
effects are beautifully illustrated in the three Provencal monasteries of
Sénanque, Silvacane, and Le Thoronet. The church at Le Thoronet is
a typical Cistercian blend, a mixture of local Romanesque and
Cistercian austerity [120]. The exterior, with scarcely a window in
sight, has a severity which is extreme even by Cistercian standards; the
interior, though equally plain, has a tranquillity that few Romanesque
churches can match, the eye being drawn to the main apse, the one part
of the church that is brightly lit. To this day the simple purity of Le
Thoronet seems to capture the ethos of the order.
The most enduring achievement of monastic builders lay not in the
sumptuous design of Cluny III, nor in the purified architecture of the
Cistercians, but in the invention of the cloister. The concept of an en-
closed courtyard, surrounded on all four sides by arcaded passageways,
was to survive far beyond the Middle Ages. It was a feature adopted by
virtually all the different orders, regardless of their religious ideals, and
it is not difficult to see why. The cloister—or claustrum—was com-
pletely separated from the outside world, a haven of peace in the heart
of the monastery. It offered an efficient communication system be-
tween the various buildings of the monastery, providing a series of
well-defined routes, sheltered from the elements. When the cloister
lay to the south of the church, as was normally the case, the north walk
was a sunny environment for reading or writing; it was also used for
collation, a short reading that took place in the evening before com-
pline. In visual terms the cloister walks brought order to what might
otherwise have been a rather incoherent collection of buildings. With
their rhythmic arcades, they helped to conceal the structures behind,
giving the impression of a unified architectural ensemble. Few surviv- -
ing cloisters predate 1100, but there are a large number from the twelfth
century, heavily concentrated in southern France, Spain, and Italy. Not
a single Romanesque cloister remains intact in England.
The character of a cloister was largely determined by the arcades,
the design of which depended on how the passageways were covered
.
When a simple lean-to roof of timber was employed, the arches
could
be supported on a continuous line of columns, with the occasional
pier
to provide reinforcement. In the rebuilt cloister at St-Michel-de
-Cuxa
(Roussillon), there is a single row of columns, but the normal
arrange-
ment was to place the columns in pairs, as at St-Bertrand-de
-
121 Sénanque (Vaucluse), Comminges (France) or Silos (Spain). Each of these examples was
Cistercian cloister, late
twelfth century
richly embellished with sculpture. In some cases an alternating rhythm
Each bay contains three of single and double columns was introduced. When the cloister walks
arches supported on coupled were vaulted, however, more reinforcement was required: two or three
columns, a formula used
extensively in twelfth-century
sub-arches might be set under an embracing arch, the latter resting on
Europe. substantial piers. There are many well-preserved examples of this tech-
nique in Provence, at Montmajour, St-Paul-de-Mausole, Vaison, and
in the Cistercian houses at Sénanque [121] and Le Thoronet. An al-
ternative way of incorporating a vault can be found at the cathedral of
Le Puy, where the cloisters were embellished with polychrome ma-
sonry. Here the masons devised a regular system of supports, in which

the square piers are furnished with a detached column on each face, the
columns being neatly integrated with the two orders of arches above
[122]. The most exotic Romanesque cloisters are to be found in the
Benedictine houses of Rome [109] and southern Italy, where twisted
columns and inlaid mosaics were introduced, a trend which reached a
colourful climax at Monreale Cathedral (Sicily).
The concept of the cloister is such a familiar part of Romanesque art
that it is easily taken for granted, despite the fact that its history before
1100 1s far from clear. No doubt many monasteries were satisfied, at
least on a temporary basis, with galleries made of timber, which was ev-
idently the case at Cluny until the 1040s." Late in his life Abbot Odilo
(994-1049) constructed a cloister in stone ‘admirably decorated with
marble columns from the furthest parts of that province, transported
not without great labour by the headlong currents of the Durande and
the Rhone. In which he was wont to glory and to remark in jest, that he
“had found it in wood and left it in marble”, in imitation of Augustus
Caesar, of whom chronicles say that he found Rome made of brick, and |
left it made of marble.”* There are indications that the columns of
Odilo’s cloister were grouped in pairs, as in most Romanesque exam-
ples.” But the origin of the medieval cloister goes back much further,
for the basic principles were already established during the Carolingian
Renaissance, as demonstrated by the famous plan of St Gall (c.830)
[123].
The St Gall plan has been the subject of intense scrutiny and specu-
lation for many decades. Drawn on five sheets of parchment, the plan
is surprisingly large (1,120 x 770 mm). Carefully outlined in red ink is
the layout ofa monastery, including not just the church and conventual
buildings around the cloister, but a host of ancillary structures, guest
houses, a school, novitiate, infirmary, stables, workshops, animal pens,
and even accommodation for chickens and geese. It should be stressed
that the plan isa Utopian scheme and nota working drawing. Walls are
indicated by single lines, with only an occasional indication of wall
thicknesses. To make good use of the parchment, buildings are packed
tightly together in a way that would have been quite impractical in real
life: no community would have wanted workshops and animal sheds
quite so close to the living quarters. Nonetheless the plan has been
thought out with remarkable consistency: there are beds for approxi-
mately ro brethren (77 of them in the monks’ dormitory), which coin-
cides with 12 seating places in the church. There are 6 places for
visiting monks in the refectory and 6 beds in their lodgings. Even the
latrines are carefully delineated, though a mere 9 ‘seats’ in the main
rere-dorter (latrines) might have created some strain if all 77 beds
in the
dormitory were occupied. At the other end of the dormitory
a door
gave direct access to the south transept of the church, so the monks did
not have to go outside when getting up for matins and prime. As the

dormitory was on the upper level, stairs would have been needed, pro-
viding the first hint of a ‘night stairs’, which was to become a standard
feature of the medieval monastery.
An inscription indicates that the plan was sent to Gozbert, abbot of
St Gall (816-37), at a point when he was contemplating the reconstruc-
tion of his monastery. There is evidence (but not absolute proof) that it
was composed at Reichenau under the direction of Haito, one-time
abbot of Reichenau and bishop of Basle. Haito appears to have been
offering advice to a colleague, though some scholars have tried to read
far more into the situation. It has been claimed that the plan was a
product of the reforming synods held in 816 and 817, and was intended
as a model or ‘paradigm’ for the whole Carolingian Empire. It has also
been argued that the plan is a copy of a master drawing that was made
at Aachen at the time of the synods. Neither of these theories is tenable
in the light of recent research, which has conclusively proved that the
St Gall plan is an original drawing and not a copy.'® Nonetheless the
plan does reflect a general concern for consistent organization and dis-
cipline, and its careful allocation of functions represents a translation of
the Benedictine Rule into architectural terms.
In the context of monastic architecture, the most interesting aspect
of the St Gall plan is the design of the cloister and the buildings sur-
rounding it. Many standard elements are already present. ‘The cloister
itself is tucked into the angle of the nave and the south transept, and on
each side there are covered passages, with arches opening into the cen-
tral garth. To the east lies the dormitory, situated on an upper floor
above the ‘calefactory’ or warming room. To the south is the refectory
and on the west side is the cellarer’s storehouse, identified by two rows
of barrels. Even the dimensions are significant: the cloister itself is al-
most a square, with two of the sides having an intended measurement
of 100 feet, a favourite length in the layout of medieval cloisters. In
drawing the cloister walks, the designer temporarily switched from
vertical to horizontal projection, showing the arcades resting on a low
wall as was the norm in the Middle Ages. The one major difference be-
tween the cloister of St Gall and later monastic plans is the lack of a
chapter house, its place being taken by the calefactory. A caption indi-
cates that the deliberations of the monks were to take place in the north
walk of the cloister. But how much of this layout was common practice
in the ninth century and where did the idea of the cloister come from?
The concept of an enclosed courtyard beside the church was cer-
tainly not new when the St Gall plan was devised around 830. Several
Carolingian monasteries are known to have followed similar arrange-
ments, though the exact location of the cloister tended to vary. At
Lorsch—the Altenmiinster (765-84)—and Fontanelle (St Wandrille)
the cloisters lay to the north of the church, and at Fulda in 820 it was
placed to the west in the manner of a Roman atrium. The arrange-

\o x
Laloo < [a4 4 al = [ea fa [<2 > = < 2 Ss q iS QO B 5 [a4
Q ea}
(HH
HOOT
[| rnpdes canaeieids marry alte ie
FD peregrrecran Riper
[+17 |
[Aademel tackles sme fornany wapiahons
Fo rt cr

122 Le Puy Cathedral, ments found in the St Gall plan were evidently based on practical expe-
twelfth-century cloister
rience and are not simply the result of creative draughtsmanship.
The polychrome masonry,
often attributed to Islamic Ultimately the idea of a courtyard surrounded by open porticoes was
influence, adds an exotic note inherited from the Roman world, where the peristyle court was a fea-
to the cloister arcades. Each
arch is supported by a pier
ture of villas and luxury houses, like those at Pompei. One plausible hy-
with columns attached, pothesis suggests that the idea passed into medieval architecture when
instead of the customary monastic communities began to occupy defunct Roman villas.
coupled columns.
Certainly this would help to explain the classical approach to planning
123 The plan of St Gall, found in the St Gall plan, with its use of axes, open courts, and right
c.830, detail showing the angles. But the story is not quite so simple. The Roman peristyle nor-
church and cloister
mally consisted of a straight architrave supported by a single line of
The church was designed with
apses at both ends, and the columns, placed at ground level. The medieval cloister arcade was a far
aisles were clearly intended as more enclosed affair; the columns were smaller, they supported round
locations for altars. A ‘crank-
arches not lintels, and by the eleventh century, if not before, they were
shaped’ crypt, marked with
curved hatching, is visible arranged in pairs; moreover, the columns rested on a low wall, which
under the chancel at the east separated the passageways from the central courtyard.” The medieval
end. The refectory with its
benches and tables lies to the
cloister walk is more a functional passageway than the open portico of -
south ofthe cloister (right of the Romans. How this transition from the classical peristyle to the me-
the drawing) and storerooms dieval cloister came about is one of the unsolved mysteries of the early
to the west are identified by
rows of barrels. The dormitory, Middle Ages."
with individual beds marked Although the plan of St Gall made no provision fora separate chap-
out, is situated to the east.
ter house, Abbot Ansegis at Fontanelle did. He erected a special cham-
ber to the north of the church, known as the Bouleterion, where the
brethren could gather together ‘to take counsel over anything whatso-
ever’. The local chronicler went on to explain that ‘there is also a daily
reading from a pulpit there, and deliberation over what the authority of
the Rule advises should be done’."? Abbot Ansegis announced that he
wished to be buried in the chapter house, establishing a precedent
which was later to be followed by abbots throughout the western
world. The transfer of the chapter house to the ground floor of the east
range was not a major step, as it would have been logical to hold meet-
ings in the calefactory in cold weather. It is possible that some
Carolingian monasteries had done this before the end of the ninth cen-
tury. As its name implies, the chapter house was associated with the
reading of ‘chapters’ of the Rule of St Benedict. It became customary
for monks to assemble there after morning mass; as well as spiritual
ad-
vice from the abbot, various prayers were said, and in the Cistercian
order the brethren made confession in the presence of each other. The
chapter house was thus the focus of order and discipline within
the
monastery, the most important building after the church. Its location
underneath the dormitory was, however, something of an impedi-
ment. There was often insufficient height to vault the chamber in
one
sweep, in which case it was subdivided by columns or piers into
sepa-
rate bays, as happened at Cluny.” This system was widely adopted
in
the Cistercian order. The chapter houses at Le Thoronet,
Sénanque,

124 Noirlac (Cher),
Cistercian chapter house,
second half of the twelfth
century
Two octagona! piers divide the
space into six bays of vaulting,
an arrangement adopted in a
number of Cistercian
monasteries. Benches placed
around the walls provided
seating for the monastic
community.
and Silvacane, for example, have a pair of free-standing columns (or

piers), dividing the space into six rib-vaulted bays. An elegant version
of the same formula can be found at Noirlac (c.1r70-90) [124]. The
subdivided chapter houses tend to be more humble, intimate spaces
than the great single-vaulted chambers more frequently encountered
in contemporary Benedictine monasteries. One curious feature of
Cistercian chapter houses is the way they were left open to the cloister
walk, with unglazed windows flanking the entrance. It is said that this
was to allow the lay brothers to attend occasional meetings, without ac-
tually crossing the threshold of the chapter house itself.
The fact that the key elements of the medieval monastic plan were
established between 750 and 830, during the Carolingian Renaissance,
underlines once again what a crucial period this was for the history of
European architecture. This was also the time when the Benedictine
Rule came to be accepted throughout Europe and it should be remem-
bered that, whatever the ideological differences between the Cluniacs
and the Cistercians, both were following the Rule, albeit with modifi-
cations of their own. In terms of stylistic development there is little
doubt that the ethos of the different orders had a measurable impact.
The more sumptuous versions of Romanesque were a natural counter-
part to the rich liturgy of the Cluniacs and the more traditional
Benedictine houses, whereas the Cistercians functioned as a catalyst
for change. With their attacks on sculptural embellishment and their
willingness to exploit the pointed arch, the Cistercians prepared the
ground for the emergence of the Gothic style.
AND MONASTICISM 189

ARCHITECTURE
‘The Language of
Architecture
During the course of the eleventh century a new architectural language

emerged in western Europe, a language that imbued buildings with an
expressive power that had not been seen since the days of the Roman
Empire. Masons developed a range of techniques which, while en-
hancing the splendour of churches, castles, and even private dwellings,
also conveyed a new sense of clarity and order. These techniques in-
cluded the compound pier, the engaged shaft, roll mouldings, wall ar-
cades, windows and doorways with recessed orders, and arcaded
galleries and passageways, along with a wealth of applied ornament.
Not all the methods were new, but by the twelfth century they were
being used in combination to produce buildings of unparalleled rich-
ness.
The effects of this ‘architectural revolution’ are very obvious when
we compare the nave of Vézelay [1 14] with designs of a century earlier,
like that at Chateau Gontier (Mayenne) [125]. The latter was con-
structed as a wooden-roofed basilica, with its arches resting on un-
adorned square piers, a building type common in the years around
1000. The piers lie on the same plane as the wall above and no attempt
has been made to articulate the bare surfaces. What appears today as a
rather monotonous, even austere piece of architecture must have relied
on painting to improve its sense of vitality. The smooth, uninterrupted
surfaces of Chateau Gontier belong to a tradition which can be traced
25].
back to the Early Christian basilicas of Rome or Ravenna [1, 16,
For 800 years Christian architects in the West had treated the wall as a
and
continuous plane, which served to define both the interior space
the external mass of their buildings in the simplest possible way.
sur-
Romanesque architects transformed the situation by dividing the
as a three-
faces into clearly articulated units and by treating the wall
Vézelay
dimensional entity. Although the architectural framework of
is not dissimilar to that of Chateau Gontier, the architectur al language
and
is almost unrecognizable [114]. Engaged shafts, string courses,
converted the
Detail of 130 ornamental mouldings (along with a stone vault) have
191
125 Chateau Gontier underlying basilican form into a lively and rhythmic space. Transverse
(Mayenne), nave, eleventh arches, associated with engaged shafts on the walls, underline the divi-
century
The surfaces of both piers and
sion between one bay and the next, a formal device which is one of the
walls are completely devoid of defining characteristics of the Romanesque style.
articulation. The impact of the The first indications of the new approach were already apparent by
Romanesque language of
architecture can be seen by 1030, most notably in a number of buildings along the river Loire,
comparing Chateau Gontier which have for long been regarded as crucial in the formation of
with Vézelay (114).
Romanesque. One such monument was the tower which Gauzlin,
126 St-Benoit-sur-Loire,
abbot of St-Benoit-sur-Loire, constructed in c.1026 at the west end of
west tower, c.1026 his church [126]. The open porch on the ground floor contains a vari-
Built under Abbot Gauzlin. ety of piers furnished with engaged shafts, which, in a somewhat unco-
Constructed with ashlar
masonry, this was one of the
ordinated way, were linked to arches in the vault above. Gauzlin
first Romanesque buildings to intended his tower to be ‘an example to all Gaul’, a sign perhaps that he
make use of the engaged himself appreciated the novelties of his achievement.’ Not far away,
shaft.
similar techniques were used at Auxerre Cathedral, which was rebuilt
after a fire in 1023. The crypt of the cathedral (the only part of the
Romanesque building to survive) is a landmark in the history
of
Romanesque: as well as engaged shafts systematically placed to receive
the arches of the vault, the arches themselves are furnished with
mouldings on their soffits, a device which immediately imparts
a
sculptural quality to the design. At the same time, engaged shafts were
used by the builders of the castle at Loches to embellish the outer
walls

of the keep [50] and the technique soon spread to Normandy and to
the Rhineland, where they appeared in the nave of Speyer Cathedral
(c.1030—-60) [148].
Although there is general agreement that the period 1020-40 marks
a fundamental shift of direction, it is not clear what brought about the
change. While the amount of building in Europe was on the increase
in the early years of the eleventh century, it is difficult to believe that
this in itself had a direct effect on style. Wealth was a more significant
factor, since patrons were evidently prepared to commission buildings
which went far beyond their basic functional requirements. In this re-
spect the sumptuous architecture of the Romanesque era was a direct
reflection of the expanding medieval economy. The increasing profes-
sionalism of the building trade also played a major role. It is significant
that Gauzlin brought squared blocks of stone from the Nivernais,
transporting the material in boats down the Loire. Good- quality
stone, together with a growing cohort of experienced masons, provided
two of the essential conditions for the development of the
Romanesque style. But to what extent were the masons responding to
the aesthetic demands of their clients? Until the eleventh century the
magnificence of a church was largely expressed in terms of expensive
metalwork, wall paintings, or floor decoration. What appears to have
changed is that men like Gauzlin were prepared to look to architecture
itself as a prime source of institutional splendour, so that the sensibility
which had long been evident in the appreciation of painting and metal-
work was now extended to the architecture. The variety and subtlety
achieved by Romanesque masons would have been futile if it had not
been matched, at least in a general way, by an equivalent level of visual
sophistication on the part of those who paid for the buildings.” Some
patrons became veritable connoisseurs of architecture, a good example
being Roger, bishop of Salisbury from 1102 to 1139, who amassed enor-
mous wealth while serving as justiciar to the king of England. The his-
torian William of Malmesbury stressed that Roger took enormous
personal pride in his buildings (which included both castles and
churches), a pride ‘unsurpassed within the recollection of our age’.*
Although historians have devoted a great deal of attention to the
‘formal’ analysis of Romanesque architecture, little attention has been
paid to the ways in which it was perceived in the Middle Ages. Most
comments by medieval writers tend to be brief and factual, a statement
of dimensions perhaps, or a list of the number of piers and windows.
Ecclesiastical writers were usually more concerned with the position of
altars than with the refinements of the architecture. Nonetheless, au-
thors often convey an impression of a building with various telling epi-
thets—spectabilts (admirable), swmptuosus, magnificans, incomparabilts,
splendidus, formosus (handsome), ornamentissimus, pulcherrimus (most
beautiful)—and many a building was constructed /audabile opere or
THE LANGUAGE OF ARCHITECTURE 193

opero miro. As with music, it has never been easy to translate the visual
effects of architecture into words, a difficulty openly admitted by the
eleventh-century chronicler of Saint Bénigne of Dijon.* While ob-
servers may not have been capable of analysing the fabric with the at-
tention of a modern critic, they had no difficulty in appreciating the
overall effect. A typical comment is that found in the chronicle of the
abbots of St Trond, near Liége, reported under the year 1169: ‘So much
care did the industrious architect devote to the decoration of the
monastery that everyone in our land agrees that it surpasses the most
magnificent palaces by its varied workmanship.” The stress on ‘variety’
is worth noting, so too the desire, keenly felt by Romanesque patrons,
to surpass the achievements of their neighbours. In visual matters this
was a highly competitive age.
The most crucial aspect of Romanesque aesthetics is the way in
which the individual parts of a building were subordinated to the
whole. Thus in a typical cloister arcade two or three subsidiary arches
are frequently linked together under a single containing arch [121]. |
On a much grander scale, a related approach can be seen in the nave of
Durham Cathedral, where pairs of arches are framed by massive com-
pound piers, which define each of the double bays [146]. In many in-
stances the relationship between major and minor elements can be very
subtle, as in the design of windows at Aulnay [127]. In this case the rel-
atively small east window is framed by a sculptured border, which in
turn is framed by a decorated arch supported on nook shafts. The
whole composition is then surrounded by a further arch, the shafts of
which descend to the plinth. The window is thus integrated into a
‘giant’ wall arch, with each of the three elements set on a different ver-
tical plane. Buildings in virtually every country of Europe afford exam-
ples of this structured, hierarchical approach to design, an approach
which is the source of the order and clarity so often associated with the
Romanesque style [134]. These qualities are unlikely to have come
about by accident. Between 1000 and 1200 a demand for greater preci-
sion affected many aspects of political and social life; as historians have
observed, a charter written in the late twelfth century is likely to be
more exact and better organized than one composed 200 years before.
When thinking of the carefully organized components of a
Romanesque church, it is hard not to compare it with the precisely or-
dered structure of contemporary feudal society.®
Ata more theoretical level, it is worth noting the way in which the
hierarchical approach to design coincides with medieval notions of the
concept of beauty. Here, for example, is the view of Robert
Grosseteste, the thirteenth-century bishop of Lincoln: ‘For beauty is a
concordance and fittingness of a thing to itself and of all the individual
parts to themselves and to each other and to the whole, and that of the
whole to all things.” It is a definition which could be applied without

127 Aulnay-de-Saintonge too much difficulty to Romanesque architecture, though not to the
(Charente-Maritime), church
of St Pierre, c.1130
Gothic style of Grosseteste’s own time. Grosseteste was in fact repeat-
The system of embracing ing concepts which were taken straight from classical authors, whose
arches around the windows opinions largely determined the way in which medieval scholars ap-
was developed in many of the
churches of the Saintonge.
proached the issue. Men of learning were familiar with the treatise on
The clusters of vertical shafts architecture by the Roman author Vitruvius, whose definitions of pro-
which emphasize major portion were echoed in several medieval texts. Metaphysical concepts
divisions in the building were a
feature of Romanesque in
of beauty might seem far removed from the physical activities of the
western France. building yards, but on occasions it is possible that they touched the re-
alities of life. While it is most unlikely that the master masons respon-
128 Santa Cruz de la Seros
sible for the cathedral at Durham or the parish church at Aulnay
(Aragon), church of San
Caprasio, last quarter of the devoted much time to philosophical speculation, their attitudes may
eleventh century have been affected indirectly by assumptions inherited from the re-
The combination of roughly
mote classical past.
coursed masonry, together
with Lombard bands and At this point it is time to examine in more detail some of the expres-
arcades, is characteristic of sive techniques employed by Romanesque masons, beginning with the
the style known as ‘first
. Romanesque’.
outer ‘skin’ of the building. In Mediterranean countries, the articula-
tion of the external walls developed at an early period, in a phase of ar-
chitecture that is usually described as ‘first Romanesque’. This
architectural epoch was defined by the Spanish historian Puig y
Cadafalch, who spotted many parallels in building technique along a
wide stretch of the Mediterranean coast, from Dalmatia and northern
Italy to Provence and Catalonia. Despite being constructed in coursed
rubble, first Romanesque churches were adorned with a system of ver-
tical ‘bands’ or pilasters, along with a line of small arcades placed just
below the eaves line [30, 128]. As the system was prevalent in

Lombardy (and probably originated there), the features are often de-
scribed as ‘Lombard bands’ or ‘Lombard arcades’. This system of deco-
ration appears to have developed in the later years of the tenth century
and it became widespread in the eleventh. It progressed up the valleys
of the Rhone and Saéne, and found its way across the Alps, appearing
in many prominent buildings along the Rhine. As a system of decora-
tion, it had several advantages. It was fashioned out of rubble masonry,
so that no particular expertise was required on the part of the masons.
Moreover, the system was flexible, since the arrangement of the bands
and arcades could be adjusted to suit almost any space available. The
techniques were used to good effect on the detached belfries, which,
from Catalonia to the valley of the Po, form a major characteristic of
the epoch. The majestic tower at Pomposa in northern Italy is a fine
statement of the genre. The consistency with which first Romanesque
decoration was used across southern Europe can be misleading, since it
was applied to buildings which in some cases differed quite radically in
plan and structure. The system survived into the twelfth century, espe- -
cially in Italy and Germany, though, with the advent of cut stone, the
miniature arcades were frequently given a more sculptured appearance.
An alternative means of giving relief and depth to wall surfaces was
through the use of a blind arcade. Sometimes such arches were em-
ployed on a ‘giant’ scale, defining each bay of the building, while else-
where they were used as an ornamental ribbon running around the
outer walls. The technique is so common in Romanesque that it is easy
to overlook its significance. In Tuscany a sequence of arches resting on
thin pilasters was used to enliven the outer walls, a local variation being
the sunken diamonds which frequently occupy the head of the arches
[136]. In vaulted buildings, such systems were usually linked to but-
tresses, as at Aulnay, where each bay is defined by a single arch [127].
In twelfth-century buildings the arches were usually supported on en-
gaged shafts, rather than pilasters, giving a more rounded sculptural
impression. In a few (rare) instances detached columns were used; this
is the case at Troia Cathedral, where a double row of columns, evi-
dently filched from some Antique monument, was deployed around
the apse. Both in Apulia and parts of southern France an even more
dramatic effect was achieved by the construction of arches between a
sequence of buttresses, throwing the outer skin of the churches into
powerful relief. This technique was employed at San Nicola, Bari,
where a line of such arches along the nave was continued across the face
of the transept in the form of a delicate wall arcade, a subtle combina-
tion of two alternative approaches.
More universal was the use of smaller arcades, which lined both the
internal and external walls of many a Romanesque church, often acting
as a horizontal band which helps to pull a design together. In the choir
of Canterbury Cathedral (c.1096-1130) a richly-decorated arcade on

129 Shrine of Santo the outer wall establishes the division between the crypt and the main
Domingo from the abbey of church above. In western France blind arcades were often located at
Silos, c.1140-50, Burgos,
Museo Arqueolégico
the top of the outer walls, immediately below the roof line. This made
The placing of saints under good sense in barrel-vaulted buildings, where the upper walls could not
arches reinforced the link be pierced by windows. As well as concealing a redundant section of
between arcading and
celestial Jerusalem. In this masonry, a blind arcade in this position furnished an attractive climax
case the impression is to the architectural composition. While such arcades were designed
enhanced bythe towers and
principally as decoration, there are occasions when their use was re-
domes which extend along the
top of the arches. stricted to particular parts of a building, to highlight the importance of
the chancel or a portal, for example. There are many cases in which
small arcades were fitted above a doorway, either set within a gable, or
stretched across the facade of the building. While such arrangements
added visual emphasis, they also lent themselves to symbolic interpre-
tation. When medieval artists depicted the Heavenly Jerusalem, as in
the famous Last Judgment at Autun, they did so in terms of arcaded
structures. Arcades added status and a hint of divine glory [129].
By the middle years of the twelfth century, superimposed rows of
arches were used to create rich, ornamental effects, as on the facades of
the Cluniac priory of Castle Acre [115] and the Benedictine abbey of
Malmesbury, parts of the building which medieval commentators
likened to the portae caeli, the gates of Heaven. And every time the
Cluniac monks at Much Wenlock gathered in their chapter house,
they had the opportunity of gazing at a truly exotic display of orna-
mental arcading [130], their vision, perhaps, of heavenly Paradise.
A natural extension of the blind arcade was the arcaded gallery built
within the thickness of the wall, a technique which was exploited in a
variety of different ways. One of the most dramatic compositions of
this type can be found at the east end of Speyer Cathedral [132], a

130 Much Wenlock composition which could be seen from every boat passing along the
(Shropshire), Cluniac priory,
chapter house, twelfth
Rhine. A ‘dwarf gallery’ encircles the top of the apse, underlining its
century rounded form. When seen in conjunction with the blind arcade on the
Intersecting arcades became lower walls of the apse, and the employment of ‘Lombard arcades’, the
a favourite device of
Romanesque architects,
result is one of the most memorable pieces of Romanesque design.
especially in England. The Galleries added depth to the building, and provided an element of
chapter house was also chiaroscuro, with the outer columns silhouetted against the shaded
embellished with a ribbed
vault, traces of which survive background. But they could only be constructed if the basic walls of the
alongside the decorative building had a thickness of five feet or more, which in many instances
arcading.
meant that they were used in conjunction with stone vaults. External
galleries became a familiar characteristic of Romanesque architecture
along the Rhine, and they are especially prominent in the churches of
Cologne. There has been much debate about their origin: among the
earliest examples in northern Europe are those in the west facade of
Trier Cathedral (c.1016-47), but whether the technique had a German
or Italian background is an open question. Long before the
Romanesque era, external passages had been constructed in the fifth=
century church of Sant’Aquilino at Milan, so their roots appear to
lie in
the architecture of the late Roman world.

