A Companion to Medieval Toledo: Reconsidering the Canons 2018033946, 2018043438, 9789004380516, 9789004379312

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgements
Illustrations
Notes on Contributors
Introduction
Part 1 The City and Shared Spaces
Chapter 1 Al-Ma ʾmūn of Toledo: A Warrior in the Palace Garden
Chapter 2 Prestige to Power: Toledo’s Cathedral Chapter and Assimilated Identity
Chapter 3 Evolución de las fortificaciones medievales en la Península Ibérica: el caso de Toledo
Part 2 Theology/Genealogy/Kinship
Chapter 4 Old Hispanic Chant Manuscripts of Toledo: Testimonies of a Local or of a Wider Tradition?
Chapter 5 Christian Theology in Arabic and the Mozarabs of Medieval Toledo: Primary Texts, Main Themes, and Potential Problems
Chapter 6 Toledo 1449: The Complex Political Space(s) and Dynamics of Civic Violence
Chapter 7 Toledo as a Geographical and Literary Reference in the Blood-Libel Legend
Part 3 Language and Translation
Chapter 8 Shared Legal Spaces in the Arabic Language Notarial Documents of Toledo
Chapter 9 Tathlīth al-waḥdāniyya (The Trebling of the Oneness): Translated from Arabic
Chapter 10 The Toledan Translation Movement and DominicusGundissalinus: Some Remarks on His Activity and Presence in Castile
Epilogue Re-reading the Canons of Medieval Toledo: Echoes of Debates of Iberian Historiography
General Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

A Companion to Medieval Toledo

Brill’s Companions to European History VOLUME 16

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

A Companion to Medieval Toledo Reconsidering the Canons Edited by

Yasmine Beale-Rivaya Jason Busic

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Ceiling of the ‘Sala de Tesoros’ in the Cathedral of Santa María of Toledo. Photo: Joaquín Rivaya-Martínez. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Beale-Rivaya, Yasmine, editor. | Busic, Jason, editor. Title: A companion to medieval Toledo : reconsidering the canons / edited by  Yasmine Beale-Rivaya and Jason Busic. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2018] | Series: Brill’s companions to  European history, ISSN 2212-7410 ; volume 16 | Includes bibliographical  references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018033946 (print) | LCCN 2018043438 (ebook) |  ISBN 9789004380516 (Ebook) | ISBN 9789004379312 (hardback : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Toledo (Spain)—History—To 1500. |  Toledo (Spain)—Historiography. Classification: LCC DP402.T73 (ebook) | LCC DP402.T73 C66 2018 (print) |  DDC 946/.43—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018033946

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 2212-7410 isbn 978-9004-37931-2 (hardback) isbn 978-9004-38051-6 (e-book) Copyright 2018 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

To my husband, Joaquín Rivaya-Martínez, whose never-failing inspiration, support, understanding, and encouragement allow me to engage in interesting and thought-provoking projects, and have the courage to undertake them all Yasmine Beale-Rivaya

…

In memory of Vicente Cantarino, mentor and friend Jason Busic

∵

Contents Acknowledgements ix List of Illustrations x Notes on Contributors xi Introduction 1

part 1 The City and Shared Spaces 1

Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn of Toledo: A Warrior in the Palace Garden 15 Michelle Hamilton

2

Prestige to Power: Toledo’s Cathedral Chapter and Assimilated Identity 33 Patrick Harris

3

Evolución de las fortificaciones medievales en la Península Ibérica: el caso de Toledo 59 Fernando Valdés Fernandez

part 2 Theology/Genealogy/Kinship 4

Old Hispanic Chant Manuscripts of Toledo: Testimonies of a Local or of a Wider Tradition? 97 Raquel Rojo Carrillo

5

Christian Theology in Arabic and the Mozarabs of Medieval Toledo: Primary Texts, Main Themes, and Potential Problems 140 Jason Busic

6

Toledo 1449: The Complex Political Space(s) and Dynamics of Civic Violence 164 Linde M. Brocato

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Toledo as a Geographical and Literary Reference in the Blood-Libel Legend 195 David Navarro

part 3 Language and Translation 8

Shared Legal Spaces in the Arabic Language Notarial Documents of Toledo 221 Yasmine Beale-Rivaya

9

Tathlīth al-waḥdāniyya (The Trebling of the Oneness): Translated from Arabic 238 Clint Hackenburg

10

The Toledan Translation Movement and Dominicus Gundissalinus: Some Remarks on His Activity and Presence in Castile 263 Nicola Polloni



Epilogue: Re-reading the Canons of Medieval Toledo: Echoes of Debates of Iberian Historiography 281 General Bibliography 289 Index 303

Acknowledgements The editors would like to thank the reviewers who generously gave their time and offered invaluable notes and suggestions that served to make this volume stronger. We would also like to thank Dr. Margaret Dunaway and Ms. Noha Akkari who helped read, edit, or proof the chapters at various stages of production. We would also like to thank the individual contributors for their dedication and hard work. Finally, we would like to thank our respective institutions Texas State University and Denison University for providing time and support for research and conferences leading up to this volume.

Illustrations Figures 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 3.7 3.8 3.9

Ortofoto de Toledo 77 Esquema de las fortificaciones de Toledo 78 Hipótesis del plano de Toledo durante el reino visigodo 79 Puerta de Alcántara 80 Torre cercana a la Puerta de los Doce Cantos 81 Puerta Vieja de Bisagra 82 Fachada de la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra 83 Puerta Vieja de Bisagra, planta 84 Sección de la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Plantas comparadas de la Puerta del Vado y de la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra 85 3.10 Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Caja para el rastrillo, parte alta 86 3.11 Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Doble línea de ladrillos en la parte alta de la torre lateral 87 3.12 Torre pentagonal, junto a la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra 88 3.13 Torre pentagonal, junto a la Puerta del Vado 88 4.1 Hec est dies, E-Tc 35.5, f. 187r 103 4.2 Hec est dies, Cantoral A, f. 128 103 4.3 E-L Ms 8, f. 179 v (Easter Sunday), “tradition A” 117 4.4 E-Tc 35.5, f. 193r (Easter Sunday), “tradition B” 117 4.5 E-Tc Cantoral C, ff. 1v-2r (common), Neo-Mozarabic rite 117

Tables 4.1 Old Hispanic chant manuscripts associated with Toledo 98 4.2 Comparison of liturgical assignments of first chant of vespers services in E-Tc ­Cantoral C and in Old Hispanic “A” and “B” sources 114

Notes on Contributors Yasmine Beale-Rivaya Ph.D. (2006), UCLA, is an Associate professor at Texas State University. Her research and publications center on the languages used in borderland communities living between the Andalusí and Christian frontier from the ninth to the early fourteenth century. Linde M. Brocato is currently an Assistant Professor and Catalogue Librarian in the University of Memphis libraries. She is a scholar of late Medieval and early-modern Spain, primarily Castilian literature and culture including book history and bibliography. Jason Busic Ph.D. (2009), The Ohio State University, is Associate Professor at Denison University. Dr. Busic works on the confluence of religion, language, and ethnicity in the articulation of identity among the Arabized Christians of al-Andalus and the Moriscos. Clint Hackenburg is an independent scholar of medieval Arabic literature, Islamic studies, and Christian-Muslim relations. He is currently preparing a book titled Voices of the Converted: Christian Apostate Literature in Medieval Islam. Michelle M. Hamilton Professor, is Director of Medieval Studies and Professor of Spanish and Portuguese at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities. She has published widely on multi-confessional Iberia. Recent publications include Beyond Faith: Belief, Morality and Memory in a Fifteenth-Century Judeo-Iberian Manuscript (2014) and In and Of the Mediterranean: Medieval and Early Modern Iberian Studies (2014). She is currently working on a project examining the intersections of translation, ruins and wonder in the Iberian Arabic and Romance traditions. Patrick Harris received his Ph.D. from Western Michigan University in 2017 with a dissertation entitled Primatus Hispaniae: Identity and Assimilation in Medieval Toledo. In addition to the present contribution, Dr. Harris has authored “Power, Piety,

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and Rebellion in al-Andalus: The Reception and Influence of al-Ghazālī’s Political Philosophy in Islamic Iberia” (The Hilltop Review 2012) and a series of encyclopedia articles (“Abd ar-Rahman III Proclaims the Umayyad Caliphate”, “Córdoban Martyrs’s Movement”, and “Reconquista”) in Great Events in Religion: An Encyclopedia of Pivotal Events in Religious History (2016). David D. Navarro is an Assistant Professor at Texas State University and Ph.D. in Hispanic Studies from Western University (London, Ontario, Canada). Dr. Navarro’s research interests include Medieval Iberian Literature and History; Religious Minorities of the Iberian Peninsula; Biblical Exegesis; Jewish-Christian relations; JudeoSpanish, and Sephardic Diaspora. Nicola Polloni is research fellow at Durham University and co-editor of Revista Española de Filosofía Medieval. His research is focused on cross-cultural transfers of philosophical and scientific knowledge along the Middle Ages. Raquel Rojo Carrillo is Leverhulme Early Career Fellow, Faculty of Music at the University of Cambridge. Her area of expertise is medieval Western Christian liturgies and her current research is focused on the Old Hispanic rite. Raquel earned a PhD in Music at the University of Bristol in 2017, with a doctoral dissertation entitled ‘Text, liturgy and music in the Old Hispanic rite: the vespertinus genre’. Fernando Valdés Fernandez is Associate Professor (Profesor Titular) in the Department of Prehistory and Archaeology of the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. He studies Islamic History, Islamic Art, and Islamic Archaeology.

Introduction Toledo, a city in the geographic and ideological center of the Iberian Peninsula, is at the same time progressive and inclusive, conservative and traditionalist, and suspect of outsiders and change. Its history is a constant tug-of-war between marked stability and uncertainty. How Toledans resolved issues of coexistence, space, theological conflicts, artistic, and musical trends foreshadowed events beyond the walls of the city. Understanding Toledo, a fortified city on a hill surrounded on three sides by the Tajo river, is fundamental to understanding events in the broader Iberian context. Befitting the centrality of Toledo in the history of Spain, the city’s origins are cloaked with mythical connections. These stories underscore the pivotal role of this location in comparison to other cities such as Troy, Sparta, and Carthage. It was believed the city was established by the Greeks by none other than Hercules.1 Others traced its origins to the Romans.2 It became an important Roman colony and later served as the capital under the Visigoths in the 5th century.3 For the Visigoths, Toledo represented the climax of this Germanic people’s centralization as a monarchy, a decisive shift away from the personal, warriorleader connections that characterized their earlier history.4 Alongside its political role, Toledo served as the ecclesiastical center of the Iberian church and was the home of the famous councils heralding its name. As the Chronica muzarabica or Chronicle of 754 relates, the city’s fall to Ṭāriq b. Ziyād’s forces in 711/ 12 CE occasioned the loss of key Visigothic nobility and the opening of the rest of Iberia to conquest.5 Nonetheless, Toledo continued its role as ecclesiastical 1   Candelaria, “Hercules and Albrecht Dürer’s Das Meerwunder in a Chantbook from Renaissance Spain,” pp. 19–22: “Conceptions of the historical role Hercules played on the Iberian Peninsula extend back at least to the thirteenth century in the chronicles of the Toledan archbishop Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada (1209–47) and King Alfonso X (1221–84), which recount the demigod’s founding of such glorious cities as Barcelona, Cádez, Coruña, and Sevilla. By the mid-fourteenth century, Toledo would find itself with a Herculean tradition of its own;” Pedro de Corral, Crónica del Rey don Rodrigo (Crónica Sarracina); Calvert, Toledo: An Historical and Descriptive Account of the ‘City of Generations,’ pp. 44, 45, 49. 2  This is Archbishop of Toledo Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada’s (d. 1247) version of its founding over a century before Julius Cesar’s reign, thus establishing the city’s ancient and illustrious past, Historia rebus Hispaniae, p. 8. 3  Ladero-Quesada, Toledo en época de la frontera, p. 71: “La ciudad había sido capital política y eclesiástica del reino hispanovisigodo, hasta su destrucción por los musulmanes a comienzos del siglo VIII, y conservaba un valor de símbolo en el proceso de reconquista o restauración frente al Islam en el que se sentían inmersos los españoles del siglo XI.” 4  Díaz, “Visigothic Political Institutions,” pp. 335–36. 5  Chronica muzarabica in Corpus scriptorum muzarabicorum, p. 32.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_002

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Introduction

center under Umayyad Cordoba, and maintained its political and strategic geographical importance. The conquest of Toledo by Arab forces was difficult and conflictive. The events in Toledo underline the complex make-up of such a central city and its environs. It was in Toledo that Roderic opened the mythical ark containing the four Gospels, forbidden by tradition, and discovered images of the Arabs prophesying the fall of Hispania.6 This and other stories stress Toledo’s symbolic value in the Iberian Peninsula, recognized even by the first Muslim conquerors. The city also became notorious for its rebellious nature. In his discussion of al-Ḥakam’s reign (796–822), Ibn al-Qūṭīya describes its people as “haughty, malevolent, and disdainful of [al-Ḥakam’s] governors in a way that none of his other subjects were.”7 Indeed, al-Ḥakam only subjugated the city after plotting the assassination of its leading citizens.8 The city remained defiant throughout Andalusí history. As Miguel Ángel Ladero-Quesada explains: En la ciudad de Toledo, aunque la islamización fue profunda, la mayoría de la población continuó siendo hispana, de muladíes, y hubo de mozárabes una importante comunidad cristiana, de mozárabes, arabizados en su lengua y costumbres, pero que conservaban la fe de sus antepasados.9 Toledo’s population, although divided, united in its resolve in its refusal to submit to external political forces. Thus, Manzano Moreno describes Toledo’s “continuas revueltas e insumisiones frente a la autoridad cordobesa” as a “colectivo indiferenciado.”10 There is a rich history of this intermixing evidenced in the archeological history of the city and the sequential re-assignment and reconfiguration of important buildings, neighborhoods, and outer-city walls.11 The so-called Reconquista of Toledo by Alfonso VI in 1085 CE proved not only to be a decisive military victory but also dealt a psychological defeat for the Muslim forces. The defeat on May 25, 1085, transformed the borderland scuttles into what became the beginning of the reconquest momentum ending in 1492. Ladero-Quesada describes the loss of Toledo by the Muslim forces in Al-Andalus in the following manner: “La pérdida de Toledo hubiera provocado

6  Ibn al-Qūṭīya, Early Islamic Spain, trans. David James, p. 51. 7  Ibn al-Qūṭīya, p. 86. 8  Ibn al-Qūṭīya, pp. 87–88. 9  Ladero-Quesada, Toledo en época de la frontera, p. 71. 10  Manzano Moreno, Conquistadores, emires y califas, pp. 317–18. 11  Jean Passini, La ciudad medieval de Toledo: historia, arqueología y rehabilitación de la casa: el edificio Madre de Dios, p. 153.

Introduction

3

la ruptura en dos de Al-Andalus, y así sucedió efectivamente, en 1085.”12 The conquest of the geographically centrally located Toledo symbolized much more than just the exchange of political power over a community. Toledo was also the spiritual capital of al-Andalus. Alfonso’s conquest of this city caused a deep rupture, dividing al-Andalus into shattered parts and occasioning the arrival of the Almoravids and African domination.13 The monumental importance of its loss is attested to by the 12th-century historian Ibn al-Athīr: “La première manifestation des Francs, de leur puissance et de leur expansion aux dépens des pays musulmans fut en 478/1085 la prise de Tolède et d’autres villes espagnoles.”14 Molénat goes on to explain that earlier Christian conquests of major Muslim cities failed to attract the same attention as the fall of Toledo, “sans doute parce qu’il s’agissait de villes d’importance plus réduite et géographiquement marginales.”15 Indeed, last of the Zīrid rulers in Granada ʿAbd Allāh b. Buluqqīn (r. 1073–1090) considered Toledo’s loss a bitter moment for alAndalus and a decisive turn in favor of Christian dominance in the Peninsula.16 The central geographic and ideological location of Toledo played a fundamental role in the military, political, and intellectual development of medieval Iberia. The city acted as a nucleus that attracted heterogeneous peoples and religious communities. From Toledo, there emanated ideas and perspectives that impacted ways of thinking and doing throughout the Iberian Peninsula. The city was known for its rich multi-cultural past, where Jewish, Christian, and Muslim communities flourished. It boasted an important Mozarabic (Arabized-Christian) population that maintained its own identity, language, and legal tradition, and served as a cultural bridge integrating northern Christian immigrants to Toledo.17 Likewise, the city hosted important Jewish communities whose members contributed to philosophy, poetry, and biblical commentary. Toledo also served as temporary home to Jewish thinkers such as Ibn Ezra and Judah Halevi. Scholars from Northern Europe came to Toledo to study philosophy and science. Toledo is where Peter the Venerable commissioned the famous “Cluniac Corpus” containing the Latin translation of the Qurʾān and other primary Muslim and Christian-Arabic sources. This corpus deepened Europe’s understanding of Islam, but primarily for the purposes of

12  Ladero-Quesada, Toledo en época de la frontera, p. 72. 13  See Reilly’s classic The Medieval Spains, particularly chapter 4, “Christian reconquista and African Empire”. 14   Campagnes et monts de Tolède, p. 25. 15  Ibid., p. 25. 16  Ibid., p. 25. 17  Ibid., pp. 53, 67.

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Introduction

polemic.18 Thus, the seemingly inclusive and diverse nature of Toledo was likewise marked by exclusion. This exclusion reaches back to pre-Islamic and Islamic times. Porres MartínCleto retells a popular story of Tariq expelling the Christians from Toledo, leaving only members of the Jewish community within the city walls.19 This narrative stresses Toledo as the epicenter of numerous successive religious expulsions and continual tensions from the Visigothic Councils of Toledo to the anti-Jewish estatutos de lipieza. Such was the case in the year 820 when a wall was built around the “judería” or Jewish quarter of the city. The purpose of this wall is unclear. Martín Cleto argues that “no sabemos si para proteger a los hebreos o para aislarlos del resto de los habitantes del resto.”20 The wall symbolized the separation between communities. At the same time, other evidence suggests that the distinct communities within Toledo coexisted, intermingled, and even merged. Physical spaces including roads, markets, residences, and religious spaces underwent successive transformations and reformations.21 By its dichotomous nature, Toledo is on the one hand the epitome of innovative thought, where law, translation, and lingua franca prevailed, but on the other it is a place scarred by profound boundaries. In consonance with Toledo’s ideological and cultural importance in medieval Iberia, there exists a wealth of scholarly literature. This literature has largely (though by no means exclusively) focused on Toledo as a multi-cultural and multi-confessional city, a space of “convivencia” varying between uneasy tolerance and open violence. The city thus figures important in any account of Visigothic, Islamic, or Christian Iberia. For some, Toledo is a place of intellectual exchange and cultural understanding. For others, it is the birthplace of segregation and discrimination. For most modern scholars, the city is both of these things at the same time. The contributors of this volume provide sustained discussions of all these views as they pertain to their specific fields and so contextualize their particular contributions. The reader interested in more general discussions should see studies by Molénat, Martín-Cleto, and, 18  See Kritzeck’s Peter the Venerable and Islam, originally published in 1964 and republished by Princeton Press in 2015. Also see Tolan’s “Peter of Cluny on the ‘Diabolical Heresy of the Saracens’,” pp. 46–65. 19  See Martin-Cleto, Historia de Tulaytula (711–1085), p. 5. 20  Ibid., p. 28. 21  “Estaba la mezquita mayor de Toledo (antigua catedral visigoda) junto a una iglesia y, habiéndose caído al alminar de la primera, los toledanos pidieron al emir autorización— que les es fue concedida-para reconstruirla y para unir a su templo aquella iglesia que estaba contigua a la sala de oración,” ibid., p. 35.

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more recently, Nickson who, among others, focus exclusively on Toledo’s medieval past. More often, however, Toledo enters in as part of a larger narrative. Toledo may be a major antagonist to centralization under Cordoba in alAndalus (Manzano Moreno), the epitome of intellectual and cultural exchange between religious groups (Safran, Menocal, Sabaté, Dodds, and Cardaillac), representative of uneasy periods of coexistence that occasionally explode into violent confrontation (Nirenberg, Tritle, Rucquoi, Rodríguez Barral), or the last center of ethno-religious minorities, particularly the Mozarabs and the Sefardín (Aillet, Burman, Y.H. Yerushalmi, N. Roth, Szpiech, Fox and Yisraeli). The present volume complements this scholarship by developing, re-reading, incorporating new data and complicating the problems these raise. The symbolic and literal significance of Toledo carries through into the modern époque. In recognition of the importance of its cultural, archeological, and historical heritage, in 1986, UNESCO recognized the city as a World Heritage Site. The siege of the Alcázar of Toledo at the beginning of the Civil War (1936–1939) set the tone for the rest of the war. Military events in Toledo foreshadowed the rise and fall of military powers across the Peninsula. We argue it is impossible to fully understand Toledo in Spain’s imaginary without first understanding the historical weight of the very idea “Toledo.” The present volume is bound by two important dates: 711—the Muslim Conquest of Toledo—and 1517—the death of Cardinal Ximénez de Cisneros. These dates are in part due to the practical need to limit the scope of the volume. Certainly “medieval Toledo” includes Visigothic Toledo, and by 711 the city already had a well-established identity that both continued and transformed under Muslim rule. Nonetheless, 711 marks a crucial period in Toledo’s formation as a cultural, religious, and intellectual symbol of the complex social and political reality of medieval Iberia. Cisnero’s death reasonably marks the end of the volume due to his role in leading the city into the early modern era, in part, by looking back to its past. The contributing scholars explore the period in between to consider how Toledo served as home to diverse communities negotiating, sharing, and contesting the cultural, religious, and geographic spaces in which they lived. The approach in this volume is to understand Toledo not as a sum of discreet, closed communities of Jews, Christians, and Muslims, but rather as a result of fluctuating coexistence. The participating scholars have reinterpreted familiar events, documents, works of architecture, literature, and music through the lens of “convivencia.” We use the term critically and recognize its layers of meaning and much-debated use. For some scholars, the term has become meaningless. Several scholars have proposed alternative

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Introduction

paradigms, but no alternative term has gained the traction of convivencia.22 However, the ever-present relevance of the idea in scholarship and popular culture makes it a particularly fruitful lens for analysis. Each case in this volume explores the limits of convivencia and its sister-term “coexistencia” in the specific context of Toledo. The analyses are systematically focused on moments of contact between Iberia’s cultures and offer new directions for approaching scholarship on Medieval Toledo. To highlight the different facets of activities in medieval Toledo, the book is divided into themed sections: The City and Shared Spaces, Theology/Genealogy/ Kinship, and Language and Translation. Part one, The City and Shared Spaces, contemplates the role of the city as space—its arrangement, geography, and morphing boundaries. In this case, the city takes on the role of protagonist and shapes the results of human action and helps highlight individual perspectives on key events. The contributing scholars focus on the physical construct of the city and how this affected or reflected intercultural exchange. Michelle Hamilton opens the section with an essay titled Al-Ma‌‌‌ʾmūn of Toledo: A Warrior in the Palace Garden. Of Berber descent from the Hawwāra tribe, Yaḥyā al-Ma‌‌‌ʾmūn (d. 1075) was the second Dhū-l-Nūn ruler of Toledo and the last Taifa king of Toledo. Upon conquest, King Alfonso VI’s use of the palatial gardens played a central role in the symbiotic relationship between him and the Dhū-l-Nūn. This relationship developed to such an extent that al-Ma‌‌‌ʾmūn eventually became a mentor and father figure to the Christian King Alfonso. Rather than a hostile relationship resulting from the exchange of power in Toledo, Hamilton paints a picture of mutual respect and understanding. The most important physical structure in Christian Toledo was the cathedral, since it served as the physical, political, and spiritual center of the city. In the second essay, Patrick Harris examines how the cathedral, a symbol of Christian hegemony and power, was an instrument of political and cultural assimilation of all Iberia under one ruler, evoking the Visigothic past. Harris argues that one “key development in achieving this sense of unity was the calling of numerous ecumenical Toledan councils by the Visigoth kings which began the process of centralizing the Iberian church.” The conquest of Toledo and Alfonso’s claim to the title Imperator Hispaniae framed the conquest of Toledo as “the recapturing of an idyllic past and a re-imposition of the ancient, natural order.” The cathedral was thus a key factor in constructing “Reconquista” ideology. While the imperial title fell into disuse, the concept of Toledo, and,

22  For an overview of the term and its development, see Wolf, “Convivencia in Medieval Spain: A Brief History of an Idea.”

Introduction

7

more specifically, the Cathedral of Toledo as a symbol for Ibero-Christian unity persisted. The walls of the city also played an important function in the protection and delimitation of city boundaries. Fernando Valdés Fernández examines “The Evolution of Medieval Fortifications in the Iberian Peninsula: The Case of Toledo.”23 The medieval fortifications suffered repeated and important modifications throughout the period beginning with the conquest of 711 CE. Valdés Fernández argues that Toledo’s central location and its symbolic importance for the Peninsula meant the city and its wall became a protagonist, a separate living figure, and directly affected the political evolution of the ruling dynasties. Further, its strategic role meant the health of the wall was fundamental and tied to political power of the respective ruling parties. The wall was not a passive actor in the fate of the stories of the residents. Rather, the walls became a dynamic player shaping the future of the city. Part two, Theology/Genealogy/Kinship, explores these concepts affected relationships between distinct religious and ethnic communities residing in the city of Toledo. Raquel Rojo Carrillo looks at the Old Hispanic chant sources surviving in forty manuscripts, codices, and fragments. Rojo Carrillo explains that this collection was “employed as one of the main sources for the only attempt of reinstating the observance of the Old Hispanic liturgy.” Rojo Carrillo explores “to what extent the Old Hispanic chant manuscripts associated with Toledo are testimonies of a local, Toledan, tradition.” The relevance of the reinstatement of the Old Hispanic liturgy cannot be overstated, since it played a decisive role in the Cisnerian reforms hosted in the Cathedral of Toledo. It likewise helped “establish” not only the ancient but also unbroken line of Christian fidelity that played a key role in Toledo’s early modern identity. Jason Busic considers the contributions of the problematic and controversial figure of the Mozarabic (Arabized-Christian) community to the intellectual milieu of Toledo, particularly in theology and religious polemic vis-à-vis Islam. He considers the role of the Mozarabs in the city as attested to in the principle texts associated with this religious-ethnic group, including Maṣḥaf al-ʿālam al-kāʾin (Book of the Existing World), Tathlīth al-waḥdānīya (The Trebling of the Oneness), Risālat al-Qūṭī (Letter of the Goth), Liber denudationis, and a set of Arabic marginalia found in MS 10018 of the Biblioteca Nacional de España. Produced between the 11th and 12th centuries, these texts demonstrate the intellectual and religious synthesis characteristic of the Mozarabs 23  All the articles where Arabic transliteration is needed follow the English standard except for the article by Fernando Valdés Fernández that is written in Spanish. In this case, the Spanish transliteration standard is followed.

8

Introduction

as they negotiated their space in between Latin Christendom and al-Andalus. Busic then reflects on the dynamic nature of Mozarabic thought by comparing Maṣḥaf al-ʿālam al-kāʾin with Tathlīth al-waḥdānīya, which have traditionally been read as mirror texts. He proposes that differences reveal a nuance in Mozarabic thought that readers often miss. In Toledo 1449: The Complex Political Space(s) and Dynamics of Civic Violence, Linde Broccato both complements and problematizes traditional readings of the historical and cultural context of the infamous estatutos de limpieza de sangre and the subsequent Rebellion and its aftermath. Broccato places primary texts in dialogue to reconstruct these episodes in view of Toledo’s political and social history. Of particular interest is Broccato’s analysis of the propaganda campaign by the revueltos and subsequent manipulation of these documents in the 16th century. Broccato’s chapter provides a thorough review of this fundamental episode in the transformation of Toledo between the late Middle Ages and Early Modernity. She concludes that the events of the Rebellion were the single most important turning-point leading to the expulsion of Castilian Jewish citizens in 1492. David Navarro follows up on the questions of race and the interactions between Christians and Jews raised in Broccato’s essay through a sustained re-examination of the legend of the Blood Libel in Toledo, and the culminating event of the ritual murder trial of La Guardia in 1491. “The ritual murder of blood libel became one of the most profound anti-Semitic accusations in the European imaginary and popular narratives from the 12th century.” Navarro traces the origin of the libel within the Iberian context to the city of Toledo, and subsequently follows its spread throughout Europe. The Blood Libel proved so popular that clerical works and jurisprudence treatises actually collected evidence to support it. It is significant that this anti-Semitic topos began in Toledo, since the city had long been an example of tolerance between Jews and Christians. The Jewish quarter in Toledo was the most influential and important in the Peninsula. Yet, Toledo later became the epicenter of anti-Jewish and anti-Converso violence in the 14th and 15th centuries. Navarro argues that the Blood Libel violence drove a wedge between the Christian, Jewish, and Converso communities and lead to the final expulsion of Iberian Jewry. Part three, Language and Translation, considers the evidence for linguistic and cultural diversity in emblematic documents of social and political order in Medieval Toledo. For this purpose, in Shared Legal Spaces in the Arabic Language Notarial Documents of Toledo, Yasmine Beale-Rivaya re-reads and transcribes an Arabic language notarial document from the collection known as the “Mozarabic documents of Toledo,” originally transcribed by González Palencia, and shows various points where her and González Palencia’s

Introduction

9

transcription diverge. She argues that the original transcription propagated the conclusion that the church was involved in every single transaction. Furthermore, the church acted in most cases as the purchaser. Beale-Rivaya, however, suggests that the original transcription was misleading and concludes that the church was neither the purchaser nor the beneficiary of the transactions. The more probable position is that ecclesiastical authority acted as a neutral intermediary in purchases-sale transactions in Medieval Toledo. This contribution brings a renewed attention to one of the most vital sources on post-conquest Toledo.24 Updated transcriptions may allow scholars to further identify features of the Andalusí-Arabic used in Toledo; a focus on the signatures and on the writing styles of the document could yield more information about the influence of external writing styles on the local writing system. An initial review of the documents also suggests that a careful transcription could reveal more information about the influence of Berber and other African languages on the Andalusí-Arabic dialect, thus deepening our understanding of the role of African communities in Al-Andalus. Nicola Polloni complements the case study by Beale-Rivaya by considering the work of translation itself. Analyzing the so-called Toledan Translation movement as a whole, Polloni looks at the translation work of Dominicus Gundissalinus as a paradigm for understanding medieval practice. Through his study, Polloni offers reasons as to why the sustained translation effort was possible in Toledo, as well as its political, social, and institutional implications. Further, Polloni’s reading highlights unresolved issues regarding Gundissalinus’ work and biography and presents evidence of his presence in Segovia. In so doing, Polloni highlights how scholarly conventions and practices beginning in Toledo expanded throughout the Iberian Peninsula. Clint Hackenburg rounds-out the section with a translation of the Tathlīth al-waḥdāniyya (The Trebling of the Oneness) and likewise complements Busic’s chapter on Mozarabic theological thought through focusing on one of the key Christian-Arabic texts produced in medieval Iberia. His contribution serves to underline the complexity of interpreting medieval documents. The author analyzed in this case is likely of Jewish origin, is well educated, and shows familiarity with Arabic, Hebrew, Aramaic, and Latin materials. The document itself is complex. It incorporates materials from each of these linguistic traditions to 24  Molénat notes the critical role of these Arabic documents in constructing the cultural history of Toledo in the first pages of Campagnes et montes de Tolède: “Nous disposons … de quelques 1200 documents tolédans rédigés entre 1085 et les dernières années du XIIIe siècle […] La signification historique de ces documents a été cependant mal perçue.” p. 25.

10

Introduction

construct its argument for the “One”—the concept of three-in-one represented by the Holy Trinity. Yet, it is important to note that this apology is written by a person who grew up with one theological framework and adopted another for his own work. For the anonymous author, the diverse theological perspectives are not disconnected, but rather complement and inform each other. In sum, the present collection shows how the cultural artifacts of Toledo frame the “coexistence” of communities in one way, while the human elements behind these artifacts and their interpretation sometimes morph into new discourses that steer away from the essence of their original context. The contributors and editors hope that the essays contained within this volume provide new, insightful readings of material both familiar and unfamiliar to specialists of medieval Iberia while they also offer a thoughtful initiation for the non-specialist into the historical, cultural, and religious complexity of the iconic city of Toledo. The volume likewise places this cultural and religious history into current scholarly debates, contributes to these debates, and invites its readers to do the same. Bibliography

Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

Chronica muzarabica in Corpus scriptorum muzarabicorum, ed. J. Gil (vol. 1), Madrid, 1973. Ibn al-Qūṭīya, Early Islamic Spain: The History of Ibn al-Qūṭīya, trans. D. James, Abingdon, 2009. Pedro de Corral, Crónica del Rey don Rodrigo (Crónica Sarracina), ed. J.D. Fogelquist, Madrid, 2001. Jiménez de Rada, De rebus Hispanie, ed. Juan Fernández Valverde, Turnhout, 1987.

Aillet, C., M. Penelas, and P. Roisse (eds.), ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe? Historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX–XII), Madrid, 2008. Aillet, C., Les mozarabes: christianisme, islamisation et arabisation en péninsule ibérique (IX e–XII e siècle), Madrid, 2010. Burman, Thomas E., Religious Polemic and the Intellectual History of the Mozarabs: C. 1050–1200, Leiden, 1994. Calvert, A., Toledo: An Historical and Descriptive Account of the ‘City of Generations’, London, 1907. Candelaria, L., “Hercules and Albrecht Dürer’s Das Meerwunder in a Chantbook from Renaissance Spain”, Renaissance Quarterly 58, no. 1 (2005): 1–44. pp. 19–22.

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Cardaillac, L. (ed.), Toledo, siglos XII–XIII; musulmanes, cristianos y judíos; la sabiduría y la tolerancia, Madrid, 1992. Corral, P.d., Crónica del Rey don Rodrigo (Crónica sarracina), ed. J.D. Fogelquist, Madrid, 2001. Díaz, P.C., “Visigothic Political Institutions”, in P. Heather (ed.), The Visigoths from the Migration Period to the Seventh Century: An Ethnographic Perspective, Suffolk, 1999, 321–72. Dodds, J., Al-Andalus: The Art of Islamic Spain, New York, 1992. Fox, Y. and Yosi Yisraeli, Contesting Inter-Religious Conversion in the Medieval World, London, 2016. Kritzeck, J., Peter the Venerable and Islam, Princeton, 2015. Ladero-Quesada, M.A., Toledo en época de la frontera, Madrid, 1983. Manzano Moreno, E., Conquistadores, emires y califas. Los omeyas y la formación de alAndalus, Barcelona, 2014. Menocal, M.R., The Ornament of the World: How Muslims, Jews, and Christians Created a Culture of Tolerance in Medieval Spain, Boston, 2002. Martín-Cleto, J.P., Historia de Tulaytula (711–1085), Toledo, 1985. Molénat, J.P., Campagnes et monts de Tolède du XIIe au XVe siècle, Madrid, 1997. Nirenberg, D., Neighboring Faiths: Christianity, Islam, and Judaism in the Middle Ages and Today. Chicago, 2014. Nirenberg, D., Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition, London, 2013. Nirenberg, D., “Religious and Sexual Boundaries in the Medieval Crown of Aragon”, in M.D. Meyerson, and E.D. English (eds.), Christians, Muslims, and Jews in Medieval and Early Modern Spain: Interaction and Cultural Exchange, Notre Dame, 1999, 141–161. Reilly, B.F., The Medieval Spains, Cambridge, 1993. Rodrígez Barral, P., La imagen del judío en la España medieval. El conflicto entre cristianismo y judaísmo en las artes visuales góticas, Barcelona, 2009. Roth, N., Conversos, Inquisition, and the Expulsion of the Jews from Spain, Madison, 2002. Roth, N., Jews, Visigoths and Muslims in Medieval Spain: Cooperation and Conflict, Leiden, 1994. Rucquoi, Ae., Histoire médiévale de la Péninsule Ibérique, Paris, 1993. Rucquoi, Ae., Realidad e imágenes del poder: España a fines de la Edad Media, Valladolid, 1988. Sabaté, F., Hybrid Identities, Bern, 2014. Safran, J., Defining Boundaries in al-Andalus, Ithaca, 2013. Szpiech, R., Medieval Exegesis and Religious Difference: Commentary, Conflict, and Community in the Premodern Mediterranean, New York, 2015. Tolan, J., Sons of Ismael: Muslims through European Eyes in the Middle Ages, Gainesville, FL, 2008.

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Tritle, E., “Anti-Judaism and a Hermeneutic of the Flesh: A Converso Debate in Fifteenth-Century Spain”, Church History and Religious Culture 95 (2015), 182–202. Wolf, K.B., “Convivencia in Medieval Spain: A Brief History of an Idea”, Religion Compass 3.1 (2009), 72–85. Yerushalmi, Y.H., Assimilation and Racial Anti-Semitism: The Iberian and the German Models, (Leo Baeck Memorial Lecture, 26), New York, 1982.

part 1 The City and Shared Spaces

∵

chapter 1

Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn of Toledo: A Warrior in the Palace Garden Michelle Hamilton Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn was the greatest of the Dhū l-Nūnid rulers of the Taifa of Toledo. His palace estates, gardens, and the parties he held in them were famous among subsequent Arabic and Christian chroniclers. Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledo was a key site in the development of the science and aesthetics of the suburban estate pleasure garden. One of his palaces was “a magnificent structure with a fantastic crystal fountain/pavilion, the description of which, in the words of al-Maqqarī,” one of the main Arabic sources on al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, “evoked ʿAbd al-Rahmān al-Naṣīr’s Madīnat al-Zahrā.’”1 Another of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s palaces was a country estate in which the water of the gardens supplied the pool and fountain in the central hall, the Majlis al-Nāʿūra, and was provided by means of a water wheel (nāʿūra). Ruggles notes that while Alfonso VI may have used the latter palace as his residence after taking the city in 1085, it was destroyed 25 years later in an Almoravid siege of the city.2 The famous botanical gardens found in both al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s palaces and surrounding the city that featured plants and trees grafted by scholars such as Ibn Baṣṣāl and Ibn Wāfid were also destroyed by subsequent Christian and Almoravid invaders. While neither the marvelous gardens of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s palace estates nor the botanical gardens the agronomists in his court built around Toledo have survived, an echo of the marvels of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s palatial gardens survive in a poem by Ibn Arfaʿ Ra‌‌ʾsuhu, whose panegyric of the Taifa king of Toledo, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, immortalizes him as a fierce warrior, but does so from the unexpected context of the pleasures of the palace garden. The structure of Ibn Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa (explored below) is reminiscent of the centralized gardens described by al-Maqqarī (and Ibn Baṣṣāl) as having been constructed under the supervision of and for al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, and that often served as the site of drinking parties. Alexander Elinson and Jonathan Decter have both examined how idealized gardens serve as backdrops for exercises in nostalgia in the poetry written by Andalusi exiles such as Ibn Zaydūn and Samuel ibn Nagrela. Ibn 1  Ruggles, Gardens, p. 147. See also al-Maqqarī, History, book 7, chp. 4, ed. Gayangos, p. 255. 2  Ruggles, Gardens, p. 148.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_003

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Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa, though, offers a glimpse of the palace garden, and more importantly, its ruler, in a contemporary garden constructed according to the norms developed by the intellectuals in his court (Ibn Baṣṣāl and Ibn Wāfid) in the period during which they flourished. In this poem, the flowering garden, the shady trees and the coursing waterways are meant to convey a paradise that is not lost in the caliphal past, but rather realized and available thanks to the strength and abilities of the very real ruler of Toledo, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn.3 Yaḥyā al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn was the second Dhū-l-Nūn ruler of Toledo. The family was of Berber descent (of the Hawwāra tribe), but had ruled the frontier region between the caliphate and the Christians to the north since the time of Amir ʿAbd Allāh (888–912 AD).4 Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s father, a military commander of what is today the province of Cuenca, assumed control of Toledo in 1035–36.5 Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn became ruler upon his father’s death (in 1037 or 1043– 44 AD) and died in Cordoba in 1075.6 Under al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn the Dhū l-Nūnids took Valencia in 1065 and briefly wrested control of Cordoba from the Taifa of Seville.7 Al-Maqqarī depicts al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn as an expansionist military leader that takes by force the Taifa kingdoms of Cordoba and Valencia. Al-Maqqarī introduces him as an early leader of the Taifa kingdoms—among which Toledo was legendary in the Arabic-speaking world:

3  Cynthia Robinson has studied in detail how the literary tastes of the Taifa courts, such as al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s differed from those of the Cordoban caliphate. In Praise of Song; “Seeing Paradise.” “With the establishment of these kingdoms, court tastes in literature turned away from pompous reminders of the sovereign’s military prowess, toward Jewish descriptions of the heavenly pleasures to be experienced at his soirées.” Robinson, “Seeing Paradise,” 147. Robinson examines how both poetry and palace architecture functioned at the majlis of alMuʿtamin in the Taifa of Zaragoza. Ibid. There, as in the poetic garden space evoked in Ibn Arfaʿ’s poem that is the subject of this essay, the ruler gathered with an intimate group of nadim in a secluded part of his palace. The garden and majlis that are the context for this poem contrast with other public ceremonial spaces in al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s palace used for different purposes, such as the circumcision of his grandson. See Robinson. In Praise of Song, 53–61. 4  Kennedy, Muslim Spain, p. 139. 5  Ibid. 6  Nykl, Poetry, p. 201. 7  Kennedy, Muslim Spain, p. 145. Al-Maqqarī describes al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn as: “one of the most powerful among the petty kings of Andalus. This al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn had some communication and dealings with the tyrant Alfonso [VI], which are well known. He took Cordova from the hands of al-Muʾtamed Ibn ʾAbbād, and killed Abūʾ Amru, the son of that monarch. He also gained possession of Valencia, and deprived Ibn Abīʾ Aʾmir of the sovereignty of that place.” History, book 7, chp. 4, ed. Gayangos, p. 255.

Al-Ma‌ʾ mūn of Toledo

17

One of the most powerful among the petty dynasties that rose out of the ruins of the Khalifate was that of the Bení Dhí-n-nún, kings of Toledo, in the northern Thagher. This family were at one time in possession of a powerful empire, and their ostentation and luxurious habits reached an extreme point. From them were named the nuptial feasts known in the West as the Iʾdháru-dh-dhúnúní (the wedding feasts of the Bení Dhí-n-nún), and which, owing to their magnificence and the profusion and splendour with which they were attended, have become as proverbial among the people of the West as the nuptials of Búrán are among the Eastern people. The first sovereign of this family, who reigned in Toledo, was Isma‌‌ʾil … his son Yahya, surnamed Al-mámún, [is] he who gave the entertainments above alluded to.8 While in Nykl’s opinion al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s court paled in comparison to the courts of Seville or Murcia as a site of poetic activity, the critic admits that this court was legendary for its parties and for the palaces and palace life favored by the monarch.9 Al-Maqqarī notes al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s preference for the Munyat al-Mansur palace on the Tajo, as well as the presence of many scientists and scholars at his court, including Ibn Saʿīd (author of Ṭabaqāt al-umam), Ibn Wāfid and Ibn Baṣṣāl. Al-Maqqarī interrupts his discussion of the marvelous nature and fame of Medinat al-Zahra the caliphal palace in Cordoba to comment upon al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledo: This naturally brings to our recollection the great palace which almansúr Ibn Dhí-n-nún, [Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn] King of Toledo, built in that city, and in the construction of which he is said to have lavished countless treasures. He not only employed all the best artists of his age, but he also sent to architects, geometricians, and painters, from distant lands; made them execute the most fantastic and wonderful works, and rewarded their labours with the greatest munificence. Adjoining to his palace he planted a most luxuriant garden, in which he made an artificial lake, and in the centre of this he built a kiosk of stained glass …10 Here al-Maqqarī focuses on the building projects of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn (including the palace pavilion discussed below), but he does mention that al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn was a patron of all manner of artists. Among the poets associated with al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s 8  Al-Maqqarī, History, book 7, chp. 4, ed. Gayangos, p. 255. 9  Nykl, Poetry, p. 201. 10  Al-Maqqarī, History, book 3, chp. 3, ed. Gayangos, p. 239.

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Hamilton

court are Ibn Labbūn, Ibn Sufyān, Ibn al-Faraj, and Ibn Arfaʿ Ra’suh.11 These poets accompanied al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn at a wine party that has passed into historical legend. According to al-Maqqarī, the poets and al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn were discussing the other Taifa kings of al-Andalus at a party.12 Ibn al-Arfaʿ interjected with a muwashshaḥa beginning with the verse, “Stop talking about kings and sons of kings” claiming in the poem that none of these kings can compare to al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn. The latter was greatly pleased by the encomium.13 This context for the recitation of a muwashshaḥa of Ibn al-Arfaʿ echoes the context evoked in the imagery of “The lute trills”—the muwashshaḥa discussed below. The kingdom of Toledo in the 11th century featured a diverse population of people of Arabic, Berber, and Hispano-Gothic origins and was home to some 300 ‘ulamāʾ or social/religious authorities.14 Ibn Arfaʿ was a member of one of these prominent Toledan families of ‘ulamāʾ whose surname reveals nothing of his ancestral background.15 Marín notes that Ibn Arfaʿ is mentioned by Ibn al-Abbār as a descendent of Qāsim ibn Muhammad Arfaʿ Ra’sahu who was an advisor to the caliph al-Hakam II, as well as qadi of Toledo and Badajoz and patron in charge of the construction of frontier castles. However, no details are given that explain his exact relationship to other known members of the family.16 According to Teresa Garulo, Ibn Arfaʿ was one of a handful of 11th-century muwashshaḥāt authors whose poetry ushered in what she calls a golden age of the muwashshaḥa from the 12th to the 13th centuries.17 Al-Maqqarī, Ibn Khaldūn (in al-Muqaddima) and Ibn Sa‌ʾīd (in al-Muqtaṭaf) all

11  Nykl notes that Ibn Labbūn was a general in charge of Murviedro and that Ibn Sufyan, although active in al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s court, was associated by Ibn Hāqān in the Qalāʿid with the court of his grandson al-Qādir. Poetry, p. 204. 12  Al-Maqqarī, Analecte, vol. 2, ed. Dozy, p. 513. 13  Nykl, Poetry, p. 202. The latter muwashshaḥa is one of the 10 attributed to Ibn Arfaʿ by Ibn Bishrī in the ʿUddat al-Jalīs. This collection of muwashshaḥāt relates later Maghribi muwashshaḥāt with the classical, historical Andalusi muwashshaḥāt of the Middle Ages. 14  Marín, Estudios, pp. 229, 237; Pastor de Togneri, Del Islam, p. 63. 15  Manuela Marín notes that the family name is of unknown origins. While the medieval biographical dictionaries attest to the existence of the family from the 8th century through the Christian conquest in the 11th, the exact relationship between members remain unclear. From another branch of the family comes the poet and alfaquí Abu Jafar Ahmad ibn Qāsim b. Muḥammad b. Yūsuf b. Tujībi (d. 1051) who taught in the aljama of Toledo. Estudios, pp. 238–39; “Ibn Arfaʿ Raʾ‌‌sahu”. 16  Marín, Estudios, pp. 235–36, 238. 17  Garulo, Literatura, p. 181. Another was his contemporary, Ibn Labbūn, (mentioned above). Stern calls the 11th and 12th centuries the “classical period” of the Andalusi muwashshaḥāt genre, and the only period during which Romance jarchas (final refrain) were included. “Four,” p. 340.

19

Al-Ma‌ʾ mūn of Toledo

identify Ibn Arfaʿ as a courtier in al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s court.18 Al-Safadī and Ibn Sa‌ʾīd (quoted also by Ibn Khaldūn) further identify him as the author of “The lute trills,” which became, in their opinion, emblematic of the Andalusi muwashshaḥāt genre.19 Stern notes that the matla’ or initial refrain and two strophes (abyāt) of this muwashshaḥa are included in two collections of Maghribi songs, those of al-Ḥā’ik and N.E. Yāfīl.20 Furthermore, Stern has found that Ibn al-Khatīb’s Jaysh al-Tawshīḥ includes some 10 complete poems by Ibn Arfaʿ, and those and Ibn Bishrī’s anthology of some 358 Andalusi muwashshaḥāt, the ‘Uddat al-Jalīs, contains two more.21 Ibn Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa, “The lute trills” is important not only because it is one of the earliest extant Andalusi muwashshaḥa, quoted with admiration by the 14th-century Maghribi scholar, Ibn Khaldūn (copying Ibn Sa‌ʾīd), as exemplary of the genre, but also because it simultaneously evokes the palace gardens and wine parties, as well as the bellicose life of the frontier that characterized al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledo in the 11th century.22 James T. Monroe’s English translation of “The lute trills” follows.23 I have indicated the rhyme scheme in bold and identified in parenthesis the various strophes and refrains according to their Arabic designations as used below: The lute trills a the most wonderous melodies And the watercourses cut through c the flower beds of the gardens. (maṭlaʿ)

b b

The birds sing And joy enlivens Every one of us is an Emir (bayt)

d on the branches of the bān, e d the lions of the battlefield. e d and a sultan because of the wine. e 5

The lute-strings speak While the birds respond to them (qufl)

a with eloquent charm c from the myrtle branches.

b b

18  Stern, “Four,” p. 342. See also “Ibn Arfaʿ Raʾ‌‌sahu.” 19  Ibid., pp. 341–42. 20  Ibid., p. 342. 21  Ibid., p. 343. 22  Preserved in ʿAlī Ibn Bishrī’s ʿUddat al-Jalīs and quoted in fragmentary form by both Ibn Saʿīd in al-Muqtaṭaf and repeated by Ibn Khaldūn in the Muqaddima. See Garulo, “Ibn Jaldún” p. 363. Ibn Khaldūn cites Ibn Saʿīd in the Muqaddima, identifying Ibn Arfaʿ Raʾ‌‌suhu as a “court poet of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn” and author of the poem beginning “The lute trills …” and ending “the terrorizer of armies, Yaḥya ibn Dhi n-Nūn,” using the maṭlaʿ (initial refrain) and kharja (final refrain) to identify the above muwashshaḥa. See Stern, “Four,” p. 342. 23   “The lute trills,” ed. Monroe, pp. 224–225.