In Italy, Germany, and occasionally Spain, dwarf galleries were
constructed around the apse, where they were located above the
springing point of the half-domes within the building. A number of
eleventh-century churches were furnished with a sequence of niches in
this position, as at Lomello in Lombardy [30] or Hersfeld in Germany,
but there is no doubt that the continuous gallery provided a more at-
tractive alternative. In many cases the galleries were divided into a se-
ries of bays, a beautifully integrated example of which can be seen at
Modena Cathedral, dating from soon after 1100 [133]. In contrast to
Speyer, the blind arcade embraces the gallery, providing the type of hi-
erarchical composition beloved by Romanesque architects. The same
system was continued along the flanks of the cathedral. Architects ex-
ploited the external gallery in a variety of different contexts. In
Germany they were sometimes fitted around the base of church tow-
ers, a method which was copied in some of the splendid Romanesque
monuments of Gotland, as at Stenkyrka [81]. They also decorate the
brick facades of Lombardy, where the stepped galleries provide a point
131 Cashel (Tipperary),

Cormac’s Chapel, 1127-34
With its blind arcades,
sculptured portals, and
decorative string courses, the
chapel forms one of the most
complete examples of
Romanesque in Ireland.

py
UES
ah
SEYihey
CRS
'
Caer
132 Speyer Cathedral, begun

c.1030, completed first half
of twelfth century, view from
the east
A giant order of blind arches
runs around the apse, above
which Is an open gallery, set
immediately below the eaves.
e
a fe) ie) (ea)< a4 4 ne a <3) Q oo) >
Lal < a4 iS) q = i) O BH =) [a4 <a)
133 Modena Cathedral,
begun 1099, view from the
east
Although related to the design
at Speyer, the blind arches at
Modena embrace the gallery,
producing a more integrated
composition.

134 Modena cathedral,
begun 1099, south wall of
the nave
The use of embracing arches
creates a ‘hierarchical’ system
of design, characteristic of
Romanesque. Note the
‘putlog’ holes for scaffolding in
the external masonry.
135 Lucca, San Michele,

facade, c.1200
Designed as an exotic screen -
with ornamented columns and
inlaid decorative patterns. The
‘knotted’columns at the end of
the middle level were a
favourite device of Tuscan
masons.
of emphasis below the crest of the gables. Further south, they were ex-
ploited in dazzling fashion by the masons of Tuscany, who stacked one
arcade upon another. With their inlaid marble and variegated
columns, church fagades in Pisa, Lucca [135], and Pistoia provide a
symphony of arches, the Romanesque equivalent to the classical the-
atre with its scenae frons. Even more spectacular is the famous ‘Leaning
Tower’ of Pisa [136], encircled by six superimposed galleries, a verita-
ble tour de force.
Although external galleries can usually be reached by staircases
from inside the structure, they do not appear to have served any utili-
tarian purpose. Ona few rare occasions they might have been exploited
for defensive reasons, but their principal purpose was to enhance the
look of the building; open galleries, set high in the building, increased
the visual splendour of the architecture, and, for some spectators,
may
have inspired thoughts of the celestial city.
In Normandy and England the arcaded gallery was used in a very
different context. Here passages, placed at clerestory level, opened
onto the interior rather than the exterior of the buildings [152,
156].
These ‘clerestory passages’ are one of the most exciting features of
English Romanesque and they remained a characteristic of English
ar-
chitecture far into the Gothic era.’ The most common arrangement
in
England was for each bay of the clerestory to be furnished with one
large arch, corresponding to the window, which was flanked by
a sub-
arch on either side [156]. This stepped arrangement required
two free-
standing columns in each bay. The alternating rhythm of low and
high
arches, the suggestion of depth and hidden spaces, along with
the con-
trasting effects of light and shade, create a lively visual effect.
The pas-
sages continue unbroken through the centre of the clerestory,
offering
136 Pisa, campanile or
‘Leaning Tower’, c.1153
Popular interest in the lean
has tended to overshadow the
architectural qualities of this
exotic belfry. The delight in
superimposed arcades was
characteristic of architecture
in Tuscany.
a Bek begare
ET
exhilarating vistas for those fortunate enough to experience them.

What purpose was served by these semi-secret passages high in the
walls of the church? In view of the way in which church buildings were
regarded as a representation of the Heavenly Jerusalem, it would not be
difficult to imagine them as empty spaces, waiting to be inhabited by
the elect. To one medieval writer, they suggested a honeycomb, an in-
triguing comparison given the identification of Heaven as a land flow-
ing with milk and honey.’ At a more prosaic level, the passages
provided easy access to the upper parts of the structure, useful for
cleaning or repairing windows, for example, though it is hard to believe
such utilitarian needs justified the expense required. The aesthetic ef-
fect should not be taken for granted. Had clerestory arcades not looked
impressive, it is unlikely that the clergy of England and Normandy
would have been willing to pay for them. So successful was the scheme
that similar arcades were inserted into other. parts of the buildings, in
the apse at La Trinité, Caen, for example, or in the transept walls and
central tower at Norwich Cathedral.

Clerestory passages originated in eleventh-century Normandy,
where they were first used in transepts as means of access to the cross-
ing towers. In subsequent churches they were extended along the rest
of the clerestory, initially with arches of equal height. Although the
scholar Jean Bony argued that the huge walls required to contain such
passages furnished an internal buttressing system, it is unlikely that
structural considerations were uppermost in the minds of the builders.
Moreover, Bony’s term ‘thick wall’, which he used to describe a struc-
ture with clerestory passages, has proved misleading and it is preferable
to use the term ‘hollow wall’. It is worth noting that passages within
the thickness of a wall were an important element of castle design, and
it is possible that their popularity in church architecture had something
to do with the development of the keep. As we have seen, in some cas-
tles they were constructed like clerestory passages around the upper
walls of the main chamber [51, 137]. _
In contrast to their predecessors, Romanesque architects explored
the masonry wall as a three-dimensional entity, hollowing out the fab-
ric with galleries and niches, and modelling the surfaces with arches
and engaged shafts. A similar approach governed the design of doors,
where the sheer thickness of Romanesque masonry promoted the de-
velopment of recessed orders. Many twelfth-century portals are so en-
veloped in ornament that it is easy to overlook this basic structure.
The standard arrangement is for a pair of columns or engaged shafts
to support each order of archivolts, the basic grammar of which is
clearly illustrated in the south portal at Aulnay [138]. Here the inner
order rests on relatively plain jambs, with the next three orders sup-
ported on detached columns. Although the actual opening for the
door is quite narrow, the four concentric orders, gradually expanding
137 Castle Hedingham

(Essex), c.1140
View taken in 1920 before
restoration. The double-level
hall is surrounded by wall-
passages and decorated with
chevron ornament like that in
contemporary churches. The
fireplace is furnished with a
Romanesque arch. The keep,
which was built for Aubrey de
Vere, earl of Oxford, was
evidently intended primarily
for show.

138 Aulnay-de-Saintonge
(Charente-Maritime), church
of St Pierre, south transept
portal, c.1130
With its sequence of recessed
arches, each highly
sculptured, this is a classic
statement of Romanesque
portal construction.
in diameter, create the illusion of an enormous entrance. It is the

width of the outer order, not the narrow inner arch, that determines
the spectator’s impression of scale. Equally characteristic is the way in
which the orders are recessed in depth, drawing the eye inwards, as if
anticipating movement into the church. In order to provide room for
additional archivolts, the depth of the portal was often enlarged, so
that it extended in front of the wall of the church. It is easy to forget
that these techniques were quite unknown before the Romanesque
period. By the twelfth century such methods had been adopted in vir-
tually every country of Europe and, while there were local variations
in the way they were applied, the basic syntax remained the same. In
some cases the square edge of the jambs was allowed to peep out be-
tween each column, but in others a continuous line of shafts occupies
the entire space, as can be seen in the west portal of Chadenac
(Charente—Maritime) [144]. In many instances the semicircular
space below the arch was filled with a tympanum, usually supported
by a lintel, both of which became important fields for sculpture.
Although scholars have devoted much attention to the sculpture of
Romanesque portals, very little research has been devoted to their un-
derlying form. It is not clear where the portal with multiple orders first
developed, though it clearly evolved out of architectural practice in the
eleventh century.’° Windows and doorways with a single recessed
order were common at this time, but it was not until the twelfth cen-
tury that portals with multiple orders became a universal feature. The
roots of the system go back to late Antique architecture (there are sim-
,
ple rebates in the windows of the churches at Ravenna, for example)
but Antiquity provides no more than a hint of the system which was to
be so vigorously exploited by Romanesque architects.

Of all the expressive techniques at the disposal of the Romanesque
architect, the most fundamental was the engaged shaft. In virtually
every aspect of church design—in portals, chancel arches, piers, and
fagades—the engaged shaft offered the principal means of modelling
and articulation. The method was ultimately derived from Roman ar-
chitecture, where engaged columns, set against solid rectangular piers,
were used in a wide variety of contexts. In superimposed rows, they can
be seen around the outer walls of the Colosseum, as well as in numer-
ous amphitheatres throughout the empire. In Roman buildings, how-
ever, engaged columns were governed by proportional rules, which
were completely disregarded by medieval architects. In the hands of
masons of the eleventh or twelfth century the shaft became an elastic
feature, which could be enlarged or extended as required. In contrast to
Roman practice, they were gathered together in well-ordered groups.
Nowhere was the enthusiasm for shafts greater than in western France,
a region in which masons indulged their passion for the feature by
planting them in bundles at key points along the periphery of their
buildings.
The most critical function of the engaged shaft was in the articula-
tion of interior space. In many Romanesque churches, this task was
performed by the pilaster, but the rounded shaft, providing a more
sculptured effect, tended to become the preferred option. Often the
two were combined, with the shaft laid against a flat pilaster or
‘dosseret’. Thus at Santiago de Compostela or Vézelay [101, 114], the
interior is divided into bays by vertical lines of shafts, which emphasize
the position of each of the piers. By linking together the various levels
of the fabric, shafts brought unity and coherence to the composition,
endowing the elevation with an element of three-dimensional model-
ling. Engaged shafts also transformed the simple square pier of earlier
centuries into a highly articulated feature, creating what is generally
known as the compound pier." At Santiago a clear, but relatively sim-
ple version of this was adopted [101]. The main piers are basically
square in plan, with an engaged shaft on each side. That facing the
main space is extended up to the base of the vault where it supports
a
transverse arch. The two underneath the main arches support the inner
order, and that facing the aisle corresponds to a transverse arch be-
tween each bay of groin vaulting. Thus each shaft was allotted its
own
specific task, and seen together they bring a visual coherence to
the
whole design. A note of subtlety, easily missed, was provided in
the
core of the piers, which have alternating square and rounded
corners.
In Normandy the approach to pier design was taken a stage further.
In
the choir at Lessay, for example, there are eight shafts grouped
around
the basic core, allowing both orders in the main arcade to be
provided
with shafts [139]. Despite this careful organization of the
piers, there
is one obvious weakness in the design. The ribs of the vault
are left
139 Lessay (Manche), abbey without a supporting element, being squeezed into an angle at the base
church, interior of choir,
of the clerestory, a solecism which suggests that ribbed vaults were not
c.1098
The compound piers were
envisaged when the building was first laid out.” As in most Norman
carefully designed to suit the churches, the shafts at Lessay are arranged in a stepped formation,
elevation above, though no with the intermediate shafts set in re-entrant angles.
provision was made for the
ribbed vault, which appears to Compound piers of far greater complexity than those at Lessay
have been an afterthought. were developed in England following the Norman Conquest of 1066:
in the nave of Durham Cathedral the major piers have 12 shafts of
varying diameters organized around a basic core, a design which
helped to reduce the impact of what were in fact monumental sup-
ports, over eight feet in width [146]. The underlying principle of
Romanesque pier design was the correspondence between the pier it-
self and the arches, walls, and vaults it supported. In theory this re-
quired forward planning, since the architect had to know in advance
what the upper levels of the building were going to look like; in practice
things did not always work out so smoothly.

140 Saint-Savin-sur- The compound pier, with its many variants, was one of the most
Gartempe (Vienne), nave,
c.1100
far-reaching innovations of the Romanesque era. But in many places
One of the most distinguished there was considerable reluctance to abandon the traditional column,
‘hall churches’ of western associated with the basilicas of the Early Christian period. In central
France, with a painted barrel
vault and tall cylindrical piers.
and southern Italy the columnar basilica remained the basic building
The unity of design was type [106], and even north of the Alps churchmen were slow to aban-
compromised, however, by don this prestigious form. The abbey church at Limburg an der Hardt,
the introduction of compound
piers and transverse arches
for example, founded by the German emperor Conrad II in 1024, was
(seen in the foreground), constructed with a line of columns made of huge monoliths, great
introduced as work proceeded:
chunks of which still survive at the site. But monolithic columns were
westwards.
difficult to acquire and they could not sustain a heavy superstructure. It
was virtually impossible to use them in buildings covered by stone
vaults. One solution was to construct much thicker columns out of
coursed masonry, in the form of giant cylinders, a type used sporadi-
cally in various parts of Europe. The nave of St Philibert at Tournus is
built in this manner [90], so too a number of hall churches in western
France, a group which includes Saint-Savin-sur-Gartempe, famous
for its painted ceiling [140]. After the Norman Conquest, the cylindri-
cal pier was introduced to England where it became one of the most
characteristic features of English Romanesque, especially in the West
Country. At Tewkesbury and Gloucester, vast circular piers dominate
the interior of the nave, occupying over half the height of the elevation.
Despite its historical and religious associations, the cylindrical pier had
one aesthetic limitation: as an autonomous element, it was not easily
combined with vertical wall shafts, which in turn made it difficult to
link the various parts of the elevation. The column implied spatial con-
tinuity, whereas the compound pier allowed for vertical articulation.
To resolve this dilemma, various compromises were attempted.
One solution involved the alternation of compound and cylindrical
piers, so that a ‘double-bay’ system was created with major and minor
piers.'* An early example of this approach can be found at Jumiéges
(c.1040-67) [141]; in this case the major piers appear to have supported
a ‘diaphragm’ arch across the nave, which accentuated the division of
the space into four large compartments. A similar arrangement can be
seen in Florence in the church of San Miniato al Monte (c.1062—90).
The system adopted at Jumiéges provided a prototype for Durham
Cathedral, where alternation was carried out on a truly monument
al
scale [146]. Further south in East Anglia, architects experimented
with alternation in a more subtle manner. At Ely, for example, hybrid
‘minor’ piers were designed, in which only part of the surface was
curved [142]. These unorthodox shapes meant that every pier could be
furnished with a shaft facing towards the nave, thus establishing a reg-
ular sequence of bays. Retaining a faint memory of the cylindrical
pier
(and, behind that, the tradition of the column), one wonders
what
twelfth-century spectators made of such subtleties. For modern
ob-
141 Jumiéges (Seine-
Maritime), abbey church,
1040-67, nave, looking west
Designed with an alternating
system, so thatthe main piers
corresponded with transverse
arches (now destroyed). The
relatively thin character of the
walls did not allow for stone
vaulting.
142 Ely Cathedral, nave,

c.1110-50
Despite the regular sequence
of vertical shafts, there is a
sophisticated system of
alternation, with the ‘minor’
piers suggesting a half-
disguised column. The high
gallery and passageways at
clerestory level were
characteristic of Romanesque
architecture in eastern
England.

servers, they offer a useful reminder of the conflict that existed in
Romanesque design between the column and the compound pier.* A
more radical solution was the use of the ‘giant order’, in which a cylin-
drical pier rose unbroken through two storeys, as in St Frideswide’s at
Oxford [104], a solution which some authorities claim was inspired by
descriptions in the treatise by the Roman author Vitruvius.’°
In Germany and northern Italy, alternation was often combined with
the deployment of stone vaults, constructed over double bays. In such
cases the major piers had the more important supporting function, a
point neatly expressed in the design. These double bays are usually
square in plan, creating a slow but impressively weighty rhythm, a point
evident in Saenredam’s painting of the Mariakerk in Utrecht [92].
Following the example of Speyer Cathedral [148], many monuments
along the Rhine adopted the double-bay system. ‘The Cistercian abbey
church at Eberbach is a good example, though the piers themselves were
not differentiated except through the introduction of emphatic pilasters,
which are corbelled off above the ‘major’ piers [119].
By the middle years of the twelfth century, Romanesque masons had
learnt to embellish their buildings with all manner of applied orna-
ment—zigzags, beads, billets, nail heads, cusps, fret patterns, ‘beak-
heads’, foliage, and numerous other motifs. In England chevron
patterns—in dozens of different forms—were applied to arch mouldings
in almost every conceivable context. Given the imaginative powers of
Romanesque masons, sculptural ornament could easily have over-
whelmed the buildings, but this was rarely allowed to happen.
Ornament was normally carved on architectural components, reinforc-
ing rather than obscuring the visual framework of the building. The ar-
chitecture of the Romanesque era has been admired for many
reasons—its monumentality, its rhythm, its sense of order—but its fun-
damental aesthetic quality lies in the fact that the architectonic frame-
work was never subverted by decoration. ‘Thus in the nave at Durham
chevron patterns embellish not just the main arcades, but also the arches
of the gallery and clerestory, as well as the ribs of the vault, highlighting
the structural skeleton of the entire building [146]. Even at its most ex-
travagant, Romanesque ornament was exploited with a discipline not far
removed from the aesthetic concepts propounded by the scholars.
From time to time modern writers have questioned whether the no-
tion of the ‘Romanesque style’ has any validity. So much variation exists
between different regions in planning, structure, and sculptural embell-
ishment, that it is easy to despair of finding any consistency. It is obvi-
ous, however, that architects in widely differing areas employed similar
techniques to give expression to their buildings. Rather than insisting
on Romanesque as a unified style, it is more useful to think of it in terms
of a language, utilized by local masons according to their own traditions
and aesthetic choices.
THE LANGUAGE OF ARCHITECTURE 2II

re ee
Diversity inthe
Romanesque Era
Near the Atlantic coast of France, between the river Charente and the
estuary of the Gironde, almost every village seems to possess a
Romanesque church, adorned with an exhilarating display of architec-
tural ornament. Names such as Rioux, Rétaud, Corme-Ecluse,
Echillais, Marignac, Chadenac, or Echebrune are synonymous with
Romanesque at its most sumptuous and baroque [144].! The
Saintonge, as this area is generally known, was one of the most pros-
perous areas of Europe in the twelfth century, its wealth founded on
wine production and the commercial potential of the Atlantic seaways.
When it came to the design of churches, the local communities were
much concerned with external display, revealing to everyone the pros-
perity and confidence which they felt at the time.
The churches of the Saintonge form a particularly eye-catching ex-
ample of the steady expansion in church building which affected al-
most every corner of western Europe during the eleventh and twelfth
centuries. By the year 1100 the quantity of building had reached a level
which was unprecedented in the years after the fall of the Roman
Empire. Cathedrals, great abbey churches, more modest priories, nun-
neries, parish churches, and manorial chapels all enjoyed the fruits of a
great building boom. The main causes of this expansion are not diffi-
cult to identify: a greater level of political stability, rising populations,
economic developments, particularly in agriculture, and the incentives
provided by monastic and church reform. The passing of the year 1000
has traditionally (but perhaps mistakenly) been regarded as a symbolic
turning point, when millennial fears were laid to rest and the future
143 St Gilles (Bouches-du- confronted in a more confident manner. This at least is the impression
Rhone), facade, mid-twelfth given by the oft-quoted statement of Raoul Glaber:
century
The detached columns,
classical ornament, and So on the threshold of the aforesaid thousandth year, some two or three years
and
sculptured friezes of this after it, it befell almost throughout the whole world, but especially in Italy
were
Gaul, that the fabrics of churches were rebuilt, although many of these
Provencal facade represent an
explicit homage to the
architecture of ancient Rome. seemly and needed no such care; but every nation of Christendom rivalled
213
144 Chadenac (Charente-
Maritime), parish church,
mid-twelfth century
One of many churches in the
Saintonge designed with
sumptuous fagades, based on
the motif of the triple arch.
The inscription
commemorating William the
structor is located around the
cornerto the right of the
photograph.
with the other, which should worship in the seemliest buildings. So it was as
though the very world had shaken herself and cast off her old age, and were
clothing herself everywhere in a white garment of churches.”
Raoul Glaber was a well-travelled monk, in a good position to see what

was going on. He was a member of the community of St Bénigne of
Dijon at the time when the church there was rebuilt with a massive
three-storey rotunda at its east end (too1-18) [99]. Whatever the sig-
nificance of the year 1000, there is no doubt that the early decades of
the eleventh century witnessed a substantial increase in architectural
activity. The developments recorded by Glaber, however, were modest
compared with what was to come a century later.
Romanesque is often regarded as a monastic style, in contrast to
Gothic which is generally associated with cathedral building. This is a
misleading assumption, for Romanesque architecture had an impact at
all levels of society, from the humble parish church to the great cathe-
dral. Many of the finest Romanesque monuments are in fact cathedral
churches—Winchester and Durham [146, 156], Speyer [132, 148],
and Mainz, Piacenza and Modena [133], to name just a few. While
monasteries, particularly in France, provide some of the most photo-
genic buildings of the age, Romanesque was a universal style that af-
fected castles and houses as well as churches. The distinction between
prestigious monuments and small local buildings became less acute,
with high-quality workmanship being found even in the humblest
chapel. Romanesque was also universal in a geographic sense. The
spread of the style coincided with the expansion of Christian Europe,
a
process advanced during the course of the eleventh and twelfth cen-
turies through colonization, conquest, and church reform.3 By
1200 the
214. EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

authority of the Pope was acknowledged everywhere in the West; each
country was organized into dioceses, parishes were being clearly de-
fined, and the Roman liturgy was adopted universally. Vast regions of
Scandinavia, for example, had been brought into the Christian fold,
whilst in Spain Christian armies made deep inroads into territories
controlled by Moslem rulers. The distribution of Romanesque archi-
tecture mirrors in quite a precise way this expansion of Latin
Christendom. Thus, shortly after 1103 a Romanesque cathedral, in part
modelled on those in the German Rhineland, was started at Lund, the
seat of a new archbishopric for Scandinavia, and when work com-
menced in 1137 on the cathedral at Kirkwall in the Orkney islands,
Romanesque had indeed reached the outer limits of Christian Europe.
The sheer quantity of monuments that survive from the
Romanesque era presents problems for historians. There is so much
diversity that it seems almost pointless to use the same stylistic label to
cover everything. What for example does Durham Cathedral [146]
have in common with the abbey church of St-Benoit-sur-Loire [145]
or for that matter with Pisa Cathedral? In such circumstances it is dif-
ficult to discern any meaningful evolution which has validity for
Europe as a whole. The nineteenth-century preoccupation with
progress encouraged historians to see Romanesque as a prelude to the
spectacular achievements of the Gothic style, with a consequent em-
phasis on structural matters, particularly the development of the stone
vault. The problems of the ‘evolutionary’ approach are compounded by
145 St-Benoit-sur-Loire,
choir, begun c.1080
Also known as Fleury, the
church of St Benoit housed
the relics of St Benedict, the
father of western
monasticism. The line of
closely spaced columns
reflected the tradition of the
ancient Christian basilicas.
DIVERSITY IN THE ROMANESQUE ERA 215

Lela
Ben
eT
SSS
a \O (ea) < | e = <>) Qa [eat > Z < [a4 1S) x = [sayi) Bb 5 [a4 <a}
146 Durham Cathedral, the fact that Romanesque did not develop in a single place or region,
nave, completed 1133 making it impossible to identify neat linear developments. Looking at
Clearly apparent is the
monumental scale of the
major ecclesiastical workshops active in the year 1100 it is hard to iden-
building, with its emphatic tify much consistency, a point which becomes obvious when one exam-
alternation of piers and ribbed ines four of the most ambitious projects of the time: the cathedrals of
vaulting. Note the slight
change ofdesign in the Speyer, Durham, and Santiago de Compostela, along with the abbey
arches. church of Cluny. All were started within a few years of each other, but
they offered radically different approaches to the question of how to
design a great Christian church. The plan of the liturgical choir dif-
fered in each case, though both Santiago and Cluny IIT made use of an
ambulatory and radiating chapels [100, 110]. Two of the buildings had
galleries (Santiago and Durham [101, 146]); the piers in one instance
(Durham) alternated dramatically in form; in another case (Cluny)
classical pilasters were given prominence. The main spaces in all four
churches were covered by stone vaults, but in each building a different
system was employed: pointed barrel vaults at Cluny HI, semicircular
barrel vaults at Santiago, groin vaults at Speyer, and ribbed vaults at
Durham [112, 101, 148, 146]. In their choice of plan, structural sys-
tem, and visual expression, the four buildings appear to offer more
points of contrast than similarity; what, one wonders, did twelfth-cen-
tury observers make of these disparities, assuming that they were aware
of them?
Faced with questions of this sort, historians have preferred to ap-
proach Romanesque architecture as a series of regional styles, studying
groups of monuments in a local context. While this approach is in-
structive, it is not without its limitations. In some cases the method has
been taken to an extreme, with overly rigid attempts to classify build-
ings as if they belonged to botanical species. The study of French
Romanesque has suffered in this regard, ever since Robert de Lasteyrie
147 Durham Cathedral

Plan of the church as it was
in the twelfth century
Note the irregular spacing of
piers in the transepts, which
suggests that ribbed
vaulting was notoriginally
intended in this part of the
building.
50 100 m
0 150 300 feet z

1»

148 Speyer Cathedral, nave
as remodelled c.1081-1106
Engraving by Von Bachelier
(1844)
The use of plain groin vaults is
one of several features which
evoke the buildings of ancient
Rome. Compared with
Durham (146) the
architecture is plain and
prismatic.
in 1929 believed he could identify eight distinct ‘regional schools’.

Subsequent scholars attempted to refine the system with sub-groups
and additional ‘schools’, imposing an artificial pattern on what are
often very varied collections of buildings. The so-called ‘schools’ of
French Romanesque are not as uniform as sometimes imagined, the
boundaries between them are often ill-defined, and there are many ex-
ceptional buildings which do not fit comfortably into regional pat-
terns. Even the use of the word ‘school’ implies a doctrinaire approach
that is at odds with the flexibility and imagination evident in many
Romanesque workshops. It is better to think in terms of local clusters,
where some buildings (but not all) may share common characteristics.
Nor did the architectural vitality of the various regions necessarily
co-
incide in time: Norman architecture was most enterprising in
the 50
years between 1030 and 1080, a period when other ‘schools’ had
yet to
develop. Lombard Romanesque reached a peak between 1080 and
1120,
but it was not until the middle years of the twelfth century that
the
classically-inspired style of Provence began to flourish. As new
work-
shops were opened, the emphasis could shift from one area to
another,
creating disjunctions in the overall picture of Romanesque. To
gain a
more exact impression of what occurred, it is important
to examine a
few regional groups in detail, beginning with the so-called school
of
the Auvergne in central France.

149 St Saturnin (Puy-de- As a geographical term, the Auvergne covers a vast area of the
Déme) Massif Central, but in the context of architecture its reputation de-
Choir and crossing tower,
probably early twelfth century
pends on a handful of churches situated within a radius of 25 miles of
The octagonai tower, Clermont-Ferrand, an area more accurately known as the Limagne.
supported on a curious Several characteristics of the group are illustrated at St Saturnin [149].
‘saddle’, is characteristic of
the so-called Auvergne
This well-preserved church is surmounted by an octagonal crossing
‘school’. St Saturnin lacks the tower, supported on a curious ‘haunch’ or oblong block, which rises
radiating chapels found in
above the roofs of the choir and transepts. The exterior walls of the
other churches in the group.
nave are furnished with arched recesses, surmounted by a blind arcade
150 St Saturnin (Puy-de- at the level of the gallery (a feature that was to reappear in exaggerated
Déme), dome over the form in Apulia). The walls of the apse are decorated with discreet poly-
crossing, supported on
squinches
chrome patterns, used more extravagantly in other churches of the
The slots of space each side of group. The interior also contains distinctive features, not least an un-
the tower relate to the ‘saddle’ usual treatment of the crossing, where diaphragm arches, pierced by
visible on the outside. The
dome itself is supported on
open screens, reinforce the tower [150]. The elevation of the nave is di-
squinches. vided into two storeys, a high arcade opening into the aisles, with a
modest gallery above. A continuous barrel vault, lacking transverse
arches, covers the main space and this is buttressed by quadrant vaults
in the gallery, forming a solid structural system that has been compared
to the formula used in the ‘pilgrimage’ churches at Conques, Toulouse,
and Santiago de Compostela [89a]. The piers are curious in that they
consist of a square core with engaged shafts on only three sides, that to-

wards the nave being left blank. In all these respects St Saturnin is
characteristic of the group. However, it lacks the radiating chapels
found in the other buildings; nor does it have a western gallery opening
into the church, as found for example at St Nectaire and Orcival.
The church at St Saturnin is thought to date from the first half of
the twelfth century, and, compared with other French buildings of this
time, it is robust rather than subtle in design. The bays of the nave are
not accentuated and the unmoulded arcades provide a rather stark im-
pression. But the critical question is why several churches in the local-
ity adopted, with only minor variations, the same design. What
associations did it have and what meaning did the scheme convey?
What was the rationale behind the unusual buttressing of the tower?
Why did the clergy need a western gallery and how was it used?
Although most of the buildings were monastic, the same architectural
formula was applied irrespective of the status of the church. In at least
three cases (St Nectaire, Issoire, and Orcival) the buildings were the
focus of local pilgrimage, a context in which the ambulatory layout was -
particularly appropriate. The more archaic features of the buildings are
reminiscent of Carolingian architecture, not least the western gallery
and the ‘flying screens’ at the crossing, which suggests that they were
modelled on an ancient prototype; some authorities believe this was
the old cathedral of Clermont-Ferrand, consecrated in 946. It is possi-
ble that the geographical isolation of the Limagne discouraged
builders from looking at more recent models further afield. Whatever
the explanation for the similarities, it is important to appreciate that
this cluster of monuments was not typical of the Auvergne as a whole,
where there was greater variation than is sometimes realized.‘
In the Duchy of Burgundy, encouraged by the presence of Cluny
and other wealthy monastic houses, the architectural workshops were
more enterprising and varied. A conspicuous group of buildings was
dependent on the design of Cluny ITI. Despite its exceptional scale, de-
tails of the interior elevation were repeated in an almost literal manner:
tall arcades with pointed arches, compound piers with fluted pilasters,
a blind triforium (rather than a gallery) decorated with distinctive
cusped ornament, clerestory lighting, along with pointed barrel vaults
over the main spaces [112]. The formula was reproduced precisely
at
Paray-le-Monial [113] and repeated with only minor modificat
ions at
Beaune and Autun. The size and character of the institution do not
seem to have had a bearing on the matter: while Paray and Autun were
both Cluniac houses, Beaune was a collegiate church. The
classical
features of Cluny I1]—the fluted pilasters and Corinthian capitals—
added to the historical and political status of the great abbey, but these
associations may have been lost in more modest buildings nearby.
While the influence of Cluny demonstrates the impact that one
illus-
trious model could exert in its own locality, alternative prototypes were

available, and it is wrong to suppose that all twelfth-century churches
in Burgundy were clones of Cluny HI. Builders and their patrons were
prepared to make their own choices. Following the fire at Vézelay in
1120, for example, the abbot and his advisers ignored the Cluny for-
mula, despite their allegiance to the Cluniac order, opting for a more
traditional two-storey scheme, with groin vaults instead of pointed
barrels [114].° The decision may have been affected by a desire to fol-
low the broad lines of the building destroyed in 1120. There must have
been many occasions when Romanesque design depended on the per-
sonal choice of an abbot or some other senior official; the diversity en-
countered in Burgundy merely underlines the lack of homogeneity
that existed in most of the so-called regional ‘schools’.
Regional distinctions are particularly acute in Italy. The rather dour
monuments of Lombardy scarcely belong to the same world as the
churches of Pisa or Lucca [135], with their scintillating displays of pol-
ished marble, and neither region has all that much in common with the
Romanesque of Apulia. Separated by considerable distances, and with
cultural distinctions sharper than any that existed in France, their lack
of consistency is scarcely surprising. Apulia was a province of the
Byzantine Empire until it was overrun by Norman knights during the
course of the eleventh century (the Byzantines were finally driven out
by Robert Guiscard in 1071). Its population was racially mixed, with
Arabs, Greeks, Lombards, and Normans living beside each other in
the towns and cities along the Adriatic coast, a cultural maelstrom that
produced some interesting architectural results. This was a meeting
point of East and West, where the traditions of the Byzantine and the
Latin church confronted each other. There was a bishop in almost
every town, each jealously guarding his rights and privileges, and keen
to maintain his status. In fact Apulia had a greater concentration of
cathedrals than anywhere else in Italy, and cathedral building domi-
nates the architectural landscape.
One important element in Apulian architecture was the use of the
dome, seen for example at Canosa Cathedral (c.1040), where a Latin-
cross plan was covered by five domes on pendentives. The inspiration
for this may ultimately lie in the church of the Holy Apostles in
as a
Constantinople, an appropriate model given that Canosa was built
d the traditio n
shrine for a local saint, Sabinus.° The cathedral combine
ina
of domed construction with the basilican plan, a solution favoured
number of Apulian churches, as at Valenzano [151]. A later example
es
can be found in the cathedral church of San Corrado, which dominat
the harbour at Molfetta. The popularity of the dome may owe some-
thing to vernacular building, for Apulia is one of the areas of Europe
where corbelled structures, known locally as ¢ru/li, have a long history.
An alternative approach to church architecture was offered by the
at Bari
wooden-roofed basilica, a tradition given a boost by San Nicola

a a nN fea)< [4 S|ce a fa Q a S 4 <x a4 iS) a ‘s <3) oO H =) [a4 ia)
151 Valenzano (Apulia), (1087), which set the pattern for a number of local cathedrals.
church of the Ognissanti di Although these buildings employed monolithic columns, like their
Cuti, seen from the south
aisle, c.1078-1100
Early Christian predecessors, they were taller in proportion and fur-
The central nave, which is nished with vaulted aisles and spacious galleries, innovations thought
covered by a line of domes to derive from Lombardy or Emilia [106]. The most dramatic features
resting on pendentives, is
buttressed by half-barrel
of the ‘Bari’ group are the deeply-arched buttresses along the nave, and
vaults in the aisles. the arcaded galleries that surmount them, sumptuous examples of
which can be found at Bitonto. Contrary to the prevailing impression,
there is no evidence that the Norman aristocracy brought armies of
masons with them-from Normandy or other parts of France. Apulian
architecture is grounded in local experience and customs, and ideas in-
troduced from outside the region generally had their origin in Italy
rather than further afield. One noticeable characteristic is the absence
of a developed choir, a feature that Apulian buildings share with other
Italian churches. In most cases a simple apse opened from the space of
the transept or crossing [107], which meant that the liturgical choir
had to be pushed well down the nave. The French system of an ambu-
latory with radiating chapels was employed on just two occasions, in
the cathedral at Acerenza, a hill town to the west of Bari, and in the un-
finished choir at Venosa [64]. The contrasts encountered in the south
of Italy thus defy attempts at simple generalization: while the deriva-
tives of San Nicola at Bari form an obvious group, there was no
Apulian ‘school’ as such; rather, a number of alternative approaches,
interacting in a subtle and intriguing way. Indeed, the numerous cathe-
drals of Apulia, many of them situated within a few miles of each other,
provide a striking illustration of the degree to which local traditions
and circumstances dictated the development of Romanesque. It was
also an area in which Gothic architecture made very little impression,
with Romanesque modes of construction surviving far into the thir-
teenth century, as at Trani, Ruvo, or Bitonto.
The increasing diversity of ecclesiastical architecture in the twelfth
century came at a time when one might have expected the opposite, for
there were many factors which encouraged uniformity within the
Church. The assertion of Papal authority which followed the reforms
al
of Gregory VII, combined with the replacement of local liturgic
an
practices by the Latin rite, brought greater consistency to Christi
in plan-
observance. But this was not always matched by consistency
after the conques t of
ning. The reorganization of the English dioceses
without
1066 provoked massive investment in cathedral building,
sque
bringing any agreement in matters of layout. English Romane
variati ons (some of them quite
churches in fact display a range of
system of stagger ed
bizarre) on two contrasting arrangements, the
liturgic al
apses and the ambulatory with radiating chapels. While the
—space for
practices of the time called for certain general requirements
of room for the
the choir stalls, a suitable range of chapels, and plenty
ERA 223
DIVERSITY IN THE ROMANESQUE
clergy to move around the church with dignity in processions—the
precise arrangements were a matter of local choice.’
As well as church reform, there were other forces in society which
might have brought greater architectural consistency, not least the fact
that the upper echelons of society were now more mobile than at any
point since the fall of the Roman Empire. Well-educated clerics could
find jobs almost anywhere: Englishmen were employed at the court of
Roger I] in Sicily and many Frenchmen developed their careers in
northern Spain.* The fact that the authority of the German emperors
extended into much of northern Italy sustained continual diplomatic
and administrative traffic across.the Alpine passes. This was a cos-
mopolitan world in which the great men of the day spent a lot of time
on the road. The church generated a huge amount of traffic. Rome was
a centre for religious officials and pilgrims, and in spring and summer
visitors descended on Santiago de Compostela like a tidal wave, com-
bining their journey with visits to churches along the way. The monas-
tic ‘empires’ of Cluny and Citeaux encouraged further movement, as_
abbots and monks journeyed from house to house within their orders.
Artists were likewise peripatetic, some travelling great distances to ful-
fil important commissions: masons from northern Italy were employed
in Germany at Speyer and Quedlinburg, and a sculptor from central
France produced some exquisite capitals at Nazareth in the Holy
Land. In the twelfth century people with education or with artistic
skills had plenty of opportunities to discover what was going on abroad
and they must have been well informed about the architecture of other
countries.
While mobility encouraged artistic interchange, it failed to bring
uniformity of practice; if anything it seems to have intensified local
identities, a point illustrated by the history of the Cistercian order.
From the start, the Cistercians laid great stress on uniformity of obser-
vance, and their centralized system of government was designed to en-
force it: ‘unity of customs, of chants, of books; one charity, one Rule,
one life’. As we have already seen, the monasteries of the order shared
many common features, the most visible of which was the
absence of
painted and carved decoration. But despite the centralized organiza
-
tion, the vast majority of Cistercian buildings were built in the style
of
their own locality, albeit with a degree of austerity and restraint.
Thus
the design of the nave of the English abbey at Fountains is centred
on
massive cylindrical piers in the Anglo-Norman manner, and the
arches
they support are embellished with relatively complex moulding
s. By
the middle years of the twelfth century, the design of Cistercian
build-
ings generally reflected current practices in the neighbourhood,
a tri-
umph for the forces of localism. What therefore were the factors
which
brought so much local diversity to the architecture of the Roman
esque
age?

The most commonly cited reason is the political fragmentation
which followed the break-up of the Carolingian Empire. Following
the onslaught of the Vikings, Arabs, and Magyars, power descended to
a local level, leading to the creation of separate territorial principalities.
The process was particularly marked in France, which remained a
patchwork of independent duchies and local lordships until the reign
of Philip Augustus (1180-1220). Although many of the great magnates
technically paid homage to the crown for their fiefs, the actual influ-
ence of the Capetian kings was very limited. As well as the great
duchies of Normandy, Aquitaine, and Burgundy, there were many
smaller lordships or counties such as Anjou, Blois, Nevers, Auvergne,
or Toulouse. In some cases the boundaries were based on ethnic or ge-
ographical divisions, but there was also a major linguistic difference
between north and south, the territories of Langue d’oiland Langue doc
(the words used for ‘yes’). Whereas the north of France was heavily
feudalized, in the south there was a more fluid society, with its own dis-
tinctive culture and customs. This was the area from which the poetry
of the troubadours and the cult of ‘courtly love’ were to emerge at the
close of the eleventh century. Regional variations in architecture, it
might be supposed, were merely a reflection of these political and cul-
tural distinctions. It is significant that the architectural variations are
not so acute in Germany, where the emperors had more authority over
the five main principalities.
In Normandy there was a particularly close correlation between ar-
chitecture and political power. Under the direction of a series of ener-
getic and ruthless dukes—Richard I (996-1026), Robert I (1027-35),
and his bastard son William the Conqueror (1035-87)—the duchy
emerged as one of the most dynamic and forceful principalities in
Europe, with ‘a new aristocracy, a new Church, a new monasticism and
a new culture’.’ In the year 1000 there were only 5 monasteries in the
duchy; by 1066 there were over 30, several of them founded by the dukes
or members of their families. Norman monasticism was dominated by
the customs of Cluny, which had been introduced at Fécamp in 1001 by
the Italian abbot, William of Volpiano, one of many foreigners drawn to
the region. The school at the abbey of Bec attracted scholars from all
over Europe, and these included two of the best intellects of the age,
Lanfranc and Anselm. By the second half of the eleventh century much
of the wealth of the Norman Church was being invested in architecture,
producing a series of monumental and ambitious buildings in such
places as Jumiéges, Rouen, Bernay, Mont-St-Michel, and Caen.
Norman Romanesque was far from homogeneous, though there are
a number of features which set it apart.’” Most of the buildings were
designed with aisled choirs, often with staggered apses at the east end,
as at La Trinité at Caen. On the exterior an imposing tone was set by
the square ‘lantern’ towers erected over the crossing. The interior space

a Nn \o < [4 S
ica} a [<3] A eS S$ 4 < & O = s a oO = 5 2 <a
152 Caen, St Etienne, built was robustly articulated through the use of engaged shafts. Even parish
c.1060-77, view from the
churches, like that of St Nicholas, in the suburbs of Caen, were pro-
south transept looking west
along the nave vided with three-storey elevations, the middle storey designed either as
The abbey was founded by a gallery or with some form of triforium. Compound piers supported
William the Conqueror. The
walls of great thickness, which at clerestory level allowed the construc-
high gallery and clerestory wall
passages were among many tion of ‘hollow-wall passages’, one of the most attractive innovations of
Norman features Norman Romanesque. The outstanding monument is the abbey
subsequently copied in
church of St Etienne in Caen [152], founded by William the
England. The clerestory was
remodelled and the vaults Conqueror in about 1060, its dour west facade a reminder of the ruth-
added in c.1130. less efficiency that brought its founder so much success. The back-
ground of Norman architecture is difficult to define. It included an
important substratum of Carolingian ideas, reflected in the ‘westwork’
at Jumiéges [23],"’ but Norman architects were aware of contemporary
developments in the Loire valley, as well as further afield in Ottonian
Germany and Northern Italy. The success of the Norman dukes in at-
tracting talent from abroad evidently extended to the building yards.
Normandy thus provides an example in which the development of a
local ‘school’ of Romanesque coincided with the rise of a well-orga-
nized principality. But it was a rather exceptional case and in other
parts of Europe the link between architecture and political boundaries
was not so exact. The vast duchy of Aquitaine, for example, was com-
posed of a disparate collection of counties and lordships with diverse
architectural traditions: domed churches centred on the Périgord, for
example, and hall churches with barrel vaults in the region of Poitou.
153 Fontevrault (Maine-et-
Loire), nave of the abbey
church, begun c.1120
During construction the
original design for the nave,
which incorporated aisles, was
replaced by a single space
covered with domes. The
latter were rebuilt in c.1910.

154 Fontevrault (Maine-et-
Loire), abbey church
Plan
There is an obvious
discrepancy between the
aisled choir, consecrated in
f
Bes by
:
'
= : \ 3
e O ;
1119, and the domed nave
erected later.
\ ' a fe
SS \ SS So a z os,
Mmm 12th century : phase one 0 10 20m

fe8 12th century : phase two eee Ee RB EAG
ee Pa,
Esti century 0 25 50 feet
The domed churches are concentrated in a band stretching from

Rodez to Saintes, a geographical distribution which is not related to
any political entity. There are many outliers, including one as far north
as the Loire valley: this is the church of the double monastery at
Fontevrault, founded by Robert d’Arbrissal in rr00 [153, 154].
Although designed as a three-aisled structure, at some point after the
consecration of the choir in 1119 a decision was made to cover the nave
as a single space with a series of domes (a similar change of design took
place in the church of Notre Dame in Saintes).!2 While the frag-
mented politics of Europe undoubtedly contributed to the diversity of
Romanesque, there were many other factors involved, not least the
power of local tradition and the survival of distinguished buildings
from the past.
The presence of Roman monuments fostered a distinctive brand of
Romanesque in Provence, an area which in the twelfth century was di-
vided between the counts of Toulouse and the counts of Barcelona.
Provengal churches have a number of memorable features: walls and
piers tend to be articulated through sharply-defined pilasters, rather
than engaged shafts; the interiors are frequently dark and covered by
pointed barrel vaults, the latter buttressed by quadrant vaults over high,
narrow aisles.'’ This is the system found at Vaison and at St Trophime
at Arles [89d] and it was repeated by the Cistercians at Le Thoronet
[120] and Sénanque. The Cistercians did not, however, copy the most
conspicuous feature of Provengal design, the taste for classical details.
Corinthian capitals, classical pediments, fluted pilasters, acanthus fo-
liage, egg and dart motifs, sculptured friezes, and detached columns
were reproduced so accurately that it is sometimes hard to believe they
belong to the twelfth century. The facade of the abbey church of St-
Gilles, one of the great pilgrimage centres of the south of France, is
composed like a series of triumphal arches, evoking the spirit though
not the rigour of Roman architecture [143]. Classical elements were
treated as decorative features, often in unexpected or incongruous con-

texts, as in the facade of the tiny church of St Gabriel near Arles.
Provence had formed part of the Roman province of Gallia
Narbonensis and the monuments of Antiquity must have excited the
admiration of medieval observers as much as they do today. But there
were other regions of Europe that retained equally splendid examples
of Roman architecture—Lombardy for instance—where the medieval
builders showed little interest in the classical past. Perhaps it was the
abundant supplies of good freestone that encouraged Provengal ma-
sons and their patrons to emulate their Roman forbears.
In some areas geological conditions added to the diversity of
twelfth-century building. The ornate churches of the Saintonge, for
example, could not have been created without a ready supply of easily-
worked limestone and the colourful facades of Tuscan churches de-
pended on the availability of marble, much of it recycled from Roman
monuments. Local masons were adept at handling this material,
which they used to good effect on the arcaded facades of buildings in
Pisa, Lucca [135], and Pistoia. Columns were given exotic twists,
some were even knotted, tricks that would have lost their impact had
they been carried out in a plain freestone. Geological factors, however,
were not necessarily decisive. If local supplies were inadequate or un-
suitable, stone could be transported from distant quarries, as was the
case in England after the Norman Conquest, when vast consignments
of Caen stone were shipped to workshops along the south and east
coasts. Canterbury and Norwich were among the cathedrals which
made use of the imported material.
Regional identities were frequently established through the prestige
of one particular monument that served as a model for the neighbour-
hood. Cluny IT] is an obvious example, so too the church of San Nicola
at Bari. In the north of Britain the impact of Durham is very obvious,
its influence reflected in the taste for giant cylindrical piers, decorated
with incised patterns [63, 146].'* Durham, San Nicola at Bari, and
Cluny III were innovative buildings that established new modes of de-
sign. In some cases the original model or exemp/um remains unknown,
as with the domed churches of the Périgord. The construction of the
first dome must have been a dramatic moment, but scholars are still
undecided as to where and when this occurred. Romanesque architec-
ture was thus based on a patchwork of ‘privileged centres’, wealthy
foundations from which influence radiated into the immediate neigh-
bourhood. Such workshops provided concentrations of expertise,
where masons acquired the knowledge and experience that was subse-
quently applied to other projects in the locality.”
It is rarely possible to uncover the personal factors that lay behind
the choice of designs or indeed the selection of specific master masons.
Accidents, chance meetings, the whims of a patron, family connec-
tions—all on occasions played their part. It is easy to forget that me-

dieval buildings were not the result of some preordained process, but
the consequence of individuals expressing their own views and prefer-
ences, sometimes with vehement disagreements. One gets a glimpse of
this at Canterbury after the fire of 1174, as the monks argued about
what to do with their ruined church, having received conflicting advice
from the experts they had called together. Personal interventions could
be crucial, as at Ely, where the abbey church was rebuilt following the
arrival of Abbot Simeon in 1081. This is an instructive example, since
the design of Ely helped to determine the future of Romanesque in
East Anglia. It was here that the fashion for dividing the elevation into
three approximately equal storeys was established, with spacious, well-
lit galleries and tall clerestories, the latter designed with wall passages
in the Anglo-Norman manner [142, 155]. Compound piers of great
complexity became a feature of the region, some of them ingeniously
designed to provide a hint of a circular pier. There is a strong emphasis
on bay division, with engaged shafts rising to the full height of the
building. Abbot Simeon deserves some of the credit for these develop-
ments. The principal source of the design at Ely is to be found at
Winchester [156], where Simeon had previously been prior and where
his brother Walkelin was bishop. Simeon and Walkelin came from
Normandy (in fact they were relatives of William the Conqueror) and
the eleventh-century cathedral at Winchester was modelled on build-
ings in the duchy. The career of Abbot Simeon, as he moved from
Normandy to Winchester and then to Ely, was to some extent mir-
rored in the buildings with which he was associated.
155 Ely Cathedral, begun

c.1081-3, north transept
The main lines of the
composition were derived
from Winchester (156), where
Abbot Simeon’s brother
served as bishop. Note the
subtle developments in design
at gallery level. The scheme
was further refined in the nave
(142).

156 Winchester Cathedral,
begun 1079, south transept
Engraving by John Britton
The Norman cathedral at
Winchester was designed ona
gigantic scale, but only the
transepts, crossing tower, and
crypt survive intact from the
Romanesque era. Features
derived from Normandy
include the high gallery and
clerestory passages (compare
152), as well as the ‘platform’
linking the two sides of the
transept.
In the last resort, the diversity encountered in Romanesque has

much to do with developments in architecture itself. ‘This was an ex-
perimental era, which coincided with the arrival of new structural
methods, and which brought a vast expansion in the way that archi-
tects gave expression to their buildings, through the use of engaged
shafts, mouldings, and decorative sculpture. A master mason of the
twelfth century had far more options than his counterpart two or three
centuries earlier. While political fragmentation, local traditions, per-
sonal choice, and geographical and geological conditions each con-
tributed to the architectural diversity of the era, there were other
potent factors at work, not least the scope offered by aesthetic and
structural innovations, combined with the increasing affluence and
confidence of the age.

Epilogue:
‘Lhe Shadow of
Rome
The architecture of the early Middle Ages was shaped by a range of

different factors—changes in the nature of Christian worship, the
fragmentation of political power, political ideologies, economic fluctu-
ations, shifts in aesthetic sensibilities, improvements in the profes-
sional skills available to patrons, to name just a few. There were also
external influences, especially from the East, from the Holy Land and
the Byzantine world. In addition there were contacts with Islam,
though these affected architecture less than sculpture and the decora-
tive arts. But a more pervasive influence was the heritage of Rome,
which cast a persistent shadow over building activities in the West.
During the early Middle Ages the monuments of classical Antiquity
were far more prominent in the landscape than they are today, and for
many observers the abandoned temples, amphitheatres, bath houses,
and mausolea evoked feelings of nostalgia and awe. In the seventh cen-
tury, St Cuthbert was given a tour of the monuments of Carlisle, ‘built
in a wonderful manner by the Romans’, and the same spirit of admira-
tion is found a century later in the famous Anglo-Saxon poem The
Ruin, thought to be a description of the city of Bath: ‘Wondrous is this
wall-stone; broken by fate, the castles have decayed; the work of giants
is crumbling’.! .
Although the admiration for Roman monuments remained con-
stant throughout the period, the willingness and capacity of builders to
exploit this interest fluctuated considerably. During the ‘sub-Antique’
period, following the collapse of the Roman Empire in the West, the
decline in both skills and resources made it increasingly difficult to em-
157 The Roman ulate classical architecture, especially after the mid-sixth century. This
amphitheatre at Nimes, late was an era of simplification, when even the act of building in stone
could be taken as a sign of Romanitas. But with the Carolingian
1st century AD
The system of engaged
columns or shafts, used to Renaissance came a renewed and deeper interest in the buildings of the
articulate
the design of past, albeit inspired by political and ideological factors rather than aes-
the amphitheatre, was revived
by Romanesque architects in
thetic considerations. At this time it was the buildings of the Early
‘the eleventh century. Christian era, not those of pagan Rome, that exercised the most influ-
233
ence. This changed with the advent of the Romanesque style in the
eleventh century, when builders drew on a wider range of Roman tech-
niques, derived from pagan and Christian monuments. So abundant
were the links with Antiquity, especially in Italy and southern France
[143], that scholars have come to speak in terms of a proto-
Renaissance.
One fundamental question is the extent to which methods of con-
struction survived unbroken from the Roman era. There is some evi-
dence that proportional systems, especially those involving the square
root of two, remained in use throughout the period, and a knowledge
of how to build small-scale vaults was also retained. But much had to
be relearnt. There were a number of avenues through which a greater
understanding of Roman architecture might have filtered into the
building yards. First, there were the. Ten Books ofArchitecture by the
Roman author Vitruvius, copies of which survived in monastic li-
braries. But the extent to which the text was read and understood by
those actually involved in building is an open question. Occasionally ©
one encounters hints of the Zen Books, as with the giant order of
Oxford St Frideswide’s [104] or the fact that two of the cylindrical
piers at Durham have 24 vertical flutes, exactly as Vitruvius prescribed
when describing Ionic. More important than Vitruvius, however,
were visits to monuments in Rome and the excitement they engen-
dered. This is well reflected in the famous poem Par tibt Roma nthil by
the twelfth-century archbishop of Tours, Hildebert of Lavardin:
Nothing can equal Rome, even Rome in ruins.