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Hamilton

Come, give me wine to drink The Pleiads have set

f for the garden exudes fragrance; g f and it is sweet to take the g morning drink

Offered to me (bayt)

f by a lovely gazelle

Who is like a tender branch Whose sides are covered in embroidered silks, (qufl)

a enveloped in a cloak of eglantine, b c who almost breaks because he is b so tender.

h and drink to the health of the Possessor of Dual Glory, Who supports the lands h of the East and West, And who gives succor to believers h a descendant of Ya’rub, (bayt) Hold fast to the love

g 10

i i i 15

The lofty king, Who leads cavalcades, (qufl)

a who humbles sultans, b c and is the lion of the battlefields. b

He is a king whose heart Just as his finger

e is braver than the lion’s, e is more generous than the rain clouds. e frowning or with a severe face

a a

He meets it smiling His deeds are stars [shining out over] (qufl)

a like the flowers in the garden. c this world and religion.

b b

The beloved refuses While the heart is aflame While the sorrowing one sings (bayt)

j to return the greeting k j from the excess of love. k j the song of one confused by love: k 25

Should Time ever appear (bayt)

“You go by, yet you give no ] as though you were al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn,  greeting a the terrorizer of armies, c Yaḥya ibn Dhi n-Nūn.”24  (kharja)

a 20

l l

24  Ibn Bishrī, ʿUddat al-Jalīs, pp. 362–4. I give James T. Monroe’s English translation. He includes an edited version of the Arabic on the facing page in Hispano-Arabic Poetry,

Al-Ma‌ʾ mūn of Toledo

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“The lute trills” is a classical muwashshaḥa consisting of 5 strophes—with an opening maṭlaʿ and final jarcha.25 The rhyme of the aqfāl (refrains) and maṭlaʿ is—īn. The final refrain, the jarcha, though, varies this rhyme, substituting the vowel ū with ī, so the poem/song ends with two verses ending in—ūn.26 This early example of the Andalusi muwashshaḥa contains, as we see, a complex system of rhyme and manifests the form and traits that define the muwashshaḥa genre (vis-à-vis the qasida), which according to Tova Rosen is defined “by its strophic organization and its peculiar system of rhymes; the difference in form also entails a difference in function, for whereas the qasida is meant to be recited, the muwashshaḥa is a song.”27 The musical nature of the muwashshaḥa is echoed in the content and imagery in the scenes described by Ibn Arfaʿ in the poem. The first image is that of the lute’s accompanying song: “the lute trills, the most wondrous melodies” (v. 1). The music of the lute is echoed by the birds a verse later, “the birds sing on the branches of the bān tree” (v. 3). Both the lute and the birds come back for a reprise in vv. 6–7 (“the lute strings speak with eloquent charm / while the birds respond to them from the myrtle branches”) (vv. 6–7). These musical images set the scene for the first part of the muwashshaḥa— that of a garden wine party, replete with a cupbearer, described as the beloved gazelle of the party (and the poem): “The Pleiads have set and it is sweet to take the morning drink / Offered to me by a lovely gazelle” (vv. 9–10). The poetic form helps to focus the listener on the key components/objects of poetic praise: the garden, the wine-pourer, and most importantly al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, the cupbearer’s double, as the reader/audience discovers in the second half of the poem, as discussed below.

  pp. 224–27. The Arabic text is also available in Stern, “Four”, pp. 344–46, based on the manuscript copy included in Ibn Bishrī’s ʿUddat al-Jalīs (no. 243) and on al-Ḥāʾik and N.E. Yāfil’s corrupted (in Stern’s opinion) modern versions. 25  Rosen, “Muwashshaḥ,” p. 167. I use Ibn Sanāʿ al-Mūlk’s designation for the various elements (abyāt and aqfāl) of the muwashshaḥāt, given he was a poet and informed by Andalusí poets familiar with the genre. On the various terms used by different scholars to refer to the strophes and refrains of the muwashshaḥāt, see Garulo, “Ibn Jaldún,” p. 366. 26  The five rhymes of the abyāt are: in strophe one, -ān; in 2 -ūh.; in 3 -rab; in 4 -dam; in 5 -ām. Further still, each bayt and qufl features internal rhyme. 27  Rosen, “Muwashshaḥ,” p. 167.

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In the first half of the poem, garden party imagery dominates.28 Flowering plants such as eglantine, nasrīn (v. 11) and myrtle, rayyāḥīn (v. 7) are mentioned, as are flowerbeds (riyāḍ) and flowers in general (nawr) (vv. 2 and 21). The garden (basātīn, rawḍ) is the subject of vv. 2, 8, and 21. Such flower or garden poetry, known as nawriyyāt, first popularized in the East, came to define almost all of Andalusi poetry.29 Nawriyyāt poetry had become popular in al-Mansur’s court in Cordoba in the first decade of the 11th century.30 The khamriyyāt or wine poetry was popularized in Baghdad by Abu Nuwās and cultivated by Andalusi poets such as Ibn al-Abbār and al-Muʿtamid, who, like Ibn Arfaʿ combined its motifs—including the description of the wine, the cupbearer, and the other drinkers—with those of the nawriyyāt, describing the majlis al-’uns or wine party in a garden setting whose pleasures accented those of the wine.31 In al-Andalus the majlis al-’uns was an important part of the life of the court and, as mentioned, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s court was particularly associated with such wine parties. The elements of the wine party define the scene in the first half of “The lute trills”: wine (rāḥ; ḥumayyā) is mentioned in v. 5 and v. 8; the cupbearer is described as a gazelle (ghazāl); it is dawn v. 9); and the poetic voice both asks for a drink (v. 8) and entreats the listener to “drink” (v. 13). The description of the cupbearer combines elements of the nawriyyāt and khamriyyāt—garden and wine imagery. The poetic voice compares the cupbearer to the flowers of the garden: Come, give me wine to drink for the garden exudes fragrance: The Pleiads have set and it is sweet to take the morning drink Offered to me by a lovely gazelle Who is like a tender branch enveloped in a cloak of eglantine, Whose sides are covered in embroidered silks, who almost breaks because he is so tender (8–12) Here, despite the dawn, the drinkers continue to imbibe and one of them, the poetic voice, describes the scene.32 28  Garulo notes that in terms of content the muwashshaḥa admitted all the genres and themes of classical Arabic poetry, especially, in its beginning phases, the amorous and bachic. Literatura, pp. 180–81. 29  Garulo “Nawriyyat.” 30  Monroe, introduction, p. 10. 31  Bencheikh, “Khamriyya”. 32  The famous poet-king of Seville, al-Muʿtamid, similarly includes the Pleiads in his own wine song, that begins with the verse, “I drank wine which scattered light, / while night

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We arrive at the figure of the cupbearer pouring wine at the heart of the garden in the central verses of the poem. In fact, the orientation of the garden reflected in the descriptions in “The lute trills”—which moves first from exterior watercourses (v. 2), to flowerbeds (v. 2), and then narrows to decorative and aromatic trees (vv. 3, 7–8), and finally focusing in on the participants in the wine party, particularly al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn/the cupbearer at the center of the poem (vv. 10–12)—is reminiscent of the extant descriptions of Taifa gardens. The types of plants and their layout described in the poetic garden of the “The lute trills” echoes preferences and knowledge included in the botanical treatises produced in al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledo. Two of the most important and influential of Andalusi gardening/agricultural treatises were penned by scholars in al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s court—Ibn Wāfid (998–1075 CE) and Ibn Baṣṣāl (11th century).33 Ibn Wāfid included in his treatise Al-Majmū‘a a discussion of the soil, when and where to plant, advice on selecting seeds, and how to best care for the plants.34 Ibn Baṣṣāl’s Kitāb al-filāḥa includes a detailed chapter on grafting and ornamental and aromatic flowers—including myrtle and roses, as mentioned in vv. 7 and 11 of Arfaʿ’s poem.35 Later treatises include those of Ibn al-’Awwam in Seville and Ibn Luyūn (1282–1349) in Almería.36 The latter’s description of the ideal garden, based on earlier treatises such as those of Ibn Baṣṣāl, includes a description of pavilions and waterways reminiscent of the crystal pavilion described in al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledan palace. The pavilion of glass over which water poured in the Majlis al-Nū’ar hall of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s estate was the central point of the garden: it was surrounded by aromatic plants and flower beds, an outer perimeter of trees, and the whole complex was connected via a network of watercourses—a layout reminiscent of that described in “The lute trills.” According to Ibn Luyūn, the placement of structures in the garden, such as al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s glass pavilion, should be well thought out. Or instead of a well have a watercourse where the water runs underneath the shade. …

was spreading its cloak of darkness” (v.1) “The Pleiads raise their shining banner!” Nykl, Poetry, p. 145. 33  Ruggles, Gardens, pp. 22–23. 34  Ibid., p. 22. 35  Ibn Baṣṣāl, Kitāb, pp. 163–72, 207–20; Ibn Baṣṣāl had traveled throughout the Mediterranean in his youth. He was the successor of Ibn Wāfid at al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s court, but fled to al-Muʾtamid’s Seville when Alfonso VI took the city in 1085. Ruggles, Gardens, p. 23. 36  Ibid., pp. 24–25.

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And, somewhat further off, arrange flowers of different kinds, and, further off still, evergreen trees; … In the center of the garden let there be a pavilion in which to sit, and with vistas on all sides, But of such a form that no one approaching could overhear the conversation within and whereunto none could approach undetected. Clinging to it let there be [rambler] roses and myrtle, likewise all manner of plants with which a garden is adorned.37 This central pavilion or point in the garden is just the perspective found in “The lute trills.” Ibn Arfaʿ creates in this muwashshaḥa a textual representation of the sight lines that were such an important part of Andalusi gardens. Just as in Andalusi gardens, such as those in al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s palaces, “the lines of vision were finely calibrated so as to guide the human eye toward the intended sights.”38 Ibn Arfaʿ similarly guides the listener through the constructed garden of the poem from watercourses and flowerbeds (v. 2), past trees (v. 3), to the people at the wine party (vv. 4–5) surrounded by myrtle (v. 7), and focusing particularly on the cupbearer (the double of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn) who is compared to eglantine (a type of fragrant climbing rose, also known as sweet briar) (v. 11). Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s palaces and gardens were the culmination of a series of associations established in the literature of al-Andalus and their memory survived in the treatises of subsequent generations. Al-Maqqarī defines Toledo according to the consensus of such descriptions among Andalusi authors: “All authors who have described Toledo say that it has pleasant orchards, a beautiful river, gardens, groves, fine fruits of every kind and description.”39 The description of the garden landscape and its coursing waterways shape “The lute trills” and provide the context for the panegyric of the ruler responsible for their creation, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn. The second half of Ibn Arfaʿ’s poem turns from descriptions of the famous palace gardens of Toledo to the famous frontier warrior who created them, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, whom the poet describes as Toledo’s lion heart: “He is a king whose heart is braver than the lion’s” (v. 18). It is the wine poured by the gazelle described in vv. 11–12 that provides the pretext for the shift from the khamriyyāt and nawriyyāt imagery of the first half of the poem, to the madīḥ or panegyric verse of the second half. The garden 37  Ibn Luyūn, Kitāb ibda-ʿal-malāḥa wa-inhāʿ al-rajāḥa, trans. Ruggles, Gardens, p. 26. 38  Ruggles, “Fountains,” p. 394. 39  Al-Maqqarī, History, book 1, chp. 6, ed. Gayangos, p. 48.

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descriptions and wine drinking of the initial verses are followed in the final verses by madīḥ, or praise of the patron. Ibn Arfaʿ had precedent for this combination of nawriyyāt and madīḥ in the Arabic poetry of the Abbasid court. This combination of nawriyya and madīḥ was introduced into the classical qasida by early Abbasid poets such as Abū Tammām and Al-Buḥtarī.40 In alBuḥtarī’s poetry, as in “The lute trills,” “the madīḥ is often ingenuously interwoven with the preceding garden description.”41 In Ibn Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa, the poetic voice tells us, “Hold fast to the love and drink to the health of the Possessor of Dual Glory” (v. 13). The next 8 verses offer descriptions of the positive traits of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn and in the final 5 verses (including the jarcha) Ibn Arfaʿ weaves the two types of imagery—erotic, wine/garden descriptions and panegyric praise—together.42 Ibn Arfaʿ emphatically states that al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn—perhaps the most famous Taifa patron of wine/garden parties in al-Andalus—is the epitome of glory: “the lofty king who humbles sultans” (v. 16). Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is compared to Alexander the Great, the “Possessor of Dual Glory,” / Who supports the lands of the East and West” (vv. 13–14) and “His deeds are stars [shining out over] this world and religion” (v. 22).43 And while, as described above, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn was legendary as a bon-vivant and patron of drinking parties/majlis, he and his family were also renowned as powerful frontier warriors. Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s military conquests of Cordoba (taken from the powerful

40  Schippers, Poetry, p. 92. According to Schippers, many of al-Buḥtarī’s poems follow the formula of a “description of nature, into which has been inset a wine description; finally there follows the laudatory passage.” Poetry, p. 93. 41   Poetry, p. 93. 42  In this he follows in the tradition of Eastern poets such as Abū Tammām, who had replaced the typical nasīb opening of the qasida with the description of flowers and the garden, as “the imperfect reflection of the mamdūḥ [person being praised]” who was the object of the panegyric. Garulo “Nawriyyat.” As Garulo notes, this combination of nawriyya and panegyric “enjoyed an extraordinary success, not only among the Arab panegyrists but also among the Persian, Turkish, and Jewish poets” “Nawriyyat.” The subject matter of the poem follows in the tradition of the late Umayyad poet ash-Sharīf at-Taliq (961–1009) and his contemporary Ibn Zaydūn (1003–1071). Monroe claims the latter combines elements of the panegyric qasida, including the ghazal, the khamriyya, the nawriyya, and fakhr. Introduction, p. 11. 43  Comparisons of Andalusi rulers to Alexander are not uncommon. Hātim ibn Saʿīd composed a muwashshaḥa praising his lord as “the hand of East and West” who unsheathes “lightening swords against the horizon” (v. 4). “A sun drew near to a full moon,” ed. Monroe, p. 302. Ibn ʿAbdūn composed an ode written about fall of Taifa of Badajoz to the Almoravids in which he compares the fall of Afṭasids to the fall of Darius to Alexander. “It is Fate [alone] that causes us distress,” v. 10, ed. Monroe, p. 228.

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al-Muʿtamid of Seville) and Valencia, are recorded by al-Maqqarī (mentioned above).44 Ibn Arfaʿ states that there is no other king like him (v. 14), comparing him to the rain (v. 16), and a lion (v. 17). The lion, like the birds and flowers, is a central image in the poem, and appears again in v. 17 (hizbari) and v. 18 (as layth), where al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is described as “the lion of the battlefield” and his heart is described as “braver than the lion’s.”45 Arie Schippers notes that comparing the subject of the panegyric to a lion is typical of Arabic poetry and he includes “warriors as lions, not dulled by court life” as its own category in his classifications of Arabic themes in Spanish Arabic and Hebrew poetry. For Schippers, the depiction of the warrior as a lion is contrasted with a weak enemy too taken with wine drinking and luxury.46 The well-known Umayyad poet, al-Mutanabbī made many comparisons between warriors (particularly the Umayyad caliph Sayf al-Dawla) and lions “not dulled by court life.”47 While al-Mutanabbī states that drinking wine and partying—the activities the poetic voice in “The lute trills” has described in detail in the first half of the poem—are a detriment to a king’s reputation, these activities are praised by Ibn Sa‌ʾīd and al-Maqqarī as emblematic of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s power and legacy, and by extension, the glory of al-Andalus. In “The lute trills” lions are not antithetical to the garden imagery and the party depicted in the first half of the poem, but seem to echo the birds in the trees and to form a natural part of the scene being described. Perhaps the fact that al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s estate palace featured a hall with a pool decorated with lion heads that spouted water added a double meaning to the imagery 44  Al-Maqqarī, History, book 7, chp. 4, ed. Gayangos, p. 255. “In the fateful year of 457/1064 Abu al-Walid ibn Jahwar turned the reins of the government of Cordova to his two sons ʿAbd ar-Rahman and ʿAbd al-Malik. The ruler of Toledo, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, taking advantage of the great weakness of the Banū Jahwar, made his first attempt to despoil them of their territory and came to besiege Cordova with a powerful army in the autumn of 462/1070. In this plight the Banū Jahwar appealed to al-Muʿtamid for help and the Sevillian king immediately entered the city with his hosts compelling al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn to withdraw.” Nykl, Poetry, p. 144. 45  In the first and second hemistiches of vv. 18 and 19 where al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is described as a king, “possessor of a heart from those of the lions that is braver” and in v. 19, “possessor of a finger from the rain clouds that is more generous”—the English here defies traditional syntax, but conveys the parallel grammatical constructions (between “braver” and “more generous”) in the two verses—the fierce lion is compared to the manipulator of/the one in control of water. Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s glory on the battlefield is reflected in the watercourses and gardens of his palace. 46  “The drinking of wine, sweet string music and lovely singing keep the kings from glory, with which you [Sayf al-Dawla] come home after an expedition.” Al-Mutanabbī, no. 236, v. 47; Schippers, Spanish Hebrew Poetry, p. 229. 47  Ibid.

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of the “lions of the battlefield” included in a lengthy description of the garden and several verses that combine garden and wine imagery. As Ruggles points out, there were multiple such lion fountains in al-Andalus, and they served as more than a decorative garden element.48 Both lion and the manipulation and control of water were symbolic representations of the power wielded by the owner of such a space: “When a king created a city of gardens. The leadership that he demonstrated in implementing a large-scale water system capable of supporting literally a royal complex of gardens, was metaphorically extended to signify his rule over the entire cultivated landscape.”49 As Jonathan Decter notes, “the gardens of the Arab geographers signify prosperity, security, power, and thriving intellectual culture.”50 The initial descriptions of the garden and wine party in “The lute trills,” while seemingly at odds with the panegyric of the powerful warrior al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn celebrated in the second half of the poem, were not antithetical in the symbolic imagination of Andalusi intellectuals. The combination of garden and panegyric themes that we find in Ibn Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa is typical of Andalusi poetry in general and can be found in other Andalusi muwashshaḥāt. Among Andalusi poets, Ibn Arfaʿ’s contemporary Ibn al-Ammār composed a similar poem in praise of al-Mu’tadid.51 Ibn Bājja / Avempace echoes the imagery of “The lute trills” in his own muwashshaḥāt dedicated to the Almoravid governor of Zaragoza, in which he similarly begins his muwashshaḥa with a garden wine party at dawn (“the light of dawn has already shone, / While the wind among the flower beds (riyād) has exuded its fragrance already” vv. 7–8) and, like Ibn Arfaʿ then switches midway to madīḥ or praise of the ruler, stating the there is no other king like the ruler of Zaragoza (v. 14), comparing him to the rain (v. 16), and a lion (v. 17).52 Such apparently distinct images—that of the garden and the warrior—were, in fact, complementary in the Andalusi imagination. It is no surprise then to find these poetic traditions—the garden/wine poem and the panegyric—combined in the final verses. In “The lute trills” the beloved is equated with al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn in the final bayt and jarcha: “Thus the sorrowing one sings the song of one confused by love: / ‘You go by, yet you give no greeting as though you were al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, / The terrorizer of armies, Yaḥya ibn Dhū n-Nūn’” (vv. 25–27). Here the poetic voice, the wine drinker and 48  The first documented animal-shaped fountain in al-Andalus was a lion in Munyat an-Nāʿūra that was “fearful in appearance.” A lion fountain was also found in Medinat al-Zahra. Ruggles, “Fountain,” p. 393. 49  Ibid., p. 392. 50  Decter, Jewish Literature, p. 23. 51  Schippers, Spanish Hebrew Poetry, p. 95. 52  Ibn Bājja, “Trail the edge of your robe,” ed. Monroe, p. 284.

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“sorrowing one,” addresses the cupbearer, complaining he is treating him as if he were the enemy, and the cupbearer was al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn. Rosen notes that jarchas can be of two types: “love/wine and panegyric.”53 Panegyric jarchas, such as this one, “are in classical Arabic.”54 Ibn Arfaʿ though plays with these distinctions, using the contextualization of the panegyric jarcha within the narrative of the muwashshsaḥa in which the poet had just returned to the wine/love theme, equating al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn with the beloved wine bearer at the garden party. Ibn Arfaʿ clarifies that the jarcha’s voice is to be understood in the context of the muwashshaḥa as stated in verse 25, i.e. as the voice of “the sorrowing one.” Here we find exemplified Rosen’s statement, “it is the kharja’s function in the poem that determines our understanding of the speech situation in the kharja, not the kharja’s theme per se.”55 In this case the image of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn as a fierce warrior (“terrorizer of armies”) is put into the mouth of a wine-drinker enjoying a garden party. While al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is the focus of Ibn Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa—an Andalusi Taifa king capable of being both the patron and creator of the palace garden and the party described in the first half, as well as the fierce warrior described in the second half of the poem—in Castilian sources al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn appears as a support character in the narrative of Castile.56 Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is depicted as a noble friend who assists Alfonso VI in his time of need and is also included to underscore the military and political superiority of both Alfonso and his father Fernando over the “Moors.”57 Thus, in the Estoria de España al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn becomes a secondary character who functions as a foil to underscore Fernando’s (and by extension Castile’s and Christianity’s) superiority over the Muslims

53  Rosen, “Muwashshaḥ,” p. 169. 54  Ibid. 55  Ibid. 56  The representation of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is included in a section of the Estoria de España dedicated to the kings of Castile from the reign of Fruela II, through the reign of Alfonso X’s father, Fernando III. This section is known as the Versión crítica. A subset of manuscript copies of the Versión crítica (known also as the Crónice de veinte reyes) focuses on developing a narrative of Castilian history in which the Muslims of the Peninsula play an important role. Hazbun, pp. 63–65. Hazbun has shown several instances in which Moors are not denigrated, but rather are included in order to show that “the true political rifts and vulnerability” for Castilian monarchs are not the Moors to the south, but “the incessant strife between Christian parties.” Ibid., p. 71. Hazbun explores in detail how the passages of the chronicle describing Alfonso VI and al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s relationship paints Alfonso and al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn as loyal and caring toward each other, in sharp contrast to Alfonso’s traitorous siblings. Ibid., 78–79. 57  Primera crónica, chp. 826, ed. Menéndez Pidal, pp. 488–89. See also Hazbun, pp. 78–80.

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of the Peninsula—a testimony to how the political power on the Peninsula shifted during al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s lifetime. Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn appears in chapter 826 when he gives refuge to Alfonso, after the latter’s midnight escape from his brother Sancho. The chroniclers mention the strong bond formed between Alfonso and al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn.58 The chroniclers further underscore al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn association with magnificent palaces, in this case one he has constructed for Alfonso outside the city walls: Et desy fizo luego a son Alffonso aquel rey Almemon grandes palacios et buenos, acerca dell alcaçar, fuera del muro por quell non fiziesse ninguno de la çibdad pesar a el nin a ninguno de su companna. Et esto era acerca de una su huerta a que saliesse don Alffonso con sus caualleros et su companna a solazarse quando quisiesse. El rey don Alffonso ueyendo el bien et la onrra daquel rey Almemon et de como era sennor de grand caballería de moros et de la mas noble çibdad que en tiempo de los godos fue, començo a auer grand pesar en su coraçon.59 Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s building projects and generosity (both subjects of Ibn Arfaʿ’s poem as analyzed above) are credited in this Alfonsine narrative with sparking Alfonso’s ambition, which results in the fall of Toledo in 1085. However, at this point in the narrative, the chronicle also tells of Alfonso’s mercenary fighting on behalf of his host al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn (“guerreaua et lidiaua con los reys moros que eran enemigos daquel Almemon rey de Toledo”).60 Once he defeats al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s enemies, Alfonso enjoys hunting in the mountains around Toledo. The next chapter in the chronicle offers a tale that contextualizes the drama of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn and Alfonso’s shared friendship and political interests in the gardens of Toledo. According to chapter 827, in celebration of the ‘eid, or “Pascua de los moros,” Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, members of his court, and Alfonso all take a walk outside the city in the gardens: un dia fuesse el rey Almemon pora su huerta con grand companna de moros pora auer y su solaz, et cato dali a la çibdad de Toledo, et touol oio et asmo por qual guise podrien cristianos ganar tal ci∫dad como aquella. Et quando el rey fue a aquella huerta, don Alffonso fuesse con el, como

58   Primera crónica, chp. 826, ed. Menéndez Pidal, p. 503. 59  Ibid. 60  Ibid.

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le querie el rey grand bien; et echosse alla so un aruol con sabor que ouo dend, et yaziesse y como que se durmiesse …61 Alfonso, though, is not sleeping and overhears how the city could be taken by cutting off its water and food supplies for seven years—advice Alfonso stores away to implement later.62 The image of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn that emerges from the Estoria de España is that of a noble, competent king, a loyal ally of Alfonso VI, without whose support the latter could never have taken Toledo, the ancestral seat of Visigothic power, for Castile. Al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is not only a partner to Alfonso, but also a father, who fights with him side by side and who assists him when his own brother (and his Christian forces) sought to kill him. Certain elements of the Alfonsine accounts of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn resonate with the highly stylized portrait of him developed in Ibn al-Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa. For both chronicler and poet, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn is associated with the gardens and palaces of Toledo, with the lifestyle—the garden/wine party they accommodate and represent—as well as with the bellicose frontier life that defined the political reality of the times. As to be expected, though, Arabic accounts (explored above) of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledo differ in their focus and portrayal of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, not as a supporting character, but rather as the focus of attention and the king responsible for the kingdom’s prosperity, evident in the city’s gardens and palaces as well as in the king’s fierce and effective troops.63 In the Estoria de España al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledo appears as a bastion of peace and splendor and source of assistance and money to the Castilians, but for al-Maqqarī, al-Sa‌ʾīd, and Ibn Khaldūn, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s Toledo is more than just the place of Alfonso’s exile and the symbolic capital of Visigothic glory. The Toledo created by al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn was a center for scholars, artists, and scientists such as Ibn Wāfid and Ibn Baṣṣāl, as well as hundreds of religious and political scholars, and the anonymous architects of al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn’s famous palaces. AlMa‌‌ʾmūn, though, has not received the critical attention that his contemporary in Seville, al-Muʿtamid, the poet-king who infamously sought help from the Almoravids across the Straits, thus ushering in the end of the so-called Taifa period. Ibn Arfaʿ’s muwashshaḥa celebrates al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn with imagery that reflects both his military prowess and his role as patron of famous botanists, architects, and master gardeners. While he was renowned in the medieval Arabic-speaking world as patron for palatial estates and their gardens, these spaces were destroyed by subsequent waves of conquest. However, Toledo’s 61   Primera crónica, chp. 827, ed. Menéndez Pidal, p. 504. 62   Primera crónica, chp. 866, ed. Menéndez Pidal, p. 537. See Bernard Reilly, Kingdom, p. 68. 63   History, book 7, chp. 4, ed. Gayangos, p. 255.

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lion heart, al-Ma‌‌ʾmūn, continued to be memorialized in North Africa (in the modern muwashshaḥāt collections such as those of al-Ḥā’ik and Yāfīl) in the muwashshaḥa Ibn Arfaʿ penned some 11 centuries ago, even as he and the poetry, palaces, and gardens made for him remain largely unknown by scholars of Christian Europe. Bibliography

Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

Ibn ʿAbdūn, “It is fate [alone] that causes us distress”, in Jms. T. Monroe (ed.), HispanoArabic Poetry: A Student Anthology, Berkeley, CA, 1974, 228–41. Ibn Arfaʿ Ra‌‌ʾsuhu, “Al-ʿūdu qad tarannam”/ “The lute trills”, in Ibn Bishrī, ʿUddat al-Jalīs, ed. Alan Jones, pp. 362–4. Trans. Jms. T. Monroe. Hispano-Arabic Poetry: A Student Anthology, Berkeley, CA, 1974, 224–27. Ibn Bājja, “Trail the edge of your robe”, in Jms. T. Monroe (ed.), Hispano-Arabic Poetry: A Student Anthology, Berkeley, CA, 1974, 284–87. Ibn Baṣṣāl, ʿAbd Allāh Muhammad ibn Ibrahim, Kitāb al-Filāḥa. Libro de agricultura, eds. José María Millás Vallicrosa and Mohamed Aziman, Tetuán, 1955. Ibn Bishrī, ʿAlī, ʿUddat al-jalīs: An Anthology of Andalusian Arabic Muwashshaḥāt, ed. Alan Jones, (E.J.W. Gibb Memorial) Cambridge, U.K., 1992. Ibn al-Khaṭīb, Lisān al-Dīn, Jaysh al-Tawshīḥ, ed. Alan Jones (E.J.W. Gibb Memorial) Cambridge, U.K., 1997. Ibn Saʿīd, Hātim, “A sun drew near to a full moon”, in Jms. T. Monroe (ed.), HispanoArabic Poetry: A Student Anthology, Berkeley, CA, 1974, 302–03. Al-Maqqarī, Ahmed Ibn Mohammed, Analectes sur l’histoire et la littérature des Arabes d’Espagne, trans. and ed. Reinhart Dozy, (2 vols.), Leiden, 1855–1861. Al-Maqqarī, Ahmed Ibn Mohammed, The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain: Excerpts from the Nafhu-t-tíb min Ghosni-l-Andalusi-r-rattíb wa Táríkh Lisánu-d-dín ibni-l-Khattíb., trans. and ed. Pascual de Gayangos, (2 vols.), London, 1840. Al-Mutanabbī, Ibn al-Tiyyab, Diwan, Abi-l-Hasan Ali ibn Ahmad al-Wahidi (ed.). Berlin, 1921. Primera Crónica General: Estoria de España, ed. Ramón Menéndez Pidal (vol. 1), Madrid, 1906. https://archive.org/details/primeracrnicage01sancgoog.

Bencheikh, J.E., “K̲ h̲amriyya”, in P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs (eds.), Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, Leiden, 2016. http://

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referenceworks.brillonline.com.ezp3.lib.umn.edu/entries/encyclopaedia-of -islam-2/khamriyya-COM_0491> First appeared online: 2012. Decter, J.P., Iberian Jewish Literature: Between Al-Andalus and Christian Europe, Bloomington, 2007. Elinson, A., Looking Back at Al-Andalus: The Poetics of Loss and Nostalgia in Medieval Arabic and Hebrew Literature, Leiden, 2015. Garulo, T., “Ibn Jaldún y la poesía estrófica de al-Andalus”, in José Luis Garrot Garrot and Juan Martos Quesada (eds.), Miradas españolas sobre Ibn Jaldún, Madrid, 2008. Garulo, T., La literature árabe de al-Andalus durante el siglo XI, Madrid, 1998. Garulo, T., “Nawriyya”, in P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs (eds.), Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, Leiden, 2012. http://dx.doi .org.ezp3.lib.umn.edu/10.1163/1573-3912_islam_SIM_5865. Hazbun, G., Narratives of the Islamic Conquest from Medieval Spain, New York, 2015. “Ibn Arfaʿ Ra‌‌ʾsahu”, in J. Lirola Delgado and J.M. Puerta Vílchez (eds.), Biblioteca de alAndalus: De Ibn Aḏ̣ḥà a Ibn Bushrà. Vol. 2. Fundación Ibn Tufayl de Estudios Árabes, Almería, 2009. Kennedy, H., Muslim Spain and Portugal: A Political History of Al-Andalus. London, 1996. Marín, M. and J. Zanón, eds., Estudios onomástico-biográficos de al-Andalus, Madrid, 1992. Monroe, J.T., introduction, in Hispano-Arabic Poetry, Berkeley, 1974. Nykl, A.R., Hispano-Arabic Poetry and its Relations with the Old Provençal Troubadours, Baltimore, 1946. Pastor de Togneri, R., Del Islam al cristianismo: En las fronteras de dos formaciones ecónomico-sociales, Barcelona, 1975. Reilly, B., The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VI, 1065–1109, Princeton, 1988. http://libro.uca.edu/alfonso6/alfonso.htm. Robinson, C., In Praise of Song: The Making of Courtly Culture in al-Andalus and Provence, 1005–1134 A.D., Leiden, 2002. Robinson, C., “Seeing Paradise: Metaphor and Vision in taifa Palace Architecture”, Gesta 36.1–2 (1997), 145–153. Rosen, T., “The Muwashshaḥ”, in Maria Rosa Menocal (ed.), Introduction to Andalusi Literature, Cambridge, U.K., 2000, 163–189. Ruggles, D.F., “Fountains and Miradors: Architectural Imitation and Ideology among the Tifas”, in Künslerischer Austausch: Akten des XXVIII. Internationalen Kongresses fúr Kungstgeschichte, Berlin, 1993, 391–406. Ruggles, D.F., Gardens, Landscape, and Vision in the Palaces of Islamic Spain, University Park, 2000. Schippers, A., Spanish Hebrew Poetry and the Arabic Literary Tradition, Leiden, 1994. Stern, S., “Four Famous Muwashshahs from Ibn Bushra’s Anthology”, Al-Andalus 23 (1958), 339–69.

chapter 2

Prestige to Power: Toledo’s Cathedral Chapter and Assimilated Identity Patrick Harris Toledo, as the former urbs regia of the Visigoth kingdom and seat of Iberia’s primatial archbishop, represented a distinctive focal point upon which medieval Ibero-Christian identity was centered, leading it to attain a unique significance in the history of the Reconquista. Conversely, medieval Toledo has also become famous for convivencia, or coexistence, among its pluralistic population of Muslims, Christians, and Jews. The cultural and intellectual benefits of this exchange, however, were often deployed toward the assertion Christian verity as seen, for example, in the scholarly and architectural endeavors of Toledo’s famous 13th century prelate Archbishop Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada.1 Medieval Toledo also contained a distinctive form of intra-religious diversity. The city was home to a Christian community comprised of an arabophonic population, known as Mozarabs, as well as Franks and Spaniards who had settled in the city after Alfonso VI (r. 1072–1109) conquered it in 1085. The Mozarab population itself was quite diverse and included indigenous Christians, converts to Christianity, as well as Christian émigrés from al-Andalus.2 This disparate community, however, had largely homogenized by the early 14th century.3 The homogenization of Toledo’s Christian population was connected directly to the city’s historical significance as the former capital of the Visigoth kingdom and as Iberia’s primatial see. Toledo’s historical, spiritual, and social prestige was transformed into real economic power in the 12th century, which, 1  For Rodrigo’s sponsorship of intellectual activity see Pick, Conflict and Coexistence: Archbishop Rodrigo and the Muslims and Jews of Medieval Spain. For Rodrigo’s contributions to the construction and design of Toledo’s cathedral see Nickson, Toledo Cathedral: Building Histories in Medieval Castile. Both authors describe how Rodrigo used Muslim and Jewish knowledge to glorify the Christian religion and Toledo’s place within Christendom. 2  See Aillet, Les mozarabes. Aillet offers an intriguing theory of Mozarab identity formation through shared juridical and cultural experience. For the diversity of the Mozarab population see Epalza, “Mozarabs: An Emblematic Christian Minority in Islamic al-Andalus,” pp. 149–151. 3  On the assimilation of the Mozarabs of Toledo during the 12th and 13th centuries as seen through onomastic evidence see Olstein, La era mozárabe: Los mozárabes de Toledo (siglos XII y XIII) en la historiografía, las fuentes y la historia.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_004

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in turn, helped foster the assimilation of Toledo’s various Christian communities to a distinctive type of Ibero-Christian identity. This process can be seen particularly through the shifting dynamics of Toledo’s cathedral chapter during this time. The social and economic influence that came with membership in the chapter was attractive to members of Toledo’s various Christian communities, and the desire for that influence brought individuals together from those different communities under the aegis of the cathedral. While Toledo represented Ibero-Christian unity in a broad sense, the symbolic importance of its cathedral had very real economic consequences that helped homogenize the people of the city. 1

The Origins of Toledo’s Prestige and Its Persistence in the Islamic Era

King Reccared (r. 586–601) ushered in a new era of cooperation between the nobility and the clergy when he converted to Catholic Christianity in 587, a union which was codified at the Third Council of Toledo in 589. It would take more than a half a century, however, before Toledo gained preeminence over the other important political and religious centers of the Iberian Peninsula. Toledo, in fact, was not even the metropolitan see of its own province at the time of the Third Council. Toledo had been part of the ecclesiastical province Cartaginense, whose metropolitan was Cartagena, or Cartago Nova. The Byzantines had controlled Cartagena since the mid-sixth century, and they remained entrenched there despite numerous Visigoth attempts to oust them. In 610, however, King Gundamar (r. 610–612) authorized a provincial split which established Toledo as the metropolitan of the new territory of Carpetania.4 Toledo’s position as both the political and ecclesiastical capital appears to have been finally solidified by the Seventh Council of Toledo in 646 where it was first referred to as the urbs regia, and where the pontifical authority of Toledo’s archbishop was first recognized.5 The memory of Toledo’s preeminence would endure during the years of Muslim rule within the city, as well as in the Christian domains of the North. Toledo’s archbishops would rely upon these legal precedents and historical memories when reestablishing their control over the Iberian Church after the city’s conquest by Alfonso VI in 1085.

4  Rivera Recio, Los Arzobispos de Toledo: desde sus origenes hasta fines del siglo XI, pp. 60–61. 5  Julian of Toledo, The Story of Wamba, pp. 18–19; Rivera Recio, Arzobispos de Toledo, pp. 71–72.

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The rhetoric of the 8th century Toledan archbishop Elipandus (r. 754–c. 800) represented one expression of Toledo’s authoritative claims during the Islamic period. Elipandus deployed the historical status of Toledo’s see to defend himself against accusations of Adoptionism—a Christological heresy concerning the distinct natures of Christ’s divinity and humanity. The fact that Elipandus lived under and was even accommodating to Muslim rule did not deter him from attempting to assert his theological authority as Archbishop of Toledo.6 Ann Christys wrote, “The debate centred, at least in Elipandus’ view, not so much on the theological niceties, as on the authority of Toledo.”7 Elipandus revealed his derision toward this challenge to his authority when he stated: They do not question me, but they seek to teach because they are servants of the Antichrist … For it has never been heard that Liébanos had taught Toledanos. Everyone recognizes that this see has become famous by sacred doctrine from the beginning of the faith, and [in which] never arose any schismatic. And now one sick sheep seeks to be teacher to us.8 Elipandus invoked Toledo’s illustrious history as the center and source of orthodoxy. He believed his arguments valid by virtue of his authority as primate of the Iberian Church. Toledo’s preeminence, in Elipandus’s mind, had not diminished despite three generations of Muslim rule. Texts concerning the Martyr Movement of Córdoba during the mid-9th century provide another example of the memory of Toledo’s spiritual significance. Eulogius, one of the main figures of the movement as well as one its chroniclers, was reported to have been elected as bishop of Toledo, but he was unable to assume the seat because of the inter-religious tension surrounding the movement.9 Eulogius earlier had traveled through Toledo where the archbishop of the time, Wistremirus, made a deep impression upon him. 6  Some argued that Elipandus developed his position by trying to find a middle ground between Christianity and Islam. See Colbert, The Martyrs of Córdoba (850–859): A Study of the Sources, pp. 84–85; Pastor, Del Islam al cristianismo: En las fronteras de dos formaciones económico-sociales: Toledo, siglos XI–XIII, pp. 83–84. 7  Christys, Christians in al-Andalus (711–1000), p. 25. 8  Elipandus of Toledo, Epistula ad Fidelem in ed. Gil, vol. 1, pp. 80–81: “Non me interrogant: sed docere quaerunt, quia servi sunt Antichristi … Nam numquam est auditum, ut Libanenses Toletanos docuissent. Notum est plebi universae, hanc sedem sanctis doctrinis ab ipso exordio fidei claruisse: & numquam schismaticum aliquid emanasse. Et nunc una ovis morbida, doctor nobis appetis esse.” Elipandus was referring specifically to Beatus of Liébana, his most vociferous critic in this controversy. 9  Paul Alvarus, Vita Eulogii, ed. Gil, vol. 1, p. 336.

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I returned to Toledo, where I found the esteemed, aged, most saintly, torch of the Holy Spirit and light of all Spain Bishop Wistremirus, the sanctity of whose life, illuminating the whole world by integrity of habit and uncommon service, refreshes the Catholic flock. I spent many days by him and clung to his angelic companionship.10 Wistremirus was also found in the record of the Council of Córdoba held in 839. The position of the Toledan prelate appears to have evolved from the days of Elipandus a generation earlier. He was not termed primatus or archiepiscopus. Wistremirus, instead, signed himself merely as episcopus.11 He did, on the other hand, retain some of the prestige associated with his bishopric. He was listed first among the signatories, and he was named first among those denouncing the Casiani heresy, which was the main order of business for the council.12 The bishop’s primacy of place in this document and Eulogius’s reverence for the man point to the idea that Andalusian clerics still considered Toledo a preeminent see. The influence of Toledo’s archiepiscopate within al-Andalus continued to decline in the 10th century. The unbroken line of succession of Toledo’s bishops stopped with the death of Juan in 926. Another bishop, Ubayd Allah b. Qasim, made an appearance in Córdoba during the reign of al-Ḥakam II (r. 961–976) as an interpreter for the embassy of the ousted Ordoño IV of León (r. 957–960). There is a possible reference to another bishop of Toledo from the 10th century located in a hymnal which contains a piece supposedly by one “GVMARVS E.T.” interpreted as “Gumarus Episcopus Toletanus.”13 The record falls silent for another half-century after this brief, enigmatic inscription. If Toledo’s position had diminished in al-Andalus, the memory of its past glory endured in the kingdom of Asturias. The chronicle Albeldense, written during the reign of Alfonso III (r. 866–910) around the turn of the tenth century, illustrated nostalgia for the Visigothic period and played upon the idea of natural enmity between the Christian North and Muslim South. The kings of Asturias and León actively utilized claims of Visigothic descent to bolster their legitimacy, and, in doing so, extolled their Visigothic past by bringing attention 10  Eulogius of Córdoba, Epistula Tertia ad Wiliesindum, ed. Gil, vol. 2, p. 500: “Toletum reuerti, ubi adhuc vigentem sanctissimum senem nostrum, faculam Spiritus Sancti et lucernam totius Hispaniae, Wistremirum episcopum comperi, cuius uitae sanctitas totum orbem illustrans hactenus honestate morum celsisque meritis catholicum gregem refouet. Multis apud eum diebus degimus eiusque angelico contubernio haesimus.” 11   Concilium Cordubense, ed. Gil, vol. 1, p. 141: “Uistrimirus Toletane sedis metropolitanus episcopus s. s. s.” 12   Concilium Cordubense, vol. 1, p. 140. 13  Rivera Recio, Arzobispos de Toledo, pp. 197–204.

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to the historical importance of Toledo. For example, Albeldense listed products for which Spain was renowned: Item: Celebrated Things of Spain: The chickens of Narbonne, the wine of Vilasz, the figs of Baeza, the wheat of Tierra de Campos, the mules of Seville, the pack-horses of Moorish territory, the oysters of Mancario, the lamprey of Tatiber, the spears of Gallia, the spelt of Asturias, the honey of Galicia, [and] the teaching and knowledge of Toledo. These were extraordinary in the time of the Goths.14 Toledo was unique in that it was famous for its tradition of learning rather than for its material production, which echoed the ideas of Elipandus seen earlier. Toledo was more than just the traditional seat of the king and primatial archbishop—it was the intellectual guide to the entire peninsula. More than retain the memory of Visigothic Toledo, Albeldense recalled that Alfonso II (r. 791–842) tried to physically recreate the former capital at Oviedo. He attentively adorned the houses of the Lord with marble arches and columns, with silver and gold, and likewise he decorated the king’s palace with various paintings. Every arrangement of the Goths, in the church as in the palace, he set up in Oviedo as it had been in Toledo.15 Alfonso II’s building program could be attributed in part to Mozarab influence. Peter Linehan stated, “from the reign of Alfonso II onwards Mozarabic influence has been detected everywhere, which, in view of Alfonso II’s stated aim at the beginning of the century to recreate Toledo at Oviedo … is hardly surprising.”16 Mozarabs had been migrating northwards since the late eighth century because of economic pressures placed upon them by Muslim authorities.17 The emigration of Mozarab clerics from al-Andalus picked up during the latter half of the ninth century in the aftermath of the Martyr 14   Chronicon Albeldense, eds. Flórez et al., España sagrada, vol. 13, pp. 434–35: “ITEM RES SPANIAE CELEBRES. VI. Polla de Narbona. Vinum de Vilasz. Ficus de Biatia. Triticum de Campis Gothis. Mulus de Hispali. Caballus de Mauris. Ostrea de Mancario. Lamprea de Tatiber. Lancea de Gallia. Scanda de Asturias. Mel de Gallicia. Disciplina, atque scientia de Toledo. Haec erant praecipua tempore Gothorum.” 15   Chronicon Albeldense, eds. Flórez et al., España sagrada, vol. 13, p. 453: “Omnesque has Domini domos cum arcis atque columnis marmoreis auro argentoque diligenter ornavit: simulque cum Regis Palatiis picturis diversis decoravit: omnemque Gothorum ordinem, sicuti Toleto fuerat, tam in Ecclesiam, quam Palatio in Oveto cuncta statuit.” 16  Linehan, History and Historians of Medieval Spain, p. 88. 17  Colbert, Martyrs of Córdoba, pp. 133–135. Colbert sites the Chronicon Moissiacense and a letter from Louis to Pious to the Christians of Mérida which point to these pressures.

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Movement.18 The Mozarabs brought not only their artisanal skill, they also brought their historical memory and perhaps a sense of enmity towards Islam. The Mozarabs thus helped drive the material and artistic culture of the north as well as its ideological discourse. There is only one more reference to a Toledan bishop before Alfonso VI’s conquest and that was to Pascual who was consecrated in León in 1058 during the reign of Fernando I of León-Castile (r. 1037–1065).19 Pascual appears to be the only Toledan bishop consecrated outside of the city before 1085, which makes this event uniquely meaningful. Ferdinand I was the son of Sancho III “the Great” of Navarre (r. 1000–1035) and son-in-law of Vermudo III of León (r. 1027–1037) both of whom held imperial pretensions, the former from conquest and the latter through inheritance.20 Fernando made use of the imperial title himself, and it is believed he sought to pass this honor to his favored son, Alfonso, by bestowing the crown of León and the parias of Toledo upon him.21 Rose Walker has argued that Fernando even named his son “Alfonso” in order to imbue him with the legacy of his revered predecessors.22 The consecration of Pascual might have been part of the purposeful linking of León and Toledo seen later through Alfonso’s inheritance. It signified, at the very least, Fernando’s increasing sway over Toledan affairs, which was indicative of broader trends in Christian-Muslim relations during the taifa period.23 The appointment of Pascual, nevertheless, represented a crucial step toward the reestablishment of the primatial throne. 2

Papal Influence and the Reestablishment of Toledo’s Prestige

Alfonso VI’s conquest of Toledo in 1085 led to the reestablishment of Toledo’s archiepiscopate and altered the balance of ecclesiastical power within the Iberian Peninsula. Papal and royal rhetoric of the time viewed the event as a restoration of the ancient order, the correction of a wrong that occurred nearly 400 years prior. For example, Urban II described his initial privilege from 1088 as merely a reaffirmation of rights Toledo had lost after the fall of 18  Collins, Early Medieval Spain: Unity in Diversity, 400–1000, p. 219. 19  Rivera Recio, Arzobispos de Toledo, pp. 205–06; Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under Alfonso VI, 1065–1109, p. 11. The original document they cite is AC León, Códice 11, fol. 264r–v. 20  Menéndez Pidal, La España del Cid, vol. 1, pp. 66–69, 104–112. 21  Reilly, Alfonso VI, pp. 8–9; Bishko, “Fernando I and the Origins of the Leonese-Castilian Alliance with Cluny,” p. 46. 22  Walker, “Becoming Alfonso VI,” p. 391. 23  The best synthesis of the taifa period in the English language remains Wasserstein, The Rise and Fall of the Party Kings: Politics and Society in Islamic Spain, 1002–1086.

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the Visigoths. Urban began by musing upon counterfactual history—a history that could have occurred had the Muslims never invaded, “How great would the church of Toledo have been by its standing from ancient times. How much would its authority have existed in Spain and Galicia. How many advantages would have arisen in church affairs by it.”24 Urban wondered about the state of Christianity in the Iberian Peninsula and viewed the fall of Toledo as having inhibited the Iberian church from achieving its full glory because it lacked Toledo’s guidance.25 This type of rhetoric can be tied to Urban’s reformist attitude that stressed the importance of hierarchy—people are led astray without proper authority in place. The salvation of the Iberian people depended upon Toledo’s firm position at the top of ecclesiastical hierarchy. Urban went on, “It is a pleasure to choose you, dearest brother Bernard, as chief bishop of that city … Therefore, by thanks of heavenly compassion, we do not deny to restore the authority of ancient Toledo because you humbly asked through the separation of so much land and sea.”26 Urban, through his wordplay, did not simply grant authority to the see of Toledo, but rather did not deny what, one would assume, should naturally be and would have been had the Muslims never invaded. The Christians of Iberia had suffered without Toledo’s clear leadership, but now it could fulfill its proper role once again alleviating that distress. Urban heralded the restoration of the archbishopric, but tensions existed between Toledo’s Mozarab clergy and its newly elected archbishop Bernard of Sedirac. Bernard, after a brief revolt of the indigenous clergy, decided to fill the cathedral chapter with Frankish émigrés who would exert influence over the chapter after his death. The selection of the cathedral’s site also could have been the result of these early conflicts between the two factions.27 Tradition holds that Toledo’s cathedral, first consecrated by King Reccared, had become the city’s central mosque. Its recapture thus marked a symbolic conquest over Islam.28 Another opinion contends, however, that the 24  Biblioteca Capitular de Toledo (hereafter BCT) 42–21, fol. 1r: “Quante Toletana ecclesia a dignitatis fuerit ex antiquo. Quante in hyspanis et gallicis regionibus auctoritatis extiterit. Quanteque per eam in ecclesiasticis negociis utilitates accreuerint.” 25  Rivera Recio, La Iglesia de Toledo en el Siglo XII (1086–1208), vol. 2, pp. 269–70. See also Iogna-Prat, Order and Exclusion: Cluny and Christendom Face Heresy, Judaism, and Islam, 1000–1150, pp. 48–49. 26  BCT 42–21, fol. 1rv: “Te frater karissimi. B. primum illius urbis postante tempora presulem eligi diuine placuit examini maiestatis. Et nos ergo miserationi superne gratie respondentes quia per tanta terratum mariumque discrimina romane auctoritatem ecclesie suppliciter expetisti. Auctoritatem pristinani Toletane ecclesie resitutere non negamus.” 27  Hernández, “La Cathédrale, Instrument d’Assimilation,” pp. 82–83, and Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada, De Rebus Hispaniae, book VI, chap. 26. 28  Harris, “Mosque to Church Conversions in the Spanish Reconquest,” pp. 167–68.

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Mozarabic church Santa María de Alficén had been cathedral’s original site.29 This Mozarabic church was not only rejected as the site of the cathedral, it was granted to Frankish monks soon after Toledo’s surrender, perhaps to break Mozarab opposition to the Frankish archbishop.30 Tradition and precedent were often utilized to support authoritative claims in the era of Gregorian Reform, but this episode shows that they could also be cast aside when expedient. The Mozarabs, who had played an important role in maintaining the memory of Toledo’s primacy, were denied their place in the reestablishment of that primacy. Pope Adrian IV’s privilege from 1156 represented another appeal to history to justify Toledo’s preeminence. Indeed, not since the privilege of Urban II did a pope reconstitute Toledo’s history in such detail. It appears, in fact, that Adrian modeled this privilege after Urban’s, though he extended it substantially by including aspects from subsequent privileges. One interesting divergence from Urban’s privilege, however, came in his treatment of Toledo’s history. How much honor and glory would the church of Toledo have from antiquity, and how its renown would have existed as much in the regions of Spain as in Galicia. How much illustriousness, that advantage and advancement would have come to church affairs by it … But it was seized by the violence of the Saracens because the sins of the people drove out the Toledan community that formerly used to be of great renown among the cities of the Spains. Thus, the freedom of the Christian religion was reduced to nothing there.31 This privilege resonated with the spirit of Urban’s rhetoric and amplified it, and furthermore, legitimized the royal lineage of León and Castile for their role as redeemers of the people’s past sins. The kingdom of León and Castile had become partitioned by Alfonso VII (r. 1126–1157) who divided it between his sons Fernando and Sancho 29  Hernández, “La Cathédrale, Instrument d’Assimilation,” p. 83; Harris, “Mosque to Church,” p. 168. 30  Martín-Cleto, “La Iglesia de Santa María de Alficén,” pp. 34–35; Linehan, History and Historians, pp. 217–220. 31  BCT 42–21, fol. 23r: “Quante dignitatis et glorie Toletana ecclesia fuerit ex antiquo et tam in hyspanis quam in Gallicis regionibus quam famosa extiterit. Quam illustris. Quod etiam per eam ecclesiasticis negociis utilitates et incrementa peruenerint. Omnibus qui sindalium decretorum instituta scrutantur. Satis esse credimus manifestum. Sed ex quo peccatoris populi exigentibus Toletana ciuitas que in signis quondam et inter hyspaniarum urbes magni nominis habebatur. Sarracenorum uiolentia capta est. Ita ibi christiane religionis libertas ad nichilum est redacta.”

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respectively. Sancho, however, ruled only for about a year before his death in 1158 which left Castile to his young son Alfonso. The minority of Alfonso VIII (r. 1158–1214) led to strife between Castile and León, which plagued the kingdoms for much of the latter twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. The young kingdom of Portugal, furthermore, also began to successfully assert its independence during this same period. Moreover, the archbishoprics of Compostela in Galicia and Braga in Portugal had been vying for independence from Toledo since around the turn of the eleventh century and this new political situation appeared to have favored their positions. Pope Alexander III, however, sided strongly with Toledo in 1166: It is known that the church of Toledo is primate of the Spains. We, however, hold you and your person dear in the pure love of the Lord by which the steadfast column and support of the church is unshaken. By whatever method it is appropriate, we propose to honor … that you and the Toledan church are distinguished by God, the Creator, to be head over two provinces, namely, Braga and Compostela. You should maintain primacy [over them] in perpetuity … Therefore, we declare that the archbishop of Compostela, like the rest of the bishops of the Spains, for you and your successors as his primate.32 The political reality made it difficult, if not impossible, for Toledo to press its claim despite the Pope’s support. Toledo, nevertheless, remained a symbol of Ibero-Christian unity despite these times of political fragmentation as seen through this papal rhetoric. 3

Economic Growth

The political turmoil of the later 12th century hindered Toledo’s ability to assert its ecclesiastical authority in León, Galicia, and Portugal, but, at the local level, 32  BCT 42–21, fol. 29v–30v: “Hyspaniarum primatus Toletane ecclesie noscitur indulgeri. Nos autem quam te sincera in domino caritate diligimus. Et personam tuam quo in concussa est columpna ecclesie et stabile firmamentum. Quibus cumque modis conuenit. Proposuimus honorare … Ut tu et ecclesia Toletana cui auctore deo preesse dinoscitis. Super duabus prouinciis. Bracharensis. Uidelicet. Et compostellanis primatum debeas in perpetuum obtinere … Decernimus itaque ut ipse Compostellanus archiepiscopus sicut et reliqui hyspaniarum pontifices. Tibi tanquam primati suo et successoribus tuis.” For more on the dispute among these archbishoprics see Mansilla, “Disputas Diocesanas entre Toledo, Braga y Compostela en los siglos XII al XV,” pp. 89–143.

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Toledo’s cathedral chapter was consolidating its economic control over the city and its environs. Initial donations from Alfonso VI provided crucial early support for the cathedral and set it upon firm economic footing. Subsequent grants from the crown of León and Castile combined with the waning Almoravid threat allowed the cathedral chapter to extend its holdings in the Tajo River basin.33 Increased financial fortunes, however, ushered in a shift in the culture of the cathedral chapter with canons desiring a greater share of cathedral’s wealth. Membership in the chapter had held historical and social prestige, but by the later 12th century, thanks to over half a century of royal support, it meant access to significant economic power as well. Alfonso VI’s initial privilege to the cathedral contained tropes similar to those of Urban. The city, by the hidden judgment of God, was occupied by the Moors, who commonly blaspheme by the name of Christ, for 376 years. By a miraculous series [of events] God bequeathed the imperial peace to me after my parents King Ferdinand and Queen Sancha. [Then] I, being aware of these disgraces, took up war against the savage peoples as the name of Christ was despised, the Christians were abandoned, and others were slaughtered by sword, want, or various torments. In the place where our fathers adored God the name of cursed Muhammad was being invoked. I seized populous cities and the strongest castles after battles and innumerable deaths of the enemy by the assisting grace of God. I thus maneuvered the army, as the grace of God inspired, against that city in which my forefathers, esteemed in the sight of the Lord, formerly reigned most powerfully and opulently. If the faithless race had snatched it away from the Christians under their nefarious34 commander Muhammad, I, Emperor Alfonso, by Christ commander would return it to the faithful.35 33  Rivera Recio, Reconquista y pobladores del antiguo reino de Toledo, pp. 27–28. 34  I believe there is a notion of black magic here with “malefico.” Harris, “Mosque to Church,” p. 162 mentions, “Toledo cathedral’s deed of endowment describes the former mosque as having been ‘the dwelling place of demons.’” 35  BCT 42–20, fol. 1v–2r: “Que civitas abscondito dei iudico. CCC (tis). LXXVI. Annis possessa fuit a mauris. Christi nomine communiter blasphemantibus. Quod ego intelligens esse obprobrium. Ut despecto nomine christi. Abiectisque christianis. Atque quibusdam eorum gladio seu fame diuersisque tormentis mactatis. In loco ubi sancti nostri patres deum fidei intentione adorauerunt. Maledicti mahometi nomen invocauerit. Postquam parentum meorum videlicet patris mei regis fredenandi et matris mee Santie regine. Deus mirabili ordine mihi paccatum tradidit imperium. Bellum contra barbaras gentes assumpsi. A quibus post milita prelia. Et post innumeras hostium mortes. Ciuitates populosas. Et casella fortissima. Adiuuante dei gratia cepi. Sicque inpirante dei gratia exercitum contra istam urbem movi. In qua olim progenitores mei regnauerunt potentissum

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Alfonso connected himself personally to the Visigoths by specifically alluding to them as his progenitores, or forefathers.36 His privilege thus marked a direct connection with the perceived Visigothic “golden age.” Alfonso, after his narrative, then listed the lands and revenues he granted the cathedral, which provided the foundation for the cathedral’s economic growth that quickly made the cathedral a powerful economic force within Toledo and along the Tajo basin.37 Royal sponsorship of the cathedral continued under Queen Urraca (r. 1109– 1126). She granted, for example, all the properties of the former Mozarabic governor Sisnando Davidez to the cathedral in a privilege dating from February 27, 1115.38 Such a donation may seem innocuous on the surface, but a deeper reading reveals it might not be so. Sisnando, according to scholars such as Stephen Lay and Reyna Pastor de Tognieri, represented a spirit of tolerance and cosmopolitanism that had previously influenced Iberian cultural life.39 Sisnando could be seen as an embodiment of convivencia, having served at both Christian and Muslim courts during his career. On the other hand, he could also be considered as a hindrance to achieving conformity. Archbishop Bernard had already revealed his intolerance toward the Muslim community when he consecrated Toledo’s main mosque as a church with the help of Queen Constance, Urraca’s mother.40 Granting the archbishop and cathedral chapter Sisnando’s wealth could be seen as a symbolic statement signaling a change in the social order. Urraca’s privilege was part of her last testament, but atque opulentissimi existimans fore acceptabile in conspectu domini. Si hoc quod perfida gens sub malefico duce suo mahometh christianis abstulerat. Ego adefonsus imperator. Duce christo eiusdem fidei cultoribus reddere possem.” 36  For Alfonso’s historical awareness see Walker, “Becoming Alfonso VI,” pp. 391–412, and Gómez-Menor, “Raíces de Alfonso VI,” pp. 127–30. 37  BCT 42–20, fol. 2v–3r: “Pro remedio anime mee uel parentum meorum. Uillarum quarum haec sunt nomina. Bartelles. Cubeixa. Alcobreca. Almunazir. Kabannas de sacra. Rodellas. Torres. Decuss. In terra de Talauera. Alcoleia. In terra de alhala lousolus. In terra de guadalfaiara. Brioga. Et almunias que fuit de abengema cum suo orto. Et illos molinos de habib. Et de omnibus uineis quas ego habeo in uilla setma. Medietatem. Et omnis illas hereditates. Seu casas. Et tendas quas habuit his temporibus. Quibus fuit mesquita maurorum dono ei et confirmo. Quam est facta ecclesia christianorum. Insuper decimam partem meorum laborum que habuero in hac pacta. Similiter et terciam partem decimarum omnium ecclesiarum que in eius diocesi fuerint consecrate.” 38  BCT 42–20, fol. 11v–12r: “Ego Vrraca dei gratia yspanie regina regis Aldefonsi regineque constantie filia. Grato animo et spontanea voluntate. Facio cartam stabilitatis. Siue testamentum firmitatis. Omnipotenti deo et toletane ecclesie sancte marie. Eiusdemque loci archiepiscopo. Domno uidelicet Bernardo et eius successoribus. De illa domo que fuit de Sesnando aluazil.” Rivera Recio, Iglesia de Toledo, vol. 1. pp. 55–56. 39  Pastor, Del Islam al Christianismo, p. 116; Lay, The Reconquest Kings of Portugal: Political and Cultural Reorientation on the Medieval Frontier, pp. 20–21. 40  Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada, De Rebus Hispaniae, book VI, chap. 24.

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when her son Alfonso VII took the throne, she turned over Sisnando’s lands to Alfonso allowing the young king to make this same grant to the cathedral.41 She solidified the link between the cathedral and the crown by doing so, which fostered a sense of continuity with the past.42 Alfonso made the first donation in his own right upon reaching adulthood seven years later granting one-tenth of his total income to the cathedral of Toledo and its chapter.43 The donation of a tenth of “all revenue,” not just that of Toledo, would seem to indicate that this was something of a personal tithe, which created a strong bond with this institution. This donation was thus an acknowledgement of the unique relationship between the king of León and Castile and the archbishop of Toledo. The power and prestige of the cathedral chapter only seemed to grow thanks to the continuing support of King Alfonso. In 1137 he granted that the chapter keep one-tenth of all the money minted in the city to provide for the vestments of the cathedral canons.44 The grant of these monies affirmed the social status that ought to coincide with the chapter’s authority. If the cathedral canons were to exist as a group above and apart, then they ought to distinguish themselves accordingly. The sumptuousness of their vestments must reflect their status and authority within the city. The first archiepiscopal privilege from Archbishop Raymond in 1138 revealed that Toledo’s revenues were indeed growing and that the cathedral canons felt they deserved their fair share of that income as a result.

41  BCT 42–20, fol. 14rv: “Ego Adefonsus dei gratia rex Yspanie comitis Raimundi filius. Concedente matre mea domna regina Vrraca bone memorie regis Aldefonsi filia grato animo et spontanea uoluntate facio cartam stabilitatis siue testamentum firmitatis. Omnipotentia deo et Toletane ecclesie sancte marie eiusdemque loci archiepiscopo domno uidelicet Bernardo et eius successoribus. Atque canonicis ibi deo seruientibus. De illa domo que fuit de Sisnando Aluazil que mihi accidit ex parte matris mee.” 42  Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VII, 1126–1157, p. 11; Reilly, The Kingdom of León-Castilla under Queen Urraca, 1109–1126, pp. 50, 61–62, 198. 43  BCT 42–20, 15v–16r: “Ego Aldefonsus dei gratia Yspaniarum rex … Omnium bonorum suorum decimas dari precepit. Dono atque concedo. Domino deo et beate Marie. Domnoque Bernardo Toletane sedis archiepiscopo. Et sancte Romane ecclesie legato. Totiusque Yspanie primati. Eiusque successoribus atque clericis in eadem ecclesia domino deo assidue seruientibus … Decimam omnium reddituum sicut supra nominaui. Domino deo et beate Marie. Eiusdemque sedis archiepiscopo. Et eius canonicis.” 44  BCT 42–20, fol. 22r: “Damus deo et beate Marie cuius in Toleto fundatur ecclesia. Canonicisuque ipsius ecclesie presentibus. Eet eorum successoribus. Decimam totius monete que in Toleto fuerit fabricata … Et quicquid inde habuerint in uestitura solummodo canonicorum expendant.”

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I, Raymond, archbishop of the see of Toledo by the grace of God and primate of all Spain by good spirit and free will together with the council and consent of the conprovincial bishops … make a charter of division and distribution of our things to the canons of Blessed Mary of Toledo … I donate all this to the canons of Blessed Mary for the reason that their grumbling cease as much in the present as in the future, and that there may be peace and love between me and them. I wish that they have free leave to their homes. I give all to them that they go and perform their duty and service just as they do when they return. And when they return, duty and service are not entered into except through the chapter and they answer to no one except the chapter.45 The nature of the chapter was changing at this point. Raymond’s predecessor, Bernard, brought a number of French protégés with him as mentioned above, and Raymond was among them. Bernard’s tendency, likely owing to his Cluniac background, was to run the chapter much like a monastery, and so canon life was highly regulated. Toledan historian Juan Francisco Rivera Recio commended the archbishop and his first canons for being exemplary clerics 45  BCT 42–20, fol. 57r–58r: “Ego Raimundus dei gratia Toletane sedis archiepiscopus. Tociusque Yspanie primas. Bono animo et spontanea uoluntate. Una cuum consilio et consensu conprouincialium episcoporum … Facio cartam diuisionis et rerum nostrarum partitionis canonicis Beate Marie de Toleto. Dono eis mediam partem panis et uini de tertiis ecclesiarum Toleti. Et tertiam partem omnium reddituum quos hodie habet ecclesia Toletana uel in antea adquisierit … Insuper do eis medietatem de illa alcauala de Talauera. Et tertiam partem de ipsa Talauera. Et de Makeda. Et de Sancta Eulalia. Et de Escalona. De Alfamin. De Ulmos. De Canales. De Calatalifa. De magerit. De Talamancha. De Butrago. De Godalfaiara. De Alcala. De Fita. De Pena Fora. De Belenia. De Cugulut. Et de omnibus uillis populatis. Et populandis. Ecclesie Toletane pertinentibus. Item de mortuorum helemosinis. Si fuerint. xx. Solidi. Sint canonicorum. Et si fuerint amplius. Medietas archiepiscopi. Et medietas alia sit canonicorum. Similiter de animalibus et de auro et argento operato et non operato. Et de suppellectilibus et indumentis fiat … Si contigerit quod quis libet uiuus siue mortuus aliquem hereditatem ecclesie Beate Marie tribuat. Due partes sint archiepiscopi et tertia clericorum. Quod si aliquis super altare aliquid posuerit. Quinque solidos habeat inde sacricustos. Alii sint clericorum. Quod si amplius quam. XX. Solidi fuerint ut supra dictum est medietas sit archiepiscopi. Et alia clericorum. Hac omnia ideo dono canonicis Beate Marie tam presentibus quam futuris ut eorum cesset murmuratio. Et inter me et illos sit uera pax et dilectio. Et uolo ut ita libere habeant suam domum et omnia que ego eis dono quod ipsi propositum suum et seruitiales suos mittant et eiciant sicut uoluerint. Et quando uoluerint. Et prepositus et seruitiales non intrent nisi per capitulum. Et non respondeant nisi capitulo. Numerus canonicorum. XX.IIII. maiores. Et. VI. Minores. De quibus uno defuncto communi consilio archiepiscopi et canonicorum alter in loco eius substituatur.”

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molded through the spirit of reform, and who provided a strong foundation from which the cathedral and its chapter were able to grow.46 The French monopoly upon the chapter had already begun to break by the time of Bernard’s death, however, with a number of “Hispanic” names appearing in the chapter rolls.47 It would appear from this document that the influx of indigenous canons coincided with the relaxation of the asceticism of the early chapter. One reason for this change might have come from the steady enrichment of the cathedral itself. The “grumblings” of the canons indicate that the spirit of reform had cracked and the canons challenged the authority of the archbishop to gain more access to the chapter’s growing revenues. The grant of “free leave” is also telling. The inclusion of this issue indicates that free leave was not a liberty granted to the early chapter which points to the monastic nature of this institution. This grant of freedom represented the loosening of the archbishop’s authority, and this new sharing of power and revenues reveals a distinct generational shift between the reigns of Bernard and Raymond. The material consequences of the Crown’s support broke the monastic values of the early chapter that were abandoned in pursuit of material wealth.48 A privilege from Archbishop Juan in 1159 represented another example of the alienation of archiepiscopal power over the cathedral’s wealth. Juan bequeathed the towns of Illescas and Azaña to the chapter for his anniversary as well as those of kings Alfonso VII and Sancho, the latter who had originally donated the land to the cathedral.49 Juan then completely turned over the revenues for all anniversaries to the chapter in December 1159.50 His privileges marked the growing power of the chapter and in a sense represented a coming 46  See Rivera Recio, Iglesia de Toledo, vol. 2, pp. 22–25. See Constable, The Reformation of the Twelfth Century, pp. 122, 179–180 for more on the waning of the reformist spirit. 47  Rivera Recio, Iglesia de Toledo, vol. 2, p. 25. 48  For the effects of reform upon chapter life in medieval Spain see Carrero, “Ecce quam bonum et quam iocondum habitare fratres in unum: Vidas regular y secular en las catedrales hispanas llegado el siglo XII,” pp. 778–806. 49  BCT 42–20, fol. 59rv: “Ego. J. Toletane sedis archiepiscopus et Yspaniarum primas. Uillas illas scilicet Yleskes et Fazaniam. Quam rex Santius pro anima sua et patris sui imperatoris. A. pro anniuersario ecclesie Sancte Marie de Toleto in perpetuum proprie possidendas deuotissime contulit. Similiter ego uobis omnibus eiusdem ecclesie canonicis libentissime dono. Vt a uobis in perpetuum iure hereditario possideantur.” 50  BCT 42–20, fol. 60v; Archivo Capitular de Toledo (hereafter ACT) A.5.A.1.14: “Ego. J. Toletane sedis archiepiscopus et Yspaniarum primas. Cuncta que predecessores nostri. Siue etiam reges. Siue canonici. Siue quilibet alii pro sui memoria in diebus anniuersariis facienda. Ad refectionem canonicorum Sancte Marie pie reliquerunt. Siue adhuc etiam aliqui relicturi sunt. Similiter ego nullo retento iure uendicandi alquid in illis. Uobis canonicis Sancte Marie libere et proprie possidenda. Et in predictis anniuersariis queque in suo die expendenda concedo. Ita tamen ut si de redditibus ciuuslibet anniuersarii. Preter

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of age of it as an institution. This act likely strengthened the bonds between the chapter and the community. Giving the chapter more control over these revenues meant more localized control over donations meant to honor the memories of important local individuals. This grant, therefore, made the cathedral more of a thoroughly Toledan institution. Toledo’s economic growth continued to benefit the cathedral chapter as seen in a privilege from Archbishop Cenebruno in 1172 in which he expanded the number of canons by ten bringing the total to forty. He did not, however, grant any more incomes to the chapter which implies that the chapter’s wealth had grown substantially. The growing prosperity of the institution seems implicit in Cenebruno’s language.51 For example, Cenebruno mentioned the shame the chapter felt in having to ask for clothing and provisions in earlier times, but then froze the income of the vestuary. The income of the cathedral had grown sufficiently enough that it could now easily support the higher standard of living the chapter had come to expect despite the added number of canons. Royal donations were, of course, not the only way the cathedral chapter gained property and wealth; there were private donations as well. In January 1175 Pedro Alguazil donated an oven to the archbishop.52 This same oven had, refectionem ipsius diei debitam. Aliquid remanserit. Conseruertur. Ut in aliis usibus qui necessariores uisi fuerint. Pro consilio capituli expendatur.” 51  BCT 42–20, fol. 61rv: “Celebrunus dei gratia Toletane sedis archiepiscopus et Yspaniarum primas omnibus ecclesie Toletane canonicis. Tam presentibus quam futuris. In perpetuum. Iusti postulatio desiderii. Pie debet uoluntatis assensu. Effectu subsequente compleri. Nec surdis debet auribus preteriri. Quod cum honestate utilitatem continet impetratum. Inde est quod ecclesie Toletane commodum diligentius attendentes. Et canonicorum iustis peticionibus contra irae nolentes. Prospitientes etiam tam presentibus quam futuris. Et nunc et in posterum eiusdem ecclesie canonicis pro futurum. Communicato omnium fratrum nostrorum consilio. Habitoque consensu. Uidentes ecclesie redditus non modicum inminui. Et canonicorum numerum de die in diem augeri. Ne cogente paupertate. Debita ecclesie seruitia subtrahantur. Et qui de altario uiuere debent. Uictum uel uestitum aliunde ad ignominiam prefate ecclesie querere compellantur. Statuimus eos solos de vestiario portionem accipere qui nunc accipiunt. Uel huc usque accipere. Consueuerunt. Cum uero ad quadragenarium numerum. Numerus redactus fuerit canonicorum. Imo ex eis decedente. In loco defuncti. Alius de eadem substituatur ecclesia. Si itaque canonicus fuerit. Et ante in canonicorum numero constitutus. Et mansionarius esse uoluerit. His seruato ordine institutionis. Substituatur. Sin autem. De his qui panem canonice habuerint. Quem dominus archiepiscopus cum communi fratrem omnium consilio dignum esse iudicauerit. Instituat canonicum et portionem. De uestiario accipiat.” 52  BCT 42–20, fol. 63r; ACT E.8.A.1.6: “Ideo ego Petrus Alguazil pro redemptione anime mee dono uobis domino meo. C. Toletane sedis archiepiscopo. Et toti eiusdem ecclesie conuentui furnum meum de alaudin qui est in uico Sancti Genesii.”

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interestingly, been donated to Pedro by Alfonso VIII.53 Pedro was likely a Mozarab of importance in the Toledan community. His title indicated a high administrative post.54 Pedro did not sign himself as “Alguazil,” however, but rather as “Petrus, son of ʿAbd al-Raḥman, son of Yoḥan, son of Ḥārīth” in both Latin and Arabic.55 Pedro used the Arabic naming convention of listing multiple generations of the paternal line thus revealing his Mozarab origins. Yet, he had begun to assimilate to Latin culture as seen through his Romance name and patronage of the cathedral.56 Perhaps there was a political motive to his patronage as well. Since the cathedral was the Toledan religious institution preferred by the royal family, Pedro likely sought to solidify his connection to King Alfonso through this donation. One cannot discount the fact that Toledo’s historic position played a factor in the granting of generous royal donations. These donations provided the basis upon which the cathedral became the preeminent economic institution of Toledo—a position that reflected its preeminence in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. The continued economic growth of the cathedral is attested by the changing relationship between the archbishop and his canons. As revenues increased so did the canons’ desire to gain control over those revenues. Once in control of these revenues the canons became active purchasers of properties in and around Toledo, many of which were Mozarabic and thus gave them control over Mozarab lives. 4

Two Case Studies: One Frank and One Mozarab

The cathedral canons of Toledo were the most active clerics in business dealings with the people of Toledo, likely due to the vast amount of revenue they had at their disposal. The cathedral commanded substantial wealth and its canons used that wealth to extend land holdings and power. The cathedral was an elite institution in terms of the religious influence it commanded and the 53  ACT E.8.A.1.1: “Ego adefonsus dei gratia rex catholicus unam cum uxore mea alienor regina dono et concedo vobis petro aluazil et filiis vostris et uniusse […] sucessione vostre unum furnum de aluaidin in barrio sancte generis.” See Hernández, Los cartularios de Toledo: Catálogo documental, doc. 169, p. 163. This document does not have a date, but Hernández also lists it as January 1175. 54  For a definition of alguacil see González, Epoca de Alfonso VIII, vol. 1, 75. 55  BCT 42–20, fol. 63v; ACT E.8.A.1.6: “Bīṭro b. ʿAbd al-Raḥman b. Yoḥan b. Ḥārīth. Quod est dicere Petrus filius Abderahmen qui fuit filius Iohannis filii Harit.” 56  For a generational curve of assimilation from Arabicized to Romanized culture see Olstein, La era mozárabe, pp. 123–131.

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purchasing power and level of investment held by its canons. As seen in the concern over the divisions of the cathedral’s revenues earlier, the monastic ideals of the early generations steadily fell away as the 12th century progressed, making the cathedral chapter a domain of some of the wealthiest inhabitants of Toledo.57 The first appearance of a land sale in Mozarabic documentation involving a cathedral canon, in this case between two chapter members, occurred in 1156. In April of that year the priest Pedro Gilbert sold a field of young grapevines that he owned with ʿĀmr b. Khalaf, who had cultivated the previously empty land, to the deacon Sancho for fifteen mizcales.58 The involvement of members from Toledo’s different ethnic communities in this document reveals some interesting inter-communal dynamics. One can determine with a fair amount of confidence that Pedro was of Frankish origin judging from his surname. ʿAmr could have been a member of either the Mozarab, Muslim, or even the Jewish community, and though occasionally members of the Islamic or Jewish communities were denoted as such, ʿAmr’s religious identity was not declared in this case. This omission could carry the implicit meaning that his Christian, and thus Mozarabic, identity was taken for granted by the notary, but one cannot state that fact with certainty. Sancho’s identity, likewise, is somewhat ambiguous, but it can be determined from his name and his affiliation with the cathedral that he was culturally and religiously romanized. The relationship between Pedro and ʿAmr offers a discreet example of how settlers utilized Toledo’s indigenous community. The preconquest inhabitants of Toledo understood the natural environment of the region and were familiar with Muslim cultivation techniques that were superior to those in the Christian North.59 Pedro Gilbert knew that it would benefit him financially to utilize the expertise of ʿAmr. The mention of this property as a ǧirs, which González Palencia translated as majuelo or young vineyard, probably meant that it was not yet productive, but the simple planting of the vines already increased the value of that land. It should come as no surprise that the Frank would entrust the cultivation of this land to the expertise of the Toledan. Pedro likely would have made a profit on that land, and Sancho too might have seen a high return notwithstanding a disaster. 57  Constable, Reformation of the Twelfth Century, pp. 122, 147–149. 58  González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII y XIII, vol. 1, doc. 47, p. 32. González Palencia translates Pedro’s last name as Chelabert, but I prefer the more typically French Gilbert. Pedro’s surname in Latin documentation is written as Gilbertus. 59  For an overview of the differences between Islamic and Christian agriculture in medieval Spain see Glick, Islamic and Christian Spain in the Early Middle Ages, pp. 42–112.

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Pedro Gilbert engaged in a similar deal in 1164 when he sold another young vineyard to Domingo Negro, a deacon of the cathedral chapter, for thirteen and a half mizcales.60 This young vineyard had been planted by a certain Abu aṭ-Ṭayyib; so here again Pedro had made use of the agricultural knowledge of an Arabicized individual of indeterminate religious affiliation. Another interesting aspect of this document is that Pedro was referred to as an imām, which is rare in the Mozarabic documentation from the 12th century. As to why the notary chose this Islamic designation rather than transliterating a Romance term, by far the more popular linguistic option, is unknown. This choice is even more confusing considering that seven of the eight witnesses were clerics whose names were logged in Latin and that this deal was between two members of the cathedral chapter. It is difficult to believe that the notary did not know the Romance terms for different clerical designations considering that he was able to transliterate the term “deacon” into Arabic. So, one wonders whether Pedro might have consciously chose this designation to somehow differentiate himself, and if so, what this could have signified, especially considering his Frankish roots. Pedro Gilbert’s appreciation for indigenous farming techniques can be seen again in 1158 when he purchased some land with almond trees from Leocadia, Amīrah, Susana, Khayrah, Miguel bin al-Ṣabbāǧ, and Columba, daughter of Khalaf “the Fat,” for ten mizcales.61 The relationship between this group of sellers is difficult to determine. They were listed individually and were not mentioned as having any shared relatives. The variation of names indicates both Romance and Arabic influence, in some cases with the same person. Miguel was mentioned as being the son of “al-Ṣabbāǧ” or “the dyer.” Whether the notary simply used an Arabic term for this occupation or if this somehow indicates Mozarabic roots is difficult to determine. The Arabic term for dying was likely well known in 12th century Toledo. Conversely, Khalaf was called “al-Ğurḍah” which Palencia took, and I think rightly so, as a transliteration for “el Gordo,” or “the Fat.” These examples help illustrate the linguistic fluidity of the time. Moreover, it also illustrates a somewhat muddier picture of 12th century Toledan culture. In this case we have a Frank investing in a distinctly Eastern form of agriculture on a piece of land formerly held by a culturally ambiguous group. Pedro Gilbert’s activity does not just represent a Frank gaining control over Toledanos, it also represents his assimilation to the Toledan economy. He effectively became a Toledano himself through both his economic and spiritual involvement in Toledan life. 60  González Palencia, Mozárabes, vol. 1, doc. 73, p. 51. 61  González Palencia, Mozárabes, vol. 1, doc. 57, p. 39.

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In 1176 the Mozarab archpriest Domingo b. ʿAbd Allah al-Buljāni62 appeared as the representative of the cathedral chapter in their purchase of an inn from Juan Facundo, who was a shepherd for al-Amīn Abu al-Ḥasan Bahlūl, for seventy mizcales.63 The revenues from this inn were to pay for the anniversaries of the Pedro Mauro and his wife Solí. Archpriest Domingo was a particularly active canon in terms of purchasing Toledan lands as we will see below, and so he was well-suited to be a representative of the chapter in a deal such as this. Domingo was the son of ʿAbd Allah b. Sulaymān al-Buljāni, who appears purchasing a quarter part of Villa Algariba from the Amīn Esteban bin alDawīla for four mizcales in 1140.64 Domingo, himself, first appeared in Latin documentation as priest of San Juan in 1147 when Archbishop Raymond donated a mill to him and another Mozarab cleric.65 Archbishop Cenebruno also conceded property to Domingo granting him a tract of deserted land to cultivate in 1174.66 Cenebruno, perhaps like Pedro Gilbert, likely understood the need to harness Mozarabic knowledge to make Toledan lands profitable. The first reference to Domingo in the Mozarabic documents came in 1173 when he purchased a vineyard in Manzel Obaidala from Juan Juanes for six mizcales.67 Interestingly, both Domingo’s ecclesiastical and familial identities were preserved in this document as he was called both archpriest and son of ʿAbd Allah al-Buljāni, a rarity in these documents. Domingo purchased another plot of a vineyard in this same area from Martín Miguel for seven mizcales in 1175.68 Martín made this sale in order to raise money for his cousin Juan’s ransom. It is likely that Juan had been captured by the Almohads who had 62  González Palencia gives this surname as Alpolicheni, but I have chosen to maintain a closer rendering of the Arabic transliteration for his name. 63  González Palencia, Mozárabes, vol. 1, doc. 126, pp. 90–91. Gonzálvez, “The Persistence of the Mozarabic Liturgy in Toledo after A.D. 1080,” pp. 172–173 describes an Amīn as being an inspector. 64  González Palencia, Mozárabes, vol. 1, doc. 28, p. 20. 65  Archivo Histórico Nacional (hereafter AHN) 996B, fol. 104r: “Ego R. dei gratia metropolitane sedis archiepiscopus et tocius hispanie primas uobis Juliano presbitero Sancte Leocadie et Dominico Polichen sacerdoti Sancti Iohannis dono et concedo molendinum de Bebalportel quod est in suburbio Toleti.” Santa Leocadia was a Mozarabic parish, but San Juan has not been listed as among those Mozarabic parishes extant during the time of Alfonso’s conquest. For Mozarab parishes see Pastor, “L’assimilation d’une minorité,” p. 363, and Martín-Cleto, “La Iglesia de Santa María de Alficén,” pp. 29–30. 66  AHN 996B, fol. 14r: “Ego Cenebruno dei gratia Toletane sedis archiepiscopus et hyspaniarum primas una cum consentu et uoluntate canonicorum sedis euisdem dono atque concedo tibi dilecto filio et canonico nostro Dominico archipresbitero desertum locum illum qui dicitur Alcurna.” 67  González Palencia, Mozárabes, vol. 1, doc. 104, p. 74. 68  Ibid., pp. 86–87.

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conquered the Islamic regions of Iberia a few years earlier and proved a great threat to Christian domains including Toledo. In 1177 Domingo turned his attention toward the area of Cobisa, which laid just to the south of Toledo. In June of that year, he purchased a portion of the properties Pedro Miguel had left to his widow and daughter there for twentytwo mizcales.69 Three years later Domingo purchased more lands in Cobisa that Juan, Julián, and Eulalia had inherited from their father ʿAbd al-Raḥman b. Masʿūd for twelve mizcales.70 The sellers were compelled to make this sale because Eulalia and her daughter had accrued debts that needed paying. It appears that Domingo was able to take advantage of situations in which people needed money quickly, as in this case as well as the case of the ransom above. In 1181, Domingo again purchased lands in this same area, this time a vineyard from Martín Raimundo, who had moved from Cobisa to Yuncos, for sixteen mizcales.71 Again, Domingo capitalized on a situation in which someone was compelled to sell. Domingo’s position within the chapter appears to have improved by this time as he was referred to as archdeacon here rather than archpriest. This change perhaps enhanced Domingo’s reputation. In the next document, dated from September 1182, though he was referred to as archpriest once again—he was also given the epithet “illustrious.”72 Here, Domingo was buying a yugada of land from Aura, daughter of Domingo Custios, for four mizcales. Domingo once again turned his attentions to Manzel Obaidala in 1185 when he purchased a vineyard from Juan Petrez and his wife María Petrez for thirteen and a half mizcales.73 Domingo had invested solely in rural lands within two areas up to this point. These investments, however, might have been paying off for Domingo as he purchased an expensive property within the city of Toledo in 1186. Domingo did not make this purchase himself, but instead sent an agent. In August of that year, Pedro b. al-ʿAjami bought a ruined inn from Placencia, widow of Pelayo Garganta, for twenty-one mizcales in Domingo’s name.74 Domingo again took advantage of a motivated seller as Placencia noted that she had to make this sale out of necessity, but went no further in her explanation.

69  Ibid., doc. 134, pp. 96–97. 70  Ibid., doc. 147, pp. 107–108. 71  Ibid., doc. 157, p. 115. 72  Ibid., doc. 163, p. 120. The term given by the notary is “al-ajall” meaning “greater” or “more splendid.” “Illustrious” is González’s translation. 73  Ibid., doc. 176, pp. 131–32. 74  Ibid., doc. 183, pp. 137–38.

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The rural areas of Cobisa and Manzel Obaidala, however, continued to receive the majority of Domingo’s investment. In June 1192, he purchased an orchard, a corral, and a shed in Cobisa from Bartolomé for three mizcales.75 He purchased a plot of a vineyard in Manzel Obaidala from Martín Esquerdo and his wife Dominga for eight mizcales in October that same year.76 In February the following year, Domingo purchased another plot of a vineyard, this time in Cobisa, from Guillerma de Cobisa for eight mizcales.77 The next month he bought another vineyard bordering one he already had in Cobisa that had been owned by the late Solí for twelve mizcales.78 Domingo again turned to Manzel Obaidala in May that same year when he purchased a vineyard, a plot of a vineyard, a house, and six wine-pitchers from Juan Domínguez for sixteen mizcales.79 Domingo purchased another house, this time in Cobisa in January 1194 from Domingo Faro for five mizcales.80 Finally, Domingo purchased a young vineyard bordering his lands in Manzel Obaidala from Pelayo, shepherd of Miguel Petrez, for seven mizcales.81 Little by little and piece by piece Domingo consolidated his control over these two particular areas. He was able to profit from the viticulture of these territories because he had developed valuable relationships with the inhabitants of these lands who likely knew they could turn to him when business needed to be done. No Mozarab appeared to benefit economically from his association with the chapter more than Domingo al-Buljāni. Over a twenty-year period from 1176 to 1196, Domingo purchased fifteen properties in and around the city of Toledo valuing a total of 148 mizcales, and he was the chapter representative for another purchase of an inn in the barrio of the tanners for seventy mizcales in 1176.82 Domingo was by far the most active canon in the purchase of Mozarabic property at this time. He also appeared to have been one of the most respected canons appearing first as archpriest and then in 1181 as archdeacon. Domingo’s economic activities both increased his power over his fellow Mozarabs and subsequently helped spread the cathedral’s hegemony over the Toledan community as a whole and the Mozarabic community in particular. The same can be said of Frankish canon Pedro Gilbert. A question arises here: Were these chapter members using relationships of patronage to 75  Ibid., doc. 226, p. 173. 76  Ibid., doc. 230, p. 176. 77  Ibid., doc. 234, p. 179. 78  Ibid., doc. 235, p. 180. 79  Ibid., doc. 239, p. 184. 80  Ibid., doc. 253, p. 196. 81  Ibid., doc. 263, p. 206. 82  See doc. 126, n. 63 above.

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foster the Latinization process of the Mozarabs, or were they merely seeking profit? The true motivations of these canons may never be revealed. We can say, however, that Mozarabic property was particularly attractive to the canons because of its development and productivity. The Mozarabs had benefited from agricultural advancements made in the Islamic world, and so their properties earned the attention of the cathedral canons once they had gained enough capital to invest in them. The question of whether Domingo al-Buljāni should properly be defined as a Mozarab also arises here. I have defined him as such because of his lineage; he was the son of ʿAbd Allah b. Sulaymān al-Buljāni. ʿAbd Allah’s name belies Arabicized, or perhaps even Arabic, roots. Domingo’s name, however, is distinctly Romance and his inclusion in the cathedral chapter suggests he fully abandoned the Mozarabic Rite in favor of the Latin one. Domingo, on the other hand, was known by his surname al-Buljāni in the Mozarabic documentation as well as in Archbishop Raymond’s grant to him.83 Domingo’s Arabic signature, furthermore, appears in a donation of a vineyard to the cathedral canons in 1163.84 Domingo, therefore, appears to have been part of a generation transitioning from Mozarabic to Latin culture, like his contemporary Pedro Alguazil. It was no coincidence that the purchasing activities of the cathedral chapter corresponded directly with their increased control over cathedral revenues. Toledo already had a well-developed economy, and the Mozarabic population of the city possessed a sophisticated knowledge of agricultural techniques and urban craftsmanship. Thus, Mozarabic property, when it came for sale, was a valuable commodity and a profitable investment. Members of Toledo’s cathedral chapter, being among the elite of the city, had access to amounts of capital others did not possess. It is not surprising, therefore, to see the cathedral canons of various types buying up vast amounts of Mozarab lands. So, while Toledo’s hegemony was being challenged throughout the Iberian Peninsula during the later twelfth century, the chapter’s hegemony within Toledo solidified in part through its increasing control over the city’s property and economy. Being a member of Toledo’s cathedral chapter meant becoming a member of Toledo’s elite, with all its pertinent advantages. It became a vehicle for assimilation both through the extension of its economic power and through the attraction of its economic and social benefits. 83  See n. 65, above. 84  BCT 42–20, fol. 76r contains the Arabic inscription of his name. The original document, which may contain Domingo’s own signature, is ACT A.3.C.1.1. I have not, unfortunately, personally seen the original document. See Hernández, Los cartularios de Toledo, doc. 138, pp. 132–33. For how naming patterns reveal Mozarab assimilation patterns see Olstein, La era mozárabe, pp. 123–131.

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The Visigoths made the cathedral of Toledo the religious center of Iberia. The prestige that came with its primatial claim could have been destroyed by the Islamic conquest. Toledo, however, became memorialized in the north even though its power over Iberia’s ecclesiastical hierarchy had waned during the city’s Islamic period. The kings of Asturias and León claimed to be the heirs of the lost Visigoth kingdom, and so when Alfonso VI captured Toledo in 1085, he viewed it as a recapturing of his birthright. The return of Toledo into Christian hands also meant a return of sorts to the ancient church hierarchy—Toledo once again could claim its place as the religious center of Iberia. Historical and spiritual prestige came along with this claim, a prestige that was heralded as far as the papal court in Rome. Toledo’s reputation made it attractive for investment, especially among the royal family who claimed historic ties to the see. Investment led to wealth, which was deployed to gain ever more control over Toledo’s economy. The cathedral of Toledo was thus a source of ecclesiastical, political, social, and economic power. But the power went two ways. Though the cathedral chapter had the capital, the Mozarabs had the technology. Thus, we see figures like Archbishop Raymond and Pedro Gilbert investing in Mozarabic property, and others like Pedro Alguazil and Domingo al-Buljāni seeking inclusion in cathedral life. The activities of individuals such as these helped weave Toledan society together and assimilate Toledo’s different communities into a new hybridized identity. Bibliography Primary Sources Parchments

Archivo Capitular de Toledo A.5.A.1.14 Archivo Capitular de Toledo A.3.C.1.1 Archivo Capitular de Toledo E.8.A.1.1 Archivo Capitular de Toledo E.8.A.1.6

Manuscripts

Archivo Histórico Nacional Codice 996B, “Becerro de la Catedral de Toledo o ‘Liber Primus Privilegiorum Ecclesiae Toletanae’”. Biblioteca Capitular de Toledo Manuscrito 42–20, “Liber Privilegiorum”. Biblioteca Capitular de Toledo Manuscrito 42–21, “Liber Privilegiorum de Primatu Toletanae Ecclesiae”.

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Published Sources

Chronicon Albeldense, eds. Enrique Flórez et al., España sagrada, 2nd edition, 56 vols., Madrid, 1816, vol. 13, pp. 433–466. Concilium Cordubense, ed. Juan Gil, Corpus Scriptorum Muzarabicorum, 2 vols., Madrid, 1973, vol. 1, pp. 135–141. Elipandus of Toledo, Epistula ad Fidelem, ed. Juan Gil, Corpus Scriptorum Muzarabicorum, 2 vols., Madrid, 1973, vol. 1, pp. 80–81. Eulogius of Córdoba, Epistula Tertia ad Wiliesindum, ed. Juan Gil, Corpus Scriptorum Muzarabicorum, 2 vols., Madrid, 1973, vol. 2, pp. 497–503. González Palencia, Angel, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII y XIII, 4 vols., Madrid, 1926–28. Hernández, Francisco Javier, Los cartularios de Toledo: Catálogo documental, prologue by Ramón Gonzálvez, Madrid, 1985. Julian of Toledo, The Story of Wamba: Julian of Toledo’s Historia Wambae Regis, translated with an introduction and notes by Joaquín Martínez Pizarro, Washington D.C., 2005. Paul Alvarus, Vita Eugloii, ed. Juan Gil, Corpus Scriptorum Muzarabicorum, 2 vols., Madrid, 1973, vol. 1, pp. 330–343. Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada, De Rebus Hispaniae in Rodericus Ximenius de Rada Opera (vol. 22 of Textos Medievales), Valencia, 1968, pp. 5–208.



Secondary Sources

Aillet, C., Les mozarabes: Christianisme, islamisation et arabisation en Péninsule Ibérique (IX e–XII e siècle), preface by G. Martínez-Gros, Madrid, 2010. Bishko, C.J., “Fernando I and the Origins of the Leonese-Castilian Alliance with Cluny”, Studies in Medieval Spanish Frontier History, London, 1980, pp. 1–136. Carrero Santamaría, E., “Ecce Quam Bonum et Quam Iocondum Habitare Fratres in Unum: Vidas Regular y Secular en las Catedrales Hispanas Llegado el siglo XII”, Anuario de Estudios Medievales 30, fasc. 2 (2000), pp. 757–806. Christys, A.R., Christians in al-Andalus (711–1000), New York, 2002. Colbert, E.P., The Martyrs of Córdoba (850–859): A Study of the Sources, Washington, D.C., 1962. Collins, R., Early Medieval Spain: Unity in Diversity, 400–1000, New York, 1983. Constable, G., The Reformation of the Twelfth Century, Cambridge, 1996. Epalza, M.d., “Mozarabs: An Emblematic Christian Minority in Islamic al-Andalus” in ed. Salma Khadra Jayyusi, The Legacy of Muslim Spain, Leiden, 1992, pp. 149–170. Glick, T., Islamic and Christian Spain in the Early Middle Ages, 2nd edition, Leiden, 2005. Gómez-Menor Fuentes, J., “Raíces de Alfonso VI”, Toletum 19 (1986), pp. 127–30.

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Gonzálvez, R., “The Persistence of the Mozarabic Liturgy in Toledo after A.D. 1080” in Santiago, Saint-Denis, and Saint Peter: The Reception of the Roman Liturgy in LeónCastile in 1080, ed. Bernard F. Reilly, New York, 1985, pp. 157–185. Harris, J., “Mosque to Church Conversions in the Spanish Reconquest”, Medieval Encounters 3, no. 2 (1997), pp. 158–172. Hernández, F.J., “La cathédrale, instrument d’assimilation”, Tolède, XII e–XIII e, musulmans, chrétiens et juifs: le savoir et la tolérance, ed. Louis Cardaillac, Paris, 1991, pp. 75–91. Iogna-Prat, D., Order and Exclusion: Cluny and Christendom Face Heresy, Judaism, and Islam, 1000–1150, translated from the French by Graham Robert Edwards with a forward by Barbara Rosenwien, Ithaca, NY, 2002. Lay, S., The Reconquest Kings of Portugal: Political and Cultural Reorientation on the Medieval Frontier, New York, 2009. Linehan, P., History and Historians of Medieval Spain, Oxford, 1993. Mansilla, D., “Disputas diocesanas entre Toledo, Braga y Compostela en los siglos XII al XV”, Anthologica Annua: Publicaciones del Instiuto Español de Estudios Eclesiasticos 3 (1955), pp. 89–143. Martín-Cleto, J.P., “La Iglesia de Santa María de Alficén”, Historia mozárabe: Ponencias y comunicaciones presentadas al I Congreso Internacional de Estudios Mozárabes, Toledo, 1975, pp. 29–42. Menéndez Pidal, R., La España del Cid, 2 vols., Madrid, 1947. Nickson, T., Toledo Cathedral: Building Histories in Medieval Castile, University Park, 2015. Olstein, D., La era mozárabe: Los mozárabes de Toledo (siglos XII y XIII) en la historiografía, las fuentes, y la historia, Salamanca, 2006. Pastor de Togneri, R., “L’assimilation d’une minorité: Les mozarabes de Tolède (de 1085 à la fin du XIII e siècle)”. Annales: Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations 25, no. 2 (Mars– Avril 1970), pp. 351–390. Pastor de Togneri, R., Del islam al christianismo: En las fronteras de dos formaciones económico-sociales: Toledo, siglos XI–XIII, Barcelona, 1975. Pick, L., Conflict and Coexistence: Archbishop Rodrigo and the Muslims and Jews of Medieval Spain, Ann Arbor, 2004. Reilly, B.F., The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VI, 1065–1109, Princeton, 1988. Reilly, B.F., The Kingdom of León-Castilla under King Alfonso VII, 1126–1157, Philadelphia, 1998. Reilly, B.F., The Kingdom of León-Castilla under Queen Urraca, 1109–1126, Princeton, 1982. Rivera Recio, J.F., Los arzobispos de Toledo: Desde sus origenes hasta fines del siglo XI, Toledo, 1973.

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Rivera Recio, J.F., La iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII (1086–1208), 2 vols., Rome, 1966 and 1976. Rivera Recio, J.F., Reconquista y pobladores del antiguo reino de Toledo, Toledo, 1966. Walker, R., “Becoming Alfonso VI: the King, his Sister, and the Arca Santa Reliquary”, Anales de Historia del Arte Volumen Extraordinario, no. 2 (2011), pp. 391–412. Wasserstein, D., The Rise and Fall of the Party Kings: Politics and Society in Islamic Spain, 1002–1086, Princeton, 1985.

chapter 3

Evolución de las fortificaciones medievales en la Península Ibérica: el caso de Toledo Fernando Valdés Fernandez Toledo viene siendo una ciudad emblemática desde hace siglos. Prácticamente todas las culturas que se desarrollaron en la península Ibérica le atribuyeron un simbolismo especial. Podemos pensar que este carácter se lo otorgó, en primer lugar, su posición geográfica: en el centro peninsular, encrucijada de algunos de los principales caminos que recorren el territorio—de norte a sur y de este a oeste—, sobre un extenso promontorio con excelentes condiciones defensivas y, quizás el factor más importante, junto a un vado de la cuenca media del Tajo, el único en muchos kilómetros a la redonda.1 Hoy vamos conociendo, gracias, en gran parte, a la labor investigadora que se desarrolló en la ciudad durante la segunda mitad del siglo XIX y el XX y, en términos de arqueología, en los últimos años del XX y los transcurridos del XXI, cómo fue su evolución como ciudad y cómo variaron sus distintos elementos urbanos. Entre ellos sus fortificaciones. El primer desarrollo de la ciudad se produjo en la segunda Edad del Hierro, aunque no podamos saber con precisión cuáles eran sus características.2 La posición de la población fue clave para que, en época romana, continuara habitada, aunque su relevancia administrativa parece haber sido secundaria. Sin embargo, a partir del siglo II o III d. C. Toletum inició un desarrollo urbano que la convirtió en la principal ciudad tardoantigua del centro peninsular, propiciando que la monarquía visigoda estableciera su capital allí, cuando, a resultas de la derrota de Vouillé, trasladó su centro político al interior de su reino.3 Este hecho y la suma de la primacía de la Iglesia hispánica fueron decisivos para que Toletum fuese considerada, en el momento de su conquista por los árabes (711–712), como una ciudad mítica y el eco de esa hazaña resonara como una leyenda.4 En el período islámico se convirtió en uno de los núcleos 1  Carrobles y Palomero, “Toledo, un vado y una ciudad estratégica”. 2  Carrobles, “Prehistoria e historia antigua. El origen de Toledo”, p. 99. 3  Arce, Esperando a los árabes. Los visigodos en Hispania (507–711), p. 33. 4  Makki, “Egipto y los orígenes de la historiografía árabe española”, pp. 174–180; Hernández, La Península imaginaria. Mitos y leyendas sobre al-Andalus.