Your ruins themselves speak even louder than your former greatness.”
In the middle years of the twelfth century an Englishman, Master

Gregory, was spellbound by what he saw in the ancient capital.* He
was deeply impressed by the Baths of Diocletian, explaining that he
could not do justice in writing to ‘their ample dimensions and superb
proportions’; the columns were so tall that ‘their summits were beyond
a pebble’s throw’. But did such visits really affect the design of new
buildings? Without sketches and drawings it must have been hard to
convey architectural compositions in any coherent manner. Patrons
were usually more interested in acquiring materials than in borrowing
complete designs. Significantly, Master Gregory measured a number
of monuments, dimensions being one of the few things that could
be
conveyed without difficulty from site to site. Thus measurements
de-
rived from St Peter’s in Rome were exploited in monuments north
of
the Alps, including that of Durham Cathedral. But an even better
way
to understand classical buildings was to dismantle them. Througho
ut
the early Middle Ages builders foraged in the ruins, and the reuse
of
classical components must surely have helped masons to appreci
ate

such features as the engaged column or the Corinthian capital.
Although Romanesque masons took much of their architectural
vocabulary from Antiquity—columns, capitals, arches, stone vaults,
engaged shafts—they deployed them in a way that was quite unclassi-
cal. Roman monuments provided a stock of forms which were ex-
ploited as the need arose, a process of selective pickings. Apart from
the retention of the traditional basilica, particularly in central Italy,
complete designs were rarely copied. The nearest one gets to such an
approach occurs in the trifortum at Cluny I] [112], which is uncannily
reminiscent of that found on a Roman gateway at Autun, or the series
of circular towers in France and Spain which have been compared with
Antique mausolea [80]. For the most part Roman techniques were
used with freedom and imagination, and were often combined with
non-classical elements, like the Islamic-flavoured cusps which found
their way into the triforium of Cluny III. Thus the Romanesque style
did not constitute a renaissance of Rome: it was a new style created out
of a vocabulary inherited from the past. Builders displayed little inter-
est in the principles of classical architecture, merely looking to ancient
monuments to solve their own practical problems. There were, admit-
tedly, occasions when Roman features were employed in a more self-
conscious manner for reasons of status and symbolism; the desire by
ambitious patrons like Angilbert of St Riquier or Abbot Suger of St
Denis to obtain authentic Roman material is one clear reflection of
this. More bizarre is the flagrant reuse, especially in Italian churches, of
stones carved with Roman inscriptions, which were set upside down or
on their side, and displayed like trophies from a bygone age. Thus at
Pisa and Modena the fabric of Christian buildings came to be embell-
ished with references to pagan emperors, one of many anomalies that
underline the complexity of the relationship that existed between the
architecture of Antiquity and that of the early Middle Ages.
EPILOGUE: THE SHADOW OF ROME 235

Notes
Chapter 1. The Christian Basilica d.); 23-5, 92-5, 123:

1. [he modern concrete lattices are modelled 16.J.Fontaine, L’Art Pré-Roman Hispanique
on fragments ofthe original stucco found (La-Pierre-qui-vire, 1973), 55-8.
during the restoration of 1914-19, R. Kraut- 17. William of Malmesbury, Gesta Pontificum
heimer, Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum (Rolls Series), 255. Wilfrid’s biographer and
Romae, IV (Rome, Vatican City, and New admirer, Eddius Stephanus, claimed that he
York, 1970), 72-98. had not heard of‘any other house on this side
2. C. Cotiasnon, The Church ofthe Holy of the Alps built on such a scale’.
Sepulchre in Jerusalem (Oxford, 1974), 43. 18. This view has been rejected by R. N. Bailey,
3. C. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval Art ‘Seventh-century work at Ripon and Hexham’
300-1150 (Englewood Cliffs, r97r), 1-13. in T. Tatton-Brown andJ. Munby (eds), The
4. Cotiasnon, Church ofthe Holy Sepulchre, Archaeology ofCathedrals (Oxford University
41-6; R. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Committee for Archaeology, 1996), 9-18.
Byzantine Architecture (Harmondsworth,
1986), 61-3. Although part of the west end has Chapter 2. The Carolingian Renaissance:
been uncovered by excavation, it is uncertain The Basilica Transformed
whether the basilica terminated in an apse or 1. It has been estimated that between 768 and
in something closer to a rotunda, as 855 some 420 monasteries were constructed or
Krautheimer supposed. reconstructed within the Carolingian realms,
5. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine C. Heitz, L’architecture religieuse carolingienne,
Architecture, 458, n. 6. lesformes et leur fonctions (Paris, 1980), 6.
6. Eusebius, The History ofthe Church from 2. Einhard and Notker the Stammerer, Two Lives
Christ to Constantine, trans. G. A. Williamson ofCharlemagne, (ed. )L. Thorpe (London,
(Harmondsworth, 1965), 393-4. 1969), 71.
7. Krautheimer, Corpus, V, 43-4. 3. S. McK. Crosby, The Royal Abbey ofSaint
8. E. Gibbon, The History ofthe Decline and Denis (London and New Haven, 1987), 51-83.
Fall oftheRoman Empire, ch. 28. 4.C. MacLendon in the Macmillan Dictionary
9. Krautheimer, Corpus III, 277-302; ofArt, ‘Carolingian Art, I, Architecture’
R. Krautheimer, Rome: Profile ofa City, (London, 1996), suggests that the Carolingian
312-1308 (Princeton, 1980), 39, Files church at Hersfeld had segmented rather than
10. Krautheimer, Corpus, V, 1-92. continuous transepts. Other Carolingian
11. Krautheimer, “The building inscriptions examples of the continuous transept included
and the date of construction of old St Peter’s: the Abdinghof church at Paderborn (c. 836),
A reconsideration’, Rémisches Jahrbuch fiir Regensburg (St Emmeram), Fulda, and
Kunstgeschichte, 25 (1989), 3-23. possibly St Denis.
12. P. Brown, The Cult ofthe Saints, Its Rise and 5. Heitz, L’architecture carolingienne, 161.
Function in Early Christianity (London and 6. D. Parsons, ‘The Pre-Romanesque church
Chicago, 1981), 36. of St Riquier’, The Journal ofthe British
13. Eusebius, History ofthe Church, 393. Archaeological Association, 130 (1977), 21-55.
14. Although defined as cemetery churches by The triple-storeyed lanterns were presumably
Richard Krautheimer, the German scholar F made of wood.
W. Deichmann has argued that these 7. Although some features of the drawing have
buildings were intended as regular churches, F. been confirmed by the excavations of H.
W. Deichmann, ‘Martyrerbasilika, Bernard, the ancient drawing does not
Martyrion, Memoria und Altargrab’, illustrate a courtyard, measuring approximately
Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archiiolo gischen 40 metres in length, which was located
Instituts, Romische Abteilung, 77 (1970), 144-69. between the church and the great court, Heitz,
15. C. Heitz, La France Pré-Romane (Paris, n. Larchitecture carolingienne, 238, n. ae
236 NOTES
8. H. Thiimmler, ‘Carolingian Period’, seeJ.Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels (London,
Encyclopedia of World Art III (New York, 1971), 40-6, 164-171.
London, and Toronto, 1960), go. 5. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine
g. H. Reinhardt, La Cathédrale de Reims (Paris, Architecture, 81
1963), 35, 225n. Carol Heitz has pointed out 6. Notall scholars accept that San Vitale was
that Carolingian ivory carvings depict the the principal source, G. Bandmann, ‘Die
Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem in the form of Vorbilder der Aachener Pfalzkapelle’ in Karl
multi-storey towers, the designs of which can der Grosse, Lebenswerk und Nachleben, II,
be compared with westworks. He argued that Karolingische Kunst, ed. W. Braunfels and H.
in the eyes of the Carolingian clergy the Schnitzler (1966), 424-62. The audience hall of
westwork was nothing less than a monumental the Byzantine emperors in Constantinople,
image of the tomb ofChrist, C. Heitz, “The the Chrysotriclinion, along with
iconography of architectural form’ in L. A.S. Constantine’s Golden Octagon at Antioch
Butler and R. K. Morris (eds), The Anglo- have been cited among the potential sources.
Saxon Church (London, Council for British 7. Loosely translated from the Latin it reads:
Archaeology, 1986), 90-100. “When the living stones are assembled
ro. Although twin towers were employed at an harmoniously, and the numbers coincide in an
earlier age in the East (in Greece and Syria, for equal manner, then rises resplendently the
example), as well as in Italy (Ravenna), the work of the Lord who has constructed the
twin-towered facade in the West appears to entire hall’, Heitz, La France Pré-Romane, 146.
owe more to the Carolingian westwork, 8. Heitz, L’Architecture carolingienne, 74.
despite the views of H. Schaeffer, “The origin g. R. Will, Alsace Romane (La-Pierre-qui-vire,
of the two-tower facade in Romanesque 1970), 47-9. At Ottmarsheim the outer wall
architecture’, Art Bulletin, 27 (1945), 85-108. was octagonal, rather than 16-sided as at
1. A. Klukas, A/taria Superioria: The Function Aachen.
and Significance ofthe Tribune Chapel in Anglo- 10. H.J. Boker, “The Bishop’s Chapel of
Norman Romanesque (Ann Arbor, 1979), 79. Hereford Cathedral and the question of
12. The origin of this alternating system architectural copies in the Middle Ages’,
remains obscure. In the late fifth century Gesta, 37 (1998), 44-54. [his controversial
something similar had been seen at Salonika article cites the extensive literature associated
(Hagios Demetrios) and there may have been with the Hereford Chapel.
equivalent examples in the West. Ona 1. The church is known only from
miniature scale alternation can be found in excavations, L. Grodecki, L architecture
ivory carving, suggesting that the arrangement ottonienne (Paris, 1958), 160-1. Meinwerk’s
appealed to tenth-century taste. emissary in the Holy Land was Wino, abbot of
13. The ‘square schematism’ of St Michael’s at Helmarshausen, who returned from the East
Hildesheim is not in fact geometrically exact. in 1033.
The approach, with the square of the crossing 12. R. Krautheimer, ‘Introduction to an
repeated for each transept, was foreshadowed “Tconography of Medieval Architecture” ’,
in Carolingian churches, as at Reichenau Journal ofthe Warburg and Courtauld Institutes,
(Mittelzell), Seligenstadt (Hesse), Inden- V (1942), 1-33, reprinted in Studies in Early
Kornelmiinster (North Rhine-Westphalia), Christian, Medieval and Renaissance
Art
and on the St Gall plan. (London, 1971).
13. R. G. Ousterhout, ‘The Church of Santo
Chapter 3. Symbolic Architecture Stefano: A “Jerusalem” in Bologna’, Gesta, 20
1. Romans 6: 3-4; Colossians 2: 12. (1981), 311-21.
2. The water basin at the Lateran was inscribed 14. La Vera Cruz has been attributed to the
with verses, one of which (in translation) ran: Knights Templars, L. M. de Logendio and A.
‘This is the fountain of life which purges the Rodriguez, Castille romane, II (La-Pierre-qui-
whole world, taking its course from the wound vire, 1966), 249-54. For their headquarters in
of Christ’, P. A. Underwood, ‘The Fountain of Jerusalem the Knights acquired the mosque of
Life in manuscripts of the Gospels’, Omar, which, as a dodecagon, may have had
Dumbarton Oaks papers, 5 (1950), 55- some bearing on the design.
3. Revelation 22:1. There are four depictions of 1s. A. Anker and A. Andersson, The Art of
abaptistery in Carolingian gospel books, Scandinavia, vol. I (London, 1970), 141-7. Itis
Underwood, ‘The Fountain of Life’, 41-138. difficult to accept the assertion that the hollow
4. Some scholars believe the Rotunda was built pier is ‘simply an architectural solution to the
soon after 325: for a review of the arguments problem of vaulting’ (Anker, 144).
NOTES 237
Chapter 4. Secular Architecture in the illuminations in the Book ofKells’, in F.
Age of Feudalism O'Mahony (ed. ), The Book ofKells, Proceedings
1. R. A. Brown, English Castles (London, ofa conference at Trinity College Dublin 6-9
1970), 22. September 1992 (Aldershot, 1994), 243-56.
2. A. Canellas-Lopez and A. San Vicente, 7. V. Mortet, Recueil de Textes relatifs a l'histoire
Aragon roman (La-Pierre-qui-vire, 1971), de l’architecture et ala condition des architectes en
193-226. France au moyen age XIe-XTIe siécles (Paris,
3. R. A. Brown, Castle Rising (London, IQII), 292-4.
Department of the Environment, 1978), 1. 8. Bernard of Clairvaux, The Lifeand Death of
4.J. Mesqui, Chateaux et enceintes dela France Saint Malachy the Irishman, trans. R. T. Meyer
médiévale, I (Paris, 1991), 94. (Kalamazoo, Michigan, 1978), 31-2.
5. P. Dixon and P. Marshall, “The great tower g. F. Eygun, Saintonge Romane (La-Pierre-
at Hedingham castle: a reassessment’, Fortress, qui-vire, 1979), 181. In the cloisters of St
18 (1993), 16-23. Trophime at Arles there is an epitaph to
6. Brown, English Castles, 36. Poncius Rebolii, a priest and canon regular,
7. Mesqui, Chateaux et enceintes dela France who served as operarius of the church of St
médtévale, I, 116-7. Trophime, cited by Briggs, The Architect in
8. Brown, English Castles, 30. History (Oxford, 1927), 82.
g. E. Impey, E. Lorans andJ.Mesqui, Deux 10. Mortet, Recueil de Textes, 353-4.
Donjons Construits autour del'an mil en 11. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval
Art, 168.
Touraine, Langeais et Loches (Paris, Société 12. E. Castelnuovo, “The Artist’ in]. Le Goff
Francaise d’Archéologie, 1998). (ed. ), The Medieval World (London, 1990),
10. D. F. Renn, “The Anglo-Norman Keep, 227.
1066-1138’, Journal ofthe British Archaeological 133. R. Gem, ‘Canterbury and the cushion
Association, 31d ser. XXII (1960), 1-23. capital’ in Romanesque and Gothic, Essays for
i. H. M. Colvin, A.J. Taylor, and R. A. George Zarnecki (Woodbridge, 1987), 88-9; W.
Brown, 4 History ofthe Kings Works (London, Melczer, The Pilgrim’ Guide to Santiago de
1963), 73-5, 630-2. Compostela (New York, 1993), 130.
12. For the dendrochronological evidence see 14. Mortet, Recueil de Textes, 105-6.
T. Condit, ‘Rings of truth at Trim Castle, Co. 15. Mortet, Recueil de Textes, 109-11, 229-32;J.
Meath’, Archaeology Ireland, 37 (1996), 30-3. Harvey, Medieval Architect (London, 1972),
13. J. Mesqui, Chateaux et enceintes de la France 243-5.
médtévale, II, (Paris, 1993), 7. 16. M. D’Onofrio, ‘LAbbatiale Normande
14. Gerald of Wales, The Journey Through Inachevée de Venosa’, in M. Baylé (ed. ),
Wales, The Description of Wales, ed. L. Thorpe L’Architecture Normande au Moyen Age, 1
(Harmondsworth, 1978), 150. (Caen, 1997), 111-24.
15. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval Art300-1150, 17. Salzman, Building in England, 364.
84-8. 18. D. Stocker and P. Everson, ‘Rubbish
16. Beowulf, trans. M. Alexander Recycled: A Study of the Re-Use of Stone in
(Harmondsworth, 1973), passim. Lincolnshire’ in D. Parsons, Stone; Quarrying
17. As cited by T. A. Heslop, Norwich Castle and Building in England av 43-1525
Keep (Norwich, 1994), 65. (Chichester, 1990), 83-10r. At Giblet in the
18. G. H. Orpen, Ireland Under the Normans Holy Land, Antique columns were laid
1169-1216 (Oxford, 1911), 1, 267; Mesqui,J., horizontally through the walls of the Crusader
Chateaux et enceintes de la France médiévale, II, castle to give added strength, Kennedy,
7:
Crusader Castles, 65.
19. E. Vergnolle, ‘La pierre de taille dans
Chapter 5. Patron and Builder Varchitecture religieuse de la premiére moitié
t. R. Oursel, Invention de l’architecture romane du Xe siécle’, Bulletin Monumental, 154 (1996)
(La-Pierre-qui-vire, 1970), 28.
229-34.
2. N. Pevsner, “The term “Architect” in the 20. Gem, ‘Canterbury and the cushion capital’
Middle Ages’, Speculum 17, No. 4, 1942, in Romanesque and Gothic, 83-101.
549-62. 21. Krautheimer, Early Christian and
3. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval
Art,135-41. Byzantine Architecture, 267.
4. Ibid. , 122-3. 22. Briggs, Architect in History, 47-8.
5. L. F. Salzman, Building in England down to 23. Cited by C. Hahn, ‘Seeing and believing:
1540 (Oxford, 1967), 2. the construction of sanctity in early-medieval
6. R. Stevick, ‘Page design of some saints’ shrines’, Speculum, 72 (1997), 1,102.
238 NOTES
24. Fora brief critique of the method see E. 209-38.
Fernie, “The grid system and the design of the 10.J.Henriet, ‘Saint Philibert de Tournus.
Norman cathedral’, Medieval
Art and LOeuvre du second maitre: la galilée et la nef’,
Architecture at Winchester Cathedral, British Bulletin Monumental, 150 (1992), 101-64.
Archaeological Association Conference 1. P. Kidson, “The Mariakerk at Utrecht,
‘Transactions for the year 1980, eds T. A. Speyer, and Italy’, in Utrecht: Britain and the
Heslop and V. A. Sekules (London, 1983), Continent, Archaeology, Art and Architecture,
12-19. ed. E. de Biévre, British Archaeological
25. H. Hahn, Die Friihe Kirchenbaukunst der Association Conference Transactions, 18
Zisterzienser (Berlin, 1957). (London, 1996), 123-36.
26. E. Fernie, “The ground plan of Norwich 12. Kidson, ‘Mariakerk’, 131-5.
Cathedral and the square root of two’, Journal
ofthe British Archaeological Assoctation, 129 Chapter 7. Architecture and Pilgrimage
(1976), 77-86. 1. J. Crook, ‘The architectural setting of the
27. For example, the height of the capitals (29 cult of St Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral
feet) multiplied by V2 generates the height of (t093-1200)’ in D. Rollason, M. Harvey, M.
the gallery string course (41 feet) and this Prestwich (eds), Anglo-Norman Durham
multiplied by V2 generates the clerestory (Woodchester, 1994), 235-50.
string: figures presented by Professor Peter 2.C. and R. Brooke, Popular Religion in the
Kidson to the annual conference of the British Middle Ages (London, 1984), 19.
Archaeological Association, Durham, 1977. 3. It was an aspect of Christianity despised by
28. T. A. Heslop, ‘Orford castle, nostalgia and its enemies, not least the emperor Julian the
sophisticated living’, Architectural History, 34 Apostate (361-4) who complained: “You keep
(1991), 36-58. adding many corpses newly dead to the
29. P. Kidson, ‘Architectural proportion’, corpses of long ago. You have filled the whole
Macmillan Dictionary ofArt, 35%- world with tombs and sepulchres’, P. Brown,
The Cult ofthe Saints. Its Rise and Function in
Chapter 6. Art and Engineering Latin Christianity (London and Chicago,
1. J. Harvey, The Medieval Architect (London, 1981), 7.
1972), 39-40. 4. Brown, Cult ofSaints, 36-7.
2. W. Rodwell, ‘Anglo-Saxon church building: 5. E. Panofsky, Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church
aspects of design and construction’, in L. A.S. of St Denis and its Art Treasures (Princeton,
Butler and R. K. Morris (eds), The Anglo- 1979, 2nd edn), 88-9.
Saxon Church, Papers on history, architecture and 6. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval Art300-1150,
archaeology in honour of Dr H.M. Taylor 126.
(London, 1986), 156-75. 7, A rotunda, evidently modelled on Dijon,
3.J.Crook, ‘Recent archaeologyin was started c. 1047 by Abbot Wulfric at St
Winchester Cathedral’, in T. Tatton-Brown Augustine’s, Canterbury, R.Gem (ed. ),
and J. Munby, The Archaeology ofCathedrals English Heritage Book ofSt Augustine’ Abbey at
(Oxford, 1996), 135-51. Canterbury (London, 1997), 109-11.
4. L. Bosman, ‘Speaking in stone—On the 8. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine
meaning of architecture in the Middle Ages’, Architecture, 242. The Church of the Apostles
Argumentation, 7 (1993), 13-28. at Constantinople was razed in 1461.
5. R. Gem, ‘Staged timber spires in g. Melczer, Pilgrim’ Guide, 107, 174.
Carolingian north-east France and late 10. For Oxford see R. Halsey, “The 12th
Anglo-Saxon England, Journal ofthe British century church of St Frideswide’s Priory’ inJ.
Archaeological Association, 148 (1995), 29-54- Blair, Saint Frideswide’s Monastery at Oxford:
6. M. Hare and A. Hamlin, “The study of early Archaeological and Architectural Studies
church architecture in Ireland’, in L. A. S. (Gloucester, 1990), 115-67, andJ.Blair, ‘The
Butler and R. K. Morris (eds), The Anglo- archaeology of Oxford Cathedral’, in T.
Saxon church. Papers on history, architecture and Tatton-Brown andJ.Munby, The Archaeology
archaeology in honour of Dr H.M. Taylor ofCathedrals (Oxford Committee for
(London, 1986), 131-45. Archaeology, 1996), 95-102.
7. Mortet, Recueil de Textes, 142. u1. Cited by C. Rudolph, The ‘Things ofGreater
8. Mortet, Recueil de Textes, 85; Harvey, Importance’. Bernard of'Clairvaux'’s Apologia
Medieval Architect, 39. and the medieval attitude towards art (London,
g. M. Durliat, ‘La Catalogne et le premier art 1990), 72.
roman’, Bulletin Monumental, 147 (1989), 12. Ibid. , 78.
NOTES 239
13. Jocelin ofBrakelond, Chronicle of the Abbey of ears, or perceives through the senses of the
Bury St Edmunds, eds D. Greenway andJ. flesh’, Rudolph, The “Things ofGreater
Sayers (Oxford, 1989), 94-5. Importance’, 68-9.
14.J. Sumption, Pilgrimage, an Image of 13. Wooden claustral buildings of the pre-
Medieval Religion (London, 1975), 35. Carolingian era have been excavated at
15. R. Willis, “The architectural history of Augsburg (St Ulric and St Afra), W. Horn,
Canterbury Cathedral’, in R. Willis, ‘On the Origins of the Medieval Cloister’,
Architectural History of Some English Gesta, 22 (1972), 36.
Cathedrals, |(Chicheley, 1972), 44. A similar 14. Braunfels, Monasteries of Western Europe,
beam at Bury St Edmunds is described in 240.
Jocelin ofBrakelond, 95. 15. The Customs of Farfa 1030-48, Braunfels,
16. Brooke, Popular Religion (London, 1984), Monasteries of Western Europe, 238.
21. 16. The most extensive study of the plan is that
17. Sumption, Pilgrimage, 161. by W. Hornand E. Born, The Plan ofSaint
18. Rudolph, The‘Things of Greater Importance’, Gall. A Study of the Architecture and Economy of,
48. and Life in, a Paradigmatic Carolingian
19. Sumption, Pilgrimage, 69-70. Monastery, 3 vols. (Berkeley, 1979), though
20. Willis, ‘Canterbury Cathedral’, ro. many of its conclusions cannot be sustained.
Issues which have still not been settled include
Chapter 8. Architecture and Monasticism the scale of the plan, the length of the foot that
1. C. Brooke, The Monastic World 1000-1300 was intended, the inconsistencies between the
(London, 1974), 90, 235-7. apparent scale and the measurements noted on -
2. G. Duby, St Bernard—L’Art Cistercien the plan, and the relationship between the
(Paris, 1976), 44. plan and what was actually built.
3. Life of St Hugh, cited in W. Braunfels, 17. Eusebius did however note that the fourth-
Monasteries of Western Europe: the architecture of century atrium at Tyre had ‘wooden screens of
the orders (London, 1972), 241. trellis work’ between the pillars reaching up ‘to
4. Braunfels, Monasteries of Western Europe, a proportionate height’, Eusebius, 393.
241. 18. Cloister arcades existed in the mid-eighth
5. Pointed arches (fornices spiculos) were century, when there is reference at Jumiéges to
evidently used in the narthex and nave arcades ‘cloisters carefully built of stone accompanied
of the church at Montecassino (1071). by arches’, Braunfels, Monasteries of Western
Architectural historians have made much of Europe, 234. The monastery at Aniane, begun
the fact that Abbot Hugh visited after 782, included cloisters ‘with very many
Montecassino in 1083. marble columns’, located in porticoes, Davis-
6. K.J. Conant, Cluny. Les églises et la maison Weyer, Early Medieval Art, 98.
du chef
dordre (Macon, 1968); F. Salet, ‘Cluny 19. Braunfels, Monasteries of Western Europe,
HY, Bulletin Monumental, 126 (1968), 235-92. 236.
7.M. Chibnall (ed. ), The Ecclesiastical History 20. The Customs of Farfa (1030-48) state that
ofOrderic Vitalis, V1 (Oxford, 1978), 314-5. the chapter house at Cluny measured 45 by 34
8. E. Armi, Masons and Sculptors in feet, which suggests an arrangement of 4x3
Romanesque Burgundy (Pittsburgh, 1983), bays, Braunfels, Monasteries of Western Europe,
passim, has argued the case for a local origin. 238.
9. Rudolph, The ‘Things of Greater Importance’,
109. Chapter 9. The Language of Architecture -
10. P.J. Geary, Furta Sacra. Thefts ofrelics in the 1. Mortet, Recueil de textes, 33-4. Scholars have
Central Middle Ages (Princeton, 1978), 67. doubted the c. 1026 date for Gauzlin’s tov, er, on
i. Apologia to William ofSt Thierry, the basis that the carved capitals are too
Cistercians and Cluniacs, St Bernard s Apologia precocious, but for recent opinion see E.
to Abbot William, trans. M. Casey (Kalamazoo, Vergnolle, L’Art Roman en France (Paris, 1994)
)
Michigan, 1970). 88-go.
12. The English abbot, Ailred of Rievaulx, 2.M. Schapiro, ‘On the aesthetic attitude in
echoed St Bernard’s arguments, complaining Romanesque art’, in M. Schapiro, Romanesque
of the type of monk that was ‘occupied with so Art (London, 1977), i272
much chanting, so many ornaments, so many 3. William of Malmesbury, Historia Novella,
lights, and other beautiful things of this sort’ ed. K. R. Potter (London, 1955), 38.
that he could not think of ‘anything else except 4. Mortet, Recueil de textes, 27.
that which he sees with his eyes, hears with his 5. Schapiro, ‘On the aesthetic attitude in
240 NOTES
Romanesque art’, in Schapiro, Romanesque 2. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval Art, 124.
Art, 5. 3. R. Bartlett, The Making ofEurope
6. Concepts of order were frequently (Harmondsworth, 1993), ch. r.
emphasized by theologians and religious 4. B, Craplet, Auvergne Romane (Zodiaque,
readers. As St Bernard of Clairvaux explained, 1978), passim.
‘God disposes all things in beautiful order’, K. 5. The scheme had already been employed at
Hufgard, Saint Bernard ofClairvaux: a theory Anzy-le-Duc and at the priory church at
ofart formulated from his writings (Lampeter, Charlieu.
1989), 51. The depiction of God creating the 6. A. Wharton Epstein, “The date and
world in the guise of an architect takes ona significance of the cathedral of Canosa in
special significance in this context. Apulia, South Italy’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers,
7.U. Eco, Art and Beauty in the Middle Ages 37 (1983), 79-90.
(London and New Haven, 1986), 48. 7. Churches that followed the same liturgy
8. J.Bony, ‘La technique normande du mur often had very different designs, suggesting
épais 4l’époque romane’, Bulletin that the diversity found in Romanesque was
Monumental, 98 (1939), 153-88; L. Hoey, ‘The not the result of differences in ‘function’, A.
design of Romanesque clerestories with wall Klukas, A/taria Superioria.
passages in Normandy and England’, Gesza, 28 8. In the kingdom of Sicily English officials
(1989), 78-101. included Robert of Selby, chancellor of Roger
g. The metrical life of St Hugh of Lincoln,J. II, and Walter of the Mill, who was tutor to
Harvey, The Medieval Architect (London, William II and the Archbishop of Palermo
1972), 238. (1169-87). In the first half of the twelfth
to. Already in the eleventh century Speyer century John of Lincoln, Herbert of Braose,
Cathedral had a doorway with multiple and Robert of Salesbury were among the many
square-edged orders, executed in masonry of Englishmen employed there.
different colours. g. R.H. C. Davies, The Normans and their
11. While the compound pier is essentially an Myth (London, 1976), 44.
eleventh-century development, it is worth 10. The most recent authority is R. Liess, Der
noting a Carolingian precedent in the fribromanischer Kirchenbau des rz. Jahrhunderts
gatehouse at Lorsch. in der Normandie: Analysen und Monographien
12. Anew and peculiar form ofpier was der Hauptbhauten (Munich, 1967).
introduced halfway down the nave at Lessay, 1. There had been a number of important
designed to create a better relationship with Carolingian abbeys in the region, but how far
the ribbed vaults. they survived the destruction of the late ninth
13. Alternation first appeared in western century is not clear. Jumiéges was reoccupied
Europe in Ottonian architecture at Gernrode in 940, Fontanelle (St Wandrille) in 96r.
(founded 961) and at St Michael’s, Hildesheim 12. The existing domes are reconstructions of
(ro10-33), but without compound piers or ¢. I9I0.
engaged shafts. In this simple form it survived 13. The quadrant vaults in the aisles are in fact
in Saxony, as at Quedlinburg, W. Wulf, Saxe often more than quadrants, more like two-
romane (La-Pierre-qui-vire, 1996), and S. thirds of a complete barrel vault.
Heywood, ‘Alternation’, Macmillan Dictionary 14. E. C. Fernie, ‘The architectural influence
ofArt. of Durham Cathedral’, D. Rollason, M.
14. L. Hoey, ‘Pier form and vertical wall Harvey, M. Prestwich (eds), Anglo-Norman
articulation in English Romanesque Durham (Woodbridge, 1994), 269-79.
architecture’, Journal ofthe Society of 15. This process has been variously described as
Architectural Historians, 48 (1989), 258-83; L. the ‘impact theory’ or the ‘vulgarization’ of
R. Hoey, ‘A problem in Romanesque techniques employed in ‘privileged centres’, E.
aesthetics: the articulation of groin and early Vergnolle, L’Art Roman en France, to.
rib vaults in the larger churches in England
and Normandy’, Gesta, 35 (1996), 156-76. Epilogue: The Shadow of Rome
15. Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture, bk 1. Bede, Historia Ecclesia, t, ii;Anglo Saxon
V, ch. 1. Poetry, trans. R. K. Gordon (London, 1962),
84.
Chapter 10. Diversity in the Romanesque 2. Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture, Ill.
Era 3. Davis-Weyer, Early Medieval Art300-1150,
1. F Eygun, Saintonge Romane (La-Pierre- 159.
qui-vire, 1979), passim. 4. Ibid. , 158-62.
NOTES 241
List of Illustrations
The publishers would like to thank the Charlemagne (Elek, 1965), p.191
following individuals and institutions who 16. Seligenstadt (Hesse), Sankt Marcellinus
have kindly given permission to reproduce the and Sankt Petrus, founded 831, north arcade of
illustrations listed below. the nave. Bildarchiv Foto Marburg.
17. Steinbach im Odenwald (Hesse), Sankt
1. Rome, Santa Sabina, 422-32. Canali Marcellinus and Sankt Petrus, consecrated in
Photobank, Milan. 827, plan from H.E. Kubach, Romanesque
2. Rome, Santa Sabina, 422-32, spandrel Architecture (New York: Harry Abrams, 1975;
decoration. Photo Roger Stalley. originally published by Electa, Milan), p.37.
3. Trier, Aula Nova, 305-12. Bildarchiv Foto 18. St Riquier (Somme, also known as
Marburg. Centula), built c.790-9, engraving of1612
4. Ravenna, Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, mosaic of based on a lost drawing of the eleventh
the palace of Theodoric (491-526). Photo century, from Petau, De Nithardo Caroli Magni
Scala, Florence. Nepote (1612). Bibliothéque Nationale de
5. Rome, St Peter’s, founded c.321-2, drawing France, Paris.
(c.1620) by Giacomo Grimaldi, showing a 19. Corvey (Westphalia), westwork of abbey
section of the nave. Biblioteca Apostolica church, c.873-85, plan and cross-section from
Vaticana (Cod. Barb. Lat.2733, ff.104v—-1051), O.L. Schaefer and H.R. Sennhauser,
Rome. Vorromanische Kirchenbauten. Katalog der
6. Rome, St Peter's, plan from E. Fernie, The Denkmaler bis zum Ausgang der Ottonen, 3 vols
Architecture of the Anglo-Saxons (London: (Munich: Prestel-Verlag, 1966-0). By
Batsford, 1983), p.76. permission Zentralinstitut ftir
7. Rome, San Paolo fuori le mura, c.382—400. Kunstgeschichte.
Engraving by G.B. Piranesi, from Le vedute di 20. Corvey (Westphalia), westwork of abbey
Roma, vol. I (1748). © The British Museum, church, ¢.873-885. Photo Claude Huber,
London. Chavannes.
8. Ravenna, Sant’Apollinare in Classe, 21. Corvey (Westphalia), westwork of abbey
consecrated in 549, nave. Canali Photobank, church, ¢.873—85, the upper chapel. ©
Milan. K6nemann Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz,
g. San Juan de Bafios de Cerrato (Palencia), Cologne.
c.661. Photo Hirmer Verlag, Munich. 22. Marmoutier (Alsace), west facade of the
10. San Pedro de la Nave (Zamora), ¢.691. abbey church, ¢.1150-60. Photo Zodiaque, St
Photo Henri Stierlin, Geneva. Léger Vauban.
11. San Pedro de la Nave (Zamora), c.691, 23. Jumiéges (Seine-Maritime), abbey church,
north wall of the chancel. Photo Hirmer west facade, 1040-67. Photo Roger Stalley.
Verlag, Munich. 24. Gernrode (Saxony Anhalt), founded 961,
12. Reculver, St Mary’s church (Kent), 669, nave. © Kénemann Gmbh/photo Achini
plan from P. Kidson, The Medieval Bednorz, Cologne.
World (London: Hamlyn, 1967), p.35. 25. Hildesheim, St Michael, roro—33, nave.
13. Abbey church of Maria Laach (Rhineland Photo A.F. Kersting, London.
Palatinate), begun c.1093, completed 26. Hildesheim, St Michael, 1010-33, external
thirteenth century. Photo Erik Bohr/AKG form, from KJ. Conant, Carolingian and
London. Romanesque Architecture (London, 1966). First
14. Lorsch (Hesse), ‘gatehouse’ of the published 1959 by Penguin Books Ltd. Fourth
monastery, late eighth century. © Kénemann edition 1978. New impression 1993 by Yale —
Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, Cologne. University Press. Copyright © Kenneth John
15. Fulda (Hesse), monastic church, ¢.790-819, Conant, 1959, 1966, 1974, 1978.
plan from D. Bullough, The Age of 27. Hildesheim, St Michael, TO10-33, plan
242 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