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urbanos más relevantes de al-Andalus: la capital del centro peninsular. Su pérdida provocó la añoranza, pasados unos años, de quienes se decían sucesores de la monarquía goda. Su posesión por Alfonso VI (1085) la convirtió en cabeza de puente, a la orilla norte del Tajo, en el territorio dominado por las dinastías islámicas que gobernaban al-Andalus. Durante un largo período, que concluyó unos meses después de la batalla de las Navas de Tolosa (1212) los monarcas neogóticos, leoneses, primero, y castellanos, después, resistieron, parapetados detrás de sus murallas, la presión de las columnas y de los ejércitos árabes. La intensa actividad militar desarrollada ante la roca toledana quedaría petrificada en toda una serie de obras defensivas, que se fueron amortizando, destruyendo y superponiendo con el ritmo de las innovaciones tecnológicas y constituyen hoy un palimpsesto de difícil interpretación. Puede afirmarse que la edificación de la segunda fase de la llamada Puerta Nueva de Bisagra, que, en realidad es sólo una fachada superpuesta a la antigua medieval, puso punto y final al ciclo poliorcético de la ciudad, aunque no al militar. Pero la evolución del recinto no fue un fenómeno ajeno a la del espacio geográfico y a la del contexto cultural en que se desenvolvió la ciudad. Las obras defensivas medievales de Toledo pueden agruparse en términos cronológicos en dos etapas bien definidas. La primera abarca desde el momento mismo de la conquista árabe (711) hasta la batalla de Alarcos (1195). La segunda, desde esta fecha, o acaso desde algunos meses después de ese enfrentamiento, hasta la erección de la llamada Puerta Nueva de Bisagra, o mejor de su fase moderna (1576), si bien, sus monumentos más relevantes desde el punto de vista constructivo, fueron las obras del califa omeya ʿAbd al-Rahman III (932) y las grandes mejoras llevadas a cabo en el recinto urbano en la última década del siglo XII y la primera del XIII (Lámina 3.1). 1

Primera época (711–1195)

Las dinastías árabes musulmanas eran en origen ajenas a las técnicas de asedio de recintos fortificados. Sus éxitos militares iniciales se debieron más al uso de la política y de la diplomacia que al de sus capacidades castrenses. Sus posteriores conocimientos tecnológicos fueron el fruto del aprendizaje y de la adaptación de los conocimientos adquiridos en los países conquistados. En el campo de la poliorcética acabaron por compartir y apropiarse de todo el patrimonio de lo persa preislámico y de una gran parte de lo romano de Oriente.

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Las fórmulas aplicadas en los territorios conquistados, me refiero a al-Andalus, estaban escritas en el libro de la experiencia oriental, cuyo origen estaba en el patrimonio común romano-iraní. En la península Ibérica la superioridad militar de la dinastía omeya de Córdoba, entre los siglos VIII y XI, fue aplastante, fuera de episodios concretos. Sin embargo, en el campo de la poliorcética, las recetas aplicadas eran anticuadas. Nada superaba a lo oriental e, incluso, era manifiestamente inferior, en términos de tecnología. No da la impresión de que los árabes se preocuparan mucho por las murallas de Tulaytula/Toledo en el tiempo que siguió a la conquista de la ciudad. Esta inactividad se debió, a mi juicio, a tres motivos principales, los tres de carácter no castrense. El primero fue la forma de caer en sus manos, puesto que no sufrió asedio alguno, sino que abrió sus puertas a los conquistadores. No conviene olvidar a este respeto que una parte de la aristocracia goda, si aceptamos el testimonio de los textos,5 se pasó al enemigo durante la batalla del río Guadalete. Quizás este factor fuera determinante a la hora de no escogerla como capital administrativa de al-Andalus. Se basaba en la necesidad de respetar los pactos de la conquista y las propiedades de los grandes señores que habían cambiado de bando, algunos de los cuales debían tenerlas en la ciudad y en las zonas próximas. El segundo, sólo probable, residiría en la menor potencia relativa de la aristocracia árabe local frente a la de Sevilla, primero, y de Córdoba, después. Y hay un tercer motivo que sólo ha podido ser evaluado desde hace muy poco tiempo: la lejanía de la costa atlántica a Sevilla era mucho menor que en la actualidad.6 Quizás la suma de estos tres factores fuera decisiva a la hora de radicar la sede de la nueva administración omeya, delegada, durante la fase de los walíes (711–756), e independiente, después de la llegada del último miembro vivo de la dinastía de los Banu Marwan, ʿAbd al-Rahman [I] al-Dajil (731–788). Desde el punto de vista meramente morfológico, el recinto visigodo de la antigua urbs regia debía mantener unas condiciones defensivas y monumentales suficientes. La lectura de los textos permite percibir un estrecho paralelismo entre los sucesos militares ocurridos en Mérida y Toledo durante el siglo IX. Las circunstancias estratégicas de ambas ciudades, con independencia de su emplazamiento, eran muy similares. Las dos estaban situadas junto a un gran río. Ambas poseían amplios recintos amurallados romanos, reforzados en época 5  Jiménez de Rada, Historia de los hechos de España, traducción de Fernández Valverde, p. 163. 6  Tabales, “Sevilla a fines del primer milenio: breve, aproximación arqueológica”; Borja y Barral, “Estudio geoarqueológico”; Barral y Borja, “Aproximación a la evolución paleográfica histórica del sector sur del casco antiguo de Sevilla”.

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visigoda,7 y en ambas la clave de su control radicaba en su puente. Sobre el río Guadiana, en el primer caso; sobre el río Tajo, en el segundo. Se han documentado, en relación con Toledo, incidentes total o parcialmente militares en 740/741,8 760/761,9 765,10 788,11 807,12 812–14,13 820,14 829/830,15 834/835,16 853/854,17 855, 856, 857, 858, 859,18 870/71,19 873,20 896/897,21 903–906,22 910,23 921–922,24 930–932.25 En contra de lo que parece desprenderse de la documentación escrita, la capacidad militar de Córdoba era necesariamente limitada. La posesión de un ejército poderoso era el resultado lógico del establecimiento de un régimen fiscal fuerte y eso colocaba a los emires en un equilibrio precario, porque su compleja política buscaba el acatamiento de los rebeldes y cada rebelión de una ciudad no sólo comprometía el prestigio del monarca reinante, sino que dificultaba su gestión financiera y su capacidad de formar contingentes, cuyo 7  Crónica Mozárabe de 754, traducción por López Pereira, pp. 52–55; Corpus Scriptorum Mozarabicum, I, pp. 26–27; Inscriptiones Hispaniae Christianae. Supplementum, n. 73, supplementum n. 391; Vives, Inscripciones cristianas de la España romana y visigoda, n. 361. Sobre la veracidad de estos testimonios véase también Velázquez y Ripoll, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia”, pp. 96–99. Sobre el muro de Mérida y sus reformas véase Álvarez, “Los accesos al recinto de la colonia Augusta Emerita. La puerta del Puente”. 8  Ajbar Maŷmu’a, Colección de Noticias, traducción de Lafuente y Alcántara, p. 50, § 44. 9  Idem, pp. 97–98. 10  Lévi-Provençal, España musulmana hasta la caída del califato de Córdoba (1031–711 de J. C.), pp. 71–72. 11  Al-’Uḏrí, Nusus ‘an al-Andalus min Kitab Tarsi al-ajbar. Traducción parcial: F. de la Granja, La Marca Superior en la obra de al-’Uḏri, pp. 19–20 y 24–25. 12  Ibn al-Qutiyya, Historia de la conquista de España de Abenalcotia el Cordobés, traducción por Ribera, pp. 36–39; Véase también Manzano, La frontera, pp. 274–84. 13  Lévi-Provençal, España musulmana, p. 104. 14  Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabis min anba’ ahl al-Andalus, p. 114. 15  Manzano, La frontera de al-Andalus en época de los omeyas, p. 300. 16  Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan al-Mugrib; Histoire de l’Afrique et de l’Espagne intitulée Al-Bayano ‘l-Mogrib, traducción por Fagnan, II, p. 84; Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabis min anba’, pp. 1–3. 17  Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan, II, p. 153; Porres, Historia de Tulaytula, p. 31. 18  Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan, II, p. 157. 19  Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabis min anba’, p. 321; Manzano, La frontera, pp. 295–96. 20  Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabis min anba’, p. 329. 21  Manzano, La frontera, p. 284. 22  Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan, p. 142. 23   Historia Silense, p. 162, § 14. 24  Lacarra, “Expediciones musulmanas contra Sancho Garcés (902–925)”, pp. 49–81. 25  Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabas V (árabe); Crónica del califa ʿAbdarrahman III an-Nasir entre los años 912 y 942 (al-Muqtabis V), traducción por Mª. Jesús Viguera y Corriente, pp. 238–42, §§ 213–217.

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núcleo estaba compuesto por esclavos o por mercenarios. La actividad militar de Córdoba se basaba más en el envío de columnas que en el de grandes ejércitos. En esas condiciones no extraña la preferencia por el recurso diplomático sobre el castrense, mucho más caro. La imposible conquista de una gran plaza fuerte, como Toledo o Mérida, para un ejército pequeño se traducía en una pérdida de prestigio, semilla de nuevas y cada vez más frecuentes revueltas. En ambas ciudades se repetía el mismo proceso y los sublevados interrumpían el cruce del puente. La solución militar al problema consistió, en los dos casos, en crear un dispositivo táctico que mantuviese el dominio del puente, segregándolo de la ciudad. En Mérida tuvo lugar durante el reinado de ʿAbd al-Rahman II (835) y en Toledo, casi exactamente un siglo después, en el de ʿAbd al-Rahman III (932). La posible ubicación del antiguo palacio de los reyes visigodos (Lámina 3.2) y del área militar cercana (praetorium) juega un papel relevante en el estudio de lo que después fue zona militar, administrativa y palacial de Tulaytula. Es importante, a este respecto, la discusión suscitada entre investigadores en relación con la iglesia de San Pedro y San Pablo, citada por las fuentes latinas. Este edificio se menciona por primera vez como sede del VIII concilio toledano (653) y allí debió celebrarse, con algunas excepciones, la mayoría de estas asambleas hasta el concilio provincial de 684 y el último nacional (¿703?).26 En las actas de los concilios XV y XVI se la llama praetoriensis.27 Este calificativo hizo pensar que se localizaba en la zona más alta de la ciudad, cerca del palacio de los reyes godos. Sin embargo, una referencia en los cánones del XII concilio,28 donde se la sitúa in suburbio hizo poner en duda la primera teoría. Es lógico que la basílica estuviera cercana al palacio, como parece desprenderse de una referencia del Liber Ordinum.29 Pero la contradicción textual no reside en su carácter pretoriense, sino en su ubicación in suburbio, que casi todos los autores consideran un lugar exterior, a los pies de la meseta donde se halla la ciudad. Quizás, si es que la noticia es exacta, esa indicación pudiera 26   Liber Ordinum, Le Liber Ordinum en usage dans l’église wisigothique et mozarabe d’Espagne du cinquième au onzième siècle, p. 151; Vives, Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos, p. 223; Porres, Historia de las calles de Toledo, II, pp. 230–32; Palol, “Resultados de las excavaciones junto al Cristo de la Vega, supuesta basílica conciliar de Sta. Leocadia, de Toledo: algunas notas de topografía religiosa”, p. 356; García Moreno, “Cristianización de la topografía de las ciudades de la Península Ibérica durante la Antigüedad tardía”, pp. 78, 320; Balmaseda, “En busca de las iglesias toledanas de época visigoda”, p. 204; Velázquez y Ripoll, Toletum, pp. 550–63; Barroso, et al., “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía”. 27  Velázquez y Ripoll, Toletum, pp. 558–62. 28  Vives, Concilios, p. 390. 29   Liber Ordinum, II, pp. 150–54.

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referirse a alguna otra distinción topográfica, como pudiera ser que el área oficial estuviera separada de la propia ciudad por un muro y que dicha zona oficial fuera, a su vez, un suburbium de la militar, de la que no podía estar muy alejada y de la que pudiera haber estado separada, también, por un muro interior. La primera noticia clara sobre el recinto árabe de la ciudad se refiere a su primitiva alcazaba. Según F. Hernández30 su erección hubo de tener lugar en un momento relativamente tardío, durante el gobierno de ʿAmrus b. Yusuf31 y, en consecuencia, en torno a la rebelión, real o no, finalizada con lo que conocemos como “Jornada del Foso” (807).32 Quizás se trató sólo de una restauración del antiguo recinto romano-visigodo. La muralla se habría reconstruido con tapia, pero no parece que esta parte de la información pueda tenerse literalmente en cuenta, no sólo por la falta de precedentes arqueológicos claros y bien datados, sino, sobre todo, por tratarse de un procedimiento constructivo ajeno a la tradición toledana. F. Hernández supuso que estas primeras informaciones se referían, en cualquier caso, al recinto donde después se levantó el Alcázar. Sólo quedaría de él la planta cuadrangular, con torres en las esquinas. Señala este autor, con razón, que siendo esta obra prácticamente contemporánea de la alcazaba de Marida/Mérida, el esquema utilizado en una y otra no podía ser muy diferente. Las dimensiones de este primer recinto toledano serían de 103 × 79 m.33 Los datos arqueológicos, a pesar de la abundante información recogida en los últimos años, no resultan suficientemente explícitos como para establecer diferencias formales y cronológicas entre las partes conservadas del recinto que poseen una datación altomedieval segura. Además, de la mencionada—y dudosa—alcazaba edificada en tapia por ʿAmrus b. Yusuf y de la noticia de otras obras de reforma o refuerzo debidas a ʿAbd al-Rahman II (837),34 sólo hay un episodio que sin aludir a construcciones concretas, refiere el modo de actuar de los toledanos cada vez que se veían amenazados por un peligro exterior. Sabemos que en 858/859, Muhammad I consiguió entrar en la ciudad35 después de cortar el puente. Esta misma forma de actuar se produjo, por los mismos años en Mérida36 con el puente romano de esta ciudad. En ambos

30  Hernández, “The Citadel and Walls of Toledo”, II.2, 205–207. 31  Ibn al-Aṯir, Al-Kamil fi l-tarij, VI, p. 157; Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan, p. 170. 32  Manzano, La frontera, pp. 274–84. 33  Hernández, The Citadel, pp. 205–206. 34  Idem; Porres, Historia de Tulaytula (711–1085), p. 29, note 76. 35  Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan, p. 157. 36  Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabis min anba’, pp. 305–306; Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan, p. 157, § 99; al-Maqqari, Nafh al-Tib min gusn al-Andalus al-ratib, 2nd, I, p. 162.

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casos el proceso se reprodujo como respuesta a la misma incapacidad de los emires por solucionar el problema que provocaban las sublevaciones. De la información escrita parece deducirse que las obras en la muralla de Toledo no pasaron de ser meras reformas, más o menos importantes, del cinturón romano-visigodo. Persiste la duda respecto a la forma en que se organizaba en la zona del Alcázar y en todo el costado oriental de la ciudad, que parece haber estado parcialmente separado del resto del casco urbano por un largo muro que descendía desde el alcázar.37 Fuese cual fuese su estructura defensiva, lo que resulta seguro es que el punto más débil de todo el anillo amurallado era la zona del puente de Alcántara (Lámina 3.3). Quien lo controlaba dominaba el cruce del profundo cauce del río y la entrada a Toledo y, por lo tanto, poseía las llaves de la ciudad, el dominio de una enorme región en el centro de la península Ibérica y el control de los caminos que llevaban a las regiones septentrionales. No debe extrañar que la conquista de Toledo por ʿAbd al-Rahman III al-Nasir, en un momento de auge de la dinastía omeya de Córdoba viniese marcada por una profunda reforma de las murallas de una plaza tan estratégica, poniendo especial cuidado en la zona del puente. El proceso lo detalló el historiador Ibn Hayyan38 y del análisis del texto puede concluirse que la solución adoptada fue similar a la que, un siglo antes, se usó en Mérida. Se edificó un recinto menor en el punto donde el puente tocaba las murallas. Se le llamó al-hizam (= el cinturón)39 y actuaba como una especie de grifo regulador del tráfico entre el interior y el exterior de la ciudad y permitía a la guarnición cordobesa, que residía allí, bloquear el cruce del río y, cerrando sus puertas, impedir que los toledanos controlasen el puente y lo cortasen, encerrándolos dentro de la muralla urbana. Ese recinto menor era un propugnaculum, como el de Mérida40 y, desde el punto de vista de la poliorcética no representaba ningún avance técnico, sino sólo la adopción de una solución clásica de origen bizantino. Como la usada en la ciudadela de Ankara (Turquía).41 De todo esto podría desprenderse que las reformas de al Hakam I (797) y ʿAbd al-Rahman II (807) afectaron sólo a la zona militar de ese conjunto oficial, mientras que la obra de ʿAbd al-Rahman III sería sólo una reforma de la zona cercana al 37  Carrobles, Fortificaciones de Toledo. Las corachas del Alficén. 38  Ibn Hayyan, al-Muqtabis, V, 213–14, §§ 188–189; 239–240, §§ 214–215; 240, § 216; 242, § 217. 39  Se ha preservado el nombre en la topografía de la ciudad como Alficén. 40  Valdés, “El propugnaculum de Mérida y la tradición arquitectónica bizantina en alAndalus”; Valdés, “Puertas de recintos urbanos y cambio político. Los casos de Toledo y de las alcazabas de Mérida y de Badajoz”. 41  Gregoire, “Inscriptions historiques byzantines”; De Jerphaion, “La citadelle byzantine d’Angora”; Gregoire, “Michel et Basile le Macedonien dans les inscriptions d’Ancyre”.

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puente, la que quedó rodeada por el recinto que describe Ibn Hayyan.42 Quizás el área fortificada—o reconstruida—fuera el suburbium del que hablan los documentos latinos, situado a un nivel topográficamente inferior al praetorium, coincidente con el actual Alcázar. La organización posterior a la reforma del califa de Córdoba ha dejado el topónimo Alficén, conservado hasta nuestros días y repetidamente citado en la documentación medieval, así como una iglesia, Santa María del Alficén, hoy desaparecida, que pudo ser la antigua basílica de San Pedro y San Pablo,43 citada más arriba. Quizás la obra del primer califa de Córdoba incluyó alguna ampliación del cinturón amurallado de la ciudad, porque no es seguro que el primitivo rodeara toda la meseta que rodea el río Tajo. Aunque han pervivido restos de fortificación en el lado sur no son tan evidentes, ni han sido suficientemente estudiados como para atribuirles una fecha con cierto grado de exactitud y la documentación conservada no arroja demasiada luz. La configuración del relieve permite suponer que las defensas urbanas se concentraron en el flanco norte, para proteger la única zona de acceso fácil, por no estar rodeada por el cauce del río. Cabe la posibilidad de que, si hubo muralla en el lado meridional, quedase separada del borde de la meseta, dejando una amplia superficie vacía entre éste y el recinto, lo que parece ocurre también hacia el lado occidental.44 Una teoría no desdeñable es que el recinto tuviera por el sur y el oeste un cinturón defensivo menos potente y evidente. Los restos dispersos de fortificación que quedan en esos lados no parecen formar un lienzo continuo; quizás fuesen puntos de observación de una zona en la que el cauce fluvial es difícilmente vadeable. Y su fecha es muy poco clara.45 Otra cuestión, que resulta de gran interés y que guarda relación con el aspecto anterior, es el de las puertas de la ciudad. Hace poco tiempo se excavó el interior y el área en torno a la iglesia del Cristo de la Luz—antigua mezquita de Bab al-Mardum—junto a la cara interior de la puerta de Valmardón. El edificio se construyó en 999/1000 y fue una fundación privada de Ahmad b. al-Hariri, miembro de una notable familia toledana.46 Entre otros hallazgos interesantes, la excavación dejó al descubierto una de las calles más importantes del Toledo romano-visigodo, pavimentada con gruesas losas de gneis, que 42  Véase nota 38. 43  Rivera, La iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII, I, pp. 96–97; Delgado, Toledo islámico: ciudad, arte e historia, pp. 195–229; Rubio y Tsiolis, “El primer recinto amurallado de Toledo”, p. 243; Balmaseda, En busca de las iglesias, p. 200; Barroso et al., El paisaje urbano, p. 347. 44  López y Valdés, “Arqueología del sitio”; Rojas, et al., “El Convento de Madre de Dios. Evolución histórica de una manzana de Toledo a través de la arqueología”. 45  Delgado, Toledo islámico, pp. 195–229. 46  Ocaña, “La inscripción fundacional de la mezquita de Bab al-Mardum”.

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desemboca en la puerta medieval de Valmardón. Sin embargo, ha podido comprobarse que originalmente ese acceso no era como hoy lo vemos, sino que estaba formado por un doble arco y poseía un aspecto más monumental que el actual. Lo demostró la aparición de una segunda calzada, ramal de la primera, que arranca de ésta y alcanza la línea interior del muro por un punto en el que hoy no existe arco alguno.47 Podemos deducir de todo esto que el recinto amurallado, tal como lo vieron los conquistadores árabes en 711 tenía ya unas dimensiones apreciables y, fuese cual fuese su longitud, tenía por esa zona una cierta monumentalidad. Concuerda esta opinión con la información aportada por la documentación latina posterior a la conquista árabe, en la que se menciona una reforma de las puertas de Toletum debida al rey Wamba (646–688).48 Esta de Valmardón fue sin duda la principal de las puertas de la muralla urbana. La otra hubo de ser la que se levanta ante el puente de Alcántara, que acabó por convertirse, en sentido militar y simbólico, en la principal de la ciudad en época árabe.49 Lo que no sabemos es cómo fue su estructura original, antes de la reforma de 932 y, a pesar de que todos los autores parecen estar de acuerdo sobre el origen romano del puente,50 falta un estudio detallado del mismo capaz de concretar su fecha. La única información segura es que estaba en uso durante el reinado del emir Muhammad I (858/59).51 En realidad la fortificación de Toledo permite conocer, en los años treinta del siglo X, la evolución técnica de la poliorcética en al-Andalus, que no parece haber avanzado mucho desde antes de la conquista árabe. El panorama de las fortificaciones andalusíes hasta, como mínimo, finales del siglo XII, era bastante arcaico y carecía, por lo que sabemos, de elementos técnicos avanzados, p. ej., dispositivos de tiro vertical.52 Pero este retraso no debe atribuirse a desconocimiento de los procedimientos técnicos de uso común en el Mediterráneo Oriental, sino a la gran superioridad militar de la dinastía omeya occidental sobre sus adversarios peninsulares, los pequeños principados del norte, cuyas posibilidades técnicas y económicas y su demografía les impedían, a pesar del testimonio poco neutral de las fuentes escritas, representar un auténtico peligro, en especial durante el siglo X, en la etapa de mayor brillo de la dinastía omeya de Occidente. La situación la describió con mucha precisión, 47  Ruíz Taboada, Arquitectura residencial y religiosa: Toledo (siglos X al XVIII), pp. 65ff. 48  Véase nota 7. 49  Valdés, Puertas de recintos urbanos. 50  Fernández Casado, Historia del puente en España; Román Martínez, “Los restos de construcción romana del Puente de Alcántara”. 51  Porres, Historia de Tulaytula, p. 34, notas 35 y 96. 52  Valdés, Arqueología de al-Andalus, de la conquista árabe a la extinción de las primeras taifas, pp. 591–92; Almagro, “La puerta califal del Castillo de Gormaz”.

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a comienzos del siglo XII, cuando Toledo ya había abierto sus puertas al rey Alfonso VI de León (1047–1109), el príncipe zirí de Granada, ʿAbd Allah b. Buluggin.53 El panorama tecnológico de las fortificaciones de al-Andalus apenas había cambiado mucho desde el 711. Desde el primer momento después de su entrada en Tulaytula (1085), la preocupación principal del rey Alfonso VI de León fue la de reforzar las murallas de la plaza. No podía arriesgarse a perder un sitio que era clave, tanto desde el punto de vista militar como, también, desde el político y, muy especialmente, desde el simbólico. Había sido la capital del reino visigodo del que los reyes astur-leoneses se consideraban legítimos sucesores. Nada indica que se añadiesen elementos nuevos al recinto fuertemente reforzado por ʿAbd al-Rahman III, ni que la dinastía taifa de los Banu Di-l-Nun acometiera durante el siglo XI grandes obras de fortificación. En apariencia, fuera de alguna reforma no documentada, obligada por la necesidad, el interés de aquellos monarcas parece haberse dirigido más a las obras civiles, que subrayaran su dudosa legitimidad para conservar el Poder.54 Quizás actuaran en la mejora del abastecimiento de agua, en la medida en que éste está muy relacionado con la defensa de las plazas,55 pero no por razones de índole estrictamente militar. La situación comenzó a cambiar cuando Alfonso VI se apoderó de Toledo (1085). Una de las primeras medidas del monarca fue levantar (1101) un muro en la parte septentrional de la ciudad, la que no está rodeada por el río y resulta más accesible. No se trataba sólo de proteger ese sector, un arrabal o barrio extramuros que quizás se había formado allí a lo largo del siglo XI o que se estaba formando entonces. Lo que no parece correcto, a pesar de alguna opinión,56 es que esta muralla o parte de ella fuera islámica. Su tipología arquitectónica, con torres—no todas—iniciadas en piedra y completadas con ladrillo o mampostería y tendentes, en algún caso, al semicírculo no habla a favor de una fecha preleonesa. El problema es complejo e influye en otros aspectos del urbanismo, como p. ej., en el carácter, supuesto o no, de mezquita de la iglesia de Santiago del Arrabal.57 En mi opinión, el tipo de arquitectura que se emplea en ese recinto es radicalmente distinto del que puede observarse en 53  Abd Allah b. Buluggin, The Tibyan. Memoirs of Abd Allah b. Buluggin last Zirid Amir of Granada, traducción por Tibi, p. 90, § 73; Valdés, “Aspectos arqueológicos del Tibyan: El puente de Cadí”; Valdés, “La edad oscura de la Alhambra”. 54  Valdés y Varona, “La llamada mezquita de las Tornerías, un ejemplo de fundación pía (habus) en el Toledo islámico”. 55  Véase nota 37. 56  Ruíz Taboada, “Aproximación al estudio del recinto amurallado de Toledo”; Ruíz Taboada y Fernández, La puerta del Vado. 57  Delgado y Pérez, “El período islámico y mudéjar”.

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los lienzos cercanos de la puerta de Alcántara, que, con bastante certeza, formaron parte de las obras ordenadas por ʿAbd al-Rahman III después de la conquista de Toledo. Aquí se usaron sillares de granito, algunos reaprovechados, con clara tendencia al empleo del clásico aparejo cordobés llamado de “soga y tizón”—alternancia de sillares colocados por el lado más ancho con otros que lo están por el más estrecho—(Lámina 3.3). En el muro septentrional es muy perceptible la escasa presencia de sillares de granito/gneis y el predominio de una mampostería de piedra más menuda y de ladrillo, aunque el caso de este material debe someterse en algunos puntos a una revisión cuidadosa porque este sector ha venido siendo objeto de muchas restauraciones.58 Además, la mayor parte de los órganos defensivos situados en ese muro—puertas del Vado, Nueva de Bisagra y Vieja de Bisagra (Láminas 3.4 y 3.6), así como la torre Almofada y las pentagonales en proa (Lámina 3.8)59 cercanas a las puertas Vieja de Bisagra y del Vado, tienen una tipología arquitectónica que no puede ser atribuida al reinado de Alfonso VI y, mucho menos, al período islámico. Fuera cual fuera la conservación del primitivo recinto árabe anterior a 1085, es cierto que con la reforma de Alfonso, la plaza estuvo en condiciones de resistir el asedio al que la sometió (1109) el emir almorávide ʿAli b. Yusuf (1083– 1143), durante el reinado de Urraca I (1081–1126). Se llegaron a utilizar, según la Chronica Adefonsi Imperatoris60 torres móviles, lo que, de ser cierto el testimonio de los textos, permite suponer que el muro alfonsino era suficientemente fuerte como para resistir el asedio por la única zona de la ciudad por la que esa clase de artefactos podía emplearse. En cualquier caso, Toledo quedó convertida en una posición avanzada del reino de León, luego de Castilla, en la cuenca del Tajo y hubo de soportar una presión militar constante. 2

Segundo período (1195–1576)

El reinado de Alfonso VI coincidió con un acontecimiento histórico que hubo de tener enormes consecuencias en la vida y en el desarrollo tecnológico —al menos en el militar—del mundo occidental. Me refiero a las Cruzadas y, de modo muy especial, durante el de su sucesor castellano Alfonso VIII, a la Tercera (1187–1191). 58  Ponce de León y Carrobles, “Actuaciones previas y criterios de intervención”, pp. 163–65; Ponce de León y Carrobles, “Memoria de intervención en las murallas de Toledo por sectores”. 59  Mora-Figueroa, Glosario de arquitectura defensiva medieval, pp. 211–14. 60   Chronica Adefonsi Imperatoris, pp. 75–77, §§ 97, 99.

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El 4 de julio de 1190, Felipe II de Francia (1165–1223) y Ricardo I de Inglaterra (1157–1199) iniciaron la Tercera Cruzada. El 20 de abril de 1121, el monarca francés llegaba a Acre. El rey inglés lo hizo el 8 de junio del mismo año. El lapso de tiempo comprendido entre la llegada a esa plaza de uno y otro señaló un cambio significativo y contrastable en los usos poliorcéticos del mundo europeo occidental: la aparición de grandes máquinas de asedio, especialmente de tiro. Este hecho transformó con bastante rapidez el curso de las operaciones militares e incluso de la arquitectura defensiva, no sólo en el oriente del Mediterráneo, sino, también y muy pocos años después, en el occidente. En el asedio de Acre comenzaron a emplearse—lo que no significa por primera vez—toda una serie de máquinas de guerra, si no totalmente desconocidas en los escenarios bélicos de Levante, si de unas dimensiones desacostumbradas hasta aquel momento. Alguna de ellas, como el trabuco (trebuchet), aparenta haber sido nueva en aquel escenario. Este tipo de pieza de artillería utilizaba la fuerza de la gravedad en vez de la procedente de la torsión de cuerdas o tendones de animal, y conseguía proyectar una piedra de 250 kg a una distancia efectiva de 300 m. Como características formales básicas deben describirse su tamaño y su peso. Los especialistas le han calculado una envergadura de 15 m y un peso cercano a las diez toneladas. Poseía un brazo que podía sobrepasar los 10 m de longitud. Su origen resulta aún oscuro. Parece haberse inventado y perfeccionado en algún lugar del occidente europeo, según la opinión de la mayoría de los investigadores61 y alcanzado Bizancio hacia mediados del siglo XII. En la medida en que las innovaciones introducidas en las murallas de Constantinopla durante el período de los Comnenos (1057–1185) puedan deberse a la difusión del uso del trabuco, hemos de considerar, en principio, que ese arma pudo ser característica del siglo XII. Efectivamente, su uso había de producir apreciables variaciones en los recintos amurallados. Las torres hubieron de ampliar sus plataformas para emplazar unas piezas de artillería que sobrepasaban con mucho las dimensiones de las empleadas hasta entonces y, al mismo tiempo, hacerse macizas, para soportar el peso de aquéllas y absorber, sin resquebrajarse, el impacto brutal de los proyectiles enemigos. A pesar de todo, la terminología que usan los cronistas dista mucho de considerarse técnica, desde nuestra perspectiva, y no siempre contribuye a aclarar ciertos aspectos

61  Oman, History of the Art of War in the Middle Ages, II, pp. 43–46; Foss, Survey of Medieval Castles of Anatolia. I. Kütahya, pp. 77, 83; Catcart King, “The Trebuchet and other SiegeEngins”; Foss y Winfild, Byzantine Fortifications. An Introduction, p. 48.

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oscuros.62 Quienes parecen haber tenido la primacía en su uso fueron los árabes, acaso copiándolo de los bizantinos, y, entre los europeos, los franceses, aunque no directamente el rey de Francia, como se ha sugerido.63 La primera indicación, al menos por el orden de redactarse, donde se habla de grandes máquinas de asedio, se atribuye a los defensores de Acre y se debió al inglés Ricardo, canónigo de la iglesia de la Santísima Trinidad de Londres.64 Es forzoso suponer que el primer ámbito en el que las Cruzadas orientales hubieron de tener una repercusión cultural en lo occidental fue en el campo de lo militar. Desde el momento mismo de traspasar la frontera del imperio romano de Oriente, los guerreros occidentales se encontraron con un panorama militar distinto del conocido. Las ciudades orientales eran mucho más grandes que las occidentales y solían estar protegidas por fuertes recintos amurallados. Su paradigma era la muralla terrestre de la capital imperial, Constantinopla. Dotada de un enorme y poderoso recinto, acabado por Teodosio II en 427,65 era la síntesis de todo cuanto se sabía en materia de poliorcética en la Baja Antigüedad. Muchos de sus órganos fueron renovados por otros emperadores y, en conjunto, era la plasmación de las teorías acuñadas y desarrolladas por los tratadistas griegos del siglo IV a. C., latente y perfeccionada por el imperio romano en el limes oriental y, especialmente, frente al imperio sasánida, a partir del siglo III d. C., y, después, frente a las dinastías árabe-musulmanas, a partir de 632. Desde mediados del siglo XII los conceptos en materia de asalto de ciudades, desarrollados en Oriente Medio comenzaron a materializarse en las obras defensivas de todos los principados cristianos de la península Ibérica y en las del poderoso imperio almohade. El desarrollo general de aquéllos, su creciente demografía y su potencial expansivo introdujeron cambios substanciales en el panorama poliorcético hispánico. Frente a ellos, el imperio almohade situó en el escenario bélico unos medios impensables hasta entonces. La reacción castellana se manifestó de modo muy especial en las fortificaciones de Toledo, que hubo de dotarse de los medios defensivos necesarios para resistir la presión meridional, cuyas columnas y ejércitos buscaron incansablemente reconquistarla. A partir de la entrada del rey Alfonso VI (1085), entre los siglos XI y XIV, convirtió sus murallas, acaso más que ninguna otra ciudad peninsular, en 62  Ambroise, L’Estoire de la Guerre Sainte. Histoire en vers de la Troisième Croisade (1190–1192), p. lxxvi. 63  Runciman, Historia de las Cruzadas.3. El Reino de Acre y las últimas Cruzadas, p. 58. 64  Ricardo, Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi, pp. 110–11. 65  Meyer-Plath y Schneider, Die Landmauer von Konstantinopel; Müller-Wiener, Bildlexikon zur Topographie Istanbuls, pp. 301–307.

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el paradigma de la poliorcética medieval, mejorando continuamente su capacidad defensiva. Muy pocos años después de finalizada la Tercera Cruzada, se detectó el uso en Occidente de máquinas de guerra, especialmente de las especializadas en lanzar proyectiles de gran tamaño.66 Veinte años después (1211), después del comienzo del asedio de Acre se manifiesta en la narración de la conquista del castillo de Salvatierra (Ciudad Real). Este castillo, situado en la región de La Mancha, al sur de Toledo, había caído en manos de los árabes en 1198 y fue reconquistado por la orden militar de Calatrava. Era una auténtica isla en territorio árabe. Desde allí se acosaba a las plazas cercanas y a todos los territorios almohades entre Sierra Morena y Toledo y suponía un auténtico desafió al imperio magrebí. Por este motivo, cuando el califa Muhammad I (1199–1213) organizó la campaña de 1211, a raíz de la ruptura unilateral, por parte de Alfonso VIII (1155–1214), de la tregua firmada en 1197, su objetivo principal era reconquistar Salvatierra. Los detalles del asedio fueron narrados por el cronista Ibn Iḏarí.67 La noticia, tal como aparece reflejada, resulta hiperbólica, pero es interesante constatar que esa exageración sería un mero recurso literario si no la hubiesen repetido otros autores árabes y latinos, sin relación entre ellos. Me refiero al lanzamiento de grandes piedras contra las fortificaciones para lo que debieron emplearse grandes piezas de artillería mecánica. La descripción de Ibn Iḏarí fue repetida por al-Himyari,68 reuniendo, casi doscientos cincuenta años después, noticias de diversa procedencia. Las descripciones de los autores árabes y su insistencia en afirmar el uso de máquinas que lanzaban proyectiles de gran tamaño podrían pasar por una mera transmisión textual si no apareciera reflejada también en la Crónica Latina de los Reyes de Castilla, de autor desconocido.69 De nuevo, alusión a los grandes proyectiles pétreos. Resultaría sorprendente considerar que los cronistas, por muy ajenos a las cuestiones poliorcéticas que estuvieran, se sorprendiesen por el suceso, si no se tratara de algo fuera de lo habitual. De una novedad. Según mi criterio, en el asalto de Salvatierra, los almohades emplearon, quizás por primera vez en al-Andalus, una pieza de artillería de características técnicas desconocidas hasta entonces en Occidente: el trabuco.70 Es evidente que las innovaciones 66  Ibn Abi Zar’, Rawd al-Qirtas, traducido por Huici Miranda, p. 453. 67  Huici, Las grandes batallas de la Reconquista durante las invasiones africanas. (almorávides, almohades y benimerines), pp. 307–13. 68  Al-Himyari, La Péninsule Ibérique au Moyen-Age d’après le Kitab ar-rawd al-mi’tar fi habar al-aktar d’Ibn ʿAbd al-Mun’im al-Himyari, pp. 132–35, §§ 108–111, 137–164; Huici, Las grandes batallas, pp. 122, § 313. 69  Huici, Las grandes batallas, pp. 317–20. 70  Véase nota 43.

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técnicas desarrolladas, cuando no inventadas, en Oriente Medio durante las Cruzadas comenzaban a llegar al extremo occidental del Mediterráneo y, en este caso concreto, fueran los almohades quienes parecen haber tenido la iniciativa en su empleo. La muralla de Toledo se ha venido considerando islámica en la mayor parte de sus componentes, a pesar de sus evidentes rasgos tipológicos diferentes a los islámicos que podían observarse en sus lienzos. Sin embargo, trabajos publicados hace pocos años han dado un cambio radical a esta situación, por la clasificación cronológica que ha podido darse a la llamada puerta Vieja de Bisagra a partir de criterios tipológicos, y, después, a la puerta del Vado, que apareció completamente enterrada en uno de los costados del recinto exterior de la ciudad. La puerta Vieja de Bisagra (Láminas 3.4 y 3.6) posee una peculiar organización en planta y alzado. Entre sus componentes arquitectónicos más destacables figuran la dualidad constructiva de su fachada, con la parte baja edificada con grandes bloques de gneis, y, la superior, de ladrillo y mampostería; el uso de un ciclópeo dintel de piedra, cobijado por un arco de herradura y tímpano hueco; la presencia de buhedera y buharda y, finalmente, la combinación de una entrada con planta de dos tramos y doble mocheta, rastrillo y una pequeña poterna lateral perpendicular al eje del edificio. El análisis estilístico de la fachada, olvidando el resto, y la insistencia de los autores en el “estilo andalusí”71 del arco de la entrada, sin considerarlo como una consecuencia necesaria del empleo de mano de obra local, llevó a atribuirle diversas fechas. Todos ellos aceptaban, en virtud de las opiniones de M. Gómez-Moreno72 y de L. Torres73 que la parte baja era efectivamente andalusí—siglo XI—y, la parte alta, bajomedieval—siglo XIII. Todos los estudiosos posteriores dieron por buena esta teoría. Incluso hubo quien pretendió adelantar la fecha de ambas partes al período omeya—siglo X.74 Sin embargo, el estudio separado de cada uno de sus componentes permitió proponer una fecha diferente, que, después, fue confirmada, al aparecer inesperadamente, la puerta del Vado. Ni la complejidad de la planta, ni la existencia de dispositivos de tiro vertical—buhederas—, ni el uso de rastrillos están documentados en ninguna fortificación andalusí anterior a la conquista de Granada (1492). 71  Pavón, “La Puerta de Bisagra Vieja en Toledo, nuevas orientaciones sobre la arquitectura medieval toledana”. 72  Gómez-Moreno, El arte español hasta los almohades. Arte Mozárabe, pp. 198–201. 73  Torres, Arte almohade. Arte Nazarí. Arte Mudéjar, p. 341. 74  Martínez, et al., “Intervención arqueológica en la Puerta de Bisagra Antigua de Toledo: últimas aportaciones”.

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Ya se ha dicho que resulta difícil de aceptar que el recinto exterior septentrional de Toledo sea de época árabe. Con bastante seguridad fue edificado por Alfonso VI.75 El trazado exacto del nuevo muro es, sin duda, el mismo que hoy contemplamos, admitiendo que ha podido ser objeto de alguna reforma y rectificación en época más tardía. Así, la puerta Vieja de Bisagra—como la Puerta Nueva de Bisagra—deben fecharse, como muy pronto, en 1101. Sin embargo, por una simple comparación formal, pudimos establecer que debía datarse entre la segunda mitad del siglo XII y los años iniciales del XIII o, lo que es lo mismo, considerarla construida en sus elementos esenciales durante el reinado de Alfonso VIII de Castilla (1158–1214).76 Esta cronología ha podido ser confirmada hace pocos años por la aparición de la puerta del Vado, con un esquema arquitectónico casi idéntico al de la puerta Vieja de Bisagra77 (Lámina 3.8), doble juego de batientes y rastrillo (Lámina 3.10), y permite plantear con mucha certeza la ejecución de una gran reforma en el recinto toledano que habría afectado de modo muy especial a los accesos y a su entorno inmediato durante el reinado de Alfonso VIII y, aparentemente, con trazas de un único arquitecto. Los motivos de la reforma pueden comprenderse fácilmente. La ofensiva del imperio almohade obligó a reforzar las líneas avanzadas del reino castellano, incapaz de resistir, después de la batalla de Alarcos (19 de julio de 1195), la avalancha norteafricana. Hubo de recurrir al auxilio de una cruzada para superar la prueba. Fue proclamada por el papa Inocencio III el 22 de febrero de 1211.78 Entre las tropas llegadas para ayudar a Alfonso VIII figuraron numerosos guerreros europeos. Es lícito suponer la presencia entre estos de contingentes conocedores, quizás por haber estado antes en Levante, de las técnicas de asedio empleadas por los cruzados. Por lo demás, la documentación escrita acusa la existencia de actividad constructiva en el recinto toledano en torno a 1192, antes de Alarcos y después del desastre de 1195. Conocemos un escrito de 29 de marzo de 1196 en el que Alfonso VIII cede la renta de 200 áureos del portazgo de la puerta de Bisagra— debe referirse a la Nueva, de este nombre—a la ciudad de Toledo para 75  “El rey D. Alfonso mando facer el muro de Toledo, desde la Taxada que va al Río de yuso del puent de piedra [el actual puente de Alcántara] hasta la otra Taxada, que va al Río en derecho de Sant Estevan, Era MCXXXIX”, apud Anales Toledanos, p. 386; Los Anales Toledanos I y II, p. 75. 76  Valdés, “La Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Notas para una cronología de la muralla de Toledo”; Valdés, “Influjos orientales en la fortificación cristiana de Toledo”; Valdés, “La fortificación de los estados latinos de Oriente y su influjo en la península Ibérica: el recinto de la ciudad de Toledo”. 77  Véase nota 56. 78  González, El reino de Castilla en la época de Alfonso VIII, p. 986.

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reparar la muralla.79 Constan obras en 1248 y 1266, en los llamados “documentos mozárabes”—redactados en árabe por la comunidad cristiana de Toledo—, cuando el noble Diego López contraía, en 1248, una deuda a cuenta del dinero que gastó en las fortificaciones de la ciudad. Y, en 1266, un tal Alfonso Mateos declaraba poseer 114 mezcales de los fondos destinados a la construcción de la muralla.80 No es sorprendente que las obras continuaran mejorando y modernizando los medios defensivos de Toledo después de 1212, de la batalla de las Navas. En septiembre del mismo año los gobernadores árabes de Jaén, Granada y Córdoba intentaron reconquistar los castillos tomados por la coalición de cruzados que llegaron a la península Ibérica a participar en la batalla81 y, muy poco después, consiguieron apoderarse de algunos más. Aunque no alcanzaron sus primeros objetivos, es evidente que la potencia de los almohades no había quedado quebrantada hasta el punto de no tomar iniciativa militar alguna. Aunque en 1217 la plaza de Alcaçer do Sal (Portugal) cayó en manos portuguesas, el reino de León sufrió una serie de sonoros fracasos. En 1218 se predicó una nueva cruzada, dirigida por Alfonso IX de León (1171–1230), con el apoyo financiero del papa Honorio III, pero no fue capaz de tomar Cáceres.82 En 1219, otra expedición, financiada por el Papa y por el arzobispo de Toledo, acabó en desastre, en Requena (Valencia). Todavía entre 1220 y 1223, Alfonso IX fracasó en un nuevo intento por conquistar Cáceres. En 1224, la frontera del Tajo se mantenía prácticamente donde estaba en 1214. Un ejemplo constructivo que puede ilustrar tanto como la propia puerta en cuestión el influjo de las Cruzadas en el recinto toledano es la llamada torre Almofada y, también las dos pentagonales en proa83 que flanqueaban tanto la puerta Vieja de Bisagra, como la puerta del Vado. La torre Almofada se levantó en un punto sensible del recinto exterior. Su función debía consistir en flanquear la cercana puerta del Vado y, al mismo tiempo, evitar el cruce del río por el mismo vado. Eso explica su forma abarlongada y sus grandes dimensiones, muy superiores a las de cualquier otra de las torres toledanas. Las pentagonales (Lámina 3.12 y 3.13) cumplían también funciones de flanqueo. La mera presencia de los dos tipos de torre, nunca empleadas antes en Toledo ni, prácticamente, en la península Ibérica, demuestra una evolución en la morfología de las fortificaciones usadas allí hasta entonces,

79  Ibid., p. 971. 80  González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII y XIII, I, p. 81. 81   Anales Toledanos, I, p. 318; Los anales Toledanos I y II, pp. 178–81. 82  Ibid., p. 189; González, Alfonso IX, II, docs. 460–62. 83  Mora-Figueroa, Diccionario, pp. 211–14.

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producida a raíz del influjo de las Cruzadas o, más exactamente, de la difusión del trabuco. La existencia de estas influencias levantinas en el recinto de Toledo no excluye la presencia de ciertos detalles constructivos achacables al empleo de mano de obra local. Uno de ellos es el arco de herradura del vano exterior de la puerta Vieja de Bisagra, cuyo enorme y tosco dintel y su tímpano hueco remiten a lo más añejo de la tradición siro-bizantina, cuya presencia en Toledo y en al-Andalus, de la mano del arcaico arte bizantino reintroducido por los árabes, resulta recurrente hasta muy avanzada la Edad Media. Incluso, se acusa alguna influencia de la fortificación almohade en el uso de una doble verdugada paralela, de ladrillos, en la torre que flanquea la puerta Vieja de Bisagra (Láminas 3.5 y 3.8). Si se erigió al mismo tiempo que ésta, bien pudiera ser indicio de la presencia de mano de obra esclava o conocedora de los usos poliorcéticos impuestos en los dominios del califato almohade. A finales de la primera década del siglo XIII Toledo no volvió a verse acosada por los ejércitos árabes, lo que no significa que no se preocupara de reparar, reforzar o actualizar sus fortificaciones. La documentación escrita “mozárabe” acusa la continuidad del trabajo en sus muros después de 1213.84 De hecho, no estamos completamente seguros de que todas las defensas estuvieran acabadas antes de la fecha crucial de 1212. Ya había ocurrido antes en Alarcos, donde las obras de amurallamiento de la plaza se encontraban sin acabar cuando el ejército almohade, dirigido por el propio califa Ya’qub I, se presentó allí, como documentaron sin la mínima duda los trabajos arqueológicos practicados en este lugar.85 La historia de la fortificación medieval de Toledo no acabó con el alejamiento de la frontera islámica más allá de Sierra Morena. La ciudad siguió mejorando su sistema defensivo, pero más por motivos internos que externos. Se actualizó la defensa del puente de Alcántara, se añadió una nueva coracha86 a las ya existentes,87 se construyó el puente de San Martín,88 con sus correspondientes torres protectoras, y se fortificó el flanco occidental de la ciudad.89 En definitiva, se completó la cerca en torno a la meseta. Pero todavía no estamos completamente seguros de la estructura defensiva de los flancos meridional y occidental, cuyas defensas fueron, como mínimo, menos aparentes que las de los lados norte y este. No se ha estudiado convenientemente la fortificación 84  González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo, I, p 81; González, El reino de Castilla, I, p. 971. 85  Zozaya, Alarcos: el fiel de la balanza. 86  Mora-Figueroa, Diccionario, pp. 85–86. 87  Carrobles, Fortificaciones de Toledo. 88  Delgado y Pérez, Arquitecturas de Toledo, pp. 122–31. 89  Delgado, Toledo islámico, pp. 192–95; Delgado y Pérez, Arquitecturas de Toledo.