from W. Wulf, Saxe Romane (St Léger 44. Segovia, La Vera Cruz, c.1200. Photo
Vauban: Zodiaque, 1996), p.282. Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban.
28. Fountain of Life, miniature from the Gospel 45. Dover Castle, view from the north. Photo
Book ofSt Médard ofSoissons, early ninth English Heritage Photograph Library,
century. Bibliothéque Nationale de France London/Skyscan Balloon Photography.
(MS lat.8850, f.6v), Paris 46. Loarre Castle (Aragon), eleventh century.
29. Nocera (Campania), baptistery, sixth Photo Institut Amatller d’Art Hispanic,
century. Engraving, 1783, by L.J. Despréz. Barcelona.
Nationalmuseum, Stockholm/photo Statens 47. Castle Rising (Norfolk), c.1140, the keep.
Konstmuseer. Photo A.F. Kersting, London.
30. Lomello (Lombardy), Santa Maria 48. Castle Rising (Norfolk), c.1140, plan of the
Maggiore, eleventh-century church with keep at first floor level, from R. Allen Brown,
baptistery attributed to eighth century Castle Rising (London: HMSO, 1978), p.32-
alongside. Photo Roger Stalley. Crown copyright, reproduced with permission
31. Rome, Santa Costanza, c.350. Photo Scala, of the Controller of Her Majesty’s Stationery
Florence. Office.
32. Rome, Santa Costanza, c.350, plan from G. 49. Bayeux tapestry, c.1066-82 (detail), King
Dehio and G. von Bezold, Die Kirchliche Harold feasting at Bosham. Musée de la
Baukunst des Abendlandes (Stuttgart, Tapisserie/by special permission of the City of
1884-1901). Bayeux.
33. Ravenna, mausoleum of Theodoric (d.526). 50. Loches, castle (Indre-et-Loire), c.ro12-35,
Canali Photobank, Milan. the keep. Photo Roger Stalley.
34. Jerusalem, Holy Sepulchre, plan of ¢.380, 51. Loches, castle (Indre-et-Loire), c.1012-35,
from S. McCormack, ‘Locus Sancta: The plan of the keep at first-floor level, from E.
Organization of Sacred Topography in Late Impey, E. Lorans, andJ.Mesqui, ‘Deux
Antiquity’, The Blessings ofPilgrimage, ed. R. Donjons Construits autour de l’an mil en
Ousterhout (Urbana, IL, and Chicago: Touraine, Langeais et Loches’, Bulletin
University of Illinois Press, 1990). Monumental, 156 (Paris: Société Francaise
35. Ravenna, San Vitale, consecrated 547. d’Archéologie, 1998), pl.1.
Canali Photobank, Milan. 52. Carrickfergus Castle (Antrim), c.1180, keep
36. Ravenna, San Vitale and Aachen, palace with latrines. Photo Roger Stalley.
chapel, comparative plans: (a) San Vitale, after 53. Ambleny (Aisne), the keep, c.1140-3. Photo
G. Dehio and G. von Bezold, Die Kirchliche Lefévre Pontalis/© Archives
Baukunst des Abendlandes (Stuttgart, Photographiques, Paris/Caisse Nationale des
1884-1901), illn vols, bk.1, cap.2, Tafel 4, no.2; Monuments Historiques et des Sites.
(b) Aachen, afterJ.Beckwith, Early Medieval 54. Twelfth-century keeps, comparative plans:
Art (London: Thames & Hudson, 1964), p.12. (a) Ambleny, fromJ.Mesqui, Chateaux et
37. Aachen, palace chapel, completed 805. © Enceintes de la France Médiévale, vol.| (Paris:
Kénemann Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, Picard, 1991), fig.127; (b) Etampes and (c)
Cologne. Provins, from S. Toy,AHistory ofFortification
38. Ottmarsheim (Alsace), abbey church, (London: Heinemann, 1955), pp. 109 and 107;
c.1030. © K6nemann Gmbh/photo Achim (d) Conisborough and (e) Orford, from R.
Bednorz. Allen Brown, Orford Castle (London: HMSO,
39. Mainz Cathedral, St Godehard’s chapel, 1968), fold-out and p.15. Crown copyright,
twelfth century. Bildarchiv Foto Marburg. reproduced with the permission of the
40. Kalundborg (Denmark), church of Our Controller of Her Majesty’s Stationery Office.
Lady, late twelfth century. Photo Paul 55. Conisborough Castle (Yorkshire), c.1180,
Larsen, Lechlade. the keep. Photo English Heritage Photograph
41. Cambridge, St Sepulchre, c.1130, engraving Library, London.
by V. Rupricht Robert from L’Architecture 56. Avila, city walls, c.1090. Photo Roger
Normande aux XTe et Xe Siécles en Normandie Stalley.
et en Angleterre (Paris, 1884). 57. Naranco (Asturias), palace of King Ramiro
42. Almenno (Lombardy), San Tomaso, I (842-50). Photo Roger Stalley.
twelfth century. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger 58. Oakham Castle (Rutland), aisled hall,
Vauban. c.1180. Photo.A.F. Kersting, London.
43. Torres del Rio (Navarre), c.1200, the dome. 59. Gelnhausen (Hesse), palace, 1170-1200.
© Kénemann Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, Bildarchiv Foto Marburg.
Cologne. 60. Desiderius, abbot of Montecassino
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 243

(1072-87), fresco in Sant’Angelo in Formis c.1200. © Konemann Gmbh/photo Achim
(Campania). Canali Photobank, Milan. Bednorz.
61. Setting-out marks at Christ Church 79. Selby abbey (Yorkshire), settlement in the
Cathedral, Dublin, section of engaged shafts, nave, c.1100-20. Photo Roger Stalley.
c.1200. Photo Roger Stalley. 80. Cruas (Ardéche), abbey church of Sainte-
62. Masons’ marks at Sénanque (Vaucluse). Marie, twelfth-century crossing tower. Photo
Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban. Roger Stalley.
63. Durham Cathedral, detail ofa pier in the 81. Stenkyrka (Gotland), helm tower, late
nave, c.1104~28. Photo Roger Stalley. thirteenth century. Photo Roger Stalley.
64. Venosa (Basilicata), La Trinita, early 82. Chartres Cathedral, south-west tower,
twelfth century, unfinished. Photo Alinari, third quarter of the twelfth century. Photo
Florence. Roger Stalley.
65. San Miguel de Escalada (Léon), 83. Kilmacduagh (Galway), round tower,
consecrated in 913. Photo Henri Stierlin, probably eleventh century. Photo Roger
Geneva. Stalley.
66. Sant’Angelo in Formis (Campania), west 84. Stone vaulting in the early Middle Ages:
porch. Photo Roger Stalley. (a) barrel vault, (b) groin vault, (c) ribbed vault,
67. Gravedona (Lombardy), Santa Maria del after P. Kidson, The Medieval World(London:
Tiglio, banded ashlar masonry, twelfth Hamlyn, 1967), p.69.
century. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban. 85. Santiago de Compostela, Collegiata del
68. Pomposa (Emilia-Romagna), Santa Sar, twelfth century. Photo Institut Amatller
Maria, narthex, eleventh century. © d’Art Hispanic, Barcelona.
K6nemann Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, 86. San Pedro de Roda (Catalonia), ¢.1035,
Cologne. nave. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban.
69. Medieval builders: detail of painting on the 87. Cardona (Catalonia), San Vincent,
nave vault at St-Savin-sur-Gartempe consecrated in 1040. Left: plan after A.
(Vienne): building the Tower of Babel. © Mazcunan and F.Junyent. Right: isometric
K6nemann Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, elevation by J.A. Adell after Puig y Cadafalch,
Cologne. both from M. Durliat, ‘La Catalogne et le
70. Lomello (Lombardy), Santa Maria “Premier art Roman”, Bulletin Monumental,
Maggiore, eleventh century, plan from S. 147 (Paris: Société Francaise d’Archéologie,
Chierici, Lombardie Romane (St Léger 1989), p.222.
Vauban: Zodiaque, 1978), p.310. 88. Tournus (Sa6ne-et-Loire), St Philibert,
71. Eberbach (Hesse), Cistercian church, interior of the narthex, 1023-56, ground floor.
completed c.1170-86, plan from H. Hahn, Die Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban.
Friihe Kirchenbaukunst der Zisterzienser 89. Alternative structural forms: cross-
(Berlin: Verlag Gebr. Mann, 1957), p.67. sections. (a) Santiago de Compostela, after
72. The square root of two. Roger Staley. KJ. Conant, The Early Architectural History of
73- The square root of two, drawing by Roger Santiago (Cambridge MA, 1926); (b) Notre-
Stalley after E. Fernie, “The Ground Plan of Dame-la-Grande, Poitiers (hall church), after
Norwich Cathedral and the Square Root of G. Dehio and G. von Bezold, Die Kirchliche
Two’, Journal ofthe British Archaeological Baukunst des Abendlandes (Stuttgart,
Association, 129 (London, 1976), p.79. 1884-1901), Bk II, Cap.8, Tafel 12.4, no.2; (c)
74. Salamanca, Old Cathedral, begun 1152, Cluny III, after K.J. Conant, Cluny. Les
finished early thirteenth century, ribbed dome. églises et la maison du chef d’ordre (Macon,
© K6nemann Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, 1968), fig.84; (d) St Trophime, Arles
Cologne. (Provengal type) after G. Dehio and G. von
75- Earls Barton (Northamptonshire), Anglo- Bezold, Die Kirchliche Baukunst des
Saxon tower, late tenth century. Photo Roger Abendlandes (Stuttgart, 1884-1901), Bk II,
Stalley. Cap.9, Tafel 134, no.6.
76. Anzy-le-Duc (Saéne-et-Loire), Cluniac go. Tournus (Saéne-et-Loire), St Philibert,
priory church, crossing tower, first halfof nave vault, c.1060. © Kénemann Gmbh/photo
twelfth century. Photo Roger Stalley. Achim Bednorz, Cologne.
77. Tewkesbury Abbey (Gloucestershire), gt. Durham Cathedral, ribbed vaults in the
crossing tower, first half of the twelfth century. north transept, c.1104-10. Photo Roger Stalley.
Photo Paul Larsen, Lechlade. 92. Utrecht, Mariakerk, view of the nave, built
78. Toro (Zamora), Collegiate Church of after ro81. Painting, 1638, by Pieter
Santa Maria Mayor, dome over crossing, Saenredam. Kunsthalle, Hamburg/photo

Elke Walford. arcades, c.1200. © Kénemann Gmbh/photo
93. St James as a pilgrim. St Marta de Tera Achim Bednorz, Cologne.
(Zamora), south portal, early twelfth century. tro. Cluny III, plan and elevation ofthe abbey
Photo Roger Stalley. church, ¢.1700, engraving by P.F. Giffart.
94. Reliquary of St Andrew’s sandal, made Frances Loeb Library, Graduate School of
between 977 and 993. Trier Cathedral Design, Harvard University Cambridge, MA.
Treasury/Amt fiir kirchliche Denkmalpflege/ ri. Cluny III, the east end, reconstruction by
photo Rita Heyen. KJ. Conant. Frances Loeb Library, Graduate
95. Auxerre, St Germain, the confessio. Photo School of Design, Harvard University,
Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban. Cambridge, MA.
96. Auxerre, St Germain, plan of the crypt, 112. Cluny III, the sanctuary and entrance to
from H.E. Kubach, Romanesque Architecture the ambulatory, reconstruction by K_J.
(London: Faber & Faber, 1988), p.24. Conant. Frances Loeb Library, Graduate
97- Agliate (Lombardy), San Pietro, crypt. School of Design, Harvard University,
Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban. Cambridge, MA.
98. Canterbury Cathedral, crypt under 113. Paray-le-Monial (Sa6ne-et-Loire), priory
Anselm's choir, begun c.1096. Photo National church, first half of twelfth century. Photo
Monuments Record, Swindon/© Crown Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban.
copyright. RCHME. 114. Vézelay, La Madeleine, the nave,
99. Dijon, St Bénigne, consecrated 1018, cross- ¢.1120-32. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban.
section of the rotunda. Engraving from Dom 115. Castle Acre Priory (Norfolk), west facade
Urbain Plancher, Histoire générale et of the church, mid-twelfth century. Photo
particuliére de la Bourgogne, vol.I (Dijon, 1739). James Austin, Cambridge.
Bibliothéque Municipale (Cété IV.323), 116. Fontenay, Cistercian abbey church, begun
Dijon. 1139. Photo Henri Stierlin, Geneva.
100. Santiago de Compostela, plan of the 117. Fontenay, plan of the Cistercian abbey,
church in the twelfth century, from K_J. from K.J. Conant, Carolingian and
Conant, The Early Architectural History of Romanesque Architecture (London, 1966), p.131.
Santiago (Cambridge, MA, 1926), pl.VIII. First published 1959 by Penguin Books Ltd.
rol. Santiago de Compostela, c.1078—1122, view Fourth edition 1978. New impression 1993 by
across the transepts. © Kénemann Yale University Press. Copyright © Kenneth
Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, Cologne. John Conant, 1959, 1966, 1974, 1978.
102. Périgueux, St Front, begun c.1120, nave. 118. Presentation scene, miniature from St
Photo © Archives Photographiques, Paris/ Jerome’ Commentary on Jeremiah, twelfth
Caisse Nationale des Monuments Historiques century. Bibliothéque Municipale (MS 130,
et des Sites. f.104), Dijon.
103. Périgueux, St Front, plan from KJ. 119. Eberbach (Hesse), Cistercian church,
Conant, Carolingian and Romanesque c.1170-86. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban.
Architecture (London, 1966), p.168. First 120. Le Thoronet (Var), Cistercian church,
published 1959 by Penguin Books Ltd. Fourth founded 1146. Photo James Austin,
edition 1978. New impression 1993 by Yale Cambridge.
University Press. Copyright © Kenneth John rai. Sénanque (Vaucluse), Cistercian cloister,
Conant, 1959, 1966, 1974, 1978. late twelfth century. Photo Zodiaque, St
104. Oxford, St Frideswide’s Cathedral, Léger Vauban.
interior of the choir, 1160s. Photo Paul Larsen, 122. Le Puy Cathedral, twelfth-century
Lechlade. By permission of the Dean and cloister. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban.
Canons of Christ Church. 123. The Plan of St Gall, ¢.830, detail showing
105. Bari, San Nicola, plan from P, Belli d’Elia, the church and cloister. Stiftsbibliothek (MS
Pouilles Romanes (St Léger Vauban: Zodiaque, Cod. Sang. 1092), St Gall.
1987), p.184. 124. Noirlac (Cher), Cistercian chapter house,
106. Bari, San Nicola, founded 1087. Photo second half of the twelfth century. Photo
Roger Stalley. Roger Stalley.
107. Trani Cathedral (Apulia), begun 1089, 125. Chateau Gontier (Mayenne), nave,
completed in thirteenth century. © eleventh century. Photo Roger Stalley.
Konemann Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, 126. St Benoit-sur-Loire, west tower, ¢.1026.
Cologne. Photo James Austin, Cambridge.
108. Display of relics. 127. Aulnay-de-Saintonge (Charente-
109. Rome, San Paolo fuori le mura, cloister Maritime), church of St Pierre, c.1130. Photo
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 245

Zodiaque, St Léger Vauban. Stalley.
128. Santa Cruz de la Seros (Aragon), church 145. St-Benoit-sur-Loire, choir, begun c.1080.
of San Caprasio, last quarter of the eleventh Photo James Austin.
century. Photo Roger Stalley. 146. Durham Cathedral, nave, completed 1133.
129. Shrine of Santo Domingo, from the abbey Photo Claude Huber, Chavannes.
of Silos, c.1140-50. Museo Arqueolégico, 147. Durham Cathedral, plan of the church as
Burgos/photo Institut Amatller d’Art it was in the twelfth century, from A.W.
Hispanic, Barcelona. Clapham, English Romanesque Architecture
130. Much Wenlock (Shropshire), Cluniac aftertheConquest (Oxford, 1934), p.24.
priory, chapter house, twelfth century. Photo 148. Speyer Cathedral, nave as remodelled
Roger Stalley. c.1081-1106, lithograph, 1844, by von Bachelier.
131. Cashel (Tipperary), Cormac’s Chapel, Kurpfalzisches Museum der Stadt
1127-34. Photo Diichas, The Heritage Service, . Heidelberg.
Dublin. 149. St Saturnin (Puy-de-Dome), choir and
132. Speyer Cathedral, begun c.1030, crossing tower, probably early twelfth century.
completed first half of twelfth century. Photo Photo Roger Stalley.
AKG London. 150. St Saturnin (Puy-de-Dome), dome over
133. Modena Cathedral, begun 1099, view the crossing. Photo Roger Stalley.
from the east. Photo Claude Huber, 151. Valenzano (Apulia), church of the
Chavannes. Ognissanti di Cuti, seen from the south aisle,
134. Modena Cathedral, begun 1099, south c.1078-1100. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger
wall of nave. Photo Roger Stalley. Vauban.
135. Lucca, San Michele, facade, c.1200. Photo 152. Caen, Abbaye-aux-Hommes, built
Roger Stalley. c.1060~77, view from the south transept
136. Pisa, Campanile or ‘Leaning Tower’, looking west along the nave. Photo Zodiaque,
c.1153. Photo Conway Library, Courtauld St Léger Vauban
Institute of Art, University of London. 153. Fontevrault (Maine-et-Loire), nave of the
137. Castle Hedingham (Essex), c.1140. The abbey church, begun c.1120. Photo James
Country Life Picture Library, London. Austin, Cambridge.
138. Aulnay-de-Saintonge (Charente- 154. Fontevrault (Maine-et-Loire), abbey
Maritime), church of St Pierre, south transept. church, plan from M. Deyres, Anjou Roman
Photo James Austin, Cambridge. (St Léger Vauban: Zodiaque, 1987), p.196.
139. Lessay (Manche), abbey church, interior 155. Ely Cathedral, begun c.1081-3, north
of choir, c.1098. Photo Zodiaque, St Léger transept. Photo A.F. Kersting, London.
Vauban. 156. Winchester Cathedral, begun 1079, south
140. St-Savin-sur Gartempe (Vienne), nave, transept, engraving fromJ.Britton, The
c.1100. © Kénemann Gmbh/photo Achim Eiistory and Antiquities ofthe See and Cathedral
Bednorz, Cologne. Church of Winchester (1817). Reproduced by
141. Jumiéges (Seine-Maritime), abbey permission of the Library, Trinity College,
church, 1040-67, nave looking west. Photo Dublin. ‘
Bildarchiv Foto Marburg. 157. The Roman amphitheatre at Nimes, late
142. Ely Cathedral, nave, c.1110-50. Photo A.F. first century AD. Photo Roger Stalley.
Kersting, London.
143. St Gilles (Bouches-du-Rhéne), facade, The publisher and author apologize for any
mid-twelfth century. © Kénemann errors or missions in the above list. If contacted
Gmbh/photo Achim Bednorz, Cologne. they will be pleased to rectify these at the
144. Chadenac (Charente-Maritime), parish earliest opportunity.
church, mid-twelfth century. Photo Roger

Bibliographic Essay
The study of early medieval buildings is bibliographical labyrinth, with an emphasis on

potentially an exciting field, though regrettably books in the English language.
this is not always the impression given by the
literature. Many interesting issues which have General Works
been hotly debated by scholars in recent years A number of textbooks on early medieval art
have yet to find their way into ‘standard’ works. incorporate sections on architecture, providing
The latter tend to follow a predictable path, useful introductions. Three such works are P.
preoccupied with chronological narrative, with Kidson, The Medieval World (London, 1967),
much stress on such matters as development G. Zarnecki, Art ofthe Medieval World:
and evolution. Romanesque is still seen as the Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, the Sacred Arts
style which foreshadowed Gothic and asa (New York, 1975), and M. Stokstad, Medieval
result emphasis is given to those buildings Art (New York, 1986).
which appear to anticipate Gothic. The For more advanced study, there are two
literature also tends to be structured around essential volumes in the Pelican History of Art
regional frameworks, with a high proportion of series: R. Krautheimer, Early Christian and
publications devoted to local or national groups Byzantine Architecture (Harmondsworth, 1965,
of buildings. Important thematic questions, 4th edn 1986), and K. J.Conant, Carolingian
such as the role of the patron in architectural and Romanesque Architecture 800-1200
design or the ways in which architecture was (Harmondsworth, 1959, 4th edn 1978). Conant
affected—or in many cases not affected—by offers a comprehensive survey of Romanesque
changes in worship, have been barely tackled. in all its regional expressions, but its
Similarly we lack a modern critical text dealing geographical sweep allows little scope for
with the ‘iconography’ of architecture, a subject interpretation and deeper analysis. The
which has prompted much debate in recent regional approach to Romanesque was also
years. Relatively few architectural historians adopted by Sir Alfred Clapham, whose book
have shown an interest in the type of Romanesque Architecture in Western Europe
sociological issues that have fascinated art (Oxford, 1936, 3rd edn 1967) remains a lucid
historians in other fields; the fact that castles and concise geographical survey. A similar
and secular dwellings are rarely considered as approach was adopted by Eric Fernie in the
architecture is one symptom of this. lengthy entry on Romanesque architecture in
It has become the custom on the part of the Macmillan Dictionary of Art (London,
many scholars to focus their attention on a 1996). An introduction to early medieval
single monument, analysing its history, architecture which deserves to be better known
function, architectural form, and stylistic is that by the German scholar Ernst Adam,
associations, an activity akin to that of the L architecture médiévale, | (Paris, 1965, first
historian who labours to produce a reliable published as Baukunst des Mittelalters,
edition ofan ancient chronicle or document. Frankfurt,1963), which offers an excellent
Confronted with an ever increasing mountain survey of architecture between 800 and 1200.
of facts, however, it has become difficult for the Modern interpretations of the Romanesque
student to discern the coordinating principles. style have been much influenced by the French
Adding to the complexity are the results of scholar Henri Focillon, one of whose books has
archaeological research, which, since the end of been translated into English as The Art ofthe
World War II, have magnified our knowledge. West in the Middle Ages, Part One, Romanesque
Then there are the catalogues of monuments, Art (London, 1963, 3rd edn Oxford, 1980). A
vast compendia of information, often running more recent publication 1s H.E. Kubach,
to several volumes, that have been published at Romanesque Architecture (London, 1979, pb.
regular intervals. What follows, therefore, is an 1987), which has excellent illustrations;
attempt to steer readers through a although valuable for German buildings
BIBLIOGRAPHIC ESSAY 247