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de la catedral que, dentro del casco urbano, constituía por sí misma un auténtico castillo y habría de jugar un papel relevante en varios conflictos civiles. Sus elementos castrenses son bien visibles. Sin embargo, nada indica que, después de mediados del siglo XIII, el conjunto amurallado sufriese reformas del calibre de las acometidas en el siglo X por el califa Abd al-Rahman III, ni a finales del XII y hasta mediados del XIII, durante los gobiernos de Alfonso VIII, Enrique I (1214–1217), Berenguela I (r. 1217) y Fernando III (1199/01–1246). Ciertas innovaciones se llevaron a cabo con la aparición de la artillería de fuego, ya en el siglo XV, pero, por la propia situación de la ciudad, su presencia tuvo poca repercusión en el recinto. Se detecta por la aparición de troneras en algunos órganos defensivos anteriores. En la segunda parte del siglo XVI, acabada ya la llamada Edad Media, la puerta Nueva de Bisagra, vino a ser el final del ciclo de las fortificaciones toledanas (1576), pero, sin perder del todo su carácter castrense, más con una función administrativa, ornamental y propagandística. Su nueva estructura es una fachada que oculta la medieval.

figure 3.1 Ortofoto de Toledo

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figure 3.2 Esquema de las fortificaciones de Toledo. 2. Puerta de Valmardón; 7. Puerta de los Doce Cantos; 8. Arco de la Sangre; 9. Puerta de Alcántara; 10. Puente de Alcántara; 12. Puerta del Vado; 13. Puerta Nueva de Bisagra; 14. Puerta Vieja de Bisagra Dibujo A. Salcedo

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figure 3.3 Hipótesis del plano de Toledo durante el reino visigodo Barroso et al., “El paisaje urbano”, Plate 3, p. 340

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figure 3.4 Puerta de Alcántara Fotografía F. Valdés

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figure 3.5 Torre cercana a la Puerta de los Doce Cantos Fotografía F. Valdés

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figure 3.6 Puerta Vieja de Bisagra Fotografía F. Valdés

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figure 3.7 Fachada de la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra Dibujo A. López - L. López

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figure 3.8 Puerta Vieja de Bisagra, planta

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figure 3.9 Sección de la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra (Dibujo A. López - L. López); Plantas comparadas de la Puerta del Vado (1) y de la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra (2) (Ruíz Taboada 2009)

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figure 3.10

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Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Caja para el rastrillo, parte alta Fotografía F. Valdés

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figure 3.11 Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Doble línea de ladrillos en la parte alta de la torre lateral Fotografía F. Valdés

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figure 3.12

Torre pentagonal, junto a la Puerta Vieja de Bisagra Fotografía F. Valdés

figure 3.13

Torre pentagonal, junto a la Puerta del Vado Fotografía J. Carrobles

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3 Abstract The Evolution of Medieval Fortifications in the Iberian Peninsula: The Case of Toledo The medieval fortifications of the Iberian Peninsula underwent many modifications throughout the Middle Ages as a consequence of the troubled military history of the whole region following the Arab conquest in 711. Some aspects of this development remain little understood. However, archeological studies are revealing new things about some of these lesser-known stages. Perhaps the city to best represent this process is Toledo. Its geographic and strategic position and its symbolic character gave it a central role in the political histories of the dynasties that governed it. This situation was reflected in its great defensive enclosure, modified and enlarged in various moments as the military situation evolved and new mechanisms of defense proved necessary. Toledo’s walls reveal all these innovations. 3.1

Bibliografía

Fuentes primarias

Ibn Abi Zar’, Rawd al-Qirtas, trad. y ed. A. Huici Miranda, Valencia, 1964. Abd Allah b. Buluggin, The Tibyan. Memoirs of Abd Allah b. Buluggin last Zirid Amir of Granada, trad. de Emended Arabic Text y ed. A.T. Tibi, E., Leiden, 1986. Ajbar Maŷmu’a, Colección de Noticias, trad. y ed. E. Lafuente y Alcántara, Madrid, 1867 Ambroise, L’Estoire de la Guerre Sainte. Histoire en vers de la Troisième Croisade (1190– 1192), trad. G. Paris, Paris, 1897. Anales Toledanos, en España Sagrada XXIII, ed. E. Flórez, Madrid, 1767. Ibn al-Aṯir, Al-kamil fi l-tarij, VI, ed. Tornberg, Leiden, 1851/56. Los Anales Toledanos I y II, ed. J. Porres, Toledo, 1993. Chronica Adefonsi Imperatoris, ed. L. Sánchez Belda, Madrid, 1950. Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos, ed. J. Vives, Barcelona-Madrid, 1963. Corpus Scriptorum Muzarabicorum, ed. J. Gil, Madrid, 1976. Crónica Mozárabe de 754, trad. y ed. José Eduardo López Pereira, Madrid, 1980. Ibn Hayyan, Crónica del califa ʿAbdarrahman III an-Nasir entre los años 912 y 942 (alMuqtabis V), trad. y ed. Mª. Jesús Viguera y F. Corriente, Preliminar J.Mª. Lacarra, Zaragoza, 1979. Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabas V (arabic), ed. P. Chalmeta, F. Corriente y M. Sobh, Madrid, 1980.

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Ibn Hayyan, Al-Muqtabis min anba’ ahl al-Andalus, ed. Mahmud ʿAli Makki, Beirut, 1973. Al-Himyari, La Péninsule Ibérique au Moyen-Age d’après le Kitab ar-rawd al-mi’tar fi habar al-aktar d’Ibn ʿAbd al-Mun’im al-Himyari, ed. E. Lévi-Provençal, Leiden, 1938. Histoire de l’Afrique et de l’Espagne intitulée Al-Bayano ‘l-Mogrib, II, trad. y ed. E. Fagnan, Argel, 1901/1904. Historia Silense, ed. J. Pérez de Urbel y A. González Ruíz-Zorrilla, Madrid, 1959. Ibn ‘Iḏari, Al-Bayan al-Mugrib, ed. G.S. Colin y E. Lévi-Provençal, Leiden, 1948/51. al-Maqqari, Nafh al-Tib min gusn al-Andalus al-ratib, I, ed. I. ʿAbbas, 2a ed., Beirut, 1968. Ibn al-Qutiyya, Historia de la conquista de España de Abenalcotia el Cordobés, trad. y ed. J. Ribera, Madrid, 1868. Inscripciones cristianas de la España romana y visigoda, ed. J. Vives, Barcelona, 1969. Inscriptiones Hispaniae Christianae. Supplementum, ed. E. Hübner, Berlin, 1871/1900. Liber Ordinum, Le Liber Ordinum en usage dans l’église wisigothique et mozarabe d’Espagne du cinquième au onzième siècle, ed. M. Ferotin París, 1904. Ricardus, Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi. Chronicles and Memorials of the Reign of Richard I, ed. W. Stubbs, 1864. Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada, Historia de los hechos de España, trad. y ed. J. Fernández Valverde, Madrid, 1989. Al-’Uḏrí, Nusus ‘an al-Andalus min Kitab Tarsi al-ajbar, ed. A.A. al-Ahwani, Madrid, 1965.



Fuentes secundarias

Almagro, A., “La puerta califal del Castillo de Gormaz”, Arqueología de la Arquitectura 5 (2008), 55–77. Álvarez, J. Mª., “Los accesos al recinto de la colonia Augusta Emerita. La Puerta del Puente”, Stadttore. Bautyp und Kunstform. Akten der Tagung in Toledo vom 25. bis 27. September 2003/Puertas de ciudades. Tipo arquitectónico y forma artística. Actas del coloquio en Toledo del 25 al 27 de septiembre 2003, Mainz, 2006, 221–51. Aranda, F., J. Carrobles, y J.L. Isabel, El sistema hidráulico de Toledo en época romana, Toledo, 1997. Arce, J., Esperando a los árabes. Los visigodos en Hispania (507–711), Madrid, 2011. Balmaseda, L.A., “En busca de las iglesias toledanas de época visigoda”, Hispania Gothorum. San Ildefonso y el reino visigodo de Toledo, en R. García Serrano (ed.), 2011, 197–214. Barroso, R., et al., “El paisaje urbano de Toledo en la Antigüedad Tardía”, Antiquité Tardive 23 (2015), 329–52.

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Barral, M.A., y F., Borja, “Aproximación a la evolución paleográfica histórica del sector sur del casco antiguo de Sevilla”, Aportaciones a la geomorfología de España en el inicio del tercer milenio. Actas de la VI Reunión nacional de Geomorfología, Madrid, 2002, 19–24. Borja, F., y M.A. Barral, “Estudio Geoarqueológico”, El Alcázar de Sevilla. Primeros estudios sobre estratigrafía y evolución constructiva, Sevilla, 2002, 235–52. Carrobles, J., Fortificaciones de Toledo. Las corachas del Alficén, Toledo, 2009. Carrobles, J., “Prehistoria e historia antigua. El origen de Toledo”, en J. de la Cruz Muñoz (ed.), Historia de Toledo, de la Prehistoria al Presente, Toledo, 2010, 7–89. Carrobles, J., y S. Palomero, S., “Toledo, un vado y una ciudad estratégica”, Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos de Madrid 30 (1998), 245–61. Catcart King, D.J., “The Trebuchet and other Siege-Engines”, Château-Gaillard 9–10 (1982), 457–470. Delgado, C., Toledo islámico: ciudad, arte e historia, Toledo, 1987. Delgado, C., y P. Pérez, “El período islámico y mudéjar”, Arquitecturas de Toledo. Del romano al gótico, Toledo 1991, 85–132. Fernández Casado, C., Historia del Puente en España, Madrid, 1980. García Moreno, L.A., “Cristianización de la topografía de las ciudades de la Península Ibérica durante la Antigüedad tardía”, Archivo Español de Arqueología 50–51.135–138 (1977/78), 311–22. Foss, C., Survey of Medieval Castles of Anatolia. I. Kütahya (B.A.R. International Series, 261), Oxford, 1985. Foss, C., y D. Winfild, Byzantine Fortifications. An Introduction, Pretoria, 1986. Gómez-Moreno, M., El arte español hasta los almohades. Arte Mozárabe (Ars Hispaniae, III), Madrid, 1951. González, J., Alfonso IX, II, Madrid, 1944. González, J., El reino de Castilla en la época de Alfonso VIII, Madrid, 1960. González Palencia, A., Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII y XIII, Madrid, 1926/30. Granja, F. de la, “La Marca Superior en la obra de al-ʿUḏri”, Estudios de la Edad Media en la Corona de Aragón 8 (1966), 447–545. Gregoire, H., “Inscriptions historiques byzantines”, Byzantion 4 (1927/28), 437–68. Gregoire, H., “Michel et Basile le Macedonien dans les inscriptions d’Ancyre”, Byzantion 5 (1929/30), 327–46. Hernández, F., “The Citadel and Walls of Toledo”, Early Muslim Architecture, II, Oxford, 1940. Hernández, J., La Península imaginaria. Mitos y leyendas sobre al-Andalus, Madrid, 1996, 199–208. Huici, A., Las grandes batallas de la Reconquista durante las invasiones africanas (almorávides, almohades y benimerines), Madrid, 1956.

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Jerphaion, D., “La citadelle byzantine d’Angora”, Mélanges de L’Université Saint-Joseph 13 (1928), 144–222. Lacarra, J. Mª, “Expediciones musulmanas contra Sancho Garcés (902–925)”, Estudios de Historia Navarra, Pamplona, 1971. Lévi-Provençal, E., España musulmana, hasta la caída del califato de Córdoba (711–1031 de J.C.) (Historia de España, IV), dirigida por R. Menéndez-Pidal, Madrid, 1957. López, P., y F. Valdés, “Arqueología del sitio”, en A. Alcalde y I. Sánchez Sánchez (eds.), San Pedro Mártir el Real, Toledo, Ciudad Real, 1993, 113–22. Makki, M.A., “Egipto y los orígenes de la historiografía árabe española”, Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islámicos 5 (1957), 174–80. Manzano, E., La frontera de al-Andalus en época de los omeyas, Madrid, 1991. Martínez, S., et al., “Intervención arqueológica en la Puerta de Bisagra Antigua de Toledo: últimas aportaciones”, en R. Villa González (ed.), II Congreso de Arqueología de la Provincia de Toledo. La Mancha Occidental y la Mesa de Ocaña, II, Toledo, 2001, 247–65. Meyer-Plath, B., y A.M. Schneider, Die Landmauer von Konstantinopel, Berlin, 1943. Mora-Figueroa, L. de, Glosario de Arquitectura defensiva medieval, Universidad de Cádiz, 1995. Müller-Wiener, W., Bildlexikon zur Topographie Istanbuls, Tübingen, 1977. Ocaña, M., “La inscripción fundacional de la mezquita de Bab al-Mardum”, Al-Andalus 14 (1949), 175–83. Oman, Ch., History of the Art of War in the Middle Ages, II, London, 1924. Palol, P. de, “Resultados de las excavaciones junto al Cristo de la Vega, supuesta basílica conciliar de Sta. Leocadia, de Toledo: algunas notas de topografía religiosa”, Concilio III de Toledo: XIV Centenario: 589–1989, Toledo, 1991, 787–832. Pavón, B., “La Puerta de Bisagra Vieja en Toledo, nuevas orientaciones sobre la arquitectura medieval toledana”, Toletum 13 (1995), 85–119. Ponce de León, P., y J. Carrobles, “Memoria de intervención en las murallas de Toledo por sectores”, en J. Carrobles (ed.), Las murallas de Toledo, Madrid, 2004, 166–223. Porres, J., Historia de las calles de Toledo. Toledo, 1971. Porres, J., Historia de Tulaytula (711–1085), Toledo, 1985. Rivera, J.F., La iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII, I, Roma, 1966. Rojas, J.M. et al., “El Convento de Madre de Dios. Evolución histórica de una manzana de Toledo a través de la arqueología”, en J. Passini y R. Izquierdo (eds.), La ciudad medieval de Toledo: historia, arqueología y rehabilitación de la casa, Madrid, 2007, 281–319. Román Martínez, P., “Los restos de construcción romana del Puente de Alcántara”, Boletín de la Real Academia de Bellas Artes y Ciencias Históricas de Toledo 58 (1942), 3–14.

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Rubio, R., y V. Tsiolis, “El primer recinto amurallado de Toledo”, en J. Carrobles (ed.), Los muros de Toledo, Madrid, 2004, 224–49. Ruíz Taboada, A., “Aproximación al estudio del recinto amurallado de Toledo: el descubrimiento de la Puerta del Vado”, Tulaytula 9 (2002), 55–82. Ruíz Taboada, A., Arquitectura residencial y religiosa: Toledo (siglos X al XVIII), Madrid, 2012. Ruíz Taboada, A., y J. Fernández, La Puerta del Vado, Madrid, 2009. Runciman, S., Historia de las Cruzadas.3. El Reino de Acre y las últimas Cruzadas, Madrid, 1985. Tabales, M.A., “Sevilla a fines del primer milenio: breve, aproximación arqueológica”, V Congreso de Arqueología Medieval Española, II, Valencia, 2001, 599–608. Torres, L., Arte almohade. Arte Nazarí. Arte Mudéjar (Ars Hispaniae, IV), Madrid, 1949. Valdés, F., “Aspectos arqueológicos del Tibyan: El puente de Cadí”, en C. Vázquez de Benito y M.A. Manzano Rodríguez (eds.), Actas del XVI Congreso Internacional de l’Unión Européene d’Arabisants et d’Islamisants, Salamanca, 1995, 509–29. Valdés, F., “Arqueología de al-Andalus, de la conquista árabe a la extinción de las primeras taifas”, en V.A. Álvarez Palenzuela (ed.), Historia General de España y América, III, Madrid, 1988, 543–627. Valdés, F., “El propugnaculum de Mérida y la tradición arquitectónica bizantina en al-Andalus”, Revista de Estudios Extremeños 42 (1996), 463–485. Valdés, F., “Influjos orientales en la fortificación cristiana de Toledo”, Spanien und der Orient im frühen und hohen Mittelalter: Kolloquium Berlin 1991 (Madrider Beiträge, 24), Mainz, 1996, 75–91. Valdés, F., “La edad oscura de la Alhambra”, Arte islámico en Granada. Propuesta para un Museo de la Alhambra, Granada, 1995, 62–73. Valdés, F., “La fortificación de los estados latinos de Oriente y su influjo en la península Ibérica: el recinto de la ciudad de Toledo”, Las murallas de Toledo, Madrid, 2004, 75–91. Valdés, F., “La Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Notas para una cronología de la muralla de Toledo”, II Congreso de Arqueología Medieval Española, II, Madrid, 1987, 281–94. Valdés, F., “Puertas de recintos urbanos y cambio político. Los casos de Toledo y de las alcazabas de Mérida y de Badajoz”, en T.G., Schattner, y F. Valdés (eds.), Stadttore Bautyp un Kunstform/ Puertas de ciudades. Tipo arquitectónico y forma artística: Akten der Tagung in Toledo vom 25. bis 27. September 2003 (Iberia Archaeologica, 8) Mainz, 2006, 407–29. Valdés, F., y C. Varona, “La llamada mezquita de las Tornerías, un ejemplo de fundación pía (habus) en el Toledo islámico”, en T. Schattner y F. Valdés (eds.), Wasserversorgung in Toledo und Wissensvermittlung von der Antike ins Mittelalter/

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El suministro de agua a Toledo y el saber hidráulico durante la Antigüedad y la Edad Media (Iberia Archaeologica, 19), Berlín, 2016, 275–98. Velázquez, I., y G. Ripoll, “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia”, en G. Ripoll y J.Ma. Gurt (eds.), Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), Barcelona, 2000, 521–78. Zozaya, J., Alarcos: el fiel de la balanza, Toledo, 1995.

part 2 Theology/Genealogy/Kinship

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chapter 4

Old Hispanic Chant Manuscripts of Toledo: Testimonies of a Local or of a Wider Tradition? Raquel Rojo Carrillo The Old Hispanic rite was the Christian liturgy produced and observed on the Iberian Peninsula before the adoption in this territory of the Roman rite.1 Its music, the Old Hispanic chant, has survived in about forty manuscripts, including codices and fragments.2 Eleven of these manuscripts have been preserved in Toledo during most of their existence: seven of them are still there today; and the other four were held in the Chapter Library of Toledo Cathedral from at least the 16th century,3 until the second half of the 19th century, when they were transferred to their current homes—Madrid (two manuscripts), New York (one manuscript), and Cincinnati (a fragment).4 This collection of Toledo-related manuscripts, listed in Table 4.1 below, represents a quarter of the Old Hispanic chant sources, placing Toledo in a preeminent position in the history of this musical repertoire. Furthermore, at least part of this collection was used for the creation in the late 15th century of the

1  I adopt the term “Old Hispanic” from previous scholarship, e.g., Randel, “The Old Hispanic rite as evidence for the earliest forms of the Western Christian liturgies.” 2  The Spanish Early Music Manuscripts database (SEMM), , contains my descriptions of the extant Old Hispanic chant manuscripts; these descriptions include a bibliography for each of them. 3  The earliest extant inventory of Toledo Cathedral listing Old Hispanic liturgical books is preserved at El Escorial, Real Biblioteca del Monasterio (shelf mark L-I-13, ff. 107r–133v); it is believed to date from the 16th century; see Millás Vallicrosa, Estudios sobre historia de la ciencia española, p. 182. 4  E-Mn MSS/10001 and MSS/10110 were taken to Biblioteca Nacional de España (Madrid) in the second half of the 19th century; see Mundó, “Introducción,” p. XXV, and Janini, “Introducción,” pp. 29–31. Archer Huntington, founder of the Hispanic Society of America, acquired U-NYhsa B2916 sometime between 1895 and 1910; see Boynton, “A Lost Mozarabic Liturgical Manuscript,” p. 205. In the 18th century, US-CIhc Acc. No. 434 was in the hands of Francisco Xavier de Santiago Palomares, who worked with Andrés Marcos Burriel in the Commission of the Archives in the Cathedral of Toledo; see Janini, “Introducción,” p. 30, Boynton, Silent Music, pp. 51–83, and Werner, “Eine neuentdeckte mozarabische Handschrift,” p. 977.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_006

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table 4.1 Old Hispanic chant manuscripts associated with Toledo Library/Archive

Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de España

Toledo, Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares de la Catedral

Toledo, Museo de los Concilios y de la Cultura Visigoda Cincinnati, Klau Library of the Hebrew Union College New York, Library of Hispanic Society of America

RISM code shelf mark

Type of codex

E-Mn MSS/10001

Psalterium-liber canticorum et hymnorum; fragment of misticus; & fragment of antiphonary Misticus (lacking material for masses) Liber horarum Manuale Misticus, fragment of liber orationum festivus, fragment of manuale, & fragment of commicus Misticus Misticus Misticus and fragment of liber ordinum Misticus

E-Mn MSS/10110 E-Tc 33.3 E-Tc 35.3 E-Tc 35.4

E-Tc 35.5 E-Tc 35.6 E-Tc 35.7 E-Tm n.i. 1325

US-CIhc Acc. No. 434 US-NYhsa B2916

Fragment of misticus Misticus

Neo-Mozarabic liturgy, the only longstanding achievement in a series of failed attempts to reinstate the observance of the Old Hispanic rite.5 In this article we will explore the extent to which the Old Hispanic chant manuscripts associated with Toledo (Table 4.1) bear witness to a local, Toledan, tradition. We will begin by identifying the main differences between the Old Hispanic rite and the later Neo-Mozarabic rite; this is necessary because these 5  The differences between the Old Hispanic and Neo-Mozarabic rites are explained in pp. 99– 107 below. The term “Neo-Mozarabic” was coined by Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” p. 17 onwards, to refer to E-Tc Cantorales A (or I), B (or II) and C (or IV), and their music. I follow Boynton’s use of this term to refer “to the entire enterprise represented by the Ortiz editions and the Cisneros ‘restoration’ of the rite,” see her Silent Music, p. 18, footnote 48.

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two rites are often taken as the same, when they really are distinct. Following this, we will consider the scholarly classification of the Old Hispanic chant manuscripts into two “liturgical traditions,” assessing the main theories that this classification has inspired about the provenance—and relationship with Toledo—of such manuscripts. Before reaching our conclusions, we will take a closer look at the manuscripts bearing evidence for a Toledan provenance to detect their common features, and trace such features in other Old Hispanic manuscripts associated with Toledo but lacking an irrefutable proof for their provenance. This article builds not only on the study of the extant Old Hispanic chant manuscripts, Neo-Mozarabic codices and bibliography about the provenance of these sources, but also on the engagement with other primary sources related to the creation and practice of the Old Hispanic rite in Toledo before and after the Muslim occupation of this territory. 1

The Old Hispanic and the Neo-Mozarabic Rites

Toledo is the only place in the world where it is still possible to experience, on any day of the year, the one sonorous musical vestige of the Old Hispanic rite: a “Misa Coral y Misa Rito Hispano-Mozárabe, con Laudes y Tercia” is performed every morning by the “Mozarabic” chaplains of the Cathedral, at its Corpus Christi chapel, also known as “Mozarabic chapel.” This service is open to congregations ranging from only one person to a crowd formed by members of a Mozarabic confraternity, a wider assembly of Christians, or early-rising tourists of any or no belief who just happen to hear its chant while visiting the Cathedral. The Toledan Cathedral calls this rite “Spanish-Mozarabic.”6 The adjective “Spanish-Mozarabic” follows the dominant account of the Old Hispanic rite’s history. According to this account, Alfonso VI, soon after regaining Toledo for the Castilian Kingdom in 1085, rewarded the Mozarabic community of this city for its unremitting practice of the Christian faith despite being under the pressure of Muslim rulers for centuries. Although no extant document from the time of Alfonso VI records this, it is believed that one of the privileges that he granted to this community was the permission to continue observing the Old Hispanic rite in the six Mozarabic parishes which, according to legend, had remained Christian throughout the Muslim domination of Toledo: Santa Eulalia, Santas Justa y Rufina, San Lucas, San Marcos, San Sebastian, and 6  The adjective “Hispano-Mozárabe” (translated into English as “Spanish-Mozarabic”) is used in the posters at the entrances of the Toledan Cathedral and on its webpage ().

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San Torcuato.7 This permission represented a privilege because the Council of Burgos in 1080 had forced all churches belonging to the Christian kingdoms of Iberia to replace the Old Hispanic rite with the Roman liturgy and its Gregorian chant.8 The members of the six Mozarabic parishes of Toledo were, according to the dominant account, the only Christians practicing the Old Hispanic rite after its official suppression in 1080 and until the time of Francisco Ximénez de Cisneros. Cisneros, Archbishop of Toledo, undertook a series of ecclesiastical reforms from 1495 to 1517.9 Several authors call this enterprise the “Cisnerian Reform.”10 Among its results were: the creation of the Neo-Mozarabic liturgy and its implementation as a “restoration” of the Old Hispanic rite at the six churches of the declining Mozarabic community of Toledo (which had already begun to adopt the Roman rite);11 and the introduction of the Neo-Mozarabic rite at Toledo Cathedral, see of the most important Iberian archdiocese of the time, thereby promoting the adoption of this liturgy at other churches of the Peninsula.12 The “Spanish-Mozarabic” chant 7  This narrative is present in seminal works, e.g., Molénat, Campagnes et monts de Tolède du XXIe au XV e siècle (e.g., pp. 41–2, 53) and “La fin des Chrétiens Arabisés D’Al Andalus,” pp. 293–94; and, Aillet, Les Mozarabes: Christianisme, Islamisation et Arabisation en Péninsule Ibérique (IXe–XIIe Siècle), pp. 4, 142 (though in p. 48 he shows awareness of the lack of documents mentioning the six Mozarabic parishes until the 13th century). It is also present in Gonzálvez, “La persistencia,” as noted by Moreno, “Arabicizing,” p. 6. Boynton, “Restoration or Invention?,” p. 17, affirms that this narrative is implicit in Los Cantorales Mozárabes de Cisneros, ed. Férnandez Collado, Rodríguez González and Castañeda Tordera. This narrative is very popular outside scholarship, see, e.g., “Rito Hispano-Mozárabe: Prenotandos: Introducción histórica del rito,” at the Cathedral of Toledo’s website: . 8  The impact of this Council is discussed in Ruíz, “Burgos y el Concilio de 1080.” Rubio Sadia has authored several publications about how the Old Hispanic rite was gradually replaced by the Roman liturgy before and after this council; see, e.g., his “De Urgell a Palencia, o el primer camino del rito romano a Castilla.” Also see Deswartes, Une Chrétienté romaine sans pape: L’Espagne et Rome (586–1085), pp. 353–517. 9  For a recent biography about Cisneros and more information about the reform he led, see: García Oro, Cisneros: un cardenal reformista en el trono de España. For details about the reform’s impact until the 21st century see Gómez-Ruíz, Mozarabs, Hispanics & the Cross, pp. 36–44. 10  See, e.g., Boon, “Mother Juana De La Cruz: Marian Visions and Female Preaching,” . 11  Gómez de Castro, De rebus gestis, ff. 41r–v. More about the decline of the Mozarabic community of Toledo can be seen in Meseguer Fernández, “El Cardenal Jiménez de Cisneros,” pp. 149–58. 12  See a transcription of the constitutions of the Mozarabic chapel (Toledo Cathedral) in Meseguer Fernández, “El Cardenal Jiménez de Cisneros,” pp. 213–23. For other churches

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performed today in this Cathedral, and, occasionally, in some other churches (Spanish or otherwise),13 is that originally recorded in the Cisnerian books. The dominant account implies that the Cisnerian chant is equal or closely related to the Old Hispanic chant. Previous scholars, however, have already demonstrated that the Old Hispanic rite—including its music—and the liturgy produced by the Cisnerian reform are different.14 Despite the well-substantiated arguments of these scholars, they are not widely recognized yet;15 therefore, it is worth revisiting their findings and adding further proofs to them. Cisneros, in his attempt to restore the Old Hispanic rite, refurbished Toledo Cathedral’s Corpus Christi chapel, re-founding it in 1502 as a “Mozarabic chapel;”16 he also commissioned books to record the liturgy of this rite. Alfonso Ortiz, “doctor of divine and human law, and canon of Toledo,”17 carried out this commission. He was aided by the “rectors of the churches of Saints Justa and Eulalia, and of Saint Luke the Evangelist,”18 three of the six Mozarabic churches of Toledo. The task of this team was to produce a readable and organized of Spain which adopted this rite as an immediate result of the reform, see Fernández Rodríguez, P., “La Capilla Mozárabe de la Catedral Vieja de Salamanca.” 13  Some of the places that occasionally follow this rite are: the Vatican, as can be seen, for example, in EFE, “Arzobispo de Toledo oficia 4ª misa hispano-mozárabe que se oye en el Vaticano,” ; and, the Royal Palace of La Granja de San Ildefonso, every year on the day of its patron Saint Ildefonso, as can be seen, for example, in Bravo, “La Granja implanta la celebración de la misa mozárabe en la fiesta de San Ildefonso,” . 14  E.g.: Brou, “Études sur le missel et le bréviaire ‘mozárabes’ imprimés;” Martín Patino, “El Breviarium mozárabe de Ortiz: su valor documental para la historia del oficio catedralicio hispánico;” Brockett, Antiphons, Responsories, and Other Chants of the Mozarabic Rite, pp. 20–1; Janini, “Introducción,” pp. 11–49, and “Misas Mozárabes Recompuestas por Ortiz”; Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” pp. 17, 108–35, 138–40; Gutiérrez, “Avatares de un repertorio marginal: las preces de la liturgia hispánica” and “Melodías del canto hispánico en el repertorio litúrgico poético de la Edad Media y el Renacimiento,” p. 551; Prado, Historia del rito mozárabe y toledano, pp. 86–7, and “Estado actual de los estudios sobre la música Mozárabe,” pp. 92–104; Rojo and Prado, El canto mozárabe: Estudio histórico-crítico de su antigüedad y estado actual, pp. 96–101; and, Mundó, “Introducción,” pp. XXXI–XLIII. 15   Certain specialized works, however, recognize these findings; see, e.g.: González Barrionuevo, “La música litúrgica de los Mozárabes,” p. 182; and, Asensio, “Liturgia y música en la Hispania de la alta edad media: el canto visigótico, hispánico o mozárabe,” p. 150. 16  Arellano Garcia, La Capilla Mozárabe o del Corpus Christi, p. 14. 17  “Preface to the Missale mixtum secundum regulam Beati Isidori, dictum Mozarabes (Toledo: Petrus Hagembach, 1500),” trans. Boynton, in her “Restoration or Invention?,” p. 18. Ortiz earned his doctorate at University of Salamanca; see Alvar and Lucía Megías, “Repertorio de traductores del siglo XV: Segunda veintena,” p. 101. 18  “Preface to the Missale mixtum,” trans. Boynton.

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version of the material contained in the earlier books of this rite,19 which, according to the first biography of Cisneros, were rediscovered by this archbishop at the library of Toledo Cathedral.20 The fact that this biography states that Cisneros encountered these books by chance, stored in the library, suggests that they were no longer in use at that time. With these rediscovered books as their sources (and, perhaps, using any rendition of their melodies still recorded in the memories of the Mozarabic parishes’ rectors),21 Ortiz’s team produced a “Mozarabic” missal and a “Mozarabic” breviary (printed, respectively, in 1500 and 1502),22 and three musical manuscripts known as the “cantorales.”23 These cantorales are not dated. Clerical documents of the early 16th century, however, and the contents of E-Tc Cantoral C, strongly suggest that they were produced after the publication of the breviary, very likely after 1508.24 Most of the melodies transmitted in these cantorales are completely different from those written in the Old Hispanic rite manuscripts. In Example 1, we can see this difference in several syllables of chants sharing the same text: their number of notes and melodic contour are different, even at structurally important points within these chants (namely, at their end, i.e. “in ea,” and, just before the repetendum, i.e. “dominus”). This kind of musical difference occurs because the Cisnerian chants were created not only by recycling Old Hispanic material from very different manuscripts (including some that might have been produced or used outside Toledo), but also by drawing material from the Roman liturgy, and, very likely, by adding newly composed material.25 Therefore, we find that the Old Hispanic and Neo-Mozarabic chants present differences not only in their melodies but also in some of their texts 19  That the reformers believed that the Old Hispanic manuscripts displayed the liturgy in a disorganized manner can be seen in the “Preface to the Breviarium secundum regulam Beati Isidori (Toledo: Petrus Hagembach, 1502),” trans. Boynton, in her “Restoration or Invention?,” pp. 21–2. 20  “ad templi Toletani bibliothecam,” in Gómez de Castro, De rebus gestis, f. 40v. 21  Gómez de Castro, De rebus gestis, makes no mention of codices brought from the Mozarabic parishes to the Toledan Cathedral for the Cisnerian reform—they were already at the library. It is likely that Old Hispanic manuscripts currently lost were among the sources employed to create the Neo-Mozarabic rite, as pointed out by previous scholars (e.g., Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” p. 138, and Maloy, “Old Hispanic Chant and the Early History of Plainsong,” p. 50). 22   Missale mixtum and Breviarium, ed. Ortiz. 23   E-Tc Cantorales A (or I), B (or II) and C (or IV). Following Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” p. 11, I discard E-Tc Cantoral D (or III) as a primary source because “it is an eighteenth-century copy of the ordinary chants (…) found in the other [Cisnerian] manuscripts.” 24  See Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” pp. 22–3, 52–3 and 138. 25  Previous scholars have already noted this; see footnote 14 on p. 101 above.

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and liturgical assignments. By contrast, the Old Hispanic manuscripts share most of their material, and thus belong to only one liturgy despite their different provenances (from Toledo in the South to León in the North, and from Coimbra in the West to Vic in the East) and estimated copy-dates (ranging from the 8th to the 14th century).26 Due to the differences between the Old Hispanic and Cisnerian rites some scholars have adopted the name “NeoMozarabic” to refer to the liturgy contained in the Cisnerian books, leaving the terms “Old Hispanic” and/or “Mozarabic” for the original Iberian rite.27 Example 1—Comparison of melodies given for a chant text, Hec est dies (first section or respond) with the same liturgical placement (after the epistle of the mass) and assignment (Easter) in an Old Hispanic rite manuscript (psalmo) and in a Cisnerian reform cantoral (psallendo).28

figure 4.1 Hec est dies, E-Tc 35.5, f. 187r

figure 4.2 Hec est dies, Cantoral A, f. 128

26  See footnote 2 on p. 97 above for descriptions specifying the Old Hispanic manuscripts’ confirmed and ascribed provenances and copy-dates. 27  As mentioned in footnote 5 on p. 98 above, the term “Neo-Mozarabic” was coined by Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” p. 17 onwards, and I follow Boynton’s use of this term (see her Silent Music, p. 18, footnote 48). 28  The Old Hispanic psalmo and the Cisnerian psallendo are genres equivalent to the Roman gradual. See Randel, and Nadeau, “Mozarabic chant,” (psalmo); Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” p. 34 (psallendo); and, Hiley, Western Plainchant: A Handbook, pp. 76–81 (gradual).

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Transcription of melodic contour29 Ms/text

Hec

est

di

es

quem

fe

E-Tc 35.5

NH

NL+NHL+ N+N+NHL

NHH+NH

NL

NH

NH+NUL+ N+NHL+ N+N NH+NHL

E-Tc Cantoral A N

LHHLLHLLHH SLLLHLH

nus

M/t

Do

mi

35.5

N+NHHL

NL+NH+N NL+NHL+N +N+NHL

N+NS N

C. A

HLLHH

S

L

HLLHHLH HSLHLL

ex

HLS LH

ul

cit

H

SHHLHLLLLH

te

mus

et

NLH

NL

NL+N+NHL

SLHHHL HLHLSL

SHHLH

HL HLHHH LHLLL

M/t

le

te

mus

in

e

a

35.5

NL

NL

NHH+NH+NHLL+ NH+NH+NHHL

NHHL+NHH+ NL+NH+NHHH

NHL+NHL

NHL+NLH+ N[L]

C. A

LH

HLHHLH

SLLLHHL

HL

LHHHLH LHLLL

SHSL

+: separates the different neumes (musical signs) within each syllable of the Old Hispanic chant text (not in the Cisnerian chant) N: Neutral—unknown—relative pitch height H: A higher pitch than that of the note immediately preceding it L: A lower pitch than that of the note immediately preceding it S: The same pitch as that of the note immediately preceding it U: Either the same or a higher pitch than that of the note immediately preceding it 29  The transcription system here employed builds on that proposed in Hornby and Maloy, “Toward a Methodology for Analyzing the Old Hispanic Responsories,” also used in their Music and Meaning in Old Hispanic Lenten Chants: Psalmi, threni and the Easter Vigil Canticles and in their “Melodic dialects in Old Hispanic chant.” This system is also employed in the Chant Editing and Analysis Program, , which I have developed as a member of a team led by Hornby at the University of Bristol. In Example 1, I apply this system for the first time to the pitch-readable rhythmic notation of the NeoMozarabic chants in order to contrast their melodic contours with the Old Hispanic chants’ ones.

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Non-liturgical documentary evidence produced between the re-conquest of Toledo—when Alfonso VI supposedly allowed the Mozarabic parishes of Toledo to continue observing the Old Hispanic rite—and the realization of the Cisnerian reform portray a context that can help explain the differences between the medieval rite and the Neo-Mozarabic liturgy. This evidence attests to the practice of the Old Hispanic rite in this city only from the mid-12th century onwards and reveal that it disappeared, or was about to disappear, by the time of the Cisnerian reform. In fact, despite the existence of 12th-century documents granting privileges to the Toledan Mozarabs, none of them—at least none of those published or referred to in any scholarly work or edition of medieval documents—includes a privilege allowing the observance of the Old Hispanic rite.30 In fact, scholars referring to such a privilege either lack a reference to prove its existence,31 propose it as hypothetical,32 or refer to a primary source that grants other privileges but not this particular one.33 Instead, the earliest document implying this permission dates from the mid-13th century.34 As for instances indicating the interruption or irregularity of the practice of the Old Hispanic rite just before the Cisnerian reform, there are several. The testament (last will) dated 1436 of Juan Vázquez de Cepeda, archbishop of Segovia, for example, affirms that the six Mozarabic parishes of Toledo were so impoverished by then that the Old Hispanic rite had been forgotten: if any of these parishes had clerks for the celebration of the office, such clerks ignored how “to sing or direct” it.35 Ortiz, in his prologue to the Mozarabic breviary, and Gómez de Castro, in his biography of Cisneros, give similar reports of 30  See, e.g., Izquierdo Benito, Privilegios Reales Otorgados a Toledo durante la Edad Media (1101–1494), and García-Gallo, “Los Fueros de Toledo,” pp. 459–60. 31  E.g., Gonzálvez Ruíz, “Cisneros y la reforma del rito hispano-mozárabe,” p. 171. 32  E.g., Gonzálvez, “La persistencia,” pp. 27–8, where the author acknowledges that there is no mention of the permission to follow the Mozarabic rite in the fueros of Alfonso VI, but nonetheless takes it for granted. 33  E.g., Molénat, “La fin des Chrétiens,” pp. 293–94, affirms that the fuero of 1101 granted by Alfonso VI to the Mozarabs of Toledo includes the permission to practice the Old Hispanic rite. This permission, however, is not part of this fuero’s text, as can be noticed in any of its transcriptions; see, e.g., García-Gallo, “Los Fueros,” pp. 459–61. 34  Namely, Jiménez de Rada, Historia de Rebus Hispaniae, p. 118 (book 4, ch. 3, lines 1–15), dated by its author as 1243 (p. 301, IX, XVIII, 24–29), and mentioning the six Mozarabic parishes of Toledo without specifying their individual names. The earliest document indicating the names of all these churches together is later, specifically, a record dated 1285, where Gonzalo García Gudiel, Archbishop of Toledo, reduces the benefices of the parishes of Toledo, ordering the Mozarabic ones to correctly observe their rite; see its transcription in the “Apéndice” of Gonzálvez, “El arcediano Joffré de Loaysa y las parroquias urbanas de Toledo en 1300,” pp. 145–8. 35  More about Cepeda in Pérez-Embid Wamba, “Don Juan Vázquez de Cepeda y la Cartuja de Aniago” (his testament is transcribed in pp. 295–305, the quoted passage is in pp. 295–96).

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the state of this rite.36 Its decadence is also implicit in other documents from the late 13th to the late 15th century mentioning the Mozarabic parishes and often granting them support to continue observing the Old Hispanic rite as a means to prevent its extinction.37 Since we are assessing the extent to which the Old Hispanic manuscripts associated with Toledo are actually Toledan, it is worth noting that there are documents written around the time of the Cisnerian Reform pointing to an earlier aim of practicing the Old Hispanic rite beyond the Toledan Mozarabic parishes. For instance, Cepeda’s testament (1436) records his desire to introduce this rite at a church in Aniago (near Valladolid).38 However, it seems that Cepeda, rather than trying to export the Old Hispanic rite from Toledo to another city, was hoping to restore it wherever possible. The lands he had available for this were in Aniago, not elsewhere. It has been argued that Cepeda belonged to a Toledan family.39 This could explain his attempt of restoring a liturgy that he might have learnt, before it disappeared, in that city (we just saw that he himself described the decadence of this rite in his testament).40 Another incident related with Cepeda indicates the practice of the Old Hispanic rite outside Toledo: the crowning of Fernando of Antequera. According to the 16th-century historian Jerónimo Zurita, Cepeda had officiated a “Mozarabic mass” at the church of San Martin (Zaragoza), in honor of and attended by this king, on the Monday after his coronation in 1414.41 Indeed, if Cepeda ever officiated a mass using this liturgy and outside Toledo, it would have been on a very special occasion; the coronation of a Castilian-born monarch that became the King of another realm, Aragón, would certainly be suitable.42 However, no “Mozarabic mass” is mentioned in the account of this coronation by the Catalan historian and knight Pere Tomich, or in Cepeda’s own testament, and these two documents were written in the first half of the 15th century, much before Zurita’s account.43 It is thus possible that the “Mozarabic 36  “Preface to the Breviarium,” trans. Boynton. Gómez de Castro, De rebus gestis, ff. 41r–v. 37  E.g., “Apéndice,” in Gonzálvez, “El arcediano Joffré de Loaysa y las parroquias,” pp. 145–8; and, Meseguer Fernández, “El Cardenal Jiménez de Cisneros,” pp. 183–95 (docs. n. 1 to 4). 38  See the transcription of this testament in Pérez-Embid, “Don Juan Vázquez de Cepeda,” pp. 295–305. 39  Meseguer Fernández, “El Cardenal Jiménez de Cisneros,” p. 150. 40  See p. 106 above. 41  Zurita, Anales de la Corona de Aragón, ed. Canellas López, Vol. 5, b. 12, ch. 34, p. 387. 42  Zurita, Anales, Vol. 5, b. 12, ch. 34, p. 385, states that Fernando of Antequera’s coronation was regarded as the most splendid of the Aragonese monarchy. 43  Tomich, Historias e conquestas dels excellentissims e catholics Reys de Arago e de lurs anteçessors, los Comtes de Barçelona. See transcription of Cepeda’s testament (year 1436) in Pérez Embid, “Don Juan Vázquez,” pp. 285–305.

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mass” in honor of this coronation is just a nationalistic production of Zurita’s imagination or an oral and anachronistic version of this event. In any case, these two pieces of evidence suggesting—but not proving—the observance of the Old Hispanic rite outside Toledo and just before the Cisnerian reform are rare exceptions. They do not indicate an established practice or a regular use of Old Hispanic manuscripts at a late date in places other than Toledo, as was the case before 1080. One can state with confidence that the Neo-Mozarabic rite was created in Toledo; indeed, it resulted from a reform that was led from its Cathedral, which was also the first place to perform this rite. Nonetheless, instead of being a late stage of an uninterrupted and purely Toledan practice, this new rite did not derive exclusively from a practice that was always or only in vogue in Toledo. Having clarified that the Neo-Mozarabic liturgy is different from the Old Hispanic rite, and that this rite was not exclusively Toledan, we can now proceed to explore to what extent the real Old Hispanic chant manuscripts are Toledan. 2

The Two “Toledan Manuscript Traditions”

The only feature shared by all eleven Old Hispanic manuscripts that have been preserved at Toledo for most of their existence (Table 4.1) is their long stay in that city. Previous studies have built on this feature to propose a Toledan provenance for these sources.44 However, as already noted by musicologist Don Michael Randel, “The name of Toledo is generally given to a group of sources with little in common.”45 In fact, this group includes manuscripts belonging to both of the so-called Old Hispanic “liturgical traditions.” Scholars began classifying the extant Old Hispanic rite manuscripts into two “liturgical traditions” around the mid-20th century,46 that is, before the publication of most works proving the differences between the Old Hispanic and Neo-Mozarabic rites. At that time, remnants of the “assumption that Ortiz had simply printed the contents of the Old Hispanic liturgical books” still led “scholars to neglect the medieval manuscripts of the rite.”47 These scholars found noticeable differences between what they understood as the sources of a 44  See, e.g., Mundó, “La datación.” 45  Randel, The Responsorial Tones for the Mozarabic Office, p. 80. 46  Some of the earliest works presenting this classification are: Martín Patino, “El Breviarium,” published in 1963, and Pinell, “Los textos,” published in 1965. 47  Boynton, Silent Music, p. 9.

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single rite: some of their chants, readings, and prayers are shared, while others exist in certain sources only; part of the shared material has different liturgical assignments in different sources; and, different sources give different names to some genres and liturgical days.48 To explain these differences they proposed two liturgical traditions, most commonly labeled as “tradition A” and “tradition B,” following Jordi Pinell, the author who first applied this classification to a comprehensive list of sources.49 “Tradition A” comprises most Old Hispanic manuscripts, namely, around 40 sources, which are believed to have been copied from the 10th to the 13th century, in different parts of the Iberian Peninsula, and for different types of institutions, including monasteries, cathedrals, and parishes.50 Together they transmit temporale, sanctorale, and votive offices for the whole year.51 Several of these “A” manuscripts are related to Toledo; in fact, a few of them bear evidence of having been owned by the Toledan Mozarabic parish of Santa Eulalia. “Tradition B” includes the Cisnerian codices and three Old Hispanic manuscripts, namely, E-Tc 35.5, E-Mn MSS/10110, and E-Tm n.i. 1325. These three non-Cisnerian manuscripts are associated with the Toledan Mozarabic parish of Santas Justas y Rufina, and are believed to have been copied around the turn of the 14th century, thus representing the most recent Old Hispanic rite manuscripts.52 Together, the “tradition B” non-Cisnerian manuscripts transmit the temporale material for all days of Lent and for only three days of another season, Eastertide; they also preserve part of four sanctorale offices falling in the Post-Pentecost time.53

48  See, e.g., Pinell, “Los textos,” “El problema,” and, Liturgia Hispánica, pp. 39–40; and, Martín Patino, “El Breviarium,” especially pp. 295–7. Examples of the different nomenclature used for chants are: “lucernarium” or “lauda” (in “B”) rather than “vespertinus” (in “A”), and “lauda” (in “B”) rather than “alleluiaticus” (in “A”). See the different names for the Lenten Sundays in Randel, An Index to the Chant of the Mozarabic Rite, p. xxi. 49  Pinell, “Los textos.” 50  See footnote 2 on p. 97 above for descriptions specifying the Old Hispanic manuscripts’ confirmed and ascribed provenances and copy-dates. 51  I use the term “office” to refer to the entire liturgy of each liturgical day, including canonical hours and mass. This is the meaning given to the term “officium” in the Old Hispanic manuscripts and in the work of Isidore of Seville (see, e.g., his Etymologiarvm sive Originvm, ed. Lindsay, V. 1, VI: xix: 1–4). This meaning is different from that given to the same term in most modern works on plainchant (which, instead, distinguish between mass and canonical hours, calling only the latter “office”). 52  The most accepted dating of the Toledo-related manuscripts is in Mundó, “La datación.” 53   E-Tc 35.5 includes Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays of Lent, and the beginning of Eastertide. E-Mn MSS/10110 includes the weekdays of Lent (though without providing material for its masses). E-Tm n.i. 1325 lacks material for Lent; it includes part of the offices

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The “tradition A and B” classification builds on an assumption that has already been convincingly refuted by specialized scholars: the belief that the Old Hispanic and Neo-Mozarabic sources transmit the same liturgy.54 Despite this, several works continue applying it to all extant Old Hispanic chant manuscripts.55 After extracting the Neo-Mozarabic sources from this classification, which is appropriate because the Old Hispanic and NeoMozarabic rites are different liturgies, the remaining contrastable offices and manuscripts are too limited—they cannot sustain a classification for the entire repertoire. In fact, they comprise only one entire season, Lent, and just three manuscripts fully transmitting the musical repertoire for this season, namely: León, Archivo Catedralicio (E-L), Ms 8,56 belonging to “tradition A,” and, the “tradition B” E-Tc 35.5 and E-Mn MSS/10110. Therefore, the most prudent option is to apply the “tradition A and B” classification only to the Old Hispanic Lent and the sources transmitting it. In fact, previous studies focused on Lent and employing this classification have advanced the understanding of this season.57 The similarity between the Lenten liturgy in the Old Hispanic “tradition B” manuscripts and that in the Neo-Mozarabic codices (a similarity restricted to the texts and to some liturgical assignments, since the melodies are different), and its difference with respect to the only other complete rendition of the Old Hispanic Lent, that in E-L Ms 8 (“tradition A”), are the main reasons for the two “liturgical traditions” classification. Since “tradition B” exists only in sources associated with Toledo, and “tradition A” groups all other manuscripts, including several linked with Toledo, some authors have referred to these groups as “the two Toledan manuscript traditions,” suggesting that they represent a phenomenon confined to just one city.58 However, the only “tradition A” manuscript with a full rendition of Lent has sufficient evidence pointing to the Kingdom of León as its place of provenance (E-L Ms 8, in fact, is widely known as “the Antiphonary of León”).59 In a sense, then, it is misleading to distinguish of Saint John the Baptist, Saints Peter and Paul, Saints Simon and Jude, and Saint Martin, all falling in the Post-Pentecost season. 54  See footnote 14 on p. 101 above. 55  E.g.: Pinell, “Liturgia: A. Liturgia Hispánica,” p. 1304–06, “El problema,” pp. 3–44, and Liturgia Hispánica, pp. 39–49; and, Janini, “Introducción,” pp. 19–31. 56  Other Old Hispanic rite manuscripts regarded as “tradition A” sources (e.g., E-Tc 35.3; E-SI Ms 4, and I-VEcap Cod. LXXXIX) contain part of the Lenten liturgy, but not a full rendition of its musical repertoire. 57  E.g., Hornby and Maloy, Music and Meaning. 58  Janini, “Introducción,” pp. 23–8; and, Mundó, “Introducción,” pp. XXVI–XXX. 59  Some works mentioning the Leonese provenance of E-L Ms 8 are: Serrano, “Introducción,” pp. XI–XIV; Díaz y Díaz, Códices Visigóticos en la monarquía leonesa, pp. 308–9, and “Notas de pasada sobre manuscritos musicados,” pp. 100–02; Gros, “El ‘Ordo Missae’ de

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between Toledo “A” and Toledo “B” because the A/B classification does not build on the comparison of “A” and “B” manuscripts from Toledo—there are no direct liturgical points of comparison between them. Moreover, although less pronounced, there are textual, liturgical, and melodic differences within each “tradition.” In fact, manuscripts of a given “tradition” can use different names for their liturgical days,60 and not all of their assignments and chants are shared even when they transmit the same liturgical days.61 Furthermore, a “B” manuscript can have certain kinds of liturgical items lacking in other “B” manuscripts, but present in one or more “A” manuscripts (and vice versa); for example, tradition “A” E-Mh Cod. 30 and tradition “B” E-Tc 35.5 are the only Old Hispanic manuscripts with post-psallendo orations.62 To this we must add that Randel detected three distinct preferences in the choice of responsorial tones, each corresponding to three different groups of “A” manuscripts. He thus subdivided “tradition A” into three melodic traditions: “León,” “[La] Rioja,” and “Toledo A.”63 It is not surprising to find more differences between manuscripts significantly more distant, chronologically and geographically (E-L Ms 8 and the “tradition B” Old Hispanic manuscripts), than between manuscripts belonging to closer contexts (E-L Ms 8 and the remaining “A” manuscripts, most of which are ascribed to dates from the 10th to the early 13th centuries, and to northern Spain). The difference between the Lenten liturgy of “A” and “B” is very likely owed to the fact that the context of production of the “B” manuscripts and that generating E-L Ms 8 are significantly different: the “B” manuscripts belong to the declining Mozarabic parochial background of the turn-of-the-14th-century Toledo, while E-L Ms 8’s estimated copy-date is 10th century and its destination la tradición hispánica A,” p. 46. Authors such as Rojo and Prado, El canto mozárabe, p. 13, have proposed that E-L Ms 8 used a Toledan model; however, with or without this model, it was copied in and for a city other than Toledo, and thus transmits a liturgy that was not restricted to this city. 60  Note in Randel, Index, p. xxi, that the names of the Lenten Sundays are different in each “B” manuscript. Also, the names for these Sundays are not the same within “tradition A” (compare those in E-L Ms 8 and in E-Tc 35.3). 61  E.g., vespertinus Vespertina oratio exists only in E-L Ms 8, where it is assigned both for the Wednesdays of the first half of Lent (no other “A” manuscript transmits this day) and for the Friday of Apostolic Litanies. GB-Lbl Add MS 30846, another “tradition A” manuscript transmitting this day, does not include Vespertina oratio in its office. 62  See details in Raquel Rojo Carrillo, “Text, liturgy and music in the Old Hispanic rite: the vespertinus genre” (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Bristol, 2017), pp. 74, 82–3. 63  Randel, The Responsorial Tones. Hornby and Maloy, “Melodic Dialects,” also noticed these melodic traditions in certain melodic patterns of other Old Hispanic chant genres.