(which receive far too much emphasis), the text Deichmann, who had his disagreements with
will leave the uninitiated ina state of confusion. Krautheimer, are not available in English,
Far more impressive is R. Oursel, Invention de except in the form ofa survey entitled ‘Late-
l’'Architecture Romane (La-Pierre-qui-vire, Antique and Early Christian Art:
1970), which has never been translated into Architecture’, in the Encyclopedia of World Art,
English and is little known outside France. It is IX (New York, London, and Toronto, 1964),
one of the best books on Romanesque, tackling 68-99. There are sections on architecture in R.
such matters as the role and function of the Milburn, Early Christian
Art and Architecture
master mason, the importance of consecration (Aldershot, 1988), but this is a conventional
ceremonies, the validity of regional schools, work which adds little to Krautheimer.
structural issues etc. The origin and background of the basilica as
There are many studies devoted to the a building type have been studied in three
architecture of particular countries, but apart important articles: R. Krautheimer, “The
from those relating to Britain and Ireland most Beginning of Early Christian Architecture’,
have not been published in English. For The Review ofReligion, 3 (1939), 127-48,
Britain there is the Pelican History of Art reprinted in R. Krautheimer, Studies in Early
publication by G. Webb, Architecture in Britain, Christian, Medieval and Renatssance Art
the Middle Ages (Harmondsworth, 1956, 2nd (London, 1971);J.B. Ward-Perkins,
edn 1965), and a shorter account by Peter ‘Constantine and the origins of the Christian
Kidson in P. Kidson, P. Murray, and P. basilica’, Papers ofthe British School ofRome, 22
Thompson, A History of English Architecture (1954), 69-90; and R. Krautheimer, ‘The
(revised edn Harmondsworth, 1979). A good Constantinian Basilica’, Dumbarton Oaks
impression of the impact that archaeology has Papers, 21 (1967), 115-40. Fora first-hand view
made on the study of early medieval of the impact of the religious changes that took
architecture can be gleaned from W. Rodwell, place under Constantine it is well worth
English Heritage Book ofChuech Archaeology reading Eusebius, The History ofthe Church from
(London, 1989). Christ to Constantine, translated by G. A.
The Macmillan Dictionary ofArt contains Williamson (Pelican pb., Harmondsworth,
many useful thematic entries on such subjects 1965). The best introduction to the history of
as the crypt, transept, westwork, pier, vault, the early Church is H. Chadwick, The Early
stave church etc., as well as brief essays on Church (Pelican pb., 1967), which has a useful
major monuments and important individuals. chapter on worship and art.
There is one outstanding collection of More detailed information about the
documents in translation: C. Davis-Weyer, basilicas of Rome can be gleaned from R.
Early Medieval
Art300-1150 (Englewood Krautheimer, Rome: Profile ofa City, 312-1308
Cliffs, 1977). (Princeton, 1980) and from R. Krautheimer,
Further information can be acquired from Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae, \-V
various bibliographical source books. These (Rome, Vatican City, and New York, 1937-77).
include a magisterial survey of writings on The best insight into the relationships between
Early Christian architecture by Eugene architecture and liturgy is provided by Thomas
Kleinbauer, Early Christian and Byzantine Mathews; see in particular T. F. Mathews, The
Architecture, an Annotated Bibhography and Early Churches ofConstantinople: Architecture
Eiistoriography (Boston, 1992). The companion and Liturgy (University Park, Chicago, 1971)
volume on Romanesque architecture is and T. F. Mathews, ‘An Early Roman Chancel
disappointing in comparison, since it deals Arrangement and Its Liturgical Functions’,
only with books, it lacks annotations, and is Rivista di archeologia cristiana, 38 (1962), 73-95.
organized along very conventional lines: M. On the use of the orders in early basilicas there
Davies, Romanesque Architecture, a Bibliography is a short but instructive essay by A. Frazer,
(New York, 1993). ‘Architecture’, in. 4 ge ofSpirituality:Late
Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to
Chapter 1: The Christian Basilica Seventh Century, catalogue ed. K.Weitzmann
The study of Early Christian architecture has (New York, 1979), 263-8. The same volume
been dominated by the work of Richard (pp. 630-69) also contains a more general
Krautheimer, whose Pelican History, Early introduction to Early Christian architecture.
Christian and Byzantine Architecture For the fate of Roman pagan monuments there
(Harmondsworth, 1965, 4th edn 1986) remains is an excellent discussion in M. Greenhalgh,
the standard authority. The writings of another The Survival of Roman Antiquities in the Middle
distinguished German scholar, F W. Ages (London, 1989).
248 BIBLIOGRAPHIC ESSAY

It is not easy to follow the history of the (1942), 1-38, reprinted in R. Krautheimer,
basilica in the post-Roman period. The best Studies in Early Christian, Medieval and
guides are probably C. Heitz, La France Pré- Renaissance Art(London and New York, 1971),
Romane (Paris, n.d.) andJ.Fontaine, L’Art Pré- 203-56. Problems associated with St Riquier
Roman Hispanique (La-Pierre-qui-vire, 1973). are examined by D. Parsons, “The Pre-
In English the most detailed information is Romanesque Church of St Riquier: The
probably supplied by P. Verzone, From Documentary Evidence’, Journal ofthe British
Theodoric to Charlemagne, A History ofthe Dark Archaeological Association, 130 (1977), 21-51, and
Ages in the West (London, 1968), but this is now V. Jansen, ‘Round or square? the axial towers of
rather dated. A more superficial survey is the abbey church of St Riquier’, Gesta, 21
provided byJ.Hubert,J.Porcher, and W. F. (1982), 83-90. The exciting discoveries at San
Volbach, Europe of the Invasions (London and Vincenzo al Volturno have been reported ina
New York, 1969). There are useful series of publications by R. Hodges, the most
introductions to early Spanish architecture in recent being Light in the Dark Ages, The Rise
The Art ofMedieval Spain, av 500-1200, ed.J. and Fall ofSan Vincenzo al Volturno (London,
P.O’ Neill (New York, 1993) and in P. de Palol 1997).
and M. Hirmer, Early Medieval Art in Spain For the historical context of Charlemagne’s
(London, 1967). Information about Anglo- reign consult R. McKitterick (ed.), The New
Saxon architecture can be gained from E. Cambridge Medieval History, II, 700-900
Fernie, The Architecture ofthe Anglo-Saxons (Cambridge, 1996) and D. Bullough, The Age of
(London, 1983), and A. W. Clapham, English Charlemagne (London, 1965). Einhard’s life has
Romanesque Architecture, I, Before the Conquest been translated by L. Thorpe, Einhard and
(Oxford, 1930, reprinted 1964). For specific Notker the Stammerer, Two Lives ofCharlemagne
buildings in Anglo-Saxon England consult H. (Harmondsworth, 1969).
M. Taylor andJ.Taylor, Anglo-Saxon It is difficult for English readers to acquire
Architecture, 3 vols (Cambridge, 1965-78). more than a superficial knowledge of the
architecture of the Ottonian and Salian eras.
Chapter 2: The Carolingian Renaissance: The most useful survey is probably H. E.
The Basilica Transformed Kubach, Romanesque Architecture (London,
The fundamental study of Carolingian 1979, pb. 1988). There is also E. Gall, Cathedrals
architecture is C. Heitz, L'architecture religteuse and Abbey Churches ofthe Rhine (London and
carolingienne. Les formes et leurs fonctions (Paris, New York, 1963). The most influential work on
1980), for which there is no English translation. Ottonian architecture is L. Grodecki, Au seul
Aninsight into his approach can be gleaned de l'art roman: L’architecture ottonienne (Paris,
from C. Heitz, “The iconography of 1958), and readers of French should also note
architectural form’ in L. A. S. Butlerand R. K. W. Wulf, Saxe romane (La-Pierre-qui-vire,
Morris (eds), The Anglo-Saxon Church 1996). The development of the twin-towered
(London, Council for British Archaeology, facade is considered by H. Schaeffer, “The
1986), go-100. Older surveys of Carolingian Origin of the Two-Tower Fagade in
architecture can be found inJ.Hubert,J. Romanesque Architecture’, ArtBulletin, 27
Porcher, and W. F. Volbach, Carolingian
Art (1945), 85-108, though Schaeffer's conclusions
(London and New York, 1970), Hans are not universally accepted now.
Thiimmler, ‘Carolingian Period’ in the Amongst the numerous works in German
Encyclopedia of World Art, II (New York, are two huge catalogues: H. E. Kubach and A.
London, and Toronto, 1960), 81-103, and K. J. Verbeek, Romanische Kirchen an Rhein und
Conant, Carolingian and Romanesque Maas. Katalog der vorromanischen und
Architecture 800-1200 (Harmondsworth, 1959, romanischen Denkmiiler, 4 vols (Neuss,
4th edn 1978). A more recent survey by C. B. 1971-88), and F. Oswald, L. Schaefer, and H.
McClendon appears in the Macmillan R. Sennhauser, Vorromanische Kirchenbauten.
Dictionary ofArt, ‘Carolingian art, II, Katalog der Denkmiiler bis zum Ausgang der
Architecture’, and the same author has much to Ottonen, 3 vols (Munich, 1966-90).
say about Carolingian architecture in C. B.
McClendon, The Imperial Abbey ofFarfa. Chapter 3: Symbolic Architecture
Architectural Currents ofthe Early Middle Ages The starting point for a study of architectural
(London and New Haven, 1987). For the iconography and symbolism is R. Krautheimer,
history of the basilica there is a crucial article by ‘Introduction to an “Iconography of Medieval
R. Krautheimer, ‘The Carolingian Revival of Architecture” ’,Journal ofthe Warburg and
Early Christian Architecture’, Art Bulletin, 24 Courtauld Institutes, V (1942), 1-33, reprinted in

R. Krautheimer, Studies in Early Christian, Aachen and its Copies’, Gesta, 4 (1965), 1-11.
Medieval and Renaissance Art (London, 1971). The history of the church of the Holy
His approach was taken to a much greater Sepulchre is explained by C. Coiiasnon, The
extreme by Giinther Bandmann, Church ofthe Holy Sepulchre tn Jerusalem
Miuttelalterliche Architektur als Bedeutungstrager (Oxford, 1974), and its rebuilding in the
(Berlin, 1951, roth edn 1994), a work that has eleventh century is discussed by R.
had enormous influence in Germany but has Ousterhout, ‘Rebuilding the temple:
never been translated into English. Constantine Monomachus and the Holy
Bandmann’s book was reviewed with justifiable Sepulchre’, Journal ofthe Society of Architectural
scepticism by R. Branner in Art Bulletin, 35 Historians, 48 (1989), 66-78. The architecture
(1953), 307-10. For a judicious critique of such of the Holy Sepulchre and other centralized
approaches see P. Crossley, ‘Medieval churches in the Holy Land is briefly discussed
architecture and meaning: the limits of byJ. Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels (London,
iconography’, Burlington Magazine, 130 (1988), 1971). The key documentary source has been
116-21. translated and analysed by D. Meehan (ed.),
Centralized buildings in the Early Christian Adamnan’ De Locis Sanctis (Dublin, 1958). As
era are covered extensively in R. Krautheimer, well as Krautheimer’s article on iconography,
Early Christian and Byzantine Architecture the process by which the building was copied
(Pelican History of Art, 1965, 4th edn elsewhere is examined by R. G. Ousterhout,
Harmondsworth, 1986). The comprehensive ‘Loca Sancta and the Architectural Response
study by A. Grabar, Martyrium. Recherches sur to Pilgrimage’ in R. G. Ousterhout (ed.), The
le culte des reliques et art chrétien antique, 3 vols Blessings ofPilgrimage (Urbana and Chicago,
(Paris, 1946), was conveniently summarized in 1990), 108-24. For one remarkable example of
A. Grabar, ‘Christian Architecture East and Jerusalem’s influence in the West see R. G.
West’, Archaeology, II (1949), 95-104. Grabar’s Ousterhout, “The Church of Santo Stefano: A
ideas about the background of Early Christian “Jerusalem” in Bologna’, Gesta, 20 (1981), 311-21.
martyria were criticized byJ.B. Ward-Perkins, Unfortunately there is no general review of
‘Memoria, Martyr's Tomb and Martyr's centralized churches in the Romanesque era;
Church’, Journal ofTheological Studies, 17 many are covered in the Zodiaque series, La
(1966), 20-38. There is a useful introduction to nutt des temps. Vhe unorthodox church at
the architecture of baptisteries in R. Milburn, Neuvy-Saint-Sépulcre, for example, is
Early Christian Art and Architecture (Aldershot described byJ.Faviére andJ.de Bascher, Berry
and Berkeley, 1988), and R. Krautheéimer has roman (La-Pierre-qui-vire, 1976).
much to say about the same subject in his
article ‘Introduction to an “Iconography of Chapter 4: Secular Architecture in the
Medieval Architecture”’, cited above. Fora Age of Feudalism
detailed account of Santo Stefano Rotondo in Although there is a vast literature on castles,
Rome see R. Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum much of it is written from an archaeological or
Christianarum Romae, V (Vatican and New historical perspective, with little consideration
York (1977), 1-92; for other centralized of purely architectural issues. Furthermore,
churches in Rome consult R. Krautheimer, most authors take a nationalist viewpoint,
Rome: Profile ofaCity, 312-1308 (Princeton, which means that as far as the English
1980). language is concerned there are dozens of
Charlemagne’s palace chapel at Aachen is works on English castles, but almost none on
discussed by K. J. Conant, Carolingian and those elsewhere in Europe. The only general
Romanesque Architecture 800-1200 discussion appears to be W. Anderson, Castles
(Harmondsworth, 1959, 4th edn 1978), which ofEurope (London, 1970). Despite a rather
should be read alongside the comments dated approach, the best introduction to
provided by C. Heitz, L’architecture religieuse English castles is still R.A. Brown, Enghsh
carolingienne. Les formes et leurs fonctions (Paris, Castles (London, 3rd edn 1976). The
1980). The most extensive account of
its origins appearance of wooden castles, which before
is by G. Bandmann, ‘Die Vorbilder der 1200 far outnumbered those in stone, has been
Aachener Pfalzkapelle’ in Karl der Grosse, examined by R. Higham and P. Barker, Timber
Lebenswerk und Nachleben, II, Karolingische Castles (London, 1992). A lively though
Kunst, ed. W. Braunfels and H. Schnitzler controversial book that investigates the origin.
(1966), 424-62. There is a short review of of the design of stone castles is M. W.
buildings influenced by Aachen in W. E. Thompson, The Rise ofthe Castle (Cambridge,
Kleinbauer, ‘Charlemagne’s Palace Chapel at 1991). Among the plethora of other works the

most useful are D. F. Renn, Norman Castles in accessible summary is that by H. Kennedy,
Britain (London, 2nd edn 1973), C. P. S. Platt, Crusader Castles (Cambridge, 1994). Also
The Castle in Medieval England and Wales worth reading is D. Pringle, ‘Crusader Castles:
(London, 1982), which dwells on the social The First Generation’, Fortress, 1 (1989), 14-25.
background of the buildings, and D. J.C. Finally, it is important to note the volumes of
Cathcart King, The Castle in England and Wales the journal Chateau Gaillard, which publishes
(London, 1988), which emphasizes defensive the research papers read at the biennial
and military concerns. For buildings conference of castle studies.
constructed by the Crown the main authority is
H. M. Colvin, A. J.Taylor, and R. A. Brown,4 Chapter 5: Patron and Builder
History ofthe King’s Works, 2 vols (London, References to patrons and builders are
1963). Individual monuments in England are scattered throughout the Latin sources: useful
covered by the excellent guides published by anthologies in translation are available in C.
the Department of the Environment, for Davis-Weyer (ed.), Early Medieval
Art
example those written by R. A. Brown on 300-1150 (Sources and Documents in the
Dover Castle (1966), Rochester Castle (1969), and History of Art Series, Englewood Cliffs, 1971),
Castle Rising (1978). The short-lived journal J. Harvey, The Medieval Architect (London,
Fortress contained valuable and accessible 1972), and L. F. Salzman, Building in England
articles, such as that by M. W. Thompson, ‘A down to 1540 (Oxford, 1967, 2nd edn). One of
Suggested Dual Origin for Keeps’, Fortress, 15 the most valuable collections, V. Mortet,
(1992), 2-15. Recueil de Textes relatifs a l'histoire de
A stimulating approach to castle design has Larchitecture et ala condition des architectes en
been taken by T.A. Heslop, who is almost France au moyen age XIe-XTIe siécles (Paris,
alone in considering questions of visual 1911), has never been translated. There is a brief
meaning and symbolic significance: T. A. but stimulating essay on the status of medieval
Heslop, ‘Orford castle, nostalgia and artists, including architects and master masons,
sophisticated living’, Architectural History, 34 by Enrico Castelnuovo, ‘The Artist’ in Jacques
(1991), 36-58, and T. A.Heslop, Norwich Castle Le Goff (ed.), The Medieval World, (London,
Keep, Romanesque Architecture and Social 1990), 211-42, and for the Early Christian era
Context (Norwich, 1994). The design of the there is G. Downey, ‘Byzantine Architects,
hall is examined by M. W. Thompson, The Their Training and Methods’, Byzantion, 18
Medieval Hall, The Basis ofSecular Domestic Life (1948), 99-148. The meaning of the word
600-1600 ap (Aldershot, 1995), and individual ‘architect’ is ambiguous and to understand
domestic features are exhaustively studied by medieval usage the indispensible study is N.
M. Wood, The English Medieval House Pevsner, ‘The Term “Architect” in the Middle
(London, 1965). For the Hohenstaufen castle at Ages’, Speculum, 17, No. 4 (1942), 549-62. For
Gelnhausen see G. Binding, Pfa/z Gelnhausen, other contributions on the role of masons and
ein Bauuntersuchung (Bonn, 1965), and for builders see the articles in Xavier Barral I Altet
German palaces in general there is K. M. (ed.), Artistes, artisans et production artistique au
Swoboda, Rémusche und Romanische Palaste moyen-age, Actes du Colloque de Rennes (Paris,
(Vienna, Cologne, Graz, 3rd edn 1969). French 1987). The importance of Desiderius is
castles are now covered in a comprehensive explained at length in H. Bloch, Monte Cassino
manner by Jean Mesqui, Chateaux et Enceintes in the Middle Ages, vol. |(Cambridge, Mass.,
dela France Médiévale, 2 vols (Paris 1991-3), a 1981).
veritable encyclopedia of drawings and Much-neglected issues associated with
photographs. For keeps in western France the quarrying stone are covered byJ.B. Ward-
key works are by A. Chatelain, Donjons romans Perkins, ‘Quarrying in Antiquity: Technology,
des pays d’ Ouest (Paris, 1973) and Lévolution des Tradition and Social Change’, Proceedings ofthe
chateaux forts dans la France au moyen age British Academy (Oxford, 1972) and D. Parsons
(Strasbourg, 1988). The latest research at (ed.), Stone: Quarrying and Building in England
Langeais and Loches is summarized in E. AD 43-1525 (Chichester, 1990). The
Impey, E. Lorans, andJ.Mesqui, Deux implications of quarries for the transmission of
Donjons Construits autour del'an mil en style are considered by R. Gem, ‘Canterbury
Touraine, Langeais et Loches (Paris, Société and the Cushion Capital’ in N. Stratford (ed.),
Frangaise d’Archéologie, 1998), which Romanesque and Gothic, EssaysiforGeorge
represents the first fascicule of Bulletin Zarnecki, (Woodbridge, 1987), 83-101. For the
Monumental, 156 (1998). There are many works introduction of ashlar masonry in the eleventh
on Crusader castles, but the most recent and century see E. Vergnolle, ‘La pierre de taille

dans l’architecture religieuse de la premiére church building: aspects of design and
moitié du Xle siécle’, Bulletin Monumental, 154 construction’, in L. A. S. Butlerand R. K.
(1996) 229-34. The progress towards Morris (eds), The Anglo-Saxon Church, Papers
standardization is considered byJ.Bony, “The on history, architecture and archaeology in honour
Stonework Planning of the First Durham of Dr H.M. Taylor (London, 1986), 156-75.
Master’, in E. Fernie and P. Crossley (eds), Richard Gem has much to say about the early
Medieval Architecture and Its Intellectual development of the spire in R. Gem, ‘Staged
Context, Studies in Honour of Peter Kidson timber spires in Carolingian north-east France
(London and Ronceverte, 1990), 19-34. The and late Anglo-Saxon England, Journal ofthe
best recent discussion of masons’ marks is byJ. British Archaeological Association, 148 (1995),
S. Alexander, ‘Masons’ Marks and Stone 29-54. For a more general account of Anglo-
Bonding’, in T. Tatton-Brown andJ.Munby Saxon towers there is E. A. Fisher, Ang/o-
(eds), The Archaeology ofCathedrals (Oxford Saxon Towers: an architectural and historical
Committee for Archaeology, Monograph no. "study (Newton Abbot, 1969). French towers are
42, 1996), 219-36. surveyed in D. Jalabert, Clochers de France
Apart from studies of the St Gall Plan, there (Paris, 1968) and the domed crossing towers of
has been little discussion of the use of drawings Spain are analysed by C. K. Hersey, The
in the late Antique and Early Christian period; Salamantine lanterns: their origins and
there is a useful survey by W. E. Kleinbauer, development (Cambridge, Mass., 1937).
‘Pre-Carolingian Concepts of Architectural There is a huge literature on the mechanics
Planning’ in The Medieval Mediterranean: of stone vaulting, particularly on ribbed
Cross-Cultural Contacts, eds M. J. Chiat and K. vaulting, but not much specifically on the early
L. Reyerson (Minnesota, 1988), 67-79. A useful Middle Ages. General books which give some
starting point for exploring the issues emphasis to the issues include Raymond
associated with the use of proportional ratios is Oursel, Invention de l’architecture Romane (La-
the entry ‘Architectural Proportion’, written by Pierre-qui-vire, 1970). The Macmillan
Peter Kidson in the Macmillan Dictionary of Dictionary ofArthas a useful essay entitled
Art. Eric Fernie has published a number of ‘Vault’ and see also K. J. Conant, ‘Observations
important articles illustrating how the ratio of on the Vaulting Problems of the Period
1:V2 was applied; see for example E. Fernie, 1088-1211, Gazette des Beaux Arts, 26 (1944),
“The Ground Plan of Norwich Cathedral and 127-34. On the more technical aspects, there is
the Square Root of Two’, Journal ofthe British still nothing to supersede the study first
Archaeological Association, 129 (1976), 77-86. For published by Robert Willis in 1842, ‘On the
geometrical investigations of twelfth-century construction of vaults in the Middle Ages’,
castles see I. A. Heslop, ‘Orford castle, reprinted as an appendix in R. Willis,
nostalgia and sophisticated living’, Architectural Architectural History ofSome Enlish Cathedrals,
History, 34 (1991), 36-58. An extensive vol. II (Chicheley, 1973). Viollet-le-Duc’s
investigation into the proportional systems rationalist approach is discussed by].
found in Cistercian abbeys was carried out by Summerson, ‘Viollet-le-Duc and the Rational
Hanno Hahn, the results of which are briefly Point of View in Heavenly Mansions and other.
summarized in R. A. Stalley, The Cistercian Essays on Architecture (London, 1948), 135758,
Monasteries ofIreland (London and New andin M. F. Hearn, The Architectural Theory of
Haven, 1987). Viollet-le-Duc. Readings and Commentary
(Cambridge, Mass., 990). There is no English
Chapter 6: Art and Engineering alternative to the critique of Viollet’s ideas
The structural issues which confronted early provided by Pol Abraham, Viollet-le-Duc et le
medieval masons have rarely been discussed at rationalisme médiéval (Paris, 1934). For a brief
length, though they are mentioned in most of summary of recent opinions see Malcolm
the general books on early medieval Thurlby, ‘The Purpose of the Rib in the
architecture. For a practical introduction to the Romanesque Vaults of Durham Cathedral’, in
problems see R. J.Mainstone, Developments in Engineering aCathedral, ed. M.J. Jackson
Structural Form (London, 1975) andJ.E. (London, 1993), 64-76, and M. Thurlby,
Gordon, Structures or Why Buildings Don’t Fall ‘Observations on Romanesque and Gothic
Down (Harmondsworth, 1978). For more Vault Construction’, Arris, 6 (1995), 22-9. For
technical assessments there is. Heyman, The the aesthetic reaction to different types of vault
Stone Skeleton (Cambridge, 1995). The see L. Hoey, ‘A Problem in Romanesque
structure of Anglo-Saxon stone towers has Aesthetics: The Articulation of Groin and
been analysed by W. Rodwell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Early Rib Vaults in the Larger Churches of

England and Normandy’, Gesta, 35 (1996), nature of the shrine at St Peter's in Rome is
156-76. For the ribbed vaults at Durham the explained byJ. C. Toynbee andJ.B. Ward-
basic study is J.Bilson, ‘Durham Cathedral and Perkins, The Shrine ofSt Peter (London, 1956).
the Chronology ofits Vaults’, Archaeological Although there are plenty of specialist
Journal ,79 (1922), 101-60, the conclusions of studies, there are no general surveys of crypt
which were modified by J.Bony, ‘Le projet design, apart from the entry ‘Crypt’ by Stephen
premier de Durham’, in Urbanisme et Heywood in the Macmillan Dictionary ofArt.
Architecture: études en ’honneur de Pierre For early crypts in Italy see M. Magni, ‘Cryptes
Lavedan (Paris, 1954), 41-9. The techniques of du haut moyen age en Italie: problémes de
Lombard vaulting are described by A. K. typologie du [Xejusqu’au début du Xe siécle’,
Porter, Lombard Architecture, 4 vols (London Cahiers Archéologiques, 28 (1979), 41-85, and for
and New Haven, 1915-17, reprinted New York, northern Europe, W. Sanderson, ‘Monastic
1967), though readers should note that Porter’s Reform in Lorraine and the Architecture of the
chronology has long been rejected. A recent Outer Crypt, 950-1100’, Transactions ofthe
view about how Lombard techniques spread to American Philosophical Society, n.s. LX1/6
the north is offered by P. Kidson, “The (1971), 3-36. The design of the crypt at
Mariakerk at Utrecht, Speyer, and Italy’, in Canterbury Cathedral is discussed by E.
Utrecht: Britain and the Continent, Archaeology, Fernie, ‘St Anselm’s crypt’, in Medieval
Artand
Art and Architecture, ed. E.de Biévre, British Architecture at Canterbury before 1220, British
Archaeological Association Conference Archaeological Association Conference
Transactions, 18 (London, 1996), 123-36. There Transactions for the year 1979, eds N.
is an excellent summary of recent thinking on Coldstream and P. Draper (London, 1982),
vaulted Catalan churches by M. Durliat, “La 27-38. Fernie has also considered the
Catalogne et le premier art roman’, Bulletin significance of columns decorated with spirals,
Monumental, 147 (1989), 209-38. For hall E. Fernie, “The Spiral Piers of Durham
churches there is now the survey by H. E. Cathedral’, in Medieval Art and Architecture at
Kubach and I. Kohler-Schommer, Romanische Durham Cathedral, British Archaeological
Hallenkirchen in Europa (Mainz, 1997). Association Conference Transactions for the year
1977, eds N. Coldstream and P. Draper
Chapter 7: Architecture and Pilgrimage (London, 1980), 49-58.
There are a number of important works which There is a huge literature on the pilgrimage
are essential for understanding the to Santiago de Compostela and its effects on
phenomenon of pilgrimage, in particular: P. sculpture and architecture. The crucial
Brown, The Cult ofthe Saints. Its Riseand document has been translated by W. Melczer,
Function in Latin Christianity (London and The Pilgrim’ Guide to Santiago de Compostela
Chicago, 1981); P. J. Geary, Furta Sacra. Thefts (New York, 1993), and by A. Shaver-Crandell,
ofRelics in the Central Middle Ages (Princeton, P. Gerson, and A. Stones, The pilgrim’ guide to
1978); C. and R. Brooke, Popular Religion in the Santiago de Compostela: a Gaxetteer (London,
Middle Ages (London, 1984); andJ.Sumption, 1992). There is a brief account of the
Pilgrimage, an Image ofMedieval Religion architecture of Santiago in P. de Palol, Early
(London, 1975). The exploitation of pilgrimage Medieval Art in Spain (London, 1967), but the
by church builders is analysed by C. Rudolph, main authority remains K. J. Conant, The Early
The ‘Things ofGreater Importance’. Bernard of Architectural History ofSantiago (Cambridge,
Clairvaux’s Apologia and the medieval attitude Mass., 1926). The chief authority on St Sernin,
towards art (London, 1990). For travels to Toulouse is Marcel Durliat, who provides a
Jerusalem seeJ.Wilkinson, Egerias Travels useful summary of the building in M. Durliat,
(London, 1971) andJ.Wilkinson, Jerusalem Haut-Languedoc roman (1a-Pierre-qui-vire,
Pilgrims before the Crusades (Jerusalem, 1977). 1978). Apart from C. A. Willemsen and D.
The precise location of shrines is often far Odenthal, Apulia, Imperial splendour in
from clear. There is a useful survey by W. Southern Italy (London, 1959), there are no
Jacobsen, ‘Saints’ Tombs in Frankish Church acounts in English of the pilgrimage churches
Architecture’, Speculum, 72 (1997), 1107-43. For of Apulia. The most recent survey is P. Belli
an illustration of the issues in a Romanesque D’Elia, Pouilles Romanes (La-Pierre-qui-vire,
context seeJ.Crook, “The Architectural 1987). For related issues, however, see the
Setting of the Cult of St Cuthbert in Durham valuable article by A. Wharton Epstein, “The
Cathedral (1093-1200) in D. Rollason, M. Date and Significance of the Cathedral of
Harvey, M. Prestwich (eds), Anglo-Norman Canosa in Apulia, South Italy’, Dumbarton
Durham (Woodchester, 1994), 235-50. The Oaks Papers, 37 (1983), 79-90.

Chapter 8: Architecture and Monasticism the best analysis of the Cistercian attitude to art
The volume by W. Braunfels, Monasteries of and architecture see C. Rudolph, The “Things of
Western Europe: the architecture ofthe orders Greater Importance’. Bernard ofClairvaux’s
(London, 1972) makes an excellent Apologia and the medieval attitude towards art
introduction to monastic architecture. For the (London, 1990). The text of the Apologia is also
historical background see R. W. Southern, discussed in Cistercians and Cluniacs, St
Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages Bernard’ Apologia to Abbot William, translated
(Harmondsworth, 1970). The relationships by Michael Casey (Kalamazoo, 1970). The
between art and monasticism are also discussed excessive claims made for St Bernard’s role in
by C. Brooke, The Monastic World 1000-1300 the development of Cistercian architecture are
(London, 1974) and G. Zarnecki, The Monastic considered in R. A. Stalley, ‘St Bernard, His
Achievement (London, 1972). For England the Views on Architecture and the Irish
standard history of monasticism is D. Knowles, Dimension’, Arte medievale (II serie, Anno
The Monastic Order in England (Cambridge, * VUI, no. 1, vol. 2, 1995), 13-20.
1950). An official publication by R. Gilyard- There is no decent survey of the
Beer, Abbeys, An Introduction to the Reli gious development of the cloister. For the early
Houses ofEngland and Wales (London, HMSO, history see (in addition to Braunfels) A. Frazer,
1959) is still hard to beat, but for a recent, more “Modes of European Courtyard Design Before
archaeological survey of the English the Medieval Cloister’, Gesta, 22 (1972), 1-12,
monasteries there is G. Coppack, Abbeys and and W. Horn, ‘On the Origins of the Medieval
Priories (London, English Heritage, 1990). Cloister’, Gesta, 22 (1972), 13-52. The most
A straightforward introduction to French extensive study of the St Gall plan is by W.
monasteries is supplied by W. Stoddard, Horn and E. Born, The Plan ofSaint Gall. A
Monastery and Cathedralin Medieval France Study of the Architecture and Economy of, and Life
(Wesleyan, 1966, reissued as Art and in, a Paradigmatic Carolingian Monastery, 3
Architecture in Medieval France, 1972). There vols. (Berkeley, 1979), though many of its
are not many general works devoted conclusions have since been undermined. The
specifically to the architecture of the plan is not based ona modular system, as Horn
Benedictine and Cluniac orders, but for the believed, see E. Fernie, ‘The proportions of the
latter there is the now rather dated work byJ. St Gall plan’, Art Bulletin, 60 (1978), 583-9; nor
Evans, Romanesque Architecture ofthe Order of was it a paradigm for the Carolingian world as
Cluny (Cambridge, 1938). For Cluny itself the a whole, L. Nees, “The Plan of St Gall and the
standard authority is K. J.Conant, Cluny. Les Theory of the Program of Carolingian Art’,
églises et la maison du chefdordre (Macon, 1968). Gesta, 25 (1986), 1-8. Moreover, the plan is now
Conant’s views, which are summarized in his known to be an original drawing of c.830 and
Pelican History of Art volume, Carolingian and nota copy, as explained by W. Jacobsen, Der
Romanesque Architecture 800-1200 Klosterplan von St. Gallen und die Karolingische
(Harmondsworth, 1959, 4th edn 1978) are not Architektur: Entwicklun ig und Wandel von Form
however the last word: F. Salet, ‘Cluny IIT, und Bedeutung im frankischen Kirchenbau
Bulletin Monumental, 126 (1968), 235-92. zwischen 751 und 840 (Berlin, 1992).
In recent decades the architecture of the
Cistercian order has given rise to avast Chapter 9: The Language of Architecture
literature, much of it in French and German. Current definitions of Romanesque as an
For the English houses there is P. Fergusson, architectural style owe a great deal to Henri
Architecture ofSolitude, Cistercian abbeys in Focillon; for an introduction to his thinking see
twelfth-century England (Princeton, 1984) and H. Focillon, Art ofthe West, Part One,
C. Norton and D. Park (eds), Cistercian Artand Romanesque (London, 1963), a book first
Architecture in the British Isles (Cambridge,
published in Paris in 1938. A more
1986). Seealso R. A. Stalley, The Cistercian contemporary view of the emergence of the
Monasteries ofIreland (London and New Romanesque style is provided by E. Vergnolle,
Haven, 1987). For the French houses the L’Art Roman en France (Paris, 1994). For an
standard work is M. Aubert, L’Architecture understanding of medieval appreciation of
Cisterctenne en France (Paris, 1947, 2nd edn). A Romanesque the classic study is M. Schapiro,
good pictorial survey across Europe is offered ‘On the Aesthetic Attitude in Romanesque
by M. A. Dimier, L’Art cistercien, 2 vols (La- Art’, in M. Schapiro, Romanesque Art
Pierre-qui-vire, 1971, 1982). There are many (London, 1977), 1-27. Anexcellent
interesting insights contained in G. Duby, S¢ introduction to medieval aesthetics is provided
Bernard—L
Art Cistercien (Paris, 1976), but for by Umberto Eco, Art and Beauty in the Middle

Ages (London and New Haven, 1986). The Europe (Harmondsworth, 1993), E. M.
concept of ‘first Romanesque’ was established Hallam, Capetian France 987-1328 (London,
byJ. Puig y Cadafalch, whose most accessible 1980), and R. H.C. Davies, The Normans and
study is La géographie et les origines du ‘premier their Myth (London, 1976).
art roman (Paris, 1935). For specific features, For the so-called ‘impact theory’ it is worth
important recent works include: E. Armi, looking at the example of Durham Cathedral,
‘Orders and Continuous Orders in E.C. Fernie, “The architectural influence of
Romanesque Architecture’, Journal ofthe Durham cathedral’, in D. Rollason, M.
Society ofArchitectural Historians, 34 (1975), Harvey, M. Prestwich (eds), Anglo-Norman
173-88; P. Héliot, ‘Lordre colossal et les arcades Durham (Woodbridge, 1994), 269-79. In the
murales dans les églises romanes’, Bulletin context of Cluny III, the validity of the ‘impact
Monumental, 115 (1957), 241-61; and L. Hoey, theory’ has been challenged by E. Armi,
‘Pier Form and Vertical Wall Articulation in Masons and Sculptors in Romanesque Burgundy
English Romanesque Architecture’, Journal of (Pittsburgh, 1983).
the Society ofArchitectural Historians, 48 (1989),
258-83. [he fundamental work on clerestory Epilogue: The Shadow of Rome
passages is J.Bony, ‘La technique normande du There is no recent assessment of the
mur €pais 4l’époque romane’, Bulletin relationships between the architecture of
Monumental, 98 (1939), 153-88, but see also L. ancient Rome and that of the early Middle
Hoey, “The Design of Romanesque Ages, though it is a subject that is mentioned
Clerestories with Wall Passages in Normandy frequently in the general literature. For an idea
and England’, Gesza, 28 (1989), 78-101. For of what the city of Rome looked like in the
alternation and pier design there are no major Middle Ages the best guide is R. Krautheimer,
works in English, but it is worth noting the Rome:Profile ofaCity, 312-1308 (Princeton,
relevant entries in the Macmillan Dictionary of 1980). The city’s impact in the twelfth century
Art. is considered byJ.B. Ross, ‘A Study of
Twelfth-Century Interest in Antiquities of
Chapter 10: Diversity in the Romanesque Rome’, inJ. L. Cate and E. N. Anderson (eds),
Era Medieval and Historiographical Essays in Honor
While a huge effort has been expended on the ofJames Westfall Thompson (Chicago, 1938),
description and definition of regional ‘schools’, 302-21. A fascinating guide to the way Roman
there has been relatively little analysis of the materials were exploited can be found in M.
nature of that diversity and the reasons behind Greenhalgh, The Survival of Roman Antiquities
it. The concept of regional groups, which was in the Middle Ages (London, 1989). On the same
established for France by Robert de Lasteyrie, subject seeJ.C. Higgitt, “The Roman
L’Architecture religieuse en France al époque Background to Medieval England’, Journal of
romane (Paris, 1911, revised by M. Aubert, the British Archaeological Association, 3rd series,
1929), was extended to the whole of Europe by XXXVI (1973), I-15. [he reuse of Roman
A. W. Clapham, Romanesque Architecture in materials is examined in a valuable collection of
Western Europe (Oxford, 1936, 3rd edn 1967). essays in]. Poeschke (ed), Antike Spolien in der
The approach was further refined by K. J. Architektur des Mittelalters und der Renaissance
Conant, Carolingian and Romanesque (Munich, 1996). More wide-ranging is J.
Architecture 800-1200 (Harmondsworth, 1959, Adhémar, Influences antiques dans l'art du moyen
4th edn 1978). The regional approach underlies agefrancais (London, 1939). [here has been
the series entitled La Nuit des Temps, published much speculation about the influence of
by Zodiaque (La-Pierre-qui-vire) since 1954. Vitruvius, as for example inJ.Harvey, The
At first devoted to France, this well-illustrated Medieval Architect (London, 1972), 19-22. The
series now extends to most countries of treatise itselfis most easily accessible in
Europe; many of the volumes have English Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture, trans.
summaries. A pictorial survey of the French M. H. Morgan (New York, 1960). More
regions is offered by M. Aubert, Romanesque general points about the revival of Antiquity
cathedrals and abbeys ofFrance (London and are raised by E. Panofsky, Renaissance and
New York, 1966). For the political conditions Renascences in Western Art (London, 1970), and
that fostered regionalism, useful starting points there is a useful introduction to wider historical
are R. W. Southern, The Makin ig ofthe Middle issues in C. Brooke, The Twelfth-century
Ages (London, 1953), R. Bartlett, The Making of Renaissance (London, 1969).

‘Timeline
Historical event Religious event Architecture

303 c.303-4 Persecution of
Christians under
Emperor Diocletian
Si2 Constantine defeats
Maxentius at battle of
Milvian Bridge and
takes control of the
Roman Empire
33 Edict of Milan: c.313-15 Arch of Constantine
Christianity tolerated constructed in Rome
as an Official religion €.321-2 Foundation of St
Peter's in Rome
330 Constantinople c.330 Foundation of
named as capital of basilica close to the
the Roman Empire site of Calvary in
Jerusalem
c.350 Construction of Santa
Costanza in Rome
361-3 Reign ofJulian the
Apostate; brief
restoration of
paganism
374 Ambrose appointed
bishop of Milan
(374-97)
379 Accession of Emperor
Theodosius (379-95)
who subsequently
bans pagan worship
c.380 Completion of the
church of the Holy
Sepulchre (Anastasis
Rotunda) in
Jerusalem
c.382 Work commences on
San Paolo fuori le
mura in Rome
395 Roman Empire
permanently divided
between East and
West on death of
Theodosius
402 Capital of western
empire moved from
Milan to Ravenna
410 Sack of Rome by the
Visigoths led by Alaric
410 Roman legions
withdrawn from
Britain
422-32 Building of Santa
Sabina in Rome
424 Construction of
Mausoleum ofGalla
Placidia, Ravenna
455 Rome sacked by
Vandals under
Genseric
c.470 Construction of large
church atTours in
honour of St Martin
476 476 Romulus Augustulus,
last Roman emperor
in the West, deposed
256 TIMELINE
‘Timeline

400 488 Ostrogoths under
Theodoric (490-526)
conquer northern
Italy
c.493-526
Construction of
Sant’Apollinare
Nuovo, Ravenna
496 Baptism of Clovis,
king of the Franks
(481-511)
c.526 Construction of
Mausoleum of
Theodoric, Ravenna
527 Justinian, emperor in
Constantinople
(527-65), begins first
of campaigns to
recover western parts
of the old empire
E529 Foundation of
Montecassino.
Establishment of the
Benedictine order by
Benedict of Nursia
(c.480-540)
532>7/ Construction of Hagia
Sophia in
Constantinople under
the emperor Justinian
540 Byzantine army
defeats Ostrogoths
and conquers
northern Italy
547 Dedication of San
Vitale, Ravenna
549 Dedication of
Sant’Apollinare in
Classe, Ravenna
563 Columba founds
monastery at lona
568 Byzantines driven
from northern Italy by
Longobards, who
subsequently
establish their capital
at Pavia
585 Spain conquered by
the Visigoths
590 Gregory | (590-604) c.590 Construction of ring
becomes pope crypt at St Peter’s in
(‘Gregory the Great’) Rome
Boi Gregory | sends
Christian mission to
Anglo-Saxon England,
led by Augustine
616 Death of Aethelbert,
first Christian king of
Kent
634 634 Foundation of
monastery at
Lindisfarne;
Christianity
established in
Northumbria
TIMELINE 257
‘Timeline

638 638 Moslem armies
capture Jerusalem
661 Foundation of San
Juan de Banos by
King Recceswinth
669 Church at Reculver
(Kent) built by priest
called Bass
674 Consecration of
church at
Monkwearmouth
WAL Moslem Arabs invade
Spain and conquer
Visigothic kingdom
732 Moslem advance into
France defeated at
Poitiers by Charles
Martel
754 Boniface
(c.675-754), apostle
of Germany, martyred
in Frisia, later buried
at Fulda
¢./55 Abbot Fulrad starts
work on new basilica
at St Denis
768 Charlemagne
becomes king of the
Franks (768-814)
774 Charlemagne
conquers Lombardy
793 Viking attack on c.790 Start of new church at
monastery at Fulda in honour
of St
Lindisfarne: start of Boniface
Viking raids on Britain c.792 Start of
Charlemagne’s palace
chapel at Aachen,
consecrated 805
C799 Construction of
church at St Riquier
(Centula) under
Abbot Angilbert
800 Charlemagne
crowned Holy Roman
Emperor in Rome by
Pope Leo III
813 Discovery of relics of
the apostle James at
Compostela
827 Consecration of
Einhard’s church at
Steinbach
c.830 Preparation of the
plan of St Gall
842 Accession of Ramiro 842-50 Construction of royal
|, king of Asturias
hall at Naranco near
(842-50) Oviedo
843 843 Treaty of Verdun:
Carolingian Empire
divided into three
parts: East Francia,
West Francia, and
Lotharingia
258 TIMELINE
‘Timeline

859 859 Consecration of the
crypt at St Germain,
Auxerre by emperor
Charles the Bald
873-85 Construction of
westwork at Corvey
c.900 Beginning of
Christian reconquest
of Spain by Alfonso II!
of Castille
909 Foundation of the
abbey of Cluny
yi Duchy of Normandy
established under the
control of Rollo the
Norseman
hh} Consecration of San
Miguel de Escalada
936 Otto |, duke of Saxony
becomes king of
Germany (936-73)
955 Otto | defeats
Magyars at the battle
of the Lech
961 Foundation of
nunnery at Gernrode
by margrave Gero
962 Otto | crowned Holy
Roman Emperor in
Rome by Pope John
XII
c.97 1-80 Construction of a
westblock at
Winchester
976 Demolition of
westwork at Rheims
c.994 Construction of ‘keep’
at Langeais by Fulk
Nerra, duke of Anjou
996 Otto Ill (996-1002)
crowned Holy Roman
Emperor by Pope
Sylvester ||
1001-18 Rotunda constructed
at St Bénigne, Dijon,
under Abbot William
of Volpiano
1009 Church of Holy
Sepulchre (Anastasis
Rotunda) in
Jerusalem destroyed
by Caliph Al Hakim
1010-33 St Michael’s,
Hildesheim
constructed under
direction of Bishop
Bernward
1012-35 Construction of keep
at Loches by Fulk
Nerra, duke of Anjou
c.1025 Crypt constructed at
Auxerre Cathedral
1026 c.1026 Tower at St-Benoit-

sur-Loire built by
Abbot Gauzlin
TIMELINE 259
‘Timeline

1035 c.1035 Construction of San
Pedro de Roda
c.1030 Start of work on

cathedral at Speyer
c.1040 Construction of
church of St Vincent
at Cardona
c.1040 Stone cloister with
marble columns built
at Cluny under Abbot
Odilo
1040-67 Building of abbey
church at Jumiéges
1048 Church of Holy
Sepulchre in
Jerusalem rebuilt
under direction of
Byzantine emperor
Constantine
Monomachus
1058 Desiderius becomes
abbot of
Montecassino
(1058-70)
c.1061 Foundation of
monastery of St
Etienne, Caen, by
William, duke of
Normandy
c.1063 Start of work on St
Mark's, Venice
1066 King Harold of 1066-71 New church erected
England defeated by at Montecassino
William, duke of under Abbot
Normandy at the Desiderius
battle of Hastings
1070-7 Canterbury Cathedral
rebuilt under
Archbishop Lanfranc
1071 Capture of Bari by
Robert Guiscard;
Normans establish
control over southern
Italy
1073 Accession of Pope
Gregory VII
(1073-85): reform of
the Church
1075 Pope Gregory VII CLOTS Construction of San
(Hildebrand) Nazaro, Milan
denounces lay c.1078 Tower of London
investiture; start of
started under
Investiture Contest
direction of Gundulf,
(1075-1122)
bishop of Rochester
between pope and 1078-1122
German emperors
Construction of
cathedral church of
Santiago de
Compostela
1079 1079 Start of new cathedral
church at Winchester
under Bishop
Walkelin
260 TIMELINE
‘Timeline

1081 1081-1106
Remodelling of
Speyer Cathedral with
groin vaults
c.1082 = Start of St Sernin,

Toulouse
1085 Battle of Toledo. King
Alfonso VI of Léon
and Castile defeats
Moslems
1087 Relicsof San Nicola 1087 Foundation of San
of Myra ‘stolen’ and Nicola at Bari
taken to Bari
1088 Foundation of new
abbey church at Cluny
(Cluny II!)
1093-1133
Construction of
Durham Cathedral
1095 Urban II preaches the
first Crusade
1098 Foundation of
monastery at Citeaux:
birth of Cistercian
order
1099 Capture of Jerusalem 1099 Completion of
by Crusaders Westminster Hall
1099 Foundation of
Modena Cathedral
1099 Foundation of new
cathedral at Trani
VS, Foundation of
Clairvaux with
Bernard as abbot
(1115-53)
1120-32 Reconstruction of
nave of Vézelay after
fire
c.1120 Start of domed
church of St Front at
Périgueux
We? Concordat of Worms
terminates Investiture
Contest
1130 Consecration of abbey
church at Cluny
(Cluny II!)
c.1130 Start of new church at
Citeaux
c.1135-45
New church
constructed at
Clairvaux
c.1138 Construction of keep
at Castle Rising by
William d’Albini
1139-47 Building of abbey
church at Fontenay
c.1140 Construction of keep
1140 at Castle Hedingham
by William de Vere,
Earl of Oxford
TIMELINE 261
‘Timeline

1140 c.1140 Construction of keep
at Ambleny
1140-4 Reconstruction of the
choir of St Denis ina
Gothic style
1149 Church of Holy
Sepulchre at
Jerusalem
consecrated after
addition of new choir
1153 Start of construction
of Baptistery at Pisa
under architect
Diotisalvi
€.1150-75
Construction of
south-west tower and
spire at Chartres
1152 Frederick |
(1152-90)
‘Barbarossa’ crowned
as Holy Roman
Emperor
1154 Henry of Anjou
becomes king of
England (1154-89)
c.1160 Start of Gothic
cathedral at Laon
1170 Murder of Thomas
Becket at Canterbury
1173 Start of construction
of campanile at Pisa
under Bonnanus of
Pisa
1174 Fire destroys
Romanesque choir at
Canterbury Cathedral
1180 Philip II c.1180 Construction of keep
(1180-1223) at Conisborough
‘Augustus’ becomes
king of France
c.1181 Start of work on keep
at Dover
1186 Collapse of vaults at
Lincoln Cathedral
1187 Saladin defeats
Crusaders and
captures Jerusalem
1204 1189 Richard | (1189-99)
‘Lionheart’ becomes
king of England
1194 Fire destroys
Romanesque
cathedral at Chartres
1196-8 Construction of
Chateau Gaillard by
Richard |
1204 Philip Il defeats
English forces and
conquers Normandy
262 TIMELINE
Index
Aachen 39, 185 Archimedes 116