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was very likely a prosperous institution of León.64 Indeed a wealthy recipient must have inspired E-L Ms 8’s elegant script, its lavish musical notation, and its elaborate miniatures.65 Also, monograms in several of its folios attest to its later ownership by the Leonese royalty and reflect its precious object status.66 The features shared by the Lenten liturgies of “tradition B” manuscripts and the Neo-Mozarabic sources can also be easily explained: the “B” manuscripts were more accessible and both geographically and chronologically closer to the enactors of the Cisnerian reform. Nevertheless, the texts of several chants contained in E-L Ms 8 and other “tradition A” manuscripts also exist in the Cisnerian codices, and even in its Lent—this is another fact indicating the deceptiveness of the A/B classification. Moreover, although some of these shared texts have different liturgical assignments, there are many which are prescribed for the same or similar offices, as is especially noticeable when looking only at chants with musical notation and outside Lent. For example, in Table 4.2, we can see the texts and liturgical assignments of the “lauda,” the first chant of the Neo-Mozarabic vespers. Only five of these chants have been preserved with musical notation in the Cisnerian codices (specifically in E-Tc Cantoral C). If we compare their liturgical assignments with those of the equivalent Old Hispanic chants,67 we find more coincidences with the assignments of “tradition A,” than with those of “tradition B.” This happens because the “B” 64  For the 10th century dating of E-L Ms. 8 see: Serrano, “Introducción,” pp. XI–XIV; Menéndez Pidal, Varia Medievalia II, pp. 148–151; and, Díaz y Díaz, “Notas de pasada sobre manuscritos musicados,” p. 95. Some authors nonetheless believe that this is an 11thcentury manuscript, e.g., Gómez Moreno, “Las miniaturas del antifonario de la catedral de León.” 65  The quality of E-L Ms 8 inspired Dom Louis Brou to call it “the jewel of the Latin antiphonaries,” in his article “Le joyau des antiphonaires latins. Le manuscrit 8 des Archives de la Cathédrale de León;” where he includes, among other information, descriptions of E-L Ms 8’s script (pp. 13–14), notation (pp. 44–60) and miniatures (pp. 60–80). The notation of E-L Ms 8 is discussed in González Barrionuevo, “La notación del antifonario de León.” E-L Ms 8’s miniatures are also described in Gómez Moreno, “Las miniaturas,” and in Serrano, “Introducción,” pp. VIII–XI. 66   E-L Ms 8’s royal monograms are described in: Serrano, “Introducción,” p. XIII; and Deswartes, T., “Liturgie et royauté dans les monarchies asturienne et léonaise (711–1109),” p. 287. I follow their identification with king Fernando I and his family (specifically with his sons, as mentioned by Deswartes); for an alternative identification see De Luca, “Royal misattribution: monograms in the León Antiphoner.” 67  The equivalent in the Old Hispanic rite to the Neo-Mozarabic opening vespers chant called “lauda” is named “vespertinus” in “A” manuscripts, and “lucernarium” in “B” manuscripts. The Neo-Mozarabic vespers lauda drew their texts from this Old Hispanic chant genre, also sharing with it its placement within the liturgical day: beginning of the vespers. Note that I am referring here to the first “lauda” in the Neo-Mozarabic vespers. These vespers

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manuscripts do not cover the whole liturgical year. We can also see in Table 4.2 that all “B” assignments have at least one coincidence in “A.” The saint feasts with a proper office, and thus most important, in the Neo-Mozarabic rite— Saint Luke, Saints Fabian and Sebastian, and Saint Mark—lack a proper office in the Old Hispanic rite, using instead a common office of saints. This signals a lesser status for these saints in the ancient rite, which gives proper offices, and thus more importance, to many other saints, including several Hispanic ones (e.g., Saint Acisclo, Saint Eulalia of Mérida, Saints Justo and Pastor, etc.).68 It also reveals the significant difference between these rites’ understanding of the sanctorale. The vesperal chants of Table 4.2 (pp. 114–6) present the same phenomenon that we saw in Example 1 above (pp. 103–5): when they exist in both rites (Old Hispanic and Neo-Mozarabic), they present different melodic contours in each of them.69 However, these contours are the same or, at least, significantly related in their “A” and “B” renditions. See, for instance, in Example 2 (p. 117–8), the crucial structural points of each chant (before the repetendum, i.e. “nox”, and at the end, i.e. “lunam”).70 Of the chants compared here, only the Neo-Mozarabic one ends with a rising gesture, which is atypical in Old Hispanic final cadences.71 The “A” and “B” melodies are thus much more closely related to each other than to the Neo-Mozarabic melodies. Also note in Example 2, the more specific and similar liturgical assignments of the Old Hispanic chants. The closer musical and liturgical relationship between “A” and “B” exists despite the chrono­logical and geographical differences between their contexts of production, which is greater than that between the contexts generating the Neo-Mozarabic codices and the Old Hispanic “tradition B” manuscripts. So far we have seen that, more than “liturgical traditions,” we find differences between the different Old Hispanic chant manuscripts, regardless of their have other “lauda” chanted after the first one but presenting different characteristics; see Imbasciani, “Cisneros,” p. 92. 68  For the hierarchy of Old Hispanic sanctorale offices see Rojo Carrillo, “Text, liturgy and music,” pp. 181–203. 69  Some “tradition A” Old Hispanic and Neo-Mozarabic chants of other genres (e.g., preces) share their texts and similar melodic contours; see Gutiérrez, “Melodías del canto hispánico,” pp. 547–75. 70  An explanation of the transcription system used in Example 2, see Example 1 on p. 105 above. 71  For my PhD thesis, “Text, liturgy, and music,” I examined the final cadences of all extant examples of Old Hispanic vespertini finding none that end with an upward-gesture. To confirm that this is not a peculiarity of the vespertini, I also examined the final cadences of all the extant responsories and psalmi, as well as of a selection of Old Hispanic chants from other genres, finding the same result.

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“tradition A” or “B” tag. These differences are especially noticeable in the Lent repertoire, where the different contexts generating the manuscripts that transmit this season are reflected: a wealthy institution, like that reflected by E-L Ms 8, could afford a richer repertoire for this season, while the declining Mozarabic parishes of Toledo could only manage a simpler repertoire, such as that recorded in E-Tc 35.5 and E-Mn MSS/10110. If any Old Hispanic rite manuscript transmitting Lent and written between the dates of production of E-L Ms 8 (10th century) and the “B” manuscripts (turn of the 14th century) surfaced, its rendition of this season would probably be somewhere in between the Lenten repertoires transmitted by these sources.

S Luke

SS Fabian & Sebastian S Roman (E-L Ms 8); S Cecilia (E-L Ms 8*); S James brother of the Lord (E-Mh Cod. 30*); S Julian (E-Mh Cod. 30*); S Dorothy (E-L Ms 8*, E-Zfm Ms-418*); S Torcuato (GB-Lbl Add MS 30846*); S Quiricus (GBLbl Add MS 30845*); SS Adrian & Nathalie (E-Tc 35.6, GB-Lbl Add MS 30845, E-L Ms 8*); SS Peter & Paul (E-Tc 35.6*, GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*); SS Simon & Judas (E-L Ms 8*); S Christopher (E-L Ms 8*, GBLbl Add MS 30845*); S Laurence (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*); SS Faustus, Januarius & Martialis (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845); SS Cosme & Damian (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*); Common of Saints (E-SI Ms 3, GB-Lbl Add MS 30845)

Confessionem et decorem V. Confessio et species

Exortum est V. Directam fecit

S Leocadia (E-L Ms 8, [E-Mh Cod. 30]); S Millán (GBLbl Add MS 30845); Confessors (E-SI Ms 3); One Confessor (E-SI Ms 6)

Neo-Mozarabic lauda: Tradition A vespertini: liturgical assignment liturgical assignment (manuscripts) (all in E-Tc Cantoral C)

Chant text (incipit)

table 4.2 Comparison of liturgical assignments of first chant of vespers services in E-Tc Cantoral C and in Old Hispanic “A” and “B” sources

SS Peter & Paul (E-Tm n.i. 1325*); SS Simon & Judas (E-Tm n.i. 1325*)

None

Tradition B lucernaria: liturgical assignment (manuscripts)

114 Rojo Carrillo

S Mark

Gloria et honore V. Gloria et magnum

S Clement (E-L Ms 8*); S Andrew Apostle (E-L Ms 8); S James brother of the Lord (E-L Ms 8*, GB-Lbl Add MS 30844*); S John Apostle (E-Tc 35.7, GBLbl Add MS 30844*); Chair of S Peter (E-L Ms 8*, GB-Lbl Add MS 30844*); S Philip (GB-Lbl Add MS 30846); Nativity S John Baptist, 2nd vespers (E-L Ms 8*); S Pelagius (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845, F-Pn NAL 239); S Bartholomew (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*); S Felix (E-Tc 35.6, GB-Lbl Add MS 30845, E-L Ms 8*); Consecration S Martin (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*); S Genesius (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*); S Jerome (GBLbl Add MS 30845*); Just Person (E-SI Mss 3 and 6, GB-Lbl Add MS 30851)

Neo-Mozarabic lauda: Tradition A vespertini: liturgical assignment liturgical assignment (manuscripts) (all in E-Tc Cantoral C)

Chant text (incipit)

table 4.2 Comparison of liturgical assignments of first chant of vespers services (cont.)

None

Tradition B lucernaria: liturgical assignment (manuscripts)

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Common of saints

Common of saints

Laudaverunt te Domine V. Tu confirmasti in

Speravit anima mea V. Sustinuit anima mea

* Prescribed only through incipit + Presenting a different verse

Neo-Mozarabic lauda: liturgical assignment (all in E-Tc Cantoral C)

Chant text (incipit)

One Just, i.e. Common of Saints (E-SI Ms 3); S Saturnino (E-L Ms 8); S Stephen (E-L Ms 8*); S Zoilo (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*); S Cucufate (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845+, E-Tc 35.6*); S Augustine (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845+); S Cyprian (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845+, E-L Ms 8*); Translation S Saturnino (GB-Lbl Add MS 30845*).

Easter Sunday (E-L Ms 8, E-Tc 35.4+, GB-Lbl Add MS 30846+); Monday of Easter Octave (E-L Ms 8*); S Engratia (E-L Ms 8*); Easter Octave weekdays (GB-Lbl Add MS 30846+, E-Tc 35.4+, and, except Monday, E-L Ms 8+); Easter Octave Sunday 1st vespers (E-L Ms 8+, E-Tc 35.4+, GB-Lbl Add MS 30846+, E-Tc 35.4 and 35.6*); Easter Octave Sunday 2nd vespers (E-L Ms 8*); First to Fourth Sunday after Easter Octave (E-L Ms 8+, GB-Lbl Add MS 30846+, E-Tc 35.4+); Friday after Ascension (E-Tc 35.6*); Pentecost (E-L Ms 8, GB-Lbl Add MS 30846, E-Tc 35.4 and 35.6).

Tradition A vespertini: liturgical assignment (manuscripts)

table 4.2 Comparison of liturgical assignments of first chant of vespers services (cont.)

None

Easter Sunday and Monday of Easter Octave (E-Tc 35.5*)

Tradition B lucernaria: liturgical assignment (manuscripts)

116 Rojo Carrillo

Old Hispanic Chant Manuscripts of Toledo

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Example 2—Comparison of melodies and liturgical assignments given for a chant text, Laudaberunt te Domine (first section or respond) with the same liturgical placement (vespers, first chant) in Old Hispanic rite manuscripts from “tradition A” (vespertinus) and “B” (lucernarium), and Neo-Mozarabic cantoral (lauda).

figure 4.3 E-L Ms 8, f. 179 v (Easter Sunday), “tradition A”

figure 4.4 E-Tc 35.5, f. 193r (Easter Sunday), “tradition B”

figure 4.5A E-Tc Cantoral C, ff. 1v-2r (common), Neo-Mozarabic rite

figure 4.5B (Continuation of Fig. 4.5a)

NHL

NHHL

E-L Ms 8

E-Tc 35.5

us

N

N

L

E-L Ms 8

E-Tc 35.5

Cant. C

H

N

xe

SHH

NHH

es

S

N

ti

N

et

L

L

NH NL+NHH N

LH

N

N

runt

mi

NL

NS

a

LH

N

N

dum

LH LL bri

NL N

fa

SHH

NHH

N

an

NH NL NLH NH N

NHL

so

NH+NL

NHL

est

NHLH

NH+NHLLL

NH+NSHL

li

ce

HH

NH

et

lu

S

N

HHHLH

LLLH

NH+NHLH NLL

NHL+NS+N+NHL

nam

NH+NLL+NHL+NHHHL

LLHHH

N

N

i

N

li

LLLHHL S

NHH

NHH

tu

L

NL+NHH+NHLH N

NHH NH+NLH

cam

HLL HLHHHLLH

N

N

ge

NH+NUL+NSHL

nox

NL+NUHL NH NH

lem

LHHLLH LLLL

NHL NHL+NHH+NH+NHL+NHH+NHL NHHL

HLH HLHHSL

res

NH NL N

ce

HHHHLHL L

N

N

nes

LH HH LH LLH LH LH

N

N

per fi

SL

NHL

NH

om

HHL SHHHLLH LLHHHL L

NS

NL

ne

NL NH NL

NH

tu

HHHL LLH

NHH

NL NH NLHH

est di

L

N

do

NL+NSHH NL NS

NHH NHH

di

L

N

N

runt te

NHL NH+NH+NLH+NH+NLHL

tu fe cis

Ms./text

Cantoral C LLHH L

tu(us)

N

N

N

HHHH L

NHH

Ms./text

Cantoral C H

NH

E-Tc 35.5

NUH

NH

E-L Ms 8

num

hym

NUH

et

N

NUSH

Ms./text

N

E-Tc 35.5

NH

v

HH LHLLHH

N

E-L Ms 8

da

Cantoral C N

Lau

Ms./text

118 Rojo Carrillo

Old Hispanic Chant Manuscripts of Toledo

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Theories about the Origins of the “Liturgical Traditions”

The A/B classification, despite its deceptiveness, has inspired different theories about the origins of the Old Hispanic rite, which associate Toledo with different manuscripts. For example, Pinell proposed that, before the Roman liturgy replaced the Old Hispanic rite, “tradition A” was practiced not only in the North of the Iberian Peninsula but also in Toledo.72 “Tradition B,” instead, developed in the South of the Peninsula, arriving in Toledo as late as the 12th century, with the immigration of Mozarabs fleeing from the Almohads’ invasion of the southern Peninsula;73 once in Toledo, “tradition B” was practiced in the parish of Santas Justa y Rufina only.74 Pinell argued this because “tradition B” has “archaic” elements absent from “tradition A” (e.g., naming the first chant of vespers “lucernarium,” rather than “vespertinus”).75 So, “tradition B” is a rendition of the Old Hispanic rite preserving these elements thanks to its isolated development (free from the pressures of Rome, which increased after the Council of Burgos of 1080).76 Therefore, according to Pinell’s theory, none of these “traditions” are strictly Toledan: “tradition A” was observed not only at the Mozarabic parishes of that city when Alfonso VI re-conquered it, but also in the North;77 and “tradition B” (the one he linked with the Cisnerian reform) was originally from the South. Randel, who detected musical differences between the “traditions,” also understood the “tradition B” manuscripts as a “product of Christians living under 72  First published in Pinell, “El problema,” pp. 3–44, and later in his Liturgia hispánica, pp. 39–40. 73  Pinell, “El problema,” p. 28, proposes the 12th century as the date of arrival of “tradition B” in Toledo, changing the 10th-century date for this arrival (after the Muslim civil war that destroyed Seville in the 9th century) which he had proposed before in his “Las horas vigiliares del oficio monacal hispánico,” p. 222, and in his “Liturgia: A. Liturgia Hispánica,” p. 1305. The later Pinell, Liturgia hispánica, p. 40, again places this arrival in the 10th century. 74  Pinell, “El problema,” pp. 28–32, and Liturgia hispánica, p. 40. 75  “Lucernarium” refers to the first chant of vespers in “B” manuscripts and in ecclesiastical sources from the Iberian Peninsula of the late-6th and early-7th centuries, e.g., in the “Caput VI. De officio” of Isidore of Seville’s early-7th-century Regula monachorum (see S. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Opera Omnia, ed. F. Arévalo, p. 533). Mundó, “Introducción,” p. XXIX, already noticed this. All “A” manuscripts and some ecclesiastical documents from the mid-7th-century onwards use, instead, “vespertinus,” e.g., Council of Mérida (year 666), 2nd canon, in Colección de Cánones, ed. and trans. Tejada y Ramiro, T. 2, pp. 705–06. 76  This theory builds on a principle similar to the “Law of the paradox of the periphery,” described in Taft, “Anton Baumstark’s Comparative Liturgy Revisited,” p. 214. 77  Pinell, “El problema,” p. 31, and Liturgia hispánica, p. 39.

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Moslem political rule,” and the “tradition A” ones as a “product of Christian Spain.” He proposed that the few “A” manuscripts employing horizontal notation (the only type of musical script present in the “B” manuscripts) were written by “Christians emigrating from the south and fleeing Moslem domination.”78 However, unlike Pinell, Randel did not leave out Toledo as the possible place of provenance for any of these two groups, following the belief that the Christians of this city were allowed to observe the Old Hispanic rite both under Muslim and Christian rule. Thus, manuscripts of any “tradition” could have originated at Toledo, but none of these traditions was strictly Toledan.79 Randel’s theory assumes the existence of each of the “two traditions” in two very different contexts of medieval Iberia: the territories with Christian rulers and those with Muslim rulers; he did not speak about their possible concurrence in Toledo. Pinell’s theory, instead, entails the simultaneous practice of the “two traditions” in Toledo from the 12th century (when “tradition B” arrived in that city), until, at least, the beginning of the 13th century (when the latest “tradition A” manuscript is supposed to have been copied).80 A turn-of-the15th-century chronicle by Pedro López de Ayala, chancellor of King Peter I of Castile and León, includes a passage that has been taken as a proof for this assumption:81 it states that, at the time when this chronicle was written, three of the Mozarabic churches of Toledo observed “the office according to the ordinance of Saint Leandro, and the other three [Mozarabic churches of Toledo observed it] according to the ordinance of Saint Isidore.”82 Nonetheless, the Old Hispanic manuscripts linked with Toledo date from the 11th to the early14th century,83 around a hundred years before this chronicle was written, and bear no evidence of having been used for so long, especially the earlier “tradition A” ones.84 Therefore, we cannot be sure if the “ordinances” of Leander and Isidore cited in Ayala’s chronicle correspond to what is recorded in the 78  Randel, The Responsorial Tones, p. 101. 79  Also see Randel and Nadeau, “Mozarabic chant.” 80  For the most accepted estimated copy-dates of the Toledan manuscripts see: Mundó, “La datación,” p. 21. 81  Gonzálvez, “El canciller don Pedro López de Ayala y el problema de las dos tradiciones del rito hispánico.” 82  López de Ayala, Colección de las Crónicas, ed. Llaguno Amirola, p. 63: “duran siempre fasta hoy en este dia: é dicen en las tres Iglesias dellas el Oficio segund la ordenanza de Sant Leandre, é en las otras tres segund la ordenanza de Sant Isidro” (the translation is mine). 83  Mundó, “La datación.” 84  The liber himnorum in E-Mn MSS/10001 (ff. 108v–172v) is an exception: it is not as well preserved as other Toledo-related manuscripts, and it also has, in some of its margins, inscriptions from the 14th century, which indicate the tones with which the hymns must be sung; see Rojo and Prado, El canto mozárabe, p. 18.

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manuscripts labeled with the “tradition A” and “tradition B” tags by 20thcentury authors. Moreover, there is no proof for the idea of these two brothers establishing two different liturgical traditions in 7th-century Iberia. It is more likely that both Leander and Isidore helped to create the same liturgy, which at their time was still in an embryonic phase, one too early to allow a doubletradition ramification: the Visigothic realm had just adopted the Catholic faith with the conversion of their King Recaredo.85 The church councils of that time, in fact, portray a practice just setting up the most basic aspects of the liturgy, such as: the dates for the offices of Easter Sunday and Saint Mary (respectively the most important offices of the temporale and sanctorale); the general order of prayers and chants for the most solemn offices; and, the character of each season.86 Additionally, other late-medieval documents, among them Cepeda’s testament, refer to only one “ecclesiastical office” or “rule” of both Leander and Isidore.87 The fact that “tradition A” and “tradition B” manuscripts are not contemporaneous is convincing enough to prevent us from adopting the idea of a simultaneous practice of two different traditions in the same city. We can only be certain about “tradition B” manuscripts being later than “tradition A” ones. Liturgist José Janini, who confined these traditions to Toledo by calling them the “two Toledan manuscript traditions,” argued that the liturgical simplification detectable in “tradition B” indicates a rite that evolved for longer.88 Paleographer Anscari M. Mundó, also referring to these “traditions” as “Toledan,” added that this simplification might be owed to a

85  “Concilio III de Toledo” (year 589), in Colección de Cánones, ed. and trans. Tejada y Ramiro, T. 2, pp. 244–60. 86  See in Colección de Cánones, ed. and trans. Tejada y Ramiro, T. 2: “Concilio IV de Toledo” (year 633), pp. 263–64 (2nd canon, about unifying the order of prayers and chants in the office), 266 (5th canon, about Easter Sunday), and 269–73 (canons 7th to 9th, and 11th, about Lent); and “Concilio X de Toledo” (year 656, i.e. after the death of Leander and Isidore), pp. 408–9 (1st canon, instituting the date for the office of Saint Mary); and, “Concilio XI de Toledo” (year 675), p. 441 (3rd canon, about unifying the order of the office). 87  See the transcription of this testament in Pérez Embid, “Don Juan Vázquez de Cepeda,” pp. 295 (“que el ofiçio ecclesiástico que los santos doctores de España Sant Leandro e San Isidro fisieron y ordernaron para que usaran todas las eglesias de España de la naçión de los godos”) and 297 (“la regla de Sant Leandro e Sant Isidro, dotores de las Españas, segund la costumbre de los godos antigua que se resava en toda España”). 88   Janini, “Introducción,” p. 26. Other liturgists have detected similar “retrograde developments of abbreviation” in other rites; see, e.g., Taft, “Anton Baumstark’s Comparative Liturgy Revisited,” p. 198.

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parochial adaptation of the Old Hispanic rite.89 Although these authors did not openly refute the assumption of the simultaneous observance of these two “traditions” in Toledo, their hypothesis points against it, suggesting the successive observance of “A” and “B” in this city. Miquel dels Sants Gros i Pujol and Michael Aaron Moreno have noticed that the only proofs for the observance of the Old Hispanic rite in Toledo after the Council of Burgos of 1080 date from the mid-12th century onwards, and that the evidence for permission to observe this rite dates from a century later.90 The earliest proof for the observance of a non-Roman liturgy in Toledo after 1080 is a document by pope Eugenius III (r. 1145–1153) commanding Mozarabs to cease this practice “unless, he warned, they wished to return to their previous homes.”91 A few years later, from 1155 onwards, we find the first mentions of Mozarabic parishes in Toledo.92 The coincidence of these dates with the arrival in Toledo of Christians fleeing from the Almohads’ invasion led Moreno to argue convincingly that “the Spanish rite in 12th and 13th century Castilian Toledo was largely shaped not by Christians who had lived in Toledo before 1085, but rather by those fleeing the momentous Muwaḥḥid invasion of al-Andalus in 1146, for these refugees had completely missed the pro-Roman rite movement of the Iberian Christian realms.”93 The two manuscript “traditions” associated with Toledo, therefore, very likely are not as Toledan as they seem; regardless of their “tradition A” or “B” tag, they might be products of the Christians from the South and of their 89  Mundó, “Introducción,” p. XXX. This hypothesis by Mundó is later adopted by Janini in his “Introducción,” p. XXVI. 90  Gros i Pujol, “Les sis parròquies mossàrabs”; and, Moreno, “Arabicizing.” 91  Gros i Pujol, “Les sis parròquies mossàrabs,” p. 533; Moreno, “Arabicizing,” pp. 151 and 162– 63. The reference for the document by Pope Eugenius III, is “Epistola LXXXIII: Ad clerum & populum Toletanum,” in Acta Conciliorum et Epistolæ Decretales, Ac Constitutiones Summorum Pontificum: Ab anno MLXXXVII ad annum MCCXV, ed. Hardouin, T. 4, Part 2, p. 1291. 92  The first mention of a Mozarabic parish in Toledo (year 1155) refers to the parish of San Marcos, see “Volumen Preliminar: Estudio e Índices” of Los Mozárabes de Toledo en los Siglos XII y XIII, ed. González Palencia, p. 192. The parish of Santa Leocadia is mentioned in a document dated 1156; see document n. 1013 in reference above. The earliest mentions of the remaining parishes are in Rivera Recio, La Iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII, 1086– 1208, Vol. 1, pp. 87–90, dating from: 1157 (San Lucas), 1162 (Santas Justa y Rufina), 1168 (San Sebastián), 1187 (San Torcuato), and 1195 (Santa Eulalia). Gros i Pujol, “Les sis parròquies mossàrabs,” pp. 533–34; and, Moreno, “Arabicizing,” p. 162, coincide with most of these dates, giving later dates for some of these parishes. 93  Moreno, “Arabicizing,” p. 152. Gros i Pujol, “Les sis parròquies mossàrabs,” p. 523 onwards, also noted the coincidence between these dates and those of the arrival of the Almohads’ invasion.

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descendants. Additionally, it is very possible that they represent, rather than two traditions, two stages of the same tradition: an earlier one, corresponding to the practice witnessed by Toledo-related “A” manuscripts (of which we have lost its Lenten liturgy, perhaps the missing link between E-L Ms 8’s Lent and the “tradition B” manuscripts’ Lent), and, a later one, corresponding to the “B” manuscripts, written several decades later for Toledo, and certainly reflecting the decadent situation of the Mozarabic communities that required them. 4

How “Toledan” are the Manuscripts Linked with Toledo?

4.1 Old Hispanic Manuscripts with Evidence of a Toledan Provenance The “tradition A and B” classification has been employed by most of the authors proposing a Toledan provenance for certain Old Hispanic chant manuscripts; therefore, for presentational convenience, we will continue using these tags in this article. Only three of the “Toledan” manuscripts, two belonging to “tradition A” and one to “tradition B,” have in their folios indications of their provenance. The two belonging to “tradition A” are E-Tc 35.3 and 35.4. The first of these manuscripts, which has just a few chants (folios 90v, 92v and 100v), is a “manuale,” Old Hispanic book containing the prayers of the masses’ “proper liturgy” (i.e., the specific material for each particular office, as opposed to the “ordinary liturgy,” which is the material to be repeated every day) and thus similar to other liturgies’ sacramentaries.94 On folio 1r it has an annotation in an early 14th-century script indicating that it belongs to the church of Saint Eulalia, one of the Mozarabic parishes of Toledo; however, as previous scholars have noted, this does not mean that it was copied there.95 94  I have written basic descriptions of the typology of Old Hispanic chant books using the genuinely Old Hispanic nomenclature; they are available at the SEMM database, . I am also producing detailed descriptions of this typology with Ema Hornby, in Hornby and Rojo Carrillo, “The Old Hispanic liturgical books,” in Hornby, Ihnat, Maloy, Rojo Carrillo, An Introduction to the Old Hispanic Office: Liturgy, Melody and Theology (working title, forthcoming 2019). Pinell, “Los textos,” is the first comprehensive list of Old Hispanic manuscripts using their genuine nomenclature (manuale is in pp. 125–27); we can also find a basic explanation of this typology in his Liturgia hispánica, pp. 41–54 (manuale is in pp. 42–4). More about the “ordinary” and “proper” liturgy and sacramentaries can be found in Hiley, Western Plainchant, pp. 8, and 291–93, respectively. 95  See, e.g., Millares Carlo, Discursos, p. 53. Also note that although the author of this reference dates the script of the inscription in E-Tc 35.3 as 14th century, I specify here that it might be from the early 14th century (or even late 13th century) because several Iberian documents of that time use a similar script; see, e.g., the collection of Spanish

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E-Tc 35.4 is a “liber misticus,” which is a type of book that contains chants, prayers, and readings for the public services of the Old Hispanic rite (that is, the material for each day’s vespers, dawn or “matutinum” service, and mass, plus the minor hours of tertia, sexta and nona on official fasting days only), displaying this material in chronological order of performance.96 E-Tc 35.4 has inscriptions on its folios 171v and 172v, also mentioning the parish of Saint Eulalia. Additionally, its folio 171r, at the end of its main section, presents the remnants of a colophon, which very likely was part of the manuscript since its production.97 In fact, what is left of its ink and script (calligraphic Visigothic cursive, according to Mundó)98 is very similar to the ink and script used for the liturgy contained in the main section of the codex. Among the contents removed from this colophon are the provenance and copy-date of the manuscript. Mundó read “Mart[inum] episcopum [in civitate Tole]ti” in this colophon, affirming that this stands for Martín López de Pisuerga, Archbishop of Toledo from 1192–1208, and proposing the creation of E-Tc 35.4 at the time of this archbishopric.99 As can be seen in Mundó’s transcription, only one syllable of the colophon, “ti,” points to Toledo, and this syllable could have belonged to other words. Though “Toleti” is perhaps the best guess,100 it is impossible to prove this provenance.101 Nonetheless, the copy-date that Mundó proposed for this manuscript (turn of the 13th century) is also based on paleographical analysis,102 and still falls within the time from which we have documentary documents from the 13th and 14th century in Muñoz y Rivero, Manual de paleografia diplomatica española de los siglos XII al XVII: Método teórico-prático para aprender á leer los documentos españoles de los siglos XII al XVII, p. 302 onwards (plates 10 to 52). 96  See footnote 94, on p. 123 above, and Pinell, “Los textos,” pp. 133–40, and Liturgia hispánica, pp. 48–9. 97   As previously noted, e.g., by: Férotin, Le Liber Mozarabicus Sacramentorum et les manuscrits mozarabes, p. 721 (though he believed that the scribe of the main section and colophon of this manuscript was from the 10th century because he wrote this before the publication of Mundó, “La datación”); Millares Carlo, Discursos, pp. 53–4; and, Mundó, “La datación,” p. 9. 98  Mundó, “La datación,” p. 9. 99  Mundó, “La datación,” p. 10. 100  Another possibility is, e.g., “Oveti” (of Oviedo), a diocese that, in fact, also had bishops named “Martin” or “Martinez,” during the years in which this manuscript might have been copied (namely 1143–1156, and 1269–1275); see Obispado de Oviedo, Estadismo de la diócesis de Oviedo en 1894, pp. 28 and 32. However, the production of E-Tc 35.4 in Oviedo, city that adopted the Roman rite several decades before 1143, is very unlikely. 101  Ainoa Castro, a specialist in Visigothic script, has concurred with members of Old Hispanic Office Project that what remains of E-Tc 35.4’s colophon cannot be read as clearly as Mundó affirmed; the identification of this archbishop and Toledo as its place of provenance therefore remain insecure. 102  Mundó, “La datación,” pp. 9–11.

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evidence for the existence of Mozarabic churches in Toledo practicing the Old Hispanic rite.103 The two aforementioned inscriptions in E-Tc 35.4 alluding to the parish of Saint Eulalia were very likely added after the production of this manuscript— their lighter inks and pen strokes, and their type of script, are different from the darker and thicker Visigothic characters employed in the Old Hispanic rite material of this source. One of these inscriptions (f. 171v) is a list of relics owned by the parish (“Estas son las reloq[u]ias q[ue] son en la egl[es]ia de Santa Olalla …”), dated 1290, and written in Romance (13th-century Castilian Spanish) with gothic semicursive script.104 The other inscription (f. 172v) is in a section of E-Tc 35.4 that originally belonged to part of a liber orationum (book containing the prayers for the public services), and was added to this codex.105 It employs “albalaes” script, registering that Lucas Martínez, clerk of Saint Eulalia, received money from a carpenter on April 10, 1398.106 Thus, these inscriptions only attest to this parish’s ownership of these codices from the late13th century (E-Tc 35.4) or early-14th century (E-Tc 35.3) onwards. Moreover, the non-liturgical content of these inscriptions, especially that of the latest one, strongly suggests that these books were no longer employed in the liturgy. The Toledan origin of the only “tradition B” manuscript with indication of provenance, the liber misticus E-Mn MSS/10110, is more precise and quite irrefutable. It has a colophon on its last folio (f. 120v) written with the same lateVisigothic script employed in the rest of the manuscript. This colophon includes the name of the scribe, Fernando Juanes, specifying that he is the presbyter of the church of Santas Justa and Rufina of Toledo (one of the Mozarabic parishes of this city).107 A modern seal of the same parish marks several folios of the fragmentary misticus E-Tm n.i. 1325.108 However, according to previous scholars (who, unfortunately, do not specify the source for this information), this manuscript was owned by other churches—none of

103  See p. 21 above. 104  Mundó, “La datación,” 11. 105  See footnote 94 on p. 123 above, and Pinell, “Los textos,” pp. 131–33, and Liturgia hispánica, pp. 45–6. 106  I was guided in my transcription of part of this inscription by that in Millares Carlo, Discursos, p. 53. Mundó, “La datación,” does not specify this inscription nor its type of script. For more about the “albalaes” script see Casado Quintanilla, “Notas sobre la llamada ‘letra de albalaes’” and “De la escritura de Albalaes a la Humanística, un paréntesis en la historia de la escritura.” 107  For details about this manuscript’s script see Mundó, “La datación,” pp. 2–8. 108  Ff. 1r, 2r–v, 12v, 13v, 14r–v, 15r–v, 19r, 20v, 21r, 22r, 24v, 25r, 30v.

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them Mozarabic—before it arrived in the parish of Santas Justa y Rufina.109 Nonetheless, this fragment shares certain paleographical and codicological features with E-Mn MSS/10110, among them the type of musical notation (“horizontal notation”) and the nomenclature for the chants. Old Hispanic Manuscripts Linked with Toledo without Evidence for their Provenance The eight Toledo-related manuscripts lacking evidence for their provenance have been linked by previous scholars either: with the Toledan parish of Santa Eulalia; with that of Santas Justa y Rufina; with Toledo only; or, with somewhere else in the North of the Peninsula. They have established these links depending on the similarity of their musical notation and codicological features with those of the few Old Hispanic manuscripts with any evidence pointing to their provenance (including those discussed above). So, we find that despite the impossibility of determining whether E-Tc 35.3 and 35.4 were actually copied in or for the parish of Saint Eulalia, the same provenance has been proposed for other sources that share features with any of these two manuscripts. For example, Mundó proposed it for US-CIhc Acc. No. 434, E-Tc 33.3, E-Tc 35.7 and E-Mn MSS/10001, affirming that the latter have two marginal annotations which, like those in E-Tc 35.3, allude to this parish.110 However, having examined E-Tc 35.7 and E-Mn MSS/10001 via pictures and in person, I have not encountered any annotation that actually mentions this parish, which explains why several other scholars describing these manuscripts do not mention such annotations either.111 Misticus E-Tc 35.5, the only “tradition B” manuscript without any information about its provenance, presents the same type of musical notation and chant nomenclature as the other two “B” manuscripts. As already mentioned, it transmits Lent, the same liturgical season as E-Mn MSS/10110: E-Tc 35.5 has the public liturgy for Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and E-Mn MSS/10110 has 4.2

109  Janini and Gonzálvez, Catálogo … de la Catedral de Toledo, p. 277 (“Apéndice I”), affirm that before its arrival in the parish of Santas Justa y Rufina, it was at the churches of Santa Leocadia and of San Roman, at the Chapter of priests and beneficiaries of Toledo, and at the Museo de San Vicente of this city. 110  Mundó, “La datación,” pp. 17–8 (E-Tc 33.3, US-CIhc Acc. No. 434), 14 (E-Tc 35.7, E-Mn MSS/10001), 21 (all). 111  E.g., Janini and Gonzálvez, Catálogo … de la Catedral de Toledo, pp. 103–04 (E-Tc 35.7). Janini and Serrano, with the collaboration of Mundó, Manuscritos litúrgicos de la Biblioteca Nacional, p. 120 (E-Mn MSS/10001). Also see the description of E-Mn MSS/10001 at the online catalogue of the Biblioteca Nacional de España, in , click on “Registro del catálogo”.

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the public liturgy, except the masses, for the weekdays (Monday to Saturday), with several concordances in the shared services (Wednesdays and Fridays). Some scholars have attempted to solve the problem of E-Tc 35.5’s lack of provenance by proposing (or asserting) that the parish of Santas Justa y Rufina is its place of origin.112 However, another Mozarabic parish of Toledo is equally suitable as possible place of provenance for this manuscript, as admitted by a few other scholars.113 Indeed, it can be argued that if E-Tc 35.5 was created for the parish of Santas Justa y Rufina it would complement E-Mn MSS/10110 more neatly: E-Tc 35.5 would lack the liturgy for Wednesdays and Fridays (already contained in E-Mn MSS/10110), instead of repeating it. Following the aforementioned premise which takes different nomenclatures of chants and liturgical days as indicators of different “liturgical traditions,”114 it also could be argued that E-Tc 35.5 and E-Mn MSS/10110 did not belong to the same parish because otherwise they would share the same names for their liturgical days. Instead, the days in E-Tc 35.5 are always named with their number (e.g., “VI f[eria]” in f. 10, and “II D[omi]n[i]co de Quadragesim[a]e” in f. 15r), with the exception of Palm Sunday, which is referred to by its name (“Ramis Palmarum,” in f. 109); while in E-Mn MSS/10110 we find several weekdays named in reference to the Sunday that precedes them, and these Sundays are not numbered, but instead named with words normally alluding to the Gospel that was read on that day (e.g., “SECUNDA F[ERIA] POST C[A]RN[E]S TOLLEDAS,” in f. 113v, or “II F[ERIA] POST C[A]ECO NATO,” in f. 114v).115 Furthermore, the size, layout and decoration of each of the “B” manuscripts are not similar; in this respect E-Tc 35.5 is more alike E-Tm n.i. 1325.116 Finally, a detailed look at the musical notation of each of these manuscripts reveals that, even if they both have horizontal notation, each of them has several neumes (musical signs) that are unique to them.117 Indeed, these notational differences are more pronounced

112  See, e.g., Pinell, Liturgia hispánica, pp. 39–40. 113  E.g., Hornby and Maloy, Music and Meaning, p. 10. 114  See p. 108 above. 115  We find this way of naming the Sundays of Lent in other Old Hispanic chant manuscripts, belonging to “Tradition A,” e.g., E-Tc 35.3. Also see Randel, Index, p. xxi. 116  See the description of E-Mn MSS/10110 by Mundó, “Introducción,” pp. XIII–XIV; that of E-Tc 35.5 in Janini, “Introducción,” pp. XV–XVI; and, the description of E-Tm n.i. 1325 in Janini and Gonzálvez, Catálogo … de la Catedral de Toledo, pp. 277–8 (of “Apéndice I”). 117  This difference is significant enough to have led the team developing the Chant Editing and Analysis Program (), of which I am a member, to create different tabulae neumarum for each of these manuscripts.

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between these two manuscripts than between E-Tc 35.5 and Toledan “tradition A” manuscript E-Tc 35.4.118 The two remaining Toledo-related manuscripts, E-Tc 35.6 and U-NYhsa B2916, are quite different from the others. Consequently, scholars have not linked them with any Mozarabic parish, and some have even proposed that they were copied outside Toledo, in the North of the Peninsula.119 The main feature that differentiates them from the rest of the Toledo-related manuscripts is their use of “vertical” rather than “horizontal” notation; the latter is regarded as the “Toledan notation.”120 5

The Horizontal Notation: A Toledan Script?

The Old Hispanic musical notation has two varieties: horizontal and vertical notation. In very general terms, the first has neumes that are written with an inclination towards the right margin of the page. The “vertical” variety, instead, has neumes that are not titled (or as tilted as the horizontal neumes). The horizontal notation is also known as “Toledan notation” because the authors of the first modern works about Old Hispanic chant found this variety of musical script only in manuscripts associated with Toledo.121 Using the word “Toledan” for the manuscripts with horizontal notation is, however, imprecise, because, as Randel noticed, “we have no idea at all of what notations might have been used in the southern half of the peninsula.”122 In fact, after the publication of the first modern works on Old Hispanic chant, a fragment presenting horizontal neumes but lacking evidence of having ever been in Toledo was discovered in Coimbra.123 Despite this, several later works continued calling this musical script “Toledan.”124 Musicologist Manuel Pedro Ferreira proposed that this manuscript was imported from Toledo to 118  The similarity between the notation of these two manuscripts has been noted by Zapke, S., “Dating Neumes According to Their Morphology. The Corpus of Toledo,” p. 96. 119  E.g.: Díaz y Díaz, Códices visigóticos de la monarquía leonesa, pp. 478–80 (stating that E-Tc 35.6 originated in León); and the more persuasive Boynton, “A Lost Mozarabic Liturgical Manuscript Rediscovered” (arguing that U-NYhsa B2916 is from San Millán de la Cogolla). 120  For example, in Randel, The Responsorial Tones, and in Brockett, Antiphons. 121  See, e.g.: Antiphonarium mozarabicum, eds. PP. Benedictinos de Silos, p. XVI; Rojo and Prado, El canto mozárabe, pp. 39–48; and, González Barrionuevo, “La música litúrgica de los mozárabes,” pp. 169, 171–74. 122  Randel and Nadeau, “Mozarabic chant.” 123   P-Cua, IV-3ª S-Gv. 44 (22); see Vasconcelos, “Fragmento precioso dum códice visigótico.” 124  See, e.g.: Brockett, Antiphons, pp. 99–100; and, Millares Carlo, “Manuscritos visigóticos,” p. 350. Brou, “Notes de Paléographie musicale mozárabe,” also employs the term “Toledan

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Portugal when Coimbra was ruled by Count Sesnando (1064–1091), because he “appointed [as] bishop of Coimbra a clergyman of Mozarabic origin then in the Aragonese church,” and also “helped negotiate Toledo’s surrender to Alfonso VI in 1085.”125 However, the more recent works by Gros i Pujol and Moreno, which revealed the lack of evidence for churches called “Mozarabic” and practicing a non-Roman rite in Toledo before the mid-12th century, suggest that a later arrival of this manuscript in Coimbra, if it actually was imported from Toledo, is more likely. Indeed, in light of these findings other explanations for the presence of this manuscript in Coimbra are also possible. For example, the mid-12th-century Mozarabic immigration might have brought it directly from the south to Coimbra. In fact, there were southern cities under Muslim rule geographically closer to Coimbra than to Toledo, such as Cáceres and Badajoz, for example, and the population of these cities included Mozarabs who could have moved to Coimbra any time after the Christians regained this city.126 Alternatively, the production of this manuscript in Coimbra is also possible; any Mozarabic clergyman living there (such as the bishop appointed by Sesnando) could have written it. Calling the Old Hispanic horizontal notation “Toledan” is also misleading because three of the manuscripts that have long been preserved in Toledo, E-Tc 35.6, U-NYhsa B2916 and the flyleaves of E-Mn MSS/10001, have vertical instead of horizontal neumes. Although arguments suggesting provenances other than Toledo have been made, there is no way to definitely prove that these manuscripts were not copied in Toledo.127 Moreover, there are Old Hispanic manuscripts (Toledan and non-Toledan) that have a notation normally classified as “vertical,” but nonetheless presenting several neumes recorded in a “horizontal” fashion, that is, tilted towards the right.128 These sources are: E-Tc 35.6, E-SI Mss. 3, 5 and 6 (at least one of the musical scribes of

notation,” but admits that the division of the Old Hispanic notations into Northern (“vertical”) and Toledan (“horizontal”) “est trop sommaire” (p. 29). 125  Ferreira, “Three fragments,” pp. 458–59. For details about Count Sesnando see Botelho Barata Isaac, “A memória e legado de Sesnando Davides.” 126  For the presence of Mozarabs in Cáceres and Badajoz see, among other works: Arce Sáinz and Caballero Zoreda, “Santa Lucía del Trampal en Alcuésar (Cáceres): un asentamiento mozárabe de época emiral;” and, López y López, “La iglesia mozárabe del Badajoz islámico.” 127  See footnote 119 on p. 128 above. 128  This has already been noticed by previous authors in some of the Old Hispanic sources preserved at the Abbey of Santo Domingo de Silos. See, e.g., González Barrionuevo, “Los códices mozárabes del Archivo de Silos: aspectos paleográficos y semiológicos de su notación neumática.”

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this manuscript; see, e.g., f. 38v, melisma on “meum” in the verse of sono Verba mea auribus), and GB-Lbl Add MS 30845.129 As with the “liturgical traditions,” the extant manuscripts bear no proof of the coexistence of the vertical and horizontal notations as two distinct scripts. In fact, the Old Hispanic manuscripts with vertical neumes are dated, or are believed to have been copied, before the estimated copy-dates of the manuscripts with horizontal neumes.130 Therefore, it might be the case that the horizontal notation is just a later variety of the vertical one. This, and the fact that there is a manuscript with horizontal neumes that was found outside Toledo, strongly suggest that the “horizontal notation” is not strictly Toledan but belongs to a wider tradition. 6

Testimonies of a Wider Tradition that Owes Much to Toledo

Even though we cannot be certain about the place in which most of the Toledo-related manuscripts were produced, the collection of Old Hispanic chant manuscripts that this city has guarded for so long is a splendid sample of the musical repertoire belonging to the liturgy that once dominated the churches of the Iberian Peninsula. This sample bears witness to the crucial role that Toledo played in the preservation of the Old Hispanic rite by housing, from at least the mid-12th century, the last Christians practicing this rite after its official suppression. This group of manuscripts materializes the strong sense of identity of the community that observed this rite: it comprises the very last vestiges of a practice that overcame the pressures of markedly different contexts and rulers, and that even inspired a new liturgy, the Neo-Mozarabic rite. Furthermore, in a way, any Old Hispanic rite manuscript is somewhat Toledan. It was in Toledo, the Visigothic Monarchy’s capital, where the Iberian church held its most relevant series of councils, which took place from the turn of the 4th century until the conquest of Toledo by the Moors in the 8th century.131 These councils, in turn, set up the strong foundations upon

129   E-Zfm Ms-418, has several scandicus neumes written horizontally too, but the rest of its notation is more vertical than that of E-Tc 35.6, E-SI Mss. 3, 5 and 6, and, GB-Lbl Add MS 30845. 130  As mentioned before, the most accepted dating for the Toledan sources are those given in Mundó, “La datación.” 131  A transcription and a translation into Spanish of these councils can be found in Tejada y Ramiro (ed. and trans.), Colección de cánones, T. 2, pp. 161–605.

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which the Old Hispanic rite evolved and remained in practice for more than seven centuries. 7 Acknowledgments I gratefully acknowledge the European Research Council, which, through its Old Hispanic Office Project led by Emma Hornby at University of Bristol (UoB), granted me academic and financial support allowing me to write this article. I am also indebted to the Music Department at UoB for awarding me a JH Britton Fund for Music, which enabled me to undertake a field trip to Spain. I am also very grateful to Emma Hornby, John McKean, and the editors of this volume for reading drafts of this article and providing constructive feedback. I must also thank the project El Canto Llano en la Época de la Polifonía, directed by Carmen Julia Gutiérrez at Universidad Complutense de Madrid, and Miguel Ángel López Fernández, for our conversations about the Cisnerian cantorales. Bibliography Primary Sources 1 Toledo-related Old Hispanic Chant Manuscripts

See Table 1, in p. 98 above, listing these sources, of which the following are available online: E-Mn MSS/10001: E-Mn MSS/10110:

2 Other Old Hispanic Chant Manuscripts (Mentioned in this Chapter)

Coimbra, Arquivo Distrital e da Universidade (P-Cua), IV–3ª S-Gv. 44 (22) (fragment of misticus: ). León, Archivo de la Catedral (E-L), Ms 8 (antiphonary: ). London, British Library (GB-Lbl), Add MSs 38044 (misticus and fragment of liber canticorum: ), 30845 (misticus: ), 30846 (misticus) and 30851 (psalterium-liber canticorum et hymnorum -misticus: ).

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Madrid, Biblioteca de la Real Academia de la Historia (E-Mah), Cod. 30 (misticus: ). Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France (F-Pn), nat. acq. lat. 239 (frag. of misticus: ). Santo Domingo de Silos, Biblioteca de la Abadía (E-SI), Mss. 3 (liber ordinum minor and misticus), 4 (liber ordinum maior), 5 (liber commicus, misticus et sermonum), and 7 (liber misticus et horarum). Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare (I-VEcap), Cod. LXXXIX (Orational: ). Zaragoza, Biblioteca de la Facultad de Derecho, Universidad de Zaragoza (EZfm), Ms-418 (fragment of antiphonary: ).

3 Neo-Mozarabic Sources (Mentioned in this Chapter) a

Printed Books

Ortiz, A. (ed.), Breviarium secundum regulam Beati Isidori, Toledo, 1502. Ortiz, A., Missale mixtum secundum regulam Beati Isidori, dictum Mozarabes, Toledo, 1500.

b Manuscripts

Toledo, Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares de la Catedral (E-Tc), Cantorales A (I), B (II), and C (IV).

4

Editions of Old Hispanic and Neo-Mozarabic Manuscripts (Mentioned Above)

Férnandez Collado, A., Rodríguez González, A., and Castañeda Tordera, I. (eds.), Los Cantorales Mozárabes de Cisneros, 2 vols., Toledo, 2011 (facsimile ed.). Janini, J. (ed.), Liber misticus de Cuaresma y Pascua: (Cod. Toledo, Bibl. Capit. 35.5), Toledo, 1980 (ed. of text). Janini, J. and Gonzálvez, R., with the collaboration of Mundó, A.M., Catálogo de los Manuscritos litúrgicos de la Catedral de Toledo, Toledo, 1977 (ed. of E-Tm n.i. 1325’s text, in its “Apéndice I”, pp. 277–89). Janini, J. (ed.) and Mundó, A.M. (palaeographical study), Liber misticus de Cuaresma. Cod. Toledo 35.2, hoy en Madrid, Bibl. Nac. 10.110), Toledo, 1979 (ed. of text). Janini J. (ed.), Liber ordinvm sacerdotal (Cod. Silos, Arch. monástico, 3), Burgos, 1981 (ed. of text). PP. Benedictinos de Silos (eds.), Antiphonarium mozarabicum de la Catedral de León, Burgos, 1928, (ed. of text).