palace chapel 40, 43, 47, 55, 71, 72, 73~6, 114 architects 172
influence of 73-5 see also master mason
origin of design 237 role in middle ages 103, 107
royal audience hall 97 use of term 103
Abadie, Paul 159 contracts 109
accidents and disasters 106, 121, 127, 130-3, 139, architectural drawings 116, 184-8, 234
144, 163-5, 168, 172, 175, 230 on wax tablets 116
Acerenza 223 architecture: appreciation of 193-4
Adalbero, archbishop of Reims 49 archivolts 107, 204, 205
Aethelwold, abbot of Abingdon 105 Ardres, wooden castle 88, 108
Agliate 150, 752 Arles, St Trophime 157, 167, 228
Ailred, abbot of Rievaulx 177, 240 Arnold von Wied, archbishop of Cologne 75
Al Hakim, caliph 65,77 arrow slit 92
Alaric 18 ashlar 64, 88-9, 90, 93-4, 107, 113-4, 193, 196
Alfonso VI, king of Leon and Castile 96, 169 Asturias 97
Alice, wife of Henryl of England 86 atrium (enclosed courtyard) 22, 27-8, 36-7, 39,
Alkborough 114 AI, 185
Almenno, San Tomaso 78,79 Aubrey de Vere, earl of Oxford 88, 204
alternation (of piers) 54, 56, 140, 158, 180-1, Augustine, saint 18, 39
208, 210-11, 216-7, 237, 241 Aulnay 194-6, 195, 204-205
in cloister arcades 183 Autun 220, 235
origin of 237 Auxerre
Alvastra, Cistercian abbey 180 cathedral crypt 192
Ambleny castle 93, 94 St Germain 116, 150-1
Ambrose, saint, bishop of Milan 45, 61,148 Avila, town walls 96
ambulatory and radiating chapels, plan type
153-8 Bamberg, bishop of 165
origins 27, 154 Bangor (Ireland) 105
use in ‘pilgrimage churches’ 153, 156-8, 217 Banyoles 133
use in Romanesque architecture 1111, 159, baptism 59, 61, 63, 71, 78, 80
161, 168-9, 217, 223 baptisteries 58-61, 63, 71, 81
amphitheatres 233 Barcelona, cathedral 29
Angers 132 Bari, San Nicola 112, 161-2, 164, 196, 221, 223,
Angilbert, abbot of St Riquier 38, 45-6, 104, 229
235 Barton on Humber 114, 122
Anglo-Saxon architecture 34, 35, 114 basilica 138, 235
Anglo-Saxon crosses 114 definitionof 17, 21,70
Aniane, Benedictine abbey 240 origin 21-2
Ansegis, abbot ofStWandrille 128, 188 secular 22-3, 97
Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury 225 use in different periods:
Antioch, Golden Octagon 67 Anglo-Saxon 34
Anzy-le-Due 124, 125 Byzantine 19,28
apse, western or counter apse 37, 41, 43, 51 Carolingian 14, 40-2, 44
arch Early Christian 15, 17, 19, 22-3, 55 191,
cusped 156 208
horseshoe 32, 33 Ottonian 53
pointed 139, 170-2, 220, 240 Visigothic 33
263
Bass, priest of Reculver (Kent) 34 Cambridge, St Sepulchre 76-7
Bath 233 campanili: see belfries
bath houses 22, 24, 60, 67, 233-4 cancellt 23, 116
bay division 192, 206, 230 candelabra 20
Bayeux Tapestry 87-8 candles 132
Beaune, collegiate church 220 Canosa cathedral 221
beauty, medieval conceptions of rar, r94~5 Canterbury 115
Bec, Norman abbey 225 cathedral 164-5
belfries 51, 122-3, 129-30, 180, 196 crypt 152-3
bells 123, 128, 180 Conrad’s choir 159, 196-7
Benedict, saint 165, 168 fire (1174) 132,144, 164
- Benedict Biscop, abbot of Monkwearmouth- rebuilding after fire 108-9, 111-2,
Jarrow 34, 109 229-30
Benedictine Rule 167-8, 176, 185, 188-9 St Augustine’s abbey 108, 116, 239
Beowulf 15, 97 capitals
Bergfriede 87 carved at the quarry 29, 115-16
Bernard, saint, abbot of Clairvaux 105, 176—7, Corinthian 17, 47, 63, 169, 220, 228, 235
180 cushion 16, 152
views on architecture 177 Visigothic 33
Bernard the elder, mason at Compostela wooden 99
108-9 Cardona 133-4
Bernay, Norman abbey 225 Carlisle 233
Bernward, bishop of Hildesheim 56-7, 104 Carolingian Empire 13, 53, 167
Bethlehem 65, 70, 154, 165 geographical extent 38
Beverley minster 121, 123, 127 Carolingian Renaissance 35, 37-9, 168, 184,
Bitonto, cathedral 223 i 189, 233
blind arcade 60, 78, 86, 97, 125, 175, 196-201, carpenters 122
219 Carrickfergus castle gz
Blitherus, mason at Canterbury 108 Cashel, Cormac’s Chapel 125, 799
Bobbio 105 Cassiodorus 116
Bologna 78 castles 14, 83-101 (see also keeps)
Boniface, saint 40-1 bailey 83, 91
Bony, Jean 204 chapel 14, 83, 85, 87-8, 90, 94, 101
Borromini 24 costs of construction go-1
Bosham 87, 89 definition of 83-4, 87
Bourges cathedral 171 design 204
Boyle, Cistercian abbey 106, 180 episcopal 100
Bramante 25, 80 gatehouse 92, ror
Brantéme 129 heating systems gr
brattices 92 kitchen 83, 85, 88
Brionne 88 origins 83
Britton, John 231 speed of construction go
builders and craftsmen 77, 103-119, 121 water supply 91
building wooden 84, 86, 88, 92
sequence of work rog—11, 172 Castle Acre, priory 775, 197
financing of go-1, 132, 164-5, 169, 175 Castle Hedingham 88, 91, 99, 204
speed of 111-12 Castle Rising 12, 85-7, 91
Burgos, Museo Arqueoldgico 197 Celles-les—Dinant 51
Bury St Edmunds 163-4 centering (temporary support for arches and
Buschetto, architect of Pisa cathedral 108, 115 vaults) 130, 132
Centula see St Riquier
Caen 225, 226 Chadenac 106, 205, 213-4
castle 87,100 chandeliers 2x
La Trinité 139, 203, 225 chant 34, 168, 169, 224
quarries at 91, 115, 229 chapter house 175, 185, 188-9, 197-8, 240
St Etienne 53, 55, 125, 226-7 Charlemagne 37-40, 43, 47, 53, 71, 73-55 975 114
St Nicholas 139, 227 Charles Martel, king of the Franks 38
calefactory 185, 188 Charles the Bald, Carolingian emperor 83, 150
264 INDEX
Charroux 148, 155, 164 Como 109
Chartres cathedral 103, 729, 163 Compostela, Collegiata del Sar 131, 136
Chateau Gaillard 92 Conant, Kenneth 170-2
Chateau Gontier 191-2 confessio (inner chamber of crypt) 149-51, 154
Chatillon—Cologny, castle 86 Conisborough castle 91, 93-5, 101
Cheddar 15, 98 Conques 108, 125, 136, 154, 156, 164, 167, 219
chevron ornament 91, 100, 107, 110, 140, 204, Conrad II, German emperor 208
211 Conrad, prior of Canterbury 164
Chiaravalle della Columba 180 Constantina, daughter of Constantine 62-3
Chiaravalle Milanese 180 Constantine 13, 19-22, 24-5, 39, 65, 67
Childebert, king of the Franks 29 Constantine Monomachus, Byzantine
Chosroes Parviz, Persian king 65 emperor 65-6
Chrétien de Troyes 92 Constantinople 20, 29,70, 148, 161-2
Christianity Hagia Sophia 67
early buildings 20 Holy Apostles 157, 221
official status after 313 AD 13, 19 contracts 109
persecution of 19-20, 67 corbels 86, 92
spread in Romanesque era 214 Corme-Ecluse 213
wealth of in Early Christian era 14, 19 Corvey 47-8, 50, 53
ciborium (canopy over altar) 20, 23, 25, 61, 116, Council of Carthage 148
149 cranes 108
Cistercian architecture 44, 105, 117-8, 138, Cremona 63
176-82, 188-9, 224, 228 crenellations 93
Cistercian order 176-7, 188, 224 croisée d'ogives see vault, ribbed
Citeaux 176-7, 179, 224 crossing tower 37, 45, 51, 121, 123
city walls 92, 96, 114 Cruas 128
Clairvaux 177-8, 180 crusades 66, 92, 165
clerestory passages 202, 204, 210, 2267, 230-1 crypt: origin and development 42, 147-9, 153,
Clermont-Ferrand 219-20 163
cloisters 15, 41, 80, or, 118, 183, 240 types:
design 182-8 corridor crypt 44
function 182 crank-shaped 150, 187
origin 184-5, 188 hallcrypt 134, 150, 152-3
wooden 240 outer 45, 150
Cluny, abbey 268-177 ring crypt (annular) 27, 150, 165
chapter house 188, 240 curtain walls 92, 101
cloisters 184 curtains 22-4
liturgical customs 167-70, 176, 225 custos operis 106
second church 110, 169 Cuthbert, saint 233
third church: de Hauteville family 110-11
classical features 220, 235 de Lasteyrie, Comte de 217
collapse (1125) 139, 172-4 dendrochronology (tree-ring dating) go-1
construction of 1mo0-ur
demolition 171 Desiderius, abbot of Montecassino 102, 104
design of 122, 136, 138-9, 168-74 Deventer 153
influence of 172, 221, 229 Diego Gelmirez, bishop of Compostela 156
coffered ceilings 20 Diego Pelaez, bishop of Compostela 156
Colchester castle 88 Dientzenhofer, Johann, Baroque architect 41
Cologne 198 differential settlement 127
cathedral 43 Dijon, St Bénigne 154-5, 167, 194, 214
St Maria im Capitol 73 Diocletian 19, 67, 234
St Pantaleon 49 Diotisalvi, architect at Pisa 78
Columbanus, saint 105 domes
columns } Early Christian 60, 63, 66-7, 70-1
paired 60, 63, 101, 162, 182, 184, 188 Romanesque:
spiral and twisted 26, 153, 165-6, 184, 202, Apulia 221-2
229 Périgord 157, 159-60, 227-9
Comacini 109 Spain 120, 125
INDEX 265
donjon: see keep fonts 58, 63
Doppelkapellen (double chapels) 74-5 Fontenay, abbey church 118, 138, 177-8, 180
dormitory 184-5, 187-8 ‘Fontenay plan’ 180,182 —
dosseret 139, 206 Fontevrault 227-8
double-shell construction 66-7, 71, 73, 78, 80 footprints of Christ 65
Doué-la-Fontaine, castle 88 fountain 27
Dover castle 82, 87-8, 91, 92, 105 fountain of life 58, 61, 80, 237
drawbridges 84 Fountains , Cistercian abbey 224
Dublin Frederick Barbarossa, German emperor
Christ Church cathedral 106 (1152-90) 100-1
Henry II’s hall 100 Fréjus 60
Durandus of Mende 119 Fréteval, castle 96
Durham Fulbert, bishop of Chartres 103
castle 100 Fulda, abbey 38, 40-3, 47, 103, 185, 236
cathedral 107, rgz, 216 Fulk Nerra, duke of Anjou 89-90, 114, 165
chevron ornament 707, 110, 211 Fulrad, abbot of St Denis 41-2
construction of 110-11, 147 furnishings (of churches) 23
decorated piers 107, 234 gallery: function of 49, 55
design 118, 159, 162, 194-5, 207-8, 229 garderobes see latrine
relics 147, 164 Gauzlin, abbot of St-Benoit-sur-Loire 114,
ribbed vaults 140-z, 276 192-3
dwarf galleries 198-9, 200 Gelnhausen, imperial palace roo-1
geology, effect on architecture 229
Eadmer, monk of Canterbury 165 geometry 56, 59, 65, 67, 70, 80, 94, 101, 107, 116,
Earls Barton 722 118, 140
Eberbach, Cistercian abbey 1rz, 180-r, 211 Gerald of
Wales 93
Echebrune 213 Gerald, master of the works at Grandmont
Echillais 213 106
Edict of Milan 13, 19-20 Germigny-des-Prés 45, 122
Edwin, king of Northumbria 98 Gernrode 53-5, 241
Eigel, abbot of Fulda 41 Gero, margrave 53-4
Einhard 39, 42, 44, 150 Gervase, monk of Canterbury 108, 116
Eisenach, the Wartburg tor Gerwin, abbot of St Riquier 45
Ely Cathedral 55, 208, 270, 230 Giacomo Grimaldi 26
episcopal chapels 74 giant order 159-60, 200, 211, 234
Ermoldus Nigellus, Carolingian poet 97 Gibbon, Edward 24,148
Esbern Snare 76 Giuliano da Sangallo 80
Escomb 34, 114 glaziers 109
Essen 43, 73 Gloucester, Benedictine abbey 208
- Etampes castle 93-4 golden section 118
Euclid 116 Goslar 75
Eusebius 19-21, 23, 27 Gotland 128, r99
exedra 22, 40, 70-1 Gozbert, abbot of St Gall 185
Grandmont 106
Falaise, castle 87 Gravedona, Santa Maria del Tiglio 173
Farnham, castle hal 99 Greek cross plan 33, 64, 75-6, 95, 160
fastigium 25, 35 GregoryI,‘the Great’, Pope 149
Fécamp, abbey 164, 225 Gregory VII, Pope 223
feretory (area around shrine) 164 Gregory, English visitor to Rome 234
feudalism 13, 83, 194, 225 Grendel, monster 97
fires 108, 132-3, 144, 163-4, 172, 221, 230 grisaille glass 182
fireplace gr Grosseteste, Robert, bishop of Lincoln 194-5
first Romanesque 61, 109, 114, 130, 195 Guarrazar treasure 33
Flambard, bishop of Durham mt Gundulf, bishop of Rochester 105
flanking towers 92, 95-6 Gunzo, reputed architect of Cluny 172
Florence 63 Hadrian, emperor (98-117) 24
San Miniato al Monte 208 Hahn, Hanno 117-8
flying buttresses 139, 168 Haito, abbot of Reichenau 185
266 INDEX
halls Imbomen 65
wooden 15, 96-8 rock of Calvary 66, 78, 165
Roman halls 20-2, 67 tomb of Christ 78, 80
within keeps 83-5, 88-91 Roman temple 65
independent halls 87-9, 96-100 joggled joints 64, 91
hall church 110, 131, 136, 209, 227 John de Courcy, earl of Ulster 91
hall crypt see crypt Joshua, abbot of San Vincenzo al Volturno 38
Hamelin Plantagenet 93, 95 Julian the Apostate, emperor (361-3) 24, 239
Hariulf 49 Julianus Argentarius 67
Harold, king of England 87, 89 Jumiéges 52-3, 208, 270, 225, 227, 240-1
Heavenly Jerusalem 73, 123, 180, 197, 202-3 Justinian, Byzantine emperor 67, 157
Heitz, Carol 73, 123, 237 Kalundborg (Denmark) 75-6
helm 128 keeps 15, 82, 85-95, 204.
HenryI,king of England too definition 86
Henry I, king of England 82, 88, 90, 100 origin of 88-go, 1or
Henry IV, Germanemperor 139,144 Kidson, Peter 119
Hereford Kilmacduagh z30
castle hall 99 Kirkwall 215
cathedral 159 Krautheimer, Richard 77
Hereford, bishop’s chapel 74-5
heroa(type of mausoleum) 67 La Chaise-Dieu 157
Hersfeld 43, 199, 236 La-Charité-sur-Loire 172
Hexham 34 labour forces, size of 109-10,
Hildebert of Lavardin, archbishop of Tours Lanfranc, archbishop of Canterbuty 111, 225
234 Lanfranco, architect at Modena 108
Hildesheim, St Michael’s church 44, 56-7, Langeais, castle 89
104, 237, 241 latrines 85, 87, 90, 91, 93, 184
Hochst 42 lavabo 80-1, 178
Honorius of Autun 119 Le Puy cathedral 183, 786
Honorius, Romanemperor 64 Le Thoronet 787-3, 188, 228
Hrothgar 97, 98 lead 128
Hrothgar, great hall of 15 Lech, battle of 53
Hugh de Lacy, earl of Meath 91-2, 95 Leicester, castle hall 99
Hugh of Semur, abbot of Cluny 169-70 Leolll, Pope 39
Hugh of St Victor 176 Leo of Ostia 104
Hugh, bishop of Lincoln 164 Lérins 109
Hugh, master at Conques 108 Lessay 125, 206-7, 241
Hymettus, quarries at 29 Liége 73
Limburg an der Hardt 208
impost 19, 29,47 Limoges, St Martial 156, 164
Inden—Kornelmiinster ‘237 Lincoln cathedral 144
Ingelheim, Carolingian palace 97 liturgy
Innocent I, Pope 172 effect on architecture 23, 43, 49, 55, 153, 24!
inscriptions 108-9, III, 235 Early Christian 70
Islamic monastic 167-8
architecture 78 Cistercian 176
cusps 170, 235 Cluniac 169-70, 176, 189
influence 80, 139, 171, 186, 233 Roman 34, 41, 43, 223
Issoire 220 Loarre, castle 83-4
Ivry-la-Bataille, castle 88 Loches 87, 89-90, 114, 192
Lombard arcades 129, 195-6, 198
James, apostle 146, 155 Lombard bands 195-6
Jerpoint, Cistercian abbey 118 Lomello 60-7, 777,199
Jerusalem 66, 76, 78, 147-8, 159, 164-5 London 87
Anastasis Rotunda see Holy Sepulchre basilica 29
basilica of Constantine 20-1, 55 White Tower 87-8, 105
Holy Sepulchre 13, 65-6, 76, 123, 154, 165 long and short work 122
influence of 76-81, 157 Longobards 38
INDEX 267
Lorsch 39-40, 111, 185 Monkwearmouth 112
Louis, carpenter at Ardres 88, 108 Monreale cathedral 184
Lucca 202, 221, 229 Mont-St-Michel 225
Lund 15 Montbazon, castle 89
Lyon 28, 34 Montecassino 104, 111, 167, 240,
Montmajour 80, 183
machicolation (projecting defensive system) mortar 130
92 Moslems
Magdeburg, cathedral 114 attacks on west 13, 53, 132
Maginardo, architect at Arezzo 116 capture Jerusalem 76
magister operis 106 invasion of France 38
Magyars 53, 132, 225 settlementin Spain 14, 34, 215
Mainz 75 motte 88
cathedral 132, 214 Much Wenlock 175, 197-8
chapel of St Godehard 75 Mullooly, Joseph 20
Malachy of Armagh 105 murder hole 92
Malmesbury 197 Myra 161
Manorbier, castle 93
Maria Laach, abbey church 36-7, 43, 52, 122 Nantes 121
Marignac 273 Naranco, royal hall 97-8
Marmoutier 57 Nazareth 224
Marquise, quarries at 115-6 neumes, musical notation 49
martyria 59, 65-7, 70-1, 154-5 Neuvy-Saint-Sépulcre 76
definition of 67,70 Neweastle go-1, 105
masonry night stairs 185
Cyclopian 114 Nijmegen 73
rubble 114, 195-6 Nivelles, St Gertrude 52
masonry breaks 110 Nocera 60-1, 71
masons Noirlac 789
from Gaul 109 nook shafts 194
from Rome 34, 104, 109 Northumbria 34
mobility 109, 156, 224, 227 Norwich cathedral 118-9, 203, 229
masons’ marks ror, 106-7 Notker, bishop of Liége 73
master masons 78, 108 number symbolism 61, 73,77
appointment of 109
NUNS 43, 53-5, 73-5, 167
training 108 Nuremberg, castle 75
Maurice the engineer 105 Nydala, Cistercian abbey 180
mausolea 27, 59, 63-6, 71, 123, 128, 152, 233, 235
Meinwerk, bishop of Paderborn 76 Oakham, castle hall 99
Mellifont, Cistercian abbey 81 Odilo, abbot of Cluny 184
Metrobius 116 Oliva, abbot of Vich 104
mica, use instead of glass 18, 22 operarius 106
Michael, saint 49, 51, 55, 138 opus reticulatum 40
Michelangelo 25 opus sectile 17,19
Mies Van der Rohe 180 Orcival 220
Milan Ordericus Vitalis 105, 172
Holy Apostles 45 Orford castle 92, 94, 119
San Lorenzo 67 Oswald, saint 148
San Nazaro r4r Ottmarsheim 73-4, 77, 237
Sant’ Ambrogio 27, 148 OttoI,Germanemperor 53
Sant’ Aquilino 198 Otto III, German emperor 56
Modena cathedral 108, 199, 207-2, 214, 235 Ottonian architecture 53, 55-6
Molfetta, San Corrado 221 Oviedo 97
monasticism Oxford, St Frideswide’s (now cathedral)
different orders 167, 176, 189 159-60, 211, 234
expansion of 167-9, 225, 236
monks 32, 80, 81 Paderborn 77, 97, 236
as builders 105 palisades g2
268 INDEX
Pammachius 25 Ratger, abbot of Fulda 38, 40-1, 103
Papacy 34, 38, 165, 215 Ravenna 17, 29, 39, 60, 71, 114, 116, 130, 191, 205
Paray-le-Monial 154, 172, 173, 220 mausoleum of Galla Placidia 64-5
Paris 14, 28, 29 mausoleum of Theodoric 64-5
Parma 63 Orthodox baptistery 70
Paul, saint 172 San Vitale 40, 67, 68, 69, 71, 73
Pavia 38 Sant’Apollinare in Classe 29, 30-2
San Michele 178 Sant’Apollinare Nuovo 23, 29
pendentive 120, 125, 221-2 SantaCroce 64
Pepin, king of the Franks 38 Recceswinth, king of the Visigoths 32-3
Périgueux, St Front 157, 759-60, 162, 164 recessed orders 204-5, 241
Peter Damien 176 Reculver (Kent) 34, 35, 112
Peter the Illyrian 18 refectory 80, 109, 184, 185, 187
Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny 169 Regensburg 236
Peter, apostle 25, 34, 41,157, 165, 169, 172 Reichenau (Mittelzell) 237
Peterborough cathedral 148 Rheims
Philip II ‘Augustus’, king of France city walls 114
(1180-1220) 94, 225 StRémi 156
Piacenza cathedral 214 cathedral 49
pier, compound 43, 191, 20-8, 230 relics 65,70, 147-65
Pilgrim’s Guide 55, 108, 156, 162 brandea 148-9
pilgrimage 55, 78, 146-65, 220, 224, 228 Christ 148
effect on church architecture 162, 164 Gervasius and Protasius 148
toRome 25, 45,149 Mary Magdalene 164
Piranesi 28 San Nicola Peregrino 162
Pisa 202, 203, 221, 229 St Andrew’s sandal z49
baptistery 63,78 St Bénigne 154
cathedral 108, 203, 215, 235 St Chrysantus and St Daria 162
‘leaning tower’ 130, 202-3 St Cuthbert 147
piscina 59, 61 St Edmund 163
Pistoia 202, 229 St Frideswide 159-60
plumbers 109 St Gall 150
Poitiers ; StJames 156
Notre-Dame-—la-Grande 129, 136 St Nicholas 161-3
St Hilaire 132 St Oswald 148
polychrome masonry 27, 39-40, 73, 78, 104, Ste Foi 163-4
113, 174-5, 183, 186, 219, 241 the holy cross 164
Pompei 188 Virgin Mary 73,163
Pomposa 173, 196 theft of 163
Poncius Rebolii 238 translation of 147
portcullis 92 reliquaries 148, 162, 164
porte afaux (overhang) 138 Repton 153
porticus 34-5 reredorter see latrines
Proconnessus, quarries at 17, 29, 70, 112, 115-6 Rétaud 213
proportional systems 84, 101, 104, 116—9, 172, Rhineland, Romanesque architecture of 36,
75, 125, I41, 181, 193, 196, 198, 211, 215
234, 239
Provins, castle 93-4 Richard, abbot of St Vanne 176
Priim 162 Richard I, king of England 92
Puig-y-Cadafalch 195 Richard II, duke of Normandy 225
putlog holes 108, 202 Rioux 213
Ripoll 45
Quarr, quarries at 115 Robert d’Arbrissal, founder of Fontevrault
quarries 17, 29, 65, 70, 107-8, 112, 114-6 228
Quedlinburg 224 Robert Guiscard 221
Robert I, duke of Normandy 165, 225
Raimond Lombard 109 Robert, bishop of Hereford 74
Ramiro I, king of Asturias 97-8 Rochester castle 87-8, 91, 99
Raoul Glaber, monk of Dijon 213-4 Rodez 228
INDEX 269
Roger II, king ofSicily 224 Sabinus, saint 221
Roger, bishop ofSalisbury 104, 193 sacristies 25
Roman Empire, decline of 13-14, 29, 35, 112, Saenredam, Peter 141, 142-3, 211
233 Saint-Savin-sur-Gartempe 15, 208-9
Romanesque architecture Saintes 228
geographical spread 14, 215 Notre Dame 129, 228
reasons for diversity 224, 225, 228-9, 231 StEutrope 157
regional ‘schools’ 217 Salamanca, cathedral 720, 125
Apulia 221, 223 Salerno, cathedral 27
Auvergne 125, 219, 225 Salet, Francois 172
Burgundy 124, 178, 220-1, 229 Salian dynasty 152
East Anglia 230 Salonika 55, 237
Normandy 225, 227 _ San Juan de Bafios de Cerrato (Palencia) 32-3
Perigord 227, 229 San Miguel de Escalada rz2
Provence 181, 218, 228-9 San Pedro de la Nave (Zamora) 33-¢
Saintonge 195, 213, 229 San Pedro de Roda 733-4
Tuscany 203, 221, 229 San Vincenzo al Volturno 38, 53, 150
survival of 13 Sant’Angelo in Formis 102, zz3
Romanesque style 194~5 Santa Cruz dela Seros 195
definition 191-2, 194, 211, 214 Santiago de Compostela 55, 108-11, 737, 136,
Rome 146, 154-9, 162-3, 165, 206, 217, 219, 224
basilicas 17, 20, 34 191 Sarum, cathedral 114
catacombs 149 scaffolding 108, 202
cemeteries 148 Schwarzrheindorf 75
classical temples 19, 21, 24, oi Segovia, La Vera Cruz 78, 81
heritage of 233-4 Seguin, lord of Chatillon-Coligny 86
specific monuments: Selby, abbey church 127
arch of Constantine 39-40 Seligenstadt 42, 44, 150, 237
Basilica Ulpia 22 Sénanque, Cistercian abbey 106, 182-3, 188,
chapel of San Lorenzo 148 228
Colosseum 19-20, 206 Seod’Urgell tog
Domitian’s Palace 22 shingles 128
Pantheon 24 shrines 123, 147, 153-4, 156, 159, 165
San Clemente 20 Santo Domingo 197
San Paolo fuorile mura 24, 27-8, 43, St Boniface 41
45, 161, 166 St Front 157
San Sebastiano 27 St Peter 26, 45, 149, 165
Sant’ Agnese 27, 62-3 Sigurd, king of Denmark 80
Santa Costanza 62-3, 65-6, 71 Silos, monastery 183, 197
Santa Maria Antiqua 24 Silvacane, Cistercian abbey 182, 189
Santa Pudenziana 24 Simeon, abbot of Ely 230
Santa Sabina 17, 28=r9, 23, 51 Siponto, Early Christian basilica 14
Santo Stefano 71 smiths tog
StJohn Lateran 20, 23-4, 35, 43, 60, soffit rolls 140, 192, 224
237 solar 87
St Peter’s 24-8, 41, 43-5, 149-50, 153, solea 23
165, 170 Southwell 15
Theatre of Marcellus 19 Speyer 75
population 14, 29 Speyer cathedral 139, 144, 152-3, 193, 197-200,
sack of 18
211, 214, 217-8, 224, 241
shrine ofStPeter 26, 45, 149, 165 Spires 121, 127, 130
survival of paganism 24 clocher Limousin 129
tituli 20 design of 129
Rouen 225 helm 128
Rupert of Deutz 108 stone 128-9
Rupricht Robert 77 wooden 128
Ruvo, cathedral 223 Split
Diocletian's Palace 19
270 INDEX
mausoleum 67 titult 20
squinch 125, 219 Tivoli, Hadrian’s villa 22
St Albans 125 Toledo, battle of 96
St Benoit-sur-Loire 114, 154, 165, 792, 275 tomb of Christ 78, 80
St Bertin at StOmer 128 tongue and groove jointing 98
St Bertrand-de-Comminges 182 Toro, collegiate church 125-6
St Denis 14, 41-3, 45, 103, 148, 150, 153, 176, 236 Torres del Rio (Navarre) 78, 80
St Gabriel, chapel near Arles 229 Toulouse, St Sernin 110, 136, 154, 156-7, 164,
St Gall, plan 43, 63, 104, 116, 122, 150, 184-8, 167, 219
187, 237, 240 Tournus, St Philibert 51, 735, 237-8, 154, 208
St Gilles, abbey church 272, 228 Tours 89
St Léonard-de-Noblat 129 Tours, church ofStMartin 28, 156
St Marta de Tera(Zamora) 146 tower (see also belfries) 121-7
St Michel-de-Cuxa 182 Trajan, emperor (97-117) 22
St Nectaire 154, 220 Trani 162, 763, 223
St Paul-de-Mausole, near St Remi 183 transennae 18, 33
St Riquier 38, 45-7) 46, 49, 104, 122-3, 148, transepts 15, 25-6, 33, 37, 43
235-7 continuous 26, 28, 41, 43, 45, 165
StSaturnin 125, 279, 220 function of 44-5
St Savin-sur-Gartempe 110 low 44
St Trond, monastery near Liége 164, 194 purpose of 26
St Vaast, abbot of 179 regular 44,56
St Wandrille (Fontanelle) 128, 185, 188, 241 transept platform 231
stair turrets 37, 46, 51, 109, 122, 155 Trier 55
Steinbach 42, 44, 150 Aula Nova (imperial hall) 20-z, 97
Stenkyrka 728, 199 cathedral 198
Stephen II, Pope 41 early basilica 28
stone (see also quarries, masonry) reliquary of St Andrew’s sandal r49
cracked or deformed 28 Trim castle 91-2, 94-5
lifting 65 triumphal arch 39, 133, 228
reuse of(spolia) 18, 24-5, 28, 33, 109, 11-4, Troia, cathedral 196
150, 196, 229, 235 troubadours 225
supply of 104, 112 trulh 22%
transport of 108, 115, 184, 193, 229 tympanum 205
structural rationalism, theory of 140 Tyre, church at 23, 27
stucco 18
Suger, abbot ofStDenis 103, 148, 153, 164, 176, Utrecht
Mariakerk 141, 142-3, 211
235
Swithun, saint 51 Utrecht, St Peter’s 153
symbolism in architecture 45, 59—81, 84, 119, Vaison 183, 228
123, 125, 197 Valenzano, church of the Ognissanti 221-2,
see also number symbolism 223
vault 15, 130-44
templates 106, 108, 115-6 cost of building 132
Tertullian 55 early development 133-4
Tewkesbury 125-6, 208 purpose of 132
Thangmar 104 thickness of 131
The Ruin, Anglo-Saxon poem 233 types of vault:
Theobald count of Blois 88 barrel 33-4, 97, 130-4, 138-9, 156,
Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths 23, 29, 39, 219-20, 227-8
64-5, 116 cloister vault 70
statue of 71 groin 130-2, 134-5, 138-9, 41, 152, 161,
Theodosius, emperor (379-95) 19, 24 221
Theophilus, author of De Diversis Artibus 107 pointed barrel 138-9, 170, 172,177, 180,
tiebeams 138 228
timber building 15, 34, 84, 96-100, 10s, 108, quadrant 133, 136, 138, 156, 219, 228
122, 240 ribbed 94, 110, 140-4, 189, 207, 216-7
timber trellis work 23, 240 transverse barrel 135, 137-8, 180
271
Vegetius 116 function of 47, 49
Venantius Fortunatus, poet rar influence of 52
Vendéme 129 Wilfrid, bishop of Hexham 34, 104, 109
La Trinité 105 William d’Albini 84—6
Venice, St Mark’s 157, 159, 162 William FitzStephen 87
Venosa, abbey church 110-z, 223 William I (Rufus), king of England (1087-99)
Venusium rr 99
Verulamium 114 William of Malmesbury 74, 114, 162, 193
Vézelay, abbey church 167, 172, 174,775, 191, William ofSens, master mason at Canterbury
206, 221 108-9, 115
Vich 104 William of Volpiano 225
Vikings 13-14, 45, 53, 132, 225 William the Conqueror 53, 87, 225-7, 230
Viollet-le-Duc 140 William the Poitevin, ‘structor’ of Chadenac
Visigothic architecture 32, 33, 34 106, 214
Vitruvius 116, 195, 211, 234. " Winchester 49
Von Bachelier 218 cathedral 122-3, 214, 230-7
voussoirs, joggled 65 wind, effect of 128, 130
window glass 22, 182
Walkelin, bishop of Winchester 230 window seat 91
wall arcade see blind arcade Wino, abbot of Helmarshausen 237
wall passages 88, 90, 99, 140, 197-204, 227, 230 wooden building see timber building
water fountain 80 Worcester cathedral 123
water supply gr workforce see labour force
wattlework 100, 130
wax tablets 116 Yeavering 15, 98
Werden 49
Westminster 115 Zamora 125
Westminster hall 99
westwork 46-51, 53, 123, 138, 227, 237 Osterlars 80
272 INDEX 3 1901 05336 1254

a ae = —_ _
@)ierene
se
‘Introductions to art histe
Robert Rosenblum
ig
illustrations with fascinating new perspectives on world art and
architecture.
Early Medieval
Architecture
Roger Stalley
‘This is a book that is Medieval castles, church spires, and monastic cloisters are just some
well-conceived, cogently
organized and lucidly of the major architectural innovations of the early middle ages — the
written.’ royal keep at Dover, imposing towers like those at Pisa and
Professor Stephen Murray,
Columbia University
Tewkesbury, the delightful cloisters of southern France, and the
majestic piers of Durham Cathedral. This was an exciting period in
the history of European architecture, culminating in the development
of the Romanesque style.
Departing from the traditional emphasis on chronological

development, the book is structured thematically to enable key
issues to be thoroughly examined. Chapters cover patronage, the
cult of saints, the language of the Romanesque, the engineering
achievements of the builders, and the symbolic meanings of
architecture. The extreme richness and variety of European
architecture is explored in terms of the social and religious
aspirations of the time.
The author enlivens his study of the period through the use of
contemporary sources which provide a fascinating insight into the
way that medieval buildings were created.
i]
i0-1
l °8 CONTR COSTA COUNTY LIBRARY
Cover illustration:
Twelfth-century abbey JANUARY 2013 ORD
church of Sant’Antimo,
Tuscany, © Kénemann ccclib.org i ibs PRESS
Gmbh/ photo Achim "7 80192. & DANVILLE
Bednorz, Cologne
_ £12.99 RRP & $27.95 usa ~ shuren com

Early Medieval Architecture

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Early Medieval Architecture

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Early Medieval Architecture

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

History of

Oxford History of Art

Roger Stalley is Professor of the History of Art at Trinity College,

This book is given by

support of its Endowment Fund in 2012

WESTERN ART Modern Architecture Native North American

Oxford 1s a trade mark of Oxford University Press

© Roger Stalley 1999

First published 1999 by Oxford University Press

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data

Picture research by Elisabeth Agate

Printed in China on acid-free paper

Chapter 1 The Christian Basilica 17

Chapter 3 Symbolic Architecture oe

Chapter 5 Patron and Builder 103

Chapter 6 Art and Engineering 121

Chapter 7 Architecture and Pilgrimage 147

Chapter 8 Architecture and Monasticism 167

Chapter 9 The Language of Architecture IgI

Chapter 10 Diversity in the Romanesque Era 213

Epilogue: The Shadow of Rome ag

List of Illustrations 242

Bibliographic Essay 247

» @ Clermont Ferrand Gravedona

shite Sreeln Osh Pa

This book examines the architecture of western Europe over a goo-

I4 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

Empire, church building became the highest form of architectural ex-

THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 19

20 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 21

22 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 23

24 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 25

26 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

church layto the west, not the

was unusual in the context of Early Christian architecture, it came to

THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 27

28 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 29

9 San Juan de Bafios

32 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

34 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA 35

38 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 39

40 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

15 Fulda (Hesse), monastic

THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 41

42 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

A second form of transept, known as a ‘low transept’, is illustrated

44 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 45

46 EARLY MEDIEVAL ARCHITECTURE

THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 47

THE CAROLINGIAN RENAISSANCE: THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 49

22 Marmoutier (Alsace), west

THE BASILICA TRANSFORMED 51