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133

Other Primary Sources

El Escorial, Real Biblioteca del Monasterio, L-I-13, ff. 107r–133v (inventory of Toledo Cathedral listing Old Hispanic liturgical books). Gómez de Castro, A., De rebus gestis a Francisco Ximenio Cisnerio Archiepiscopo Toletano, Alcalá de Henares, 1569. Isidore of Sevilla, Regula monachorum, in S. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Opera Omnia, ed. F. Arévalo (Tomus VI of Opera Theologica, Liturgica, et Mystica. Rome: Typis Antonii Fulgonii, 1802), 524–56. Isidore of Sevilla, Etymologiarvm sive Originvm, ed. W.M. Lindsay (Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1911), 2 Vols. Jiménez de Rada, R., Historia de Rebus Hispaniae sive Historia Gothica, ed. J. Fernández Valverde (Corpus Christianorum: Continuatio Mediaevalis, 72), Turnhout, 1987. López de Ayala, P., Colección de las Crónicas y Memorias de los Reyes de Castilla: Tomo I que comprende la Crónica del Rey don Pedro, ed. E. de Llaguno Amirola, Madrid, 1779 (first ed. by G. Zurita and published in Toledo, 1526). Pope Eugenius III, “Epistola LXXXIII: Ad clerum et populum Toletanum”, in Acta Conciliorum et Epistolæ Decretales, Ac Constitutiones Summorum Pontificum: Ab anno MLXXXVII ad annum MCCXV, ed. J. Hardouin, Tome 4, Part 2, Paris, 1714, p. 1291. Tejada y Ramiro, J. (ed. and trans.), Colección de Cánones y de todos los Concilios de la Iglesia de España y de America (en latín y castellano), Tome 2, Madrid, 1859. Tomich, P., Historias e conquestas dels excellentissims e catholics Reys de Arago e de lurs anteçessors, los Comtes de Barçelona, Barcelona, 1886 (originally published in Barcelona, 1495). Zurita, J., Anales de la Corona de Aragón (first published in Zaragoza, 1579), ed. Á. Canellas López, Zaragoza, 1974, Vol. 5 (“Libros undécimo, duodécimo y décimo tercero”).

1

Secondary Sources Literature about the Old Hispanic and/or Neo-Mozarabic Rites

Asensio, J.C., “Liturgia y música en la Hispania de la alta edad media: el canto visigótico, hispánico o mozárabe”, in L. Prensa and P. Calahorra (coords.), X Jornadas de Canto Gregoriano: De nuevo con los mozárabes, Zaragoza, 2006, 135–55. Boynton, S., “Restoration or Invention? Archbishop Cisneros and the Mozarabic Rite in Toledo”, Yale Journal of Music & Religion, Vol. 1, No. 1 (2015), 5–30. Boynton, S., Silent Music: Medieval Song and the Construction of History in EighteenthCentury Spain, New York, 2011. Boynton, S., “A Lost Mozarabic Liturgical Manuscript Rediscovered”, Traditio, Nº 57 (2002), 189–215.

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Brockett, C.W., Antiphons, Responsories, and Other Chants of the Mozarabic Rite (Musicological Studies, 15), Brooklyn, NY, 1968. Brou, L., “Études sur le missel et le bréviaire ‘mozárabes’ imprimés”, Hispania Sacra, Vol. 11, N. 22 (1958), 349–98. Brou, L., “Notes de Paléographie musicale mozárabe”, Anuario Musical, 10 (1955), 23–44. Brou, L., “Le joyau des antiphonaires latins. Le manuscrit 8 des Archives de la Cathédrale de León”, Archivos Leoneses, año 8, n. 15–16 (1954), 7–114. Díaz y Díaz, M.C., “Notas de pasada sobre manuscritos musicados”, in S. Zapke (ed.), Hispania Vetus: manuscritos litúrgico-musicales de los orígenes visigóticos a la transición francorromana (siglos IX–XII), Madrid, 2007, 93–111. Férotin, D.M., Le Liber Mozarabicus Sacramentorum et les manuscrits mozarabes (Series Monumenta Ecclesiae Liturgica, Vol. 6, eds. F. Cabrol, H. Leclercq, and M. Férotin), Paris, 1912. Ferreira, M.P., “Three fragments from Lamego”, Revista de Musicología, Vol. 16 (1993), 457–76. Gonzálvez, R., “La persistencia del rito hispánico o mozárabe en Toledo después del año 1080”, Anales Toledanos, no. 27 (1990), 9–34. Gonzálvez, R., “El canciller don Pedro López de Ayala y el problema de las dos tradiciones del rito hispánico”, in Pinell and others, Liturgia y música mozárabes: Ponencias y comunicaciones presentadas al I Congreso Internacional de Estudios Mozárabes, Toledo 1975, Toledo, 1978, 105–10. González Barrionuevo, H., “La notación del antifonario de León”, in I. Fernández de la Cuesta, R. Álvarez Martínez and A. Llorens Martín (eds.), El canto mozárabe y su entorno: Estudios sobre la música de la liturgia viejo hispánica, Madrid, 2013, 95–120. González Barrionuevo, H., “La música litúrgica de los Mozárabes”, in M. González Jiménez and J. del Río (eds.), Los mozárabes: una minoría olvidada, Sevilla, 1997, 153–200. González Barrionuevo, H., “Los códices mozárabes del Archivo de Silos: aspectos paleográficos y semiológicos de su notación neumática”, Revista de Musicología, Vol. 15, N. 2–3 (1992), 403–72. Gros i Pujol, M.d.S., “Les sis parròquies mossàrabs de Toledo”, Revista Catalana de Teologia, Vol. 36, N. 2 (2011), 523–534. Gros i Pujol, M.d.S., “El ‘Ordo Missae’ de la tradición hispánica A”, in Pinell and others, Liturgia y música mozárabes: Ponencias y comunicaciones presentadas al I Congreso Internacional de Estudios Mozárabes, Toledo 1975, Toledo, 1978, 45–64. Gutiérrez, C.J., “Avatares de un repertorio marginal: las preces de la liturgia hispánica”, Revista de Musicología, Vol. 25 (2012), 11–34. Gutiérrez, C.J., “Melodías del canto hispánico en el repertorio litúrgico poético de la Edad Media y el Renacimiento”, in I. Fernández de la Cuesta, R. Álvarez Martínez and A. Llorens Martín (eds.), El canto mozárabe y su entorno: Estudios sobre la música de la liturgia viejo hispánica, Madrid, 2013, 547–575.

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Hornby, E. and Maloy, R., “Melodic dialects in Old Hispanic chant”, Plainsong and Medieval Music, 25 (2016), 37–72. Hornby, E. and Maloy, R., Music and Meaning in Old Hispanic Lenten Chants: Psalmi, threni and the Easter Vigil Canticles, Woodbridge, Suffolk, 2013. Hornby, E. and Maloy, R., “Toward a Methodology for Analyzing the Old Hispanic Responsories”, in Cantus Planus: Study Group of the International Musicological Society. Papers read at the 16th meeting, Vienna, Austria, August 2011, Pukersdorf, 2012, 242–49. Hornby, E., Ihnat, K., Maloy, R. and Rojo Carrillo, R., An Introduction to the Old Hispanic Office: Liturgy, Melody and Theology (working title, forthcoming 2019). Imbasciani, V.D., “Cisneros and the restoration of the Mozarabic rite” (unpublished PhD thesis, Cornell University), Ithaca, NY, 1979. Janini, J., “Misas Mozárabes Recompuestas por Ortiz”, Hispania Sacra, Vol. 34, N. 69 (1982), 152–63. Maloy, R., “Old Hispanic Chant and the Early History of Plainsong”, Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 67, No. 1 (2014), 1–76. Martín Patino, J.M., “El Breviarium mozárabe de Ortiz: su valor documental para la historia del oficio catedralicio hispánico”, Miscelánea Comillas, Vol. 40 (1963), 207–97. Meseguer Fernández, J., “El Cardenal Jiménez de Cisneros, fundador de la Capilla Mozárabe”, in Rivera Recio, J.F., and others, Historia mozárabe: Ponencias y comunicaciones presentadas al I Congreso Internacional de estudios mozárabes, Toledo, 1975, Toledo, 1978, 149–245. Millares Carlo, A., Discursos leídos en la recepción pública de D. Agustín Millares Carlo el día 17 de febrero de 1935 (Los códices visigóticos de la catedral toledana. Cuestiones cronológicas y de procedencia. Contestación del Excmo. Señor D. Claudio Sánchez Albornoz), Real Academia de la Historia (ed.), Madrid, 1935. Moreno, A.M., “Arabicizing, Privileges, and Liturgy in Medieval Castilian Toledo: The Problems and Mutations of Mozarab Identification (1085–1436)” (unpublished PhD thesis, University of California), Los Angeles, CA, 2012. Mundó, A.M., “La datación de los códices litúrgicos visigóticos toledanos”, Hispania Sacra, Vol. 18, N. 35 (1965), 1–25. Mundó, A.M., “Introducción”, in Liber misticus de Cuaresma y Pascua: (Cod. Toledo, Bibl. Capit. 35.5), ed. J. Janini, Toledo, 1980, XIII–XLIII. Pérez Embid, J., “Don Juan Vázquez de Cepeda y la Cartuja de Aniano”, Hispania Sacra, Vol. 36, N. 73 (1984), 285–305. Pinell, J., Liturgia Hispánica, Barcelona, 1998. Pinell, J., “Los textos de la antigua liturgia hispánica. Fuentes para su estudio”, in Rivera Recio, J.F. (ed.), Estudios sobre la liturgia mozárabe (Publicaciones del Instituto

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Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos, serie 3, Vol. 1), Toledo, 1965, 109–64. Pinell, J., “El problema de las dos tradiciones del antiguo rito hispánico. Valoración documental de la tradición B, en vista de una eventual revisión del ordinario de la misa mozárabe”, in J. Pinell and others, Liturgia y música mozárabes: Ponencias y comunicaciones presentadas al I Congreso Internacional de Estudios Mozárabes, Toledo 1975, Toledo, 1978, 3–44. Pinell, J., “Liturgia: A. Liturgia Hispánica”, in Q. Aldea, T. Marín and J. Vives (eds.), Diccionario de la Historia Eclesiástica de España, Madrid, 1972, vol. 2, 1303–20. Pinell, J., “Las horas vigiliares del oficio monacal hispánico”, in Litúrgica 3 (Scripta et documenta 7), Montserrat, 1966, 197–340. Prado, G., Historia del rito mozárabe y toledano, Burgos, 1928. Prado, G., “Estado actual de los estudios sobre la música Mozárabe”, in Rivera Recio, J.F. (ed.), Estudios sobre la liturgia mozárabe (Publicaciones del Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos, serie 3, Vol. 1), Toledo, 1965, 89–106. Randel, D.M., “The Old Hispanic rite as evidence for the earliest forms of the Western Christian liturgies”, Revista de Musicología, Vol. 16, N. 1 (1993), 491–96. Randel, D.M., An Index to the Chant of the Mozarabic Rite, Princeton, 1973. Randel, D.M., The Responsorial Tones for the Mozarabic Office, Princeton, NJ, 1969. Randel, D.M, and Nadeau, N., “Mozarabic chant”, in Grove Music Online, Oxford, 2007–2016, . Rojo, C. and Prado, G., El canto mozárabe: Estudio histórico-crítico de su antigüedad y estado actual, Barcelona, 1929. Rojo Carrillo, R., “Text, liturgy and music in the Old Hispanic rite: the vespertinus genre” (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Bristol, 2017). Werner E., “Eine neuentdeckte mozarabische Handschrift mit Neumen”, in Miscelánea en homenaje a Monseñor Higinio Anglés, 2. Vols, Barcelona, 1958–61, Vol. 2, 977–91. Zapke, S., “Dating Neumes According to Their Morphology. The Corpus of Toledo”, in Haines J. (ed.), The Calligraphy of Medieval Music (Musicalia Medii Aevi, 1), Turnhout, 2011, 91–9.

2

Other Secondary Sources (Mentioned in this Chapter)

a

Books and Journal Articles

Aillet, C., Les Mozarabes: Christianisme, Islamisation et Arabisation en Péninsule Ibérique (IXe–XIIe Siècle), Madrid, 2010. Alvar, C. and Lucía Megías, J.M., “Repertorio de traductores del siglo XV: Segunda veintena”, in F. Sierra Martínez (ed.), Literatura y transgression (Diálogos Hispánicos, n. 24), Amsterdam, 2004, 89–114.

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Arce Sáinz, F. and Caballero Zoreda, L., “Santa Lucía del Trampal en Alcuésar (Cáceres): un asentamiento mozárabe de época emiral”, in V Congreso de Arqueología Medieval Española: actas, Valladolid, 2001, Vol. 2, 681–92. Arellano Garcia, M., La Capilla Mozárabe o del Corpus Christi, Toledo, 1980. Boon, J.A., “Mother Juana De La Cruz: Marian Visions and Female Preaching”, in Kallendorf, H. (ed.), A New Companion to Hispanic Mysticism, Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition, Vol. 19, Koninklijke, 2010, pp. 125–148, available at . Botelho Barata Isaac, F.M., “A memória e legado de Sesnando Davides”, Medievalismo, 24 (2014), 57–77. Casado Quintanilla, B., “De la escritura de Albalaes a la Humanística, un paréntesis en la historia de la escritura”, in Galende Díaz, J.C. (ed.), II Jornadas científicas sobre documentación de la Corona de Castilla (siglos XIII–XV ), Madrid, 2003, 11–40. Casado Quintanilla, B., “Notas sobre la llamada ‘letra de albalaes’”, Espacio, tiempo y forma: Serie III, Historia medieval, Nº 9 (1996), 327–46. Deswartes, T., Une Chrétienté romaine sans pape: L’Espagne et Rome (586–1085), Paris, 2010. Díaz y Díaz, M.C., Códices Visigóticos en la monarquía leonesa, León, 1983. Fernández Rodríguez, P., “La Capilla Mozárabe de la Catedral Vieja de Salamanca”, in Rivera Recio, J.F. and others, Historia mozárabe: Ponencias y comunicaciones presentadas al I Congreso Internacional de estudios mozárabes, Toledo, 1975, Toledo, 1978, 247–68. García-Gallo, A., “Los Fueros de Toledo”, Anuario de Historia del Derecho Español, 45 (1975). García Oro, J., Cisneros: un cardenal reformista en el trono de España, Madrid, 2005. Gómez Moreno, M., “Las miniaturas del antifonario de la catedral de León”, Archivos Leoneses, año 8, n. 15–16 (1954), 300–17. Gómez-Ruíz, R., Mozarabs, Hispanics & the Cross, Maryknoll, 2007. González Palencia, Á. (ed.), Los Mozárabes de Toledo en los Siglos XII y XIII, 4 vols., Madrid, 1926. Hiley, D., Western Plainchant: A Handbook, Oxford, 1993. Izquierdo Benito, R., Privilegios Reales Otorgados a Toledo durante la Edad Media (1101– 1494), Toledo, 1990. Janini, J. and Gonzálvez, R., with the collaboration of Mundó, A.M., Catálogo de los Manuscritos litúrgicos de la Catedral de Toledo, Toledo, 1977 (ed. of E-Tm n.i. 1325’s text, in its “Apéndice I”, pp. 277–89). Janini, J. and Gonzálvez, R., Manuscritos litúrgicos de la Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid, 1969.

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López y López, T.A., “La iglesia mozárabe del Badajoz islámico”, in XXX Coloquios Históricos de Extremadura: homenaje póstumo a Juan Antonio de la Cruz Moreno, Trujillo, 2002, 325–56. Luca, E. de, “Royal misattribution: monograms in the León Antiphoner”, Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies (2015), . Menéndez Pidal, G., Varia Medievalia II, Madrid, 2003. Millás Vallicrosa, J.M., Estudios sobre historia de la ciencia española, Barcelona, 1949. Molénat, J.-P., Campagnes et monts de Tolède du XXIe au XVe siècle, Madrid, 1997. Molénat, J.-P., “La fin des chrétiens arabisés d’al-Andalus: Mozarabes de Tolède et du Gharb au XIIe siècle”, in C. Aillet, M. Penelas, and P. Roisse (eds.), ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe? Historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX– XII), Madrid, 2008, 287–97. Muñoz y Rivero, J., Manual de paleografia diplomatica española de los siglos XII al XVII: Método teórico-prático para aprender á leer los documentos españoles de los siglos XII al XVII, Madrid, 1880. Obispado de Oviedo, Estadismo de la diócesis de Oviedo en 1894, Oviedo, 1895. Rivera Recio, J.F., La Iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII, 1086–1208, Madrid, 1966, Vol. 1. Rubio Sadia, OSB, J.P., “De Urgell a Palencia, o el primer camino del rito romano a Castilla”, Ecclesia orans, Vol. 30, N. 1 (2013), 119–55. Ruíz, T., “Burgos y el Concilio de 1080”, Boletín de la Institución Fernán González, Año 59, n. 194 (1980), 73–83. Taft, R.F., “Anton Baumstark’s Comparative Liturgy Revisited”, in Taft, R.F. and G. Winkler (eds.), Comparative Liturgy Fifty Years after Anton Baumstark (1872– 1948): Acts of the International Congress, Rome, 25–29 September 1998, Roma, 2001, 191–232. Vasconcelos, A., “Fragmento precioso dum códice visigótico”, Biblos, Vol. V (1929), 245–273.

b

Newspaper Articles

Bravo, P., “La Granja implanta la celebración de la misa mozárabe en la fiesta de San Ildefonso”, El Adelantado de Segovia, Segovia, 24/01/2010, . EFE, “Arzobispo de Toledo oficia 4ª misa hispano-mozárabe que se oye en el Vaticano”, ABC, 11/05/2015, .

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c Websites

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Cathedral of Toledo, . Chant Editing and Analysis Program of the University of Bristol, . Spanish Early Music Manuscripts (SEMM) database, .

chapter 5

Christian Theology in Arabic and the Mozarabs of Medieval Toledo: Primary Texts, Main Themes, and Potential Problems Jason Busic In the decades following the conquest of Toledo by Alfonso VI of Castilla-León in 1085, the city received migrants from across the Pyrenees, North Africa, and throughout al-Andalus, and included Christian and Jewish communities. An important group of migrants was the Mozarabs—Arabized Christians from Islamic Spain. These newly arrived Mozarabs enriched a community of Arabized Christians residing in the city prior to 1085. This chapter complements Hackenburg and Beale-Rivaya’s contributions to the current volume by providing a broader view of the intellectual life of the Mozarabs and, consequently, their role in Toledo in the centuries following Christian conquest. However, the present chapter also reaches beyond an overview through a comparative reading of two Mozarab theological works in order to highlight the intellectual nuance of this community as well as its cultural agency as heir to the Latin and Arabic archives.1 The term “Mozarab” originates from the Arabic participle mustʿarib (active) or mustʿarab (passive) from a verb form meaning, “to Arabize.” Although religiously neutral in the Islamic world, it defined a group along religious-ethnic boundaries in the Christian kingdoms of Spain. The term first appears in a Latin document in León in the 11th century, but the Mozarabs, as a legal class, came into being in Toledo when they were distinguished from Castilians and Franks by a fuero granted to them by Alfonso VI.2 The Mozarabs played key roles in Toledo from the 11th through the 13th centuries due to their number and function as intermediaries between Christian and Muslim Iberia. The present essay 1  The present chapter approaches this corpus in the broader framework proposed by Wallis and Wisnovsky in their introduction to Medieval Textual Cultures. Here they observe that medieval cultures inherited the cultural legacies of the Mediterranean, but that this reception constituted a “creative cultural act” characterized by agency, p. 1. 2  For discussions on the origin of the term, its use in the Middle Ages, and problems associated with its use in modern scholarship, see Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 2–9; Aillet, “Introduction,” pp. xi–xii; Molénat, Campagnes et monts de Tolède du XIIe au XVe siècle, pp. 38–39; and Hitchcock, Mozarabs in Medieval and Early Modern Spain, pp. ix–x, xviii–xix.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_007

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explores the Mozarabs’ contribution to the intellectual milieu of the city as theologians in Arabic. It reviews Toledo’s role as a center for the Mozarabs, the principle texts associated with these Mozarabs, and themes within their works currently debated by scholars. The review introduces the non-specialist to this unique corpus while also contextualizing this chapter’s original contribution. In addressing themes in the main theological corpus, this chapter offers alternatives to current interpretations of these texts, as well as Mozarabic Christology. I then focus on Maṣḥaf al-ʿālam al-kāʾin (Book of the Existing World). Traditionally read in terms of similarity with another Mozarabic work, Tathlīth al-waḥdānīya (The Trebling of the Oneness), I emphasize the distinctiveness of Maṣḥaf ’s method and theology.3 I argue that this distinctiveness reflects a degree of complexity in this corpus that readers often miss. 1

The Mozarabs and Toledo (11th–13th Centuries)

Toledo was not the only city or region with significant Mozarabic populations, though it was unique in the Peninsula as a Mozarabic center from the 11th through the 13th centuries. Under the Umayyad dynasty in the 9th and 10th centuries, Córdoba replaced Toledo as the administrative and cultural capital of Hispania, and it was also in Córdoba where the literary culture of the Mozarabs flourished. There the progressively Arabized church leadership studied and produced Latin and Arabic texts.4 Other regions, such as Seville, likewise hosted important Christian communities and contributed to the Church’s intellectual life in al-Andalus. Mozarabs served as ambassadors between Muslim and Christian rulers, and there existed a steady flow of Mozarabs migrating to the North, particularly to Asturias and León, attracted by

3  Due to Burman’s foundational study Religious Polemic and the Intellectual History of the Mozarabs, c. 1050–1200, Tathlīth al-waḥdānīya is generally translated as Trinitizing the Unity. However, in his new English translation of the text included in this volume, Hackenburg has opted for The Trebling of the Oneness. I wrote this chapter without access to Hackenburg’s piece, but I have since had the opportunity to read it. I have made minor revisions and adopted Hackenburg’s The Trebling of the Oneness for consistency. 4  The bibliography on the Latin production of the mid-ninth century in Córdoba is extensive, but see sections 1 and 2 of Herrera Roldán’s Cultura y lengua latinas entre los mozárabes cordobeses del siglo IX. Also see Gil, “Aproximación a la literatura latina de los mozárabes;” and Colbert, The Martyrs of Córdoba (850–59). For the transition from Latin to Arabic in Córdoba, see Urvoy, “Introduction,” pp. xiv–xix; van Koningsveld, “Christian Arabic Literature from Medieval Spain,” pp. 203–12; and Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 177–83.

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favorable conditions for resettlement.5 However, beginning with Alfonso VI’s conquest of Toledo and the arrival of the Almoravids in the 11th century and the Almohads in the middle of the 12th, the situation for Christians in al-Andalus turned increasingly oppressive and brought mass migrations to the North.6 As Aillet has shown, Aragón, Coimbra, Huesca, and Toledo all received Christian immigrants from al-Andalus during this period.7 Nonetheless, with little to prevent assimilation, and under the pressure of the Gregorian reform, most Mozarabic communities quickly became indistinguishable from their Northern counterparts.8 Assimilated in the North and persecuted in the South, the Mozarabs as an ethnic-religious group principally survived in Toledo thanks to the fuero granted to them by Alfonso VI and his successors.9 This fuero granted the Mozarabs six parishes where they preserved the ancient Visigothic Rite, and it dictated the continued use of the traditional law of Visigothic Spain, the Liber iudiciorum or Fuero juzgo.10 The Mozarabs constituted the majority of the population in Toledo the first two centuries after Christian conquest, though their boundaries were not clearly defined. As Burman has emphasized, this community included families tracing their roots to the Hispano-Visigoths, migrants from the North who integrated into the Mozarabic population, and converts from Islam and Judaism.11 In Campagnes et monts de Tolède, a key reference on medieval Toledo, Molénat relates the 12th century waves of Christian migration from al-Andalus to Toledo to Alfonso VII’s raids into Islamic territory and Almohad persecution of religious minorities, some immigrants coming from as far as Marrakesh.12 These migrations rejuvenated the Arabic culture of the native 5  In addition to their cultural importance, Aillet discusses Mozarabic migrations to Asturias and León in the context of Asturo-Leonese political claims to Hispania, see Les mozarabes, pp. 247–58. 6  See Molénat, “La fin des chrétiens arabisés d’al-Andalus,” pp. 287–97. Aillet traces the development of treatment of dhimmī-s in al-Andalus in “La construction des frontières interconfessionnelles: le cas des chrétiens d’al-Andalus dans les sources juridiques (IIe/ VIIIe–VIe/XIIe siècle),” pp. 167–97. 7  Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 259–260. 8  Ibid., pp. 281–304. 9  Toledo thus figures as an important part of any study of the Mozarabs from the eleventh century onwards. See, for example, van Koningsveld, “Christian Arabic Literature from Medieval Spain,” p. 219; Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 4–5, 29–30, 308–10; and Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 22–30. 10  Molénat speculates that the six parishes were designated solely for the original Mozarabic families of Toledo after conquest, and that immigrants from al-Andalus were subject to Roman parishes, Campagnes et monts de Tolède, p. 53. 11  Burman, Religious Polemic, p. 9. 12  Molénat, Campagnes et monts de Tolède, pp. 42–51.

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Christian community and contributed to the continuing dominance of this culture.13 Though ecclesiastical tensions between the reforming bishops of Toledo (appointed from the Roman rite) and Mozarabic populations existed, the Mozarabs constituted the assimilating majority.14 Castilians and Franks married into Mozarab families and carried out their legal affairs largely in Arabic.15 However, the growing influence of the Latin-Christian culture of the North, the interest of leading Mozarabs in this culture, and a Castile seeking to distance itself from its Islamic past would lead to the disappearance of the Mozarabs as a distinct legal and cultural group in the 14th century.16 2

The Sources: Origins, Dates, and Significance

Toledo’s unique position along the frontier between Islam and Christianity was both geographical and cultural. In terms of the latter, the Mozarabs were heirs to the Latin and Arabic archives. Extant texts in Latin and Arabic (chronicles, treatises, translations, marginalia) point to a living tradition of Christian thought in al-Andalus from the 9th to the 13th centuries.17 Many of the manuscripts preserving these works came to Toledo with the migrations of the 11th and 12th centuries, which further enriched the literary culture of its population.18 The Mozarab clergy’s continued study of Latin and its intensified contact with the Christian North in Toledo led to renewed intellectual activity integrating Latin and Arabic Christian traditions. The major theological treatises were originally composed in Arabic, and include: Maṣḥaf al-ʿalām al-kāʾin, Risālat al-Qūṭī (The Letter of the Goth), Liber denudationis, and Tathlīth

13  Ibid., p. 53. 14  Ibid., pp. 53, 67. 15  Ibid., pp. 41, 61–67. 16  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 199–200; Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 306–307; Molénat, Campagnes et monts de Tolède, p. 166. 17  For a review of this literature, see Potthast, Christen und Muslime im Andalus: Andalusische Christen und ihre Literatur nach religionspolemischen Texten des zehnten bis zwölften Jahrhunderts, pp. 61–116. I am indebted to my research assistant, H. Doermann, for her translation of a fragment of the text, Andalusian Christians and their literature according to religious polemic in texts of the 10th to 12th-centuries, pages 61–116 of the original (unpublished manuscript). Aillet has provided the most thorough analyses of the marginalia in question; see Aillet’s Les mozarabes, pp. 153–75, and, “Recherches sur le christianisme arabisé,” pp. 91–134. 18  For the movement of manuscripts and its cultural significance, see Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 153–67.

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al-waḥdānīya.19 Recently, Aillet has argued that Arabic annotations in extant manuscripts are also fundamental witnesses to Mozarab intellectual culture; these are largely preserved in manuscripts whose final destination was Toledo.20 As such, these marginalia link the Mozarabs of post-conquest Toledo with 9th and 10th century Christian traditions of al-Andalus. Burman published among the most thorough studies of the treatises in question over two decades ago.21 He places these texts in the environs of Toledo between the 11th and 13th centuries.22 Maṣḥaf, the Risāla, and Tathlīth survive only in Muslim apologies directed against Christianity. The imām alQurṭubī cites extensively from Maṣḥaf and Tathlīth in his al-Iʿlām (c. 1220), which he wrote primarily to refute Tathlīth.23 Little is known about the authors of either work. Burman shows throughout his study that their intellectual formation allowed them to draw on the Latin and Arabic archives with fluidity, and the author of Tathlīth was likely of Jewish origins.24 No one has seriously questioned the proximate date of Tathlīth, though a publication by Kaddouri on the identity of al-Qurṭubī narrows Tathlīth’s composition to the first third of the 13th century.25 The imām attributes Maṣḥaf to Aghushtīn (Augustine), as though the North African bishop, thus lending intellectual authority to alIʿlām.26 However, the work explicitly dialogues with Islam. Burman ventures that Aghushtīn may be a priest from Toledo whose name appears in documents from the first half of the 12th century, one of these documents being al-Khazrajī’s Muslim apology, discussed below.27 Aillet argues that Maṣḥaf could originate from as early as the 9th century and no later than the mid 11th.28 Still, the present author finds Burman’s argument for dating the text to the 12th century more convincing, which is based on similarities between Maṣḥaf 19  As discussed shortly, the dating and attribution of these texts are beset with difficulties. 20  Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 174–75. 21  Burman, Religious Polemic. 22  Ibid., pp. 46–53 (on the Liber denudationis), pp. 71–79 (on Tathlīth), pp. 82–84 (on Maṣḥaf). 23  The full title is al-Iʿlām bi-mā fī dīn al-nasārā min al-fasād wa-awhām wa-iẓhār maḥāsin dīn al-islām wa-ithbāt nubūwat nabīnā Muḥammad ʿalayhi al-ṣalāt wa-al-salām, ed. Aḥmad Ḥijāzī al-Saqqā. Kaddouri has identified the once enigmatic al-Qurṭubī as Abū l-ʿAbbās Aḥmad b. ʿUmar b. Ibrāhīm al-Anṣāri al-Qurṭubī (d. 1258), “Identificación de ‘al-Qurṭubī,’ autor de al-Iʿlām bimā fī dīn al-naṣārā min al-fasād wa-l-awhām.” 24  For further discussion of the possible Jewish origins of Tathlīth’s author, see Burman’s Religious Polemic, but also Dr. Hackenburg’s introduction to his translation of Tathlīth in the present volume. 25  Kaddouri, “Identificación de ‘al-Qurṭubī,’ autor de al-Iʿlām.” 26  al-Qurṭubī, al-Iʿlām, pp. 57–58. 27  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 82–84. 28  Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 217–19.

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and Tathlīth’s Trinitarian apologies and Latin Trinitarian arguments beginning with Peter Abelard (d. 1142).29 Regardless, al-Iʿlām contains citations from earlier Mozarabic apology of considerable complexity and reveals a developed apologetic tradition prior to the 12th century, which could allow for an earlier date of composition for Maṣḥaf.30 Risālat al-Qūṭī appears in al-Khazrajī’s Maqāmiʿ al-ṣulbān.31 Al-Khazrajī, a native of Córdoba, spent two years in Toledo as a prisoner from 1145–1147, which is where he wrote Maqāmiʿ at the bequest of Muslims in the city suffering the proselytizing effort of a priest “from the line of the Goths.”32 This priest’s theology is found in the Risāla. The authenticity of this Christian text offers several difficulties. Whereas al-Qurṭubī’s citation of Christian sources reveals the complexity expected from well-formed theologians, the Risāla contains several errors. For example, al-Qūṭī appears to claim that God is “three hypostases in one hypostasis,” and misquotes the Hebrew Bible.33 Such problems have led some scholars to conclude that the text was composed by al-Khazrajī or another editor.34 As Burman has pointed out, though, it is not uncommon for Christian writers to misquote the Bible, often citing from memory or making ad hoc translations.35 Further, the Risāla is representative of Mozarabic polemic, as attested to in other extant sources (including those considered here).36 One might also assume that not all priests enjoyed the same level of formation, or that an author might purposefully alter a biblical passage for polemical effect. Regardless, Latin influence (witnessed throughout the Risāla) may explain even an error as significant as al-Qūṭī’s use of “hypostasis.” Al-Qūṭī writes, “the Messiah is the son of God who is God and by the Holy Spirit three hypostases one hypostasis.”37 Could this phrase 29  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 81–82, 162–88. 30  See Sarrió Cucarella’s discussion of al-Qurṭubī’s work and the Christian apologetical texts contained therein in Muslim-Christian Polemics across the Mediterranean, pp. 82–90. Also see Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 177–85, 217–25. 31  Aḥmad b. ʿAbd al-Ṣamad al-Khazrajī, Maqāmiʿ al-ṣulbān, ed. ʿAbd al-Majīd al-Sharfī. For the Risāla and its frame, see pp. 29–39. ‫ن‬ 32  “�‫”�����سب���ه �م� ن� ا �ل غ��وط‬, al-Khazrajī, Maqāmiʿ, pp. 29–30; Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 63–64; ‫ي‬ ‫غ‬ Cucarella, Muslim-Christian Polemics, pp. 90–91. The Arabic text spells “Goth” with “ ”, � ‫ق‬ though scholarship follows the more common spelling with “�”. All translations are mine unless otherwise noted. 33  Al-Khazrājī, Maqāmiʿ, pp. 31, 35–37. 34  Cucarella, Muslim-Christian Polemics, p. 91; Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 221–22. Also see Burman’s review of this debate in earlier scholarship in Religious Polemic, pp. 66–67. 35  Burman, Religious Polemic, p. 68. 36  Ibid., pp. 69–70. ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ة ق ن ق‬ ‫”ا لم����س���� ا � ن‬, al-Khazraji, Maqāmiʿ, p. 31. 37  “‫ب� ا �ل�ل�ه ا �ل� �ي� �هوا �ل�ل�ه وب�ا �لرو ا �ل��ق���د ��سث�لا ث� ا ��ا �ي� ا � ن��و وا ح�د‬ ‫ي‬

‫م‬

‫م‬

‫ح‬

‫ح‬

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reflect Latin subordination (“who is God by the Holy Spirit three hypostases”), thereby making “one hypostasis” a compliment of “the Messiah”? The phrase would thus read, “the Messiah is the son of God […] one hypostasis.” This interpretation corresponds to the tract’s two-nature/one-person Christology and supports the authenticity or at least representative nature of the Risāla. Liber denudationis survives solely in a 16th century copy of a Latin translation of an Arabic original. Burman has published the most thorough study of the text together with its edition and translation. He shows that Ramon Lull (d. 1316) and Riccoldo da Monte di Croce (d. c. 1320) knew the Liber in Latin and that the Dominican Ramón Martí (d. 1285) read the text in Arabic, thus revealing its relatively wide circulation in both languages by the middle of the 13th century.38 The heavily Arabized language of the text, a comparison of the Latin with Martí’s use of the Arabic original in Explanatio simboli, and the Liber’s quotations of the Qurʾān all suggest that the extant version is a literal rendering of the Arabic, though it is likely abbreviated as indicated in the colophon.39 The Liber does not expressly place its origin in Toledo. Nonetheless, the Liber’s developed polemical arguments, its fluid use of Islamic sources, its bold critique of Islam and Muḥammad, and the author’s reference to writing in the West all place the work in Spain.40 Given that the Liber’s author claims to be writing in the 4th century after Muḥammad’s death, the work had to be composed between 1010 and 1132.41 Burman thus concludes that Christian Toledo is the likely place of origin, since it would be dangerous to write such a work in Islamic Spain, and Toledo offered the intellectual environment for the Liber’s composition.42 The Liber figures importantly into Tieszen’s more recent study Christian Identity amid Islam in Medieval Spain, but Tieszen follows Burman in his discussion of the text’s dating and place of origin.43 Aillet counts some thirty manuscripts (overwhelmingly in Latin) attributed to Mozarab communities that contain marginalia in Arabic.44 Modern readers have generally neglected these marginalia. Simonet, in his classic Historia de los mozárabes (1897), edits a series of annotations corresponding to chapters XIX and XXIV of Samson of Córdoba’s Apologeticus contra perfidos

38  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 46–49, 57–59. 39  Ibid., pp. 55–61; also see the colophon in Burman’s edition, appended to his study, pp. 384. 40  Ibid., pp. 49–51. 41  Ibid., p. 52. 42  Ibid., p. 53. 43  Charles L. Tieszen, Christian Identity amid Islam in Medieval Spain. 44  Aillet, Les mozarabes, p. 154. Also see Aillet’s “Recherches sur le christianisme arabisé,” which focuses on the value of marginalia in the study of Mozarabic intellectual culture.

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(864 CE).45 Though Pérez Marinas studies these particular annotations in the context of Samson’s work, he does so through translation and follows Aillet in his analysis.46 Aillet has edited passages of additional marginalia from the manuscript containing Samson’s Apologeticus as well as from other manuscripts in “Recherches sur le christianisme arabisé.”47 Van Koningsveld reasons that the bulk of these Arabic marginalia originate in Toledo after 1085, because that is where the Mozarabs were faced with the need for more intensive study of Latin.48 Aillet has questioned this dating, and he argues that the marginalia show a tradition of annotation in Arabic from the 9th century to the 13th.49 Regardless, 12th and 13th-century Toledo became the primary heir to this tradition. Aillet shows that the marginalia have several uses: correcting copyist errors, drawing attention to relevant passages, summarizing passages of theological import, and linguistic study.50 The marginalia thus rightly figures into and will likely contribute to the study of Mozarab thought in Toledo. 3

Problems in Mozarab Theology: Kalām, Trinity, and Incarnation

Scholars continue to approach Mozarab theology primarily vis-à-vis Islam, since Islam heavily influenced the language, themes, and methodology of this theology. Though the treatises currently in question are apologetic in nature and expectedly respond to Islam via relevant language and themes, this influence is evident even in non-apologetic texts.51 The most obvious examples of Islamic influence in language are formulae such as bismillāh al-raḥmān alraḥīm (“In the name of God the merciful, the compassionate”) or the divine title rabb al-ʿalāmīn (“Lord of the Worlds”). This language comes from the 45  Simonet, Historia de los mozárabes de España, pp. 816–19; these marginalia are found in Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de España (BNE), ms. 10018, fols. 153v–54v, 168r. 46  Pérez Marinas, Sansón de Córdoba, pp. 220–25. The translation he follows is from Cabello Escalante’s unedited dissertation Anotaciones y escolios árabes en los códices visigóticos de los siglos IX al XI. Obras de Eterio y Beato de Liébana y “Apologético” del abad Samsón, Universidad de Madrid, 1968. I have been unable to acquire access to Escalante’s study. 47  Aillet, “Recherches sur le christianisme arabisé,” pp. 109–28. 48  Van Koningsveld, “Christian Arabic Literature from Medieval Spain.” p. 219. 49  Aillet, “Recherches sur le christianisme arabisé,” pp. 95–100. 50  Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 172–74. 51  For further discussion, see Penelas, “El Kitāb Hurūšiyūš y el ‘Texto mozárabe de la historia universal’ de Qayrawān: Contenidos y filiación de dos crónicas árabes cristianas,” pp. 134– 57; Penelas, “Linguistic Islamization of the ‘Mozarabs’ as attested in a late ninth-century chronicle,” pp. 103–14; Hanna Kassis, “Arabic-Speaking Christians in al-Andalus in an Age of Turmoil (5th/11th Century until A.H. 478/A.D. 1085),” pp. 401–22.

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Qurʿān and is present in Christian Arabic texts throughout the Mediterranean and can be found in Christian Arabic in Hispania from its very beginnings.52 The Mozarabs internalize this language so much as to integrate it with thoroughly Catholic dogma such as apostolic succession. For example, the author of Tathlīth explains that Christians believe in the Incarnation, “following the tradition of the Gospels and the prophets and the apostles of the Lord of the Worlds.”53 Whereas these formulae need not compromise the doctrinal integrity of a text, they reveal the hybrid world of the Mozarabs that could raise suspicion among ecclesiastical leaders of the Gregorian reform regarding the religious purity of these Arabized Christians.54 In addition to Islamized language, the Mozarabs adopted and adapted kalām, or speculative theology in Arabic. Kalām was a reasoned approach that drew on logic and philosophy to explain and defend revelation and tradition. It was originally developed by Muslim theologians beginning in the 8th century, but reached maturity in the 9th under the Muʿtazila.55 Though this theological school lost dominance by the end of the 9th century, even conservative thinkers adopted and adapted the reasoned discourse for their respective purposes. In the Eastern Mediterranean, Christians quickly adopted kalām in order to respond to new challenges to their faith, not only from Islam but also from competing Christian sects, Judaism, and other monotheist traditions tolerated within Dār al-Islām. Thinkers such as Abū Qurrah (d. c. 825, Melkite), ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī (d. c. 840, Nestorian), and Abū Rāʾiṭa (d. c. 850, Jacobite) defended their respective doctrines by engaging contemporary debates within

52  Translations of the Psalms are the earliest extant Christian-Arabic texts produced in Iberia, dating from the middle of the ninth-century. On their Islamized language, see M.-T. Urvoy’s studies: “Influence islamique sur le vocabulaire d’un psautier arabe d’alAndalus,” pp. 509–17; “Introduction”, pp. i–xxii; and, “Que nous apprend la poésie arabe,” pp. 162–63. ‫ن‬ ‫تق‬ ‫ ��س� � ا �ل�ع�ا لم�� ن‬، ‫ ا � ن�ل����� ن‬، ���� � 53  “�‫ي‬ ‫” �������يل��د ا �ل�لإ� ج يل و �ب ي ي� ور ل ر ب‬, al-Qurṭubī, al-Iʿlām, p. 97. Hackenburg has provided the first complete English translation of Tathlīth. However, I completed my translations prior to reading Hackenburg’s work and have opted to keep them as is. Concerning the difficulty of Tathlīth’s language, see Hackenburg’s introduction and notes. 54  See, for example, Bishop of Toledo Ximénez de Rada’s (d. 1247) oft cited definition of the Mozarabs in De rebus Hispanie, 3.22. Also see, Aillet, pp. 4–5, 278–79, 281–307; Hitchcock, pp. xx, 85; Mikel de Epalza, “Mozarabs, An emblematic Christian Minority in Islamic alAndalus,” p. 150; and Ramón Gonzálvez, “The Persistence of the Mozarabic Liturgy in Toledo after A.D. 1080,” p. 167. 55  For introductions to kalām, see Haleem, “Early kalām,” pp. 71–88; Blankinship, “The Early Creed,” pp. 32–54.

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Islamic theological circles.56 Maṣḥaf, Tathlīth, and the Liber offer the clearest examples of kalām in the present corpus.57 For example, Maṣḥaf polemicizes against the philosophers who rob God of all attributes in order to preserve his unity.58 Aghushtīn then offers a careful consideration of the categories “thing” (“shayʾ”) and “name” (“ism”), and how one might appropriately employ them to describe and understand God and the divine attributes.59 Though Maṣḥaf ’s argument is ultimately Trinitarian, the categories “name” and “thing” figure centrally in Muslim discussions of God, whom the Qurʾān assigns anthropomorphic characteristics.60 The Trinity and the Incarnation are fundamental to Christian belief, and they distinguish Christianity doctrinally from Islam. In their apology before Islam, then, the Mozarabic authors of Maṣḥaf, Tathlīth, and the Liber employ kalām in order to defend both doctrines. As is the case in Christian-Arabic apologies from the Eastern Mediterranean, these works first attempt to show that Christian confession of the Trinity does not compromise God’s unity. Christological discussions as related to the second person of this Trinity follow as the next logical step. Tathlīth al-waḥdānīya’s title reveals the importance of the first argument. It defends the Trinity on the basis of the divine attributes of “power” (“qudra”), “knowledge” (“ʿilm”), and “will” (“irāda”).61 The Christian asks his Muslim interlocutor if these attributes are essential or related to God’s works.62 If he answers the former, then his opponent has assigned multiplicity to God; if he answers the latter, then his opponent has confessed the Trinity.63 Though the Christian admits that God’s attributes related to his works are more than three, all attributes are reducible to these three, without which God could do nothing.64 As Burman and Aillet have shown, such arguments 56  For introductions to early Christian kalām, see Sandra Toenies Keating’s introduction to her bilingual edition to Abū Rāʾiṭa’s works, Defending the ‘People of Truth’ in the Early Islamic Period, 1–72; and the collection of essays Christian Arabic Apologetics During the Abbasid Period (750–1258), ed. S. Khalil Samir and J.S. Nielsen. 57  For a more thorough discussion of kalām and, more generally, Eastern-Christian influence in these texts, see Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 95–123. 58  al-Qurṭubī, al-Iʿlām, p. 81. 59  Ibid., pp. 82–83. 60  See Nagel, The History of Islamic Theolog, pp. 100–107, 118; and el-Bizri, “God: Essence and Attributes,” pp. 122–29. For the development of “shayʾ” as category in philosophy and kalām, see, Wisnovsky, “Avicenna and the Avicennian Tradition,” pp. 105–13. 61  al-Qurṭubī, al-Iʿlām, p. 57. 62  Ibid., p. 57. 63  Ibid., p. 57. 64  Ibid., p. 71.

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clearly mirror Christian sources from the East.65 However, Burman argues that the triad ultimately comes from Latin sources.66 Though several scholars have since sought Eastern sources for the triad, no one has found as perfect a match (“potentia,” “sapientia,” “voluntas”) as exists in Latin tradition beginning in the 12th century and common in Latin Trinitarian discussions thereafter.67 Maṣḥaf presents a similar argument with the same triad, which suggests that these authors synthesize both Latin and Arabic Christian traditions.68 Curiously, in its less developed Trinitarian argument, the Liber contends that God’s Word and Spirit are essentially God (rather than related to his works), and thus closely reflects Eastern apology circulating in Iberia.69 The relationship between the second person of the Trinity and the man Jesus long divided the Christian communities of the East, but the rise of Islam and the Qurʾān’s portrayal of the Messiah further complicated the matter. Maṣḥaf, Tathlīth, and the Liber again present kalām-type arguments to defend the Incarnation. One major point of contention relates to the problem of divine immanence and transcendence. While mainstream Christian and Muslim thinkers confessed that God is omnipotent and omniscient, his omnipresence created much debate within different Muslim theological schools. Whereas the Muʿtazila claimed that God was everywhere, more conservative mutakallimūn argued that such doctrine opposed the Qurʾān and that God remained transcendent of creation.70 Given the acceptance of the later position as orthodox by the 10th century, Christian theologians needed to show that the divine presence in Christ did not compromise God’s transcendence. The author of the Liber responds to this problem with a two-nature, one-person theology, but defends it through examples of revelation common to Christianity and Islam, such as God speaking to Moses through the burning 65  Aillet, Les mozarabes, pp. 218–19; Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 169–72. 66  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 172–80. 67  Aillet, pp. 218–19; Burman, “Via impugnandi in the Age of Alfonso VIII: Iberian-Christian Kalām and a Latin Triad Revisited” (unpublished manuscript). 68  For Maṣḥaf ’s Trinitarian theology, see al-Iʿlām, pp. 81–83. 69  Liber denudationis siue ostensionis aut patefaciens, in T. Burman (ed. and trans.), Religious Polemic, pp. 348–50. The Liber focuses on Word and Spirit, whose source is the Father. For comparison with a Christian-Arabic text of Eastern origin circulating in medieval Iberia, see Risālat al-Kindī’s Trinitarian apology, which is based on the essential attributes powerful (proper of the Father), living (proper of the Spirit), and knowing (proper of the Son), Risālat al-Hāshimī ilā al-Kindī wa-risālat al-Kindī ilā al-Hāshimī yarudd bi-hā ʿaleyhi, ed. ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Turjumān al-Mayūrqī, pp. 40–43. This work circulated in medieval Iberia, though from what date continues to be discussed. Peter the Venerable commissioned its translation into Latin in Toledo in the twelfth century. See González Muñoz’s introduction to Exposición y refutación del islam. 70  See el-Bizri, “God: Essence and Attributes,” p. 127; and, Tilman, The History of Islamic Theology, pp. 100–107.

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tree.71 By making himself perceptible to the senses, God does not compromise his transcendence.72 Maṣḥaf and Tathlīth develop similar but more complex arguments. Aghushtīn cites the Qurʾān on God’s revelation to Moses: God created what was sensible (a voice and flame), and demanded that Moses honor the sensible creature as God.73 It is only by such a creaturely “veil” (“ḥijāb”) that a human being can perceive God, and so “[God] dwells veiled in what is between him and them.”74 This veiling responds to human need, and does not impose limits on God.75 In the same way, God makes himself present in the veil of Christ, and this veil is rightly worshiped as God.76 Tathlīth offers a very similar argument, and both it and Maṣḥaf present a problem that has attracted attention from scholars. Burman shows that this Christological apology has a close parallel in the Nestorian al-Baṣrī’s Kitāb al-burhān, who also appeals to divine revelation of Moses and treats Christ as God’s veil.77 While Burman analyzes Maṣḥaf, Tathlīth, and the Liber’s theology as a common attempt to preserve God’s transcendence in the Word Incarnate, the Christology of the first two appear to draw a sharp distinction between the Divine and Christ. In an effort to defend the Incarnation before Islam, do these texts posit a two-person theology through the use of the word “veil” and its root (ḥjb)? Aillet concludes that “veil” applied to Christ in these texts denotes a general adoption by the Mozarabs of Nestorian concepts, “étrangers au dogme chalcédonien.”78 However, Aillet’s thesis requires nuance. The most obvious example appears in Risālat al-Qūṭī, which also uses the term veil. Though the priest appeals to the Qurʾān and praises Muslims for their piety, he offers little of speculative theology. His Christology is that of an evangelist: Christ is ultimate revelation, God made manifest, universal redeemer through his blood. Al-Qūṭī declares, “[God] descended in his essence from 71   Liber, pp. 354–56. The translators hesitated, and translated “arbore” (tree, “shajara” per Islamic tradition) and then added “rubi” (per Christian tradition), 354. Also see Burman’s note in the English translation, p. 355, n. 2. 72   Liber, pp. 354–58. 73  Al-Qurṭubī, al-Iʿlām, p. 143. ‫ن �ح ف‬ 74  “ �‫��ا ب�ا �ي�ما ب�ي� ن��ه وب��ي ن���ه‬ ‫”ي� ك‬, ibid., p. 144. ‫�و� ج‬ ‫م‬ 75  Ibid., p. 144. 76  Ibid., pp. 144–46. 77  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 114–20; also see ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī, Kitāb al-burhān in Michel Hayek (ed.), Apologie et controverses, pp. 64–71. It might be noted that Pérez Marinas, in his study Sansón de Córdoba, understands “veil” in Mozarabic theology to suggest that Christ does not have true flesh. However, al-Baṣrī clearly refers to Christ’s physical body with the term “veil” throughout the relevant sections of Kitāb al-burhān, and there is no indication that the Mozarabs rejected al-Baṣrī’s meaning. See Pérez Marinas, Sansón de Córdoba, pp. 222–24. 78  Aillet, Les mozárabes, p. 234.

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heaven and was incarnate in the womb of Mary the Blessed Virgin, Mother of the Light, so that he took up from her a veil.”79 This vocabulary mirroring Tathlīth and Maṣḥaf offers a distinct theology: to see Jesus is to see God, who “spoke to them in his essence and not by an intermediary between them and him.”80 “Ḥijāb” is divine. Consequently, the use of the term veil does not by necessity indicate the adoption of Nestorian ideas; indeed, it is compatible with Latin orthodoxy, as made evident in al-Qūṭī’s praise of Theotokos (“Mary, Mother of the Light”) and his confession of Christ’s two natures (“divinity/al-lāhūt” and “humanity/ al-nāsūt”).81 Aillet’s thesis is further complicated when one considers the annotations contained in BNE, ms. 10018. As noted previously, this manuscript copy of Samson’s Apologeticus contains many annotations in Arabic. Because the annotations in the margins of chapter XIX in the Apologeticus employ the root “ḥjb,” Aillet concludes that the annotator shared a Nestorian theology with the Mozarabs who authored Tathlīth and Maṣḥaf.82 His reading of the Apologeticus and the marginalia, however, is questionable. First, Aillet posits that for Samson Christ is but the last in a series of divine manifestations of God on earth. This is simply not true: Samson clearly indicates that Christ is God’s unique manifestation, unlike any revelation before or after.83 Aillet then argues that the annotations also conclude that Christ is but one more revelation, and that the annotator uses the term “veil” to describe the Messiah. Aillet cites several spatially separated annotations as though they corresponded to a single concept of revelation in the Apologeticus. But the term “veil” (and its plural, “ḥujūb”) appears alongside the lines where Samson writes about Old Testament revelations, including God’s revelation to Abraham in human form

‫ف �ذ‬

‫�ذ‬

‫ف‬

‫�ذ‬

‫ف‬

‫ت‬ ‫ن �خ ن‬ ‫�ح‬ �����‫”����ه ب����ط ب� ات��ه �م� ن� ا �ل��سما ء وا �لت‬, al-Khazrajī, Maqāmiʿ, 79  “‫��ا ب�ا‬ ‫ح�م �ي� ب���ط� ن� �مري�م ا �ل�ع� را ء ا �ل��ب��ول ا م ا ��ل�ور��ا � �م����ه�ا ج‬ p. 32. ‫�ة‬ ‫�ذ ت‬ 80  “‫”ك�ل��م�ه� ب� ا ��ه لا �بوا ��س��ط� ب�ي� ن���ه� وب��ين��ه‬, ibid., p. 32. ‫م‬ ‫م‬ 81  Ibid., p. 32. 82  Aillet, Les mozarabes, p. 232. 83  Samson writes that though God spoke to Abraham, Jacob, Moses, and Solomon, “still none of them either heard him in his own essence or saw his nature […] but rather he came through certain […] images that would quickly dissolve” (“nullus tamen eorum aut in propria eum essentia audiuit uel uidit aut naturam […] sed per quasdam […] mox soluturas species uenit”); but “in the fullness of time he would would come through man whom he would inseparably unite to himself” (“uenturas erat in plenitudine temporum per hominem quem sibi inseparabiliter copularet”), Samson of Córdoba, Apologeticus contra perfidos, in J. Gil (ed), Corpus scriptorum muzarabicorum, vol. 2, p. 614. This passage corresponds to BNE, ms. 10018, fol. 152v.

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and to Moses in the flame. When this passage distinguishes the Incarnation from these revelations, the annotator follows him word for word.84 In view of the mirrored Latin and Arabic texts, which explicitly oppose the Incarnation to other revelations, it is difficult to agree with Aillet’s conclusion that these authors view the Incarnation as but the last link in a chain of revelation.85 What is more, Christ is not the last of divine manifestations for either Samson or the annotator, since Latin and Arabic texts speak of the Spirit’s coming as a dove; there exists a difference in kind, not order.86 Finally, the term veil has a long tradition in Christian thought in Greek and Latin, where it can apply to revelation as Scripture and Incarnation (often relating the two).87 In other words, this theology is not foreign to Chalcedonian dogma or Latin tradition, as Aillet asserts.88 Indeed, one finds examples of its use in Beatus’ Epistola ad Elipandum (785 CE), occupying folios 1r–88r of BNE, ms. 10018. In one passage Beatus explains that the meaning of Scripture was veiled under Moses, but made manifest in Christ.89 Following this line of thought, Beatus explains that the letter of scripture is a veil by which one accesses the spiritual mysteries contained therein—the veil hides yet reveals, since without the letter one cannot access the spirit.90 Beatus subsequently criticizes Elipandus by drawing a parallel between Elipandus’ reading of Scripture and his understanding of Christ’s flesh as adopted: by negating Christ’s divinity, he negates the meaning of Christ’s flesh; by negating the spiritual meaning of the

84  The Arabic text explains that God came in creaturely veils (“al-ḥujūb al-makhlūqa”) to incite the love of man,‫“ ت‬but his coming to the world was his taking on the form of the ser‫ة‬ ‫كا ن ا ق����ا �ل�ه �ل�ل�د �ن���ا ا خ‬ vant” (“‫��ا �ذه �صور� ا �ل�ع ب���د‬ ‫ي‬ ‫)”ب�ل � � ب‬, BNE, ms. 10018, 152v. Note the contrastive “but/ bal.” 85  Aillet, Les mozarabes, p. 231. 86  Samson writes, “Now the Son did not take on the form of the servant as the Spirit took on the form of the dove” (“Non enim sicut formam serui accepit Filius, ita formam columbae accepit Spiritus Sanctus”), Apologeticus, p. 614. The Arabic reads, “[The Spirit] did not take on the form of the dove as the Word took on the form of a servant” ‫�ة ت‬ ‫ة‬ ‫���ذ ت ا �ل � �ة‬ ‫)” ل �ت�خ‬, BNE, ms. 10018, 152v. Latin and ‫���ذ ا �لرو ا �ل��ق���د ��س �صور�ة ا �ل‬ � (“‫��ل�م� �صور� ا �ل�ع ب���د‬ ‫كا ا خ � ك‬ ‫مي‬ ‫ح���م�ا �م� م‬ ‫ح‬ Arabic texts then go on to explain how the Spirit did not become the dove like the Word became man. 87  See, for example, Smalley, The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages, p. 1; van Liere, An Introduction to the Medieval Bible, p. 119; Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture, pp. 3–7, 15, 142–59, 161–72; and, Firey, “The Letter of the Law: Carolingian Exegetes and the Old Testament,” pp. 204–24. 88  Aillet, Les mozarabes, p. 233. 89  Citations refer to the Latin edition of Beato de Liébana, Obras completas y complementarias, ed. and trans. J. González Echegaray, Del Campo, and L.G. Freeman, vol. 1, pp. 784–86. 90  Ibid., p. 796.

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letters, he negates the letters themselves.91 The Arabic annotator grasped this theology. Alongside Beatus’ argument, Arabic marginalia (in the same hand as the annotations in Samson’s work) read, “The work of the letters is fleshly, what is understood in them is spiritual.”92 Shortly thereafter the same commentator writes, “the Messiah is the sacred book […] so understand how it was written inside and out.”93 Thus, one sees how the authors of these treatises and marginalia reflect and participate in the cultural frontier characteristic of Mozarab Toledo. They are heirs to Christian traditions in Latin and Arabic, and they adopt, adapt, and synthesize in creative and, sometimes, problematic ways. As Arabized Christians, whose cultural identity is marked by al-Andalus, the Mozarabs produced a literature whose methodology and themes are influenced (though not determined) by Islam. Namely, kalām pervades the treatises in question save the Risāla, and all the treatises address the two major points of contention between Islam and Christianity: Trinity and the Incarnation. Whether in treatise or marginalia, Mozarabs walk a line between Latin West and Eastern traditions, as witnessed in their Christology. However, they do so consciously, integrating even Nestorian apology with Latin orthodoxy (the Risāla), or translating Latin sources and concepts into the theological language of the Christian-Arabic archive (the marginalia in BNE, ms. 10018). This conclusion is not new, but the foregoing analysis adds nuance to recent discussions on these texts, particularly in regard to Christology. The next and final section of the study offers further nuance through a reading of Maṣḥaf focusing on method, Trinity, and the problem of the Incarnation. 4

Maṣḥaf al-ʿālam al-kāʾin: Kalām, Trinity, and the Incarnation

Maṣḥaf al-ʿālam al-kāʾin has received significant critical attention. Nonetheless, it has generally received this attention in the shadow of Tathlīth. The current author believes that this has masked qualities in Maṣḥaf that set it apart from Tathlīth and support greater subtlety in Mozarab thought in general. Al-Qurṭubī criticizes the author of Tathlīth for his poor methodology early in al-Iʿlām: the Mozarab declares victory in his defense of the Trinity in terms 91  Ibid., pp. 808–10. ‫� �ف ���س �م�ا ا ف���ه� ف���� ن ف‬ ‫” ��ف��ع� الا ح‬, BNE, ms. 10018, 38v; the Latin text of the manuscript cor92  “‫ي�ه�ا �������س�ا‬ ‫ل ر� �ج ما � م‬ responds to Beato, Obras completas, p. 782. ‫ف‬ ‫�ه � � ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف ف‬ 93  “‫كا � �م�ت�ك�وب�ا د ا �خ �لا و�خ �ا ر�ج �ا‬ ��‫”ا لم����س��ي�� و م���ص‬, BNE, ms. 10018, 55v; the Latin pas� ��‫ح��� […] ��ا ����ه��ي�ك‬ ‫ح‬ ‫م‬ sage to which the Arabic corresponds may be found in Beato, Obras completas, p. 800.

Christian Theology in Arabic and the Mozarabs

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of God’s attributes of power, knowledge, and will, but he has not advanced through the necessary steps of debate.94 Whereas one should first establish common ground with an opponent on the nature of the Creator, creation, and the relationship between them, Tathlīth sloppily employs terms whose meanings and proper uses escape the work’s author. Al-Qurṭubī then points to Aghushtīn’s Maṣḥaf, a model the author of Tathlīth should have followed.95 This is classic polemic: the polemicist shames the opponent by appealing to the very tradition his opponent represents. The imām employs this resource in multiple passages, citing other figures and texts he considers authoritative against Tathlīth’s arguments. Furthermore, Tathlīth and Maṣḥaf ’s Trinitarian and Christological arguments share much in common, as already noted: both use the same triad of attributes, and both defend the Incarnation in terms of veil theology. Burman, then, concludes that the imām paradoxically ridicules Tathlīth’s Trinity while finding Maṣḥaf ’s more sustainable.96 Burman and Aillet also equate their Christology, and Tieszen considers Tathlīth and Maṣḥaf so similar that he excludes the latter from his study.97 While not denying important similarities, I presently argue that the methodology in Maṣḥaf produces a more nuanced Trinitarian argument than Tathlīth and a distinct Christology. These differences reveal the complexity of Mozarab intellectual culture. The rigor of Aghushtīn’s methodology becomes evident in a comparison between Maṣḥaf and Tathlīth’s Trinitarian apologies. Maṣḥaf begins by considering the philosophers (“ʿulamāʾ al-majūs”), some of whom reduce “the Force sustaining everything” to a “non-living essence.”98 Rather than dismissing them as impious, he asserts that it is incumbent upon the theologian to press these philosophers into acknowledging that that Power is endowed with knowledge (“ʿilm”) and will (“irāda”).99 Aghushtīn then expounds on the philosopher’s position, assigning it to Porphyry: they do not say that the Power is a thing so that they should name it by things characterized by imperfection; rather, they simply say “that he is” (“annahu”). This is because names establish a relation with a compliment. For example, if one is knowing or willing, then there must be an object known or willed; such names are accidental (“aʿrāḍ”) and do not appropriately describe the Power as such.100 Porphyry, according to 94  Al-Qurṭubī, al-Iʿlām, pp. 57–58. 95  Ibid., pp. 57–58. 96  Burman, Religious Polemic, p. 81. 97  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 114–20; Aillet, Les mozarabes, p. 234; Tieszen, Christian Identity and Islam, p. 12. ‫ة‬ ‫غ‬ ‫���ة �ل � ش‬ 98  “‫��ل���ي� ء‬ ‫ ”ا �ل��ق��و� ا لم�ا ��س �ك ك‬and “�‫”�ج�و�هرا ���ير�حي‬, al-Qurṭubī, al-Iʿlām, p. 82. 99  Ibid., p. 82. 100  Ibid., p. 82.

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Aghushtīn, thus claims that the attributes of power, knowledge, and will are no different than other attributes such as mercy, wisdom, or punishment. In fact, these attributes do not exist, but are the creature’s perception of the indivisible One.101 The Mozarab responds that not every “thing” has a compliment, and without a compliment a thing does not cease to be a thing; indeed, to say that a thing “is” can only happen “after our knowing it is a thing.”102 Consequently, Aghushtīn asserts that not all “things” are alike, but all that is spoken of may be qualified in some way as “thing.” Since this is the case, the philosophers cannot claim that power, knowledge, and will only pertain to God relative to creation (and therefore in time) simply because they are accidental.103 For if one claims that God should not be called powerful until there is “the thing powered over” (“al-shay’ al-maqdūr”), Aghushtīn sustains that God was powerful before creation in the sense that he was capable of exercising his power over being powerful.104 So it is with God’s knowledge and will, which are unlike attributes such as mercy or judgment, because God was never without them; there is no point at which one can assert that these attributes “began.”105 Indeed, Aghushtīn concludes, “What we do not describe with knowledge and will, we do not describe as disposer, and it is not living.”106 The author of Maṣḥaf then defends the Trinity through analogy with creation, particularly the faculties of the soul. Before arriving to this conclusion, though, he argues that those who reject knowledge of the Creator via creation are left with no access to the Creator whatsoever.107 In addition to the complexity of argument, the author’s concern for methodology is overwhelming. The closest that Tathlīth comes to Maṣḥaf ’s level of Trinitarian argumentation is its distinction between essential attributes and attributes related to God’s work and a justification of the use of analogy.108 He is otherwise unconcerned about establishing the meaning of categories; Tathlīth’s author assumes such meaning. Though both defend the Trinity on the basis of the same attributes, Maṣḥaf does so with more philosophical rigor. Al-Qurṭubī, then, rightly notes a difference between the two texts; the imām goes so far to claim that Aghushtīn’s “theology about the hypostases is similar 101  Ibid., p. 82. ‫”��ع�د �م�ع ف���ت ن���ا � �ا ه ‘� �ش� �ئ‬, ibid., p. 82. 102  “’� ‫ب‬ ‫ر إي ي‬ 103  Ibid., p. 82. 104  Ibid., p. 82. 105  Ibid., pp. 82–83. ‫ة ن ف‬ ‫ن ف‬ �����‫” ف� ن‬, ibid., p. 83. 106  “�‫ ولا �حي‬،‫ ل ����ص���ه ب�م�د �بر‬،� ‫ح� ن� �م�ا ل ����ص���ه ب�ا �ل�ع��ل والإ� را د‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ 107  Ibid., p. 83. 108  Ibid., pp. 57, 71.

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to the attributes in the theology of the Muslims.”109 Indeed, this theologian’s Trinitarian apology demonstrates awareness and appreciation of fundamental categories and debates within Islamic kalām—knowledge present in Tathlīth’s Trinitarian theology, but left underdeveloped. Al-Qurṭubī consequently recognizes Aghushtīn’s “school” (“madhhab”) as similar to his own; his praise of Aghushtīn is not solely a polemical common place. For example, Aghusthtīn asserts that the divine attributes exist against “Porphyry,” and that three of these attributes are co-eternal to, yet not reducible to the Divinity. However, this argument reflects debates in kalām about God’s attributes, and Maṣḥaf ’s position adopts that of Sunnī orthodoxy. The Muslim theologian Shahrastānī (d. 1153) condemns the Muʿtazila as he describes them, “[who] completely deny the attributes, saying that God is knowing through his essence, powerful through his essence, living through his essence, not through knowledge, power, and life, which would be eternal attributes and meanings subsisting in him.”110 Early Sunnī theologians, whose intellectual heirs include Shahrastānī and al-Qurṭubī, rejected the Muʿtazila’s theology as contrary to the Qurʾān’s descriptions of God. They maintained that the divine attributes had real existence; some attributes related to God’s works, while others were co-eternal to him, though not reducible to his essence.111 Aghushtīn’s employment of the word “thing” (“shayʾ”) and “accidents” (“aʿrāḍ”) further affirms his manipulation of Islamic kalām, since the terms are basic ontological categories for the mutakallimūn in talking about God.112 Maṣḥaf accesses kalām, quite possibly directly from Muslim sources, while maintaining the integrity of Christian doctrine, so much so that he convinces a Muslim reader that the Trinity is at least defensible. Aghushtīn’s Christology also draws on common ground between Islam and Christianity: if God reveals his will to humankind in creaturely veils, why could he not also do so in the Messiah? As previously discussed, veil theology as it appears in Maṣḥaf and Tathlīth tends towards a Nestorian concept of Christ. However, if Aghushtīn adopts his triad of power, knowledge, and will from Latin sources to defend the Trinity, as Burman argues, would he also adopt a Nestorian position in his Christology, a position opposed in the Latin Christian tradition? The question cannot be decisively answered, since al-Qurṭubī has abridged ‫�ذ‬

‫ف‬

‫ف‬

‫قن‬

‫ف‬

‫�ذ‬

‫ �م��ق���ا � � ا �ل���ص���ا ت‬، �� ‫”�م� �ه���ه � الا ��ا‬, ibid., p. 81. ‫� �م� �ه�� ا لم��س�ل�م�� ن‬ 109  “�‫ي‬ �‫يم ر ب ي‬ �‫ب ي‬ ‫ب‬ 110  Shahrastānī, “Shahrastānī’s Doxography of Muslim Schools,” p. 138. 111  See Blankinship, “The early creed,” pp. 52–53; el-Bizri, “God: Essence and Attributes,” pp. 124–29; Nagel, History of Islamic Theology, pp. 101–107. 112  Nagel, The History of Islamic Theology, pp. 115–18.

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Maṣḥaf ’s argument on the Incarnation.113 Nonetheless, Aghushtīn’s rigor suggests that he is conscious of saying what he means. His Christological apology thus merits a closer consideration. Regarding God’s revelation to Moses, Aghushtīn asks if the voice was God’s essence, or if Moses heard God in his essence. Or, rather, if God created a voice in which he made his will known.114 The former two possibilities must be rejected, since they would compromise God’s transcendence.115 However, why would God assign his glory to a creature, declaring through it, “I am your Lord” (“anā rabbuk”), and Moses confessing, “I heard God” (“samaʿtu allāh”)?116 When one hears the voice of another person, one rightly says that he has heard the person: “In like way he who hears the voice of God must say, ‘we heard God,’ because God created the voice, and made it a veil for his will which he made appear in it.”117 Truly people cannot perceive God, “save by a created voice which he makes similar to their knowing, being a veil between him and between them.”118 Aghushtīn continues by asserting that neither Christians, Jews, nor Muslims reject that God makes himself known to mankind in their likeness, whether in attributes or language.119 Revelation must happen according to humankind’s limits, but God’s transcendence is not limited by such revelation. Further, all religious people honor creatures according to their likeness to the Creator— one honors angels, but not demons, holy men, but not evil men.120 The highest of creation is that in which God manifests himself and through which he declares “I am your Lord,” “because he has been pleased to be seen in it, and to be worshiped through it.”121 Only an impious person would refuse worship to God through the veil he takes on, and the greatest and most unique veil is that “which he took up from us, and he is the Messiah.”122 The bulk of the exposition relies on the logical consequences of the commonly accepted event of God’s speaking to Moses. Aghushtīn subsequently turns to biblical examples. First, he points out that biblical language itself shows how God makes 113  Ibid., p. 147. 114  Ibid., p. 143. 115  Ibid., p. 143. 116  Ibid., p. 143. ‫ لا ن ا �ل�ل�ه �خ ��ل ق ا �ل���ص ت‬،‫ ��س��م�ع ن���ا ا �ل�ل�ه‬:‫ ��� ا ن ���ق�� ل‬،‫� ا �ل�ل�ه‬ ‫� ذ�� �ل�ك �م� ن ��س��م �ص ت‬ ‫ت ت‬ ‫ و �ج �ح‬،� 117   ‫“وك‬ � ‫� ع و‬ ‫� و‬ ‫و�ج ب � ي و‬ �‫���ع�ل�ه ج��ا ب�ا لإ�ظ را د ��ه اف ��ل�ي‬ ”‫ا ���هر�ه�ا �ي���ه‬, ibid., p. 144.

‫ف‬

‫ن‬

‫ف‬

‫ت‬

‫ق‬

‫� مخ‬ ‫”الا ����ص ت‬, ibid., p. 144. ‫�ح‬ ‫ ي� ك‬، �‫���لو� ع��لى �م�ا ي�����ش����ب�ه�ه ��ع�ا ر����ه‬ 118  “ �‫��ا ب�ا �ي�ما ب�ي� ن��ه وب��ي ن���ه‬ ‫�و� ج‬ ‫ب و‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ 119  Ibid., p. 144. 120  Ibid., p. 144. ‫ف‬ ‫ل�أ ن ق �� ن‬ 121  “‫ و�ي�ع ب���د ب���ه�ا‬،‫ي�ه�ا‬ ���� ‫ضى ا ��ير �ى‬ ‫” ��ه ��د ر‬, ibid., p. 145. ‫ت‬

‫�ذ‬

‫”ا �ل� � ا خ‬, ibid., p. 145. 122  “ ��‫ و�هوا لم����س��ي‬،‫���ذه �م ن���ا‬ �‫ي‬ ‫ح‬

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himself sensibly present according to mankind’s need, while God remains transcendent.123 Aghushtīn then offers Christological interpretations of passages from Jeremiah and Isaiah, which he primarily orients towards the claim that God promised his people his eternal and discernible presence.124 Maṣḥaf and Tathlīth’s Christologies mirror each other, but they are not identical. For example, Tathlīth’s appeal to God’s revelation in the creaturely veil to Moses and, consequently, the reasonableness of the Incarnation follows a similar progression as in Maṣḥaf. Tathlīth, however, also explains why the Word (as opposed to the Father) should be incarnate.125 Further, Maṣḥaf builds its argument on why the Incarnation does not compromise the divinity on the common principle of revelation while Tathlīth employs analogy to explain how this is so, such as how coal (Christ’s body) becomes fire (the Divinity), and not fire coal.126 These arguments are absent from Maṣḥaf. Tathlīth, however, also lacks something: it presents the Incarnation as the same as other divine manifestations. Maṣḥaf implicitly contrasts Christ from other divine revelations: the latter have an end, but Christ remains forever.127 More significantly, Aghushtīn declares that a thing might be exalted “until a thing is in such honor that it is united with its Creator, and is the most exalted of things;” this refers to the veil of Christ.128 It also accommodates Chalcedonian Christology, which confesses two natures (created humanity, uncreated divinity) united in one person. Al-Qurṭubī abbreviates Maṣḥaf. Regardless, Aughshtīn likely developed his theology further and the extant text maintains the uniqueness of the Incarnation and does not necessarily oppose Western Christian orthodoxy. 5 Conclusion The present chapter has addressed the intellectual culture of the Mozarabs of 11th and 12th century Toledo, particularly their contributions to Christian theology in Arabic. These intellectuals occupied a geographical frontier between Christianity and Islam (i.e. Toledo) as well as the cultural frontier between the Latin West and the Arabic world of the Mediterranean, including its Christian and Muslim traditions. The extant corpus is small compared to that of the 123  Ibid., pp. 145–46. 124  Ibid., pp. 146–47. 125  Ibid., p. 91. 126  Ibid., p. 97. 127  Ibid., pp. 143, 146–47. ‫ن‬ ‫��ا د �ش�� ء ف� ا �ل�ع�ز ا ن �ت��� ص� خ‬ �”, ibid., p. 144. 128  “‫�و� ا �ع�ز الا ����ش�ي���ا ء‬ ‫ و�ي ك‬،‫��ا �ل��ق���ه‬ ‫ح�تى ي� ك� ي� ي� � ي � ل ب‬

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Christian-Arabic theology of the East, but what has survived offers a wealth of material for analysis. Through it, modern readers gain some access to the dynamism of its authors. This culture has long attracted the attention of scholarship, some of which I have reviewed in this chapter. In addition to the yet open debates on these texts’ origin and dating, modern readers continue to discuss the major themes and theological influences contained within them. I have focused on the problems of methodology, Trinitarian theology, and, most especially, Christology. My reading suggests that the Mozarab theologians of Toledo held nuanced views on fundamental Christian doctrines and that their arguments and vocabulary reflect this nuance. This complexity is even apparent in two texts so similar as Maṣḥaf al-ʿalām al-kāʾin and Tathlīth al-waḥdānīya. The chapter thus contributes to the present volume’s objective to revisit past and present discussions on Toledo’s multi-confessional environ while also indicating new directions. Regarding the latter, it portrays the Mozarabs as cultural agents capable of borrowing, adapting, and transforming the archives to which they were heir. Bibliography

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Hitchcock, R., Mozarabs in Medieval and Early Modern Spain: Identities and Influences, Aldershot, 2008. Kaddouri, S., “Identificación de ‘al-Qurṭubī,’ autor de al-Iʿlām bimā fī dīn al-naṣārā min al-fasād wa-l-awhām”, Al-Qantara (2000), 215–19. Kassis, H., “Arabic-Speaking Christians in al-Andalus in an Age of Turmoil (Fifth/ Eleventh Century until A.H. 478/A.D. 1085)”, Al-Qantara 21 (1994), 401–22. Khalil Samir, S. and J.S. Nielsen (eds.), Christian Arabic Apologetics During the Abbasid Period (750–1258), Leiden, 1994. Van Koningsveld, P.SJ., “Christian Arabic Literature from Medieval Spain: An attempt at Periodization”, in S. Khalil Samir and J.S. Nielsen (eds.), Christian Arabic Apologetics During the Abbasid Period (750–1258), Leiden, 1994, 203–24. Van Liere, F., An Introduction to the Medieval Bible, New York, 2013. De Lubac, H., Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture, trans. M. Sebanc, vol. 1, Grand Rapids, 1998. Molénat, J.-P., Campagnes et monts de Tolède du XIIe au XV e siècle, Madrid, 1997. Molénat, J.-P., “La fin des chrétiens arabisés d’al-Andalus: Mozarabes de Tolède et du Gharb au XIIe siècle”, in C. Aillet, M. Penelas, and P. Roisse (eds.), ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe? Historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX–XII), Madrid, 2008, 287–97. Nagel, T., The History of Islamic Theology: From Muhammad to the Present, T. Thornton (trans.), Princeton, 2000. Penelas, M., “El Kitāb Hurūšiyūš y el ‘Texto mozárabe de la historia universal’ de Qayrawān: Contenidos y filiación de dos crónicas árabes cristianas”, in C. Aillet, M. Penelas, and P. Roisse (eds.), ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe? Historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX–XII), Madrid, 2008, 134–57. Penelas, M., “Linguistic Islamization of the ‘Mozarabs’ as attested in a late ninthcentury chronicle”, in E. Bremer, J. Jarnut, M. Richter, and D.J. Wasserstein (eds.), Language of Religion—Language of the People: Medieval Judaism, Christianity and Islam, München, 2006, 103–14. Pérez Marinas, I., Sansón de Córdoba: vida y pensamiento, Madrid, 2012. Potthast, D., Christen und Muslime im Andalus: Andalusische Christen und ihre Literatur nach religionspolemischen Texten des zehnten bis zwölften Jahrhunderts, Wiesbaden, 2013. Potthast, D., Andalusian Christians and their literature according to religious polemic in texts of the tenth to twelfth-centuries, pages 61–116 of the original, H. Doermann (trans.), 2015 (unpublished manuscript). Sarrió Cucarella, D.R., Muslim-Christian Polemics across the Mediterranean: The Splendid Replies of Shihāb al-Dīn al-Qarāfī (d. 684/1285), Leiden, 2015. Shahrastānī, “Shahrastānī’s Doxography of Muslim Schools”, trans. Michael A. Sells, in John Renard (ed.), Islamic Theological Themes: A Primary Source Reader, Oakland, CA, 2014, 137–51.

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Simonet, F.J., Historia de los mozárabes de España, Madrid, 1897. Smalley, B., The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages, New York, 1952. Tieszen, C.L., Christian Identity amid Islam in Medieval Spain, Leiden, 2013. Toenies Keating, S., “Introduction”, in Abū Rāʾiṭa, Defending the ‘People of Truth’ in the Early Islamic Period, S. Toenies Keating (ed. and trans.), Leiden, 2006, 1–72. Urvoy, M.-Th., “Que nous apprend la poésie arabe”, in C. Aillet, M. Penelas, and P. Roisse (eds.), ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe? Historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX–XII), Madrid, 2008, 159–65. Urvoy, M.-Th., “Introduction”, in M.-Th. Urvoy (ed. and trans.), Le Psautier Mozarabe, Toulouse, 1994. Urvoy, M.-Th., “Influence islamique sur le vocabulaire d’un psautier arabe d’alAndalus”, Al-Qantara 15 (1994), 509–17. Wallis, F., and R. Wisnovsky, Introduction, in F. Wallis and R. Wisnovsky (eds.) Medieval Textual Cultures. Agents of Transmission, Translation and Transformation, Berlin, 2016, 1–11. Wisnovsky, R., “Avicenna and the Avicennian Tradition”, in P. Damson and R.C. Taylor (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Arabic Philosophy, Cambridge, 2005, 92–136.

chapter 6

Toledo 1449: The Complex Political Space(s) and Dynamics of Civic Violence Linde M. Brocato A specter is haunting history. The ghostly presence of economic crime as political power has all but been absent in history writing, but not in history itself. Like dark matter, its synergy has been palpable if not always visible. Renate Bridenthal, The Hidden History of Crime, Corruption, and States

⸪ 1 Introduction In 1449, the city of Toledo withdrew its fealty from Juan II, king of Castile, rioted against the city’s Jewish converts to Christianity, and enacted discriminatory legislation denying them full societal participation, before ultimately returning to obedience to Juan II.1 In this Rebellion, both anti-Semitic and anti-Judaic discourses and violence were directed at judeoconversos, becoming a founding moment of racial bigotry. The Rebellion has garnered increasing scholarly attention since Benito Ruano’s Toledo en el siglo XV, in his own further work, and from an ever-swelling number of scholars across disciplines, and through the publication of the documents produced during and because of this ideological skirmish in a long complex culture war.2 The most extensive 1  Perhaps most confusing among the excessive homonymic royals in Iberia in the late Middle Ages are the contemporaries Juan II of Castile (r. 1404–1454) and Juan II of Navarre (r. 1425– 1479, though contractually king consort) and then of Aragon (r. 1458–1479), also first cousins. Clarity of reference will be indicated by context, but Juan II of Aragon will always be identified as such. Although at the time of the Toledo Rebellion he only ruled Navarre (if illegally), he has passed into history as the king of Aragon. 2  Benito Ruano, Toledo en el siglo XV, and Los orígenes del problema converso, plus later articles. The 2012 anthology edited by González Rolán and Suárez-Somonte, De la Sentencia-Estatuto de Pero Sarmiento a la Instrucción del Relator contains editions and translations of some 14

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_008

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treatment of the integral situation of Jews and conversos in Iberia vis-à-vis the Inquisition and their eventual expulsion remains Benzion Netanyahu’s 1384page The Origins of the Inquisition in Fifteenth Century Spain, with its Book 2 focused on the Toledo Rebellion (pp. 217–712).3 The limited aim of the present chapter is to attend to some of the texts specifically generated by participants in the Rebellion, and to relate them to specific aspects of their context, particularly the struggle over poderío real absoluto through fiscal interventions in Castilian politics. Within its specific 15th century context, the “presenting” provocation of the Rebellion itself, its immediate opening scene, is a royal request (demand) for funds to support military resistance to the Infantes of Aragon and their allies. Financial relationships and tax revenues are central themes throughout all the documents. Thus, the context of the Rebellion must include these mid-15th century fiscal aspects, which were a significant motivation of and weapon in political struggles. The themes of the documents (i.e. the obsessions of the movement)—heresy, conversos, escribanos y escribanías, revenues, finance, usurpation—are deeply entangled, and encode larger issues.4 Here, this much broader Castilian struggle is reduced to allegations of illicit power, specifically on the part of Álvaro de Luna and Jews/conversos, by those contesting Juan II’s royal authority, in order to obfuscate the larger issues of royal power and extraction of wealth by elites from the commons, and to legitimate their opposition. In the documents of the Rebellion under consideration here—the Suplicación y requerimiento (early May 1449), the Sentencia-Estatuto de Pedro Sarmiento (June 5, 1449), the Carta de privilegio del Rey Juan II a un hijodalgo (likely summer–fall 1449)—the rationale, evidence, justifications, and rhetoric core documents created by or about the Rebellion, which supersede all previous editions. All relevant literature produced during the Rebellion is discussed and cited therein. 3  Netanyahu, The Marranos of Spain. My own work here makes no claim to exhaustive deployment of the scholarship, and seeks only to deepen our understanding of these particular documents. 4  Properly speaking, converso refers to any convert to Christianity (Catholicism); since the present event and analysis deals entirely with converts from Judaism ( judeoconversos) the term should be understood herein to refer specifically to these unless otherwise indicated. Converts are also sometimes called “New Christians,” and such terms are applied by late medieval and early modern Old Christians and Spanish society across multiple generations or in perpetuity (these are sometimes currently expressed as “neocristiano” and “veterocristiano”). A supposedly legitimate claim to being “Old Christian” essentially indicated peasant status. Such racial purity has been put paid by recent work on the Iberian genome, which shows a “high mean proportion of ancestry from North African (10.6%) and Sephardic Jewish (19.8%) sources;” see Adams et al. “Genetic Legacy.” See also Gonçalves et al., “Y-Chromosome Lineages.”

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shift from one text to the next, but are better understood individually and as a sequence when the specific discourses and themes in each are placed against the background of the interplay of late medieval Castilian fiscal and political dynamics, which foregrounds even more the underlying rhetorical axes of the documents and the ways that the political struggles are encoded. Rather than focusing on anti-Semitism, anti-Judaism, or alleged heresy, the present analysis attends to an implicit but axial thread of political and fiscal conflict to show that it is the provocation of the Rebellion, and that attacking Álvaro de Luna and conversos is an indirect means of intervening in the conflict between Juan II of Castile and his cousins, the Infantes of Aragon, of critiquing elites in general, and of reacting to increasing disempowerment of the pueblo y común and extraction of wealth from the latter. 2

Toledo: Urbs regia, Spina in carne regis

In some ways, Toledo itself is emblematic of the complexity and turbulence that are the inevitable consequences of buying loyalty with the mercedes enriqueñas.5 Toledo’s preeminence as the imperial capital of the Visigoths as well as its medieval commercial priority were not only the basis of its historical power, but also the basis of its sense of its own importance and its consistent punctiliousness. Francisco José Aranda Pérez begins his overview of Toledo’s municipal governance Alfonso VI (1065–1109), conquista la ciudad el 25 de mayo de 1085, día de San Urbano. Este día, que será conmemorado durante siglos como fiesta solemne, es reconocido como el advenimiento de una nueva era y a la vez, como la recuperación de una continuidad histórica, la de monarquía goda, que tuvo su trono, su capitalidad política en Toledo. Esta mentalidad, y, … este orgullo [va] a ser importantes a la hora de ir configurándose el gobierno municipal.6 Aranda Pérez’s account of the foundational moment of post-711 Christian governance in Toledo highlights, then, Toledo’s orgullo and traditionalism, but his discussion must immediately pass to a discussion of the complex governance of the layered ethnoreligious groups, the long-resident Toledan mozárabes

5  Suárez Fernández, Nobleza y monarquía. 6  Aranda Pérez, Poder municipal, pp. 18–19.

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and Castilians, plus newcomers, after the emigration of the majority of the Muslims.7 2.1 Always Already Jewish: Toledo’s Tale of Tainted Origins Along with Toledo’s historical and fictional imperial profile, however, is also that always-already Jewish dimension, with a legendary origin as a Jewish settlement, legend that will give rise to the alleged letter from Toledo’s preChristian-era protest of the deicide committed by the Jews of Jerusalem.8 Toledo was both pawn and player in the civil war between Pedro I el Cruel and Enrique de Trastámara, in which the latter, while perfectly willing to leverage anti-Semitism against Pedro I, once victorious made the same use of Jewish assets, even though he had very nearly destroyed the Toledan judería, as did the violence of the pogroms in the 1390s.9 2.2 15th Century Toledo: Royal, Free, and Divided The struggle between the Infantes of Aragon and Juan II, later focused on Álvaro de Luna, begin at the moment that Juan II attains his majority in March 1419, and they sequester the Castilian king in 1420. Between this moment and that of the Toledo Rebellion in 1449, there are some five rounds of civil war, with either open violence or the threat thereof. In the 1440s, the conflict intensifies, and Pero López de Ayala, traditional royal appointee to the primary control of Toledo yet consistently partisan of the Infantes of Aragon, maintained Toledo as a resource for them, and simply executed or expelled all who opposed him.10 The fourth round of violence in Castile, in 1442, is characterized by strong anti-Semitism as well as by ongoing defiance of the Trastámara project to extend poderío real absoluto. Luna was exiled from the court and Juan II held in virtual captivity by Juan II of Aragon; Alfonso de Cartagena persuaded Eugene IV to promulgate Benedict XIII’s 1415 bull against Jews. Upon Luna’s restoration, Juan II of Castile issued a cédula again prohibiting discrimination against conversos, putting them on equal footing with all Christians, with full rights to public offices. In 1445, yet another even more extensive coalition against Juan II and Luna formed, and (probably between 1 and 15 May) the 7  Molénat, Campagnes et Monts de Tolède, p. 31; Aranda Pérez, Poder municipal, p. 19. 8  See Gerber, “Pride and Pedigree,” p. 99, and Shatzmiller, “Politics and the Myth of Origins.” 9  On Toledo’s judería in the civil war of the mid-fourteenth century see Pero López de Ayala’s Crónicas of both Pedro I and Enrique II; Netanyahu, Origins, pp. 97–100. On the pogroms and conversions see idem, pp. 264–269; regarding Toledo’s ongoing conflicts, idem, p. 268. See also Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, pp. 219–220. 10  Benito Ruano, Toledo, pp. 19–20.

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Cortes de Olmedo were called by Luna, as the royal armies were readying there to confront those of the Infantes of Aragon, Cortes which articulated a strong statement supporting the king’s poderío real absoluto.11 On May 19, 1445, Luna led Juan II’s forces to victory over the Infantes of Aragon and their allies at the first Battle of Olmedo, at which the infante Enrique of Aragon was fatally wounded. Beyond these conflicts in which Toledo had consistently taken the part of the Infantes, clearly there was increasing tension and conflict within Toledo, as well, as López de Ayala’s abuses coming to light, including the exile of citizens, abuses and excesses in administration of the city, and ordering the death of Mosén Juan de Puelles for trying to turn the fortress over to Juan II.12 In attempting to bring the administration of Toledo under royal control in 1445–1446, Juan II named Pero Sarmiento, repostero mayor of his household,13 alcalde mayor de las alzadas in addition to other offices. With López de Ayala’s restitution to his positions except the command of the fortress, Juan II officially informs Sarmiento that López de Ayala is again alcalde mayor de las alzadas, but Sarmiento refuses to give up the position, and prohibits publication of Juan II’s letter. He then impedes López de Ayala’s exercise of his office. In 1448, yet another rebellion of Castilian nobles was forming under the leadership of Juan II of Aragon (round 5). Juan II replaced Sarmiento with Luna as alcalde mayor de las alzadas on December 15, 1448; Luna’s then-minor son is also named alguacil mayor. In late 1448, Juan II again requested a derrama (direct subsidy) to support immediate military action, eventually granted by the Cortes. On January 25, 1449, Luna, alcalde mayor de las alzadas, “solicitó de la ciudad repartiese en nombre del Rey un empréstito de un cuento de [one million] maravedís,”14 which Toledo’s city council refused because it would violate the city’s status as realengo and franca.15 Despite these claims, the Castilian king in fact had the right to demand such loans as Enrique III’s final negotiation with the Cortes in 1406 shows; that their frequency was problematic is beyond doubt, as is their 11  The dates of the cortes are from Colmeiro, Cortes de los antiguos reinos de León y Castilla, cap. XX, no pagination. 12  Benito Ruano, Toledo, p. 28; Lorenzo Galíndez de Carvajal, Crónica, at Año 39º, 1445, cap. XXV, pp. 638b–640a. In direct citation, all spelling, diacritics, and punctuation will be retained. 13   Repostero mayor is a largely honorific position having to do with providing fruits and desserts to the royal table, held by Sarmiento’s family for several generations, which nonetheless brought both position and rentas to its holder, and was inherited. 14  Benito Ruano, Toledo, pp. 34–5. 15  Jerónimo Román de la Higuera quotes García de Mora in his Historia eclesiástica de la imperial ciudad de Toledo, quoted in Benito Ruano Toledo, p. 35.

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legitimacy.16 That such demands for revenues, whether ordinary or extraordinary were viewed by pecheros, i.e. el común, as completely integral to the exercise of royal power, particularly the extension of poderío real absoluto, is also beyond doubt.17 But Toledo under Sarmiento rebelled. The participants of Toledo Rebellion of 1449 were creators of and the pro­ vocation for an important series of documents, which I here situate within a timeline of events.18 One chronological element that seems not to have been sufficiently emphasized is their relationship to Lent and Easter, which have a long tradition of violence against of Jews19—and with the general collapse of judeoconversos into Jews, into violence against the conversos.20 – 25 January: Álvaro de Luna demands a forced loan from the city, which the regidores refuse and ask him to withdraw; he refuses, and instructs Alfonso Cota, a converso, to apportion and collect the sum from Toledo’s pecheros. Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. – 26 January: the pecheros riot and Pero Sarmiento takes over, purges the city, and begins appropriating assets of victims. Third Sunday of Epiphany. – 2 March: Quadragesima, which begins Lent. – 25 March: Feast of the Annunciation. – 30 March: Passion Sunday. – 6 April: Palm Sunday. – 10 April: Easter Full Moon. – 11 April: Good Friday. – 13 April: Easter Sunday. – 20 April: Quasimodo Sunday. – 23 April, Saturday: Passover (15 Nisan 5776 AM) – 1 May: Juan II arrives at Fuensalida, within Toledo’s jurisdiction and López de Ayala’s demesne, and demands entry into Toledo and its surrender. – May, about the same time: Pero Sarmiento sends “ciertos capítulos” to Juan II constraining his entry, and demanding complete immunity, including for pillaging the city’s economic elite. 16  Ladero Quesada, “Instituciones fiscales,” in El siglo XV, pp. 63–64. 17  Nieto Soria’s articles on poderío real absoluto deal with the resistance on the part of cities and the común; see “El ‘poderío real absolute’” and “La nobleza.” 18  Timeline constructed from González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte, “Introducción” and Benito Ruano, Toledo. 19  Nirenberg, Communities. 20   See “A Perpetual Easter and Passover Calendar” at http://www.staff.science.uu.nl/ ~gent0113/easter/easter_text2a.htm for calculating Julian dates for Easter and the date of the first day of Passover. For other feasts, see the “Medieval Calendar Calculator” (also Julian dates) at https://www.wallandbinkley.com/mcc/. I have assumed that all days and dates indicated in the scholarly literature are Julian.

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– 3 May: Feast of Inventio Crucis – 8 or 9 May: Juan II arrives at the gates of Toledo and establishes his real. – 10 May: Luna’s forces begin raiding in the Montes de Toledo. – 12 or 13? May: Suplicación y requerimiento sent to Juan II. – 22 May: Feast of the Ascension. – 25 May: Celebration of Alfonso VI’s (1085) reconquest of the city. – 5 June: Sentencia-Estatuto performed / read and notarized before the Ayuntamiento. – 28 August: The Sermon in die Beati Augustini. – 24 September: Pope Nicholas V issues three bulls: Humani generis inimicus; excommunication of Pero Sarmiento; annulment of Fernando de Cerezuela’s forced oath to Sarmiento. – Second half of October: Instrucción of Fernando Díaz de Toledo, Juan II’s Relator, royal legal counsel. – November: Prince Enrique arrives in Toledo to take control and remove Sarmiento from authority in the city; Lope de Barrientos, Bishop of Cuenca and former maestro of Prince Enrique, uses the Relator’s Instrucción to write Contra algunos çiçañadores de la nación de convertidos del pueblo de Israel. – 2 December: Prince Enrique is informed that “algunos del común de la çibdad trataban con el Rey e con el Maestre de Santiago [Luna] para les dar la çibdad, por emendar todo el mal e daño que en el tiempo pasado habían hecho,”21 among whom was García de Mora. – The first half of December: García de Mora composes his Apelación y suplicación, during the Prince’s investigation or after claiming asylum in the church when Prince Enrique calls an ayuntamiento, and before being removed from the church to be drawn and quartered (along with his coconspirator licenciado Alonso de Ávila). – January 1450: Prince Enrique returns to Toledo to definitively remove Sarmiento, granting him immunity and possession of his spoils. – February 1450: Sarmiento, still under excommunion and Juan II of Castile’s condemnation, leaves Toledo for Navarra with more than 200 pack animals loaded with booty, most stolen by his own household on the road.22 This meaning-saturated liturgical calendar doubtless shaped the atmosphere and behaviors in Toledo from the eruption of violence in late January through the rest of the year. It seems likely that the pesquisa to which the SentenciaEstatuto refers explicitly might have been carried out in April and May under 21  Galíndez de Carvajal, Crónica, pp. 667–668; also cited in González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte, “Introducción,” p. XL. 22  Benito Ruano, Toledo, pp. 60–61 and “Don Pero Sarmiento”; Round, “Rebelión toledana.”

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the fervor of Lent, Easter, and the celebration of the Reconquest of the city, particularly since Visigothic anti-Semitic legislation and the Alfonsine privilegio appear in the Sentencia-Estatuto and García de Mora’s Apelacion, but not in the Suplicación.23 There are a number of other contemporary texts that deal with the issues of the Rebellion: the Carta de privilegio del rey Juan II a un hijodalgo, probably composed by a participant in or sympathizer of the Rebellion during the summer of 1449; Alonso de Cartagena’s contemporary Defensorium unitatis christianae, finished after March 25, 1450; Juan de Torquemada’s Tractatus contra madianitas et ismaelitas, likely composed in Rome during the summer of 1449 as Nicholas V was preparing his bulls; Alonso Díaz de Montalvo’s gloss in the Fuero Real on the term tornadizo requested by Juan II but only published in the 1480s,24 and the later bulls of Nicholas V (October 28, 1450 responding to Juan II’s request to lift the excommunion on Sarmiento; September 29, 1451 reiterating his support of sincere conversos; November 2, 1451 establishing a papal inquisition to investigate false converts).25 My focus here is on the two collective documents, the Suplicación and the Sentencia-Estatuto along with the Carta de privilegio.26 3

“Apasionado de ira por zelo de justiçia”: Of Pawns and Power Plays

The series of documents produced by the leaders of the Toledo Rebellion— Pero Sarmiento, with the “inestimable ayuda” of Marcos García de Mora, “auténtico fanático”27—show an interesting trajectory from the beginning of the Rebellion in January to the beginning of its resolution in December 1449. The antisemitic abuse in these documents is tediously repetitive—antiSemitism is perhaps the only discourse as repetitive as misogyny, characterized by Howard Bloch as a “litany of woe”—a litany, we might add, of vices, perversions, and pollution applied wholesale to any group targeted for whatever 23  Round, “Rebelión toledana,” however, suggests at pp. 421–2 that the pesquisa might have taken place as early as January, calculating from García de Mora’s timeline, which cannot be taken at face value. 24  González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte, “Introducción,” XCIII–XCIV. 25  Most of these shorter texts are included in González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte’s De la Sentencia-Estatuto, with other independent documents cited therein. 26  Marcos García de Mora’s Apelación y suplicación, until Rolán González and Saquero Suárez-Somonte entitled his Memorial, is a crucial document, discussion of which cannot be undertaken here for reasons of space but will be fully explored in the full version of this analysis. 27  González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte, “Introducción,” p. XVIII.

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reason, up to the present.28 Anti-Semitism here is a plot (in both senses of the word) and a set of characters, which brings mad apocalyptic rage to the fore, articulated around personal criminality and political power. These are allegorical, that is, they stand for another series of actions and characters, literal formulation of which would have discredited the entire political enterprise, and at the same time would have made plain Sarmiento’s criminal pillaging of Toledo’s elites. The anti-Semitism is a cover, a pretext used to mobilize the masses, as all who study the Rebellion agree.29 According to Netanyahu, the shift is from a local and political accusation—conversos are colluding with Luna—to a global moral and religious accusation that they are unfit for participation in Christian society—conversos are merely baptized Jews guilty of all the malice and depravity alleged within anti-Semitic discourse. Shifty indeed, each document in the sequence fuses various discourses within an equally hybrid array of genres. The discourses fused are fiscal, legal, political, and religious, also responding to the documents’ genres, announced in their texts, taken as titles in modern editions. Indeed, González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte comment on the traditional generic title of García de Mora’s Memorial.30 In addition to the stereotypical anti-Semitism noted, the documents also depend intensely on anti-Judaism as well—that is, they use Judaism as a means of thinking through kinds of reading and thinking, as well as kinds of relationships to power.31 As resident aliens in other nations, Jews had long served rulers in those nations particularly though not exclusively in fiscal and economic roles, roles often at 28  With this characterization, I in no way diminish the very real danger of anti-Semitism, but only move it to the background, as it is largely a means not an end. I follow Nirenberg in distinguishing anti-Semitism—also called “Jew hatred,” the historical phenomena that have to do with real flesh-and-blood Jews in the world—from anti Judaism, the ways in which Jews have been used in the Western tradition to think, “to explain topics as diverse as famine, plague, and the tax policies of their princes” (p. 1), which “sometimes … took place in interaction with living Jews, but often it did not” (p. 7). Obviously, these are not entirely separate if distinguishable. On such repetition in Iberian discourses, see Round, “Rebelión toledana,” pp. 424–425; on misogyny see Bloch, “Medieval Misogyny,” p. 1; Brocato, Communicating Desire and “Tened por espejo su fin.” 29  The Toledo uprising is the central axis of Netanyahu’s analysis of the development of the Inquisition in Origins, and with the pesquisa against Toledo’s conversos, the rebels mount the first such inquiry later institutionalized as the Inquisition. Netanyahu constructs a vivid and compelling word picture of the events; after such narratives, he occasionally qualifies his own speculation as only one possibility. One basic and undeniable fact is the lack of surviving documentation, hence the temptation to speculate. 30  González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte, p. XLI. 31  These are the overarching points of Nirenberg’s Anti-Judaism, in which he dedicates two chapters to Spain.

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odds with the will of the “native” populace.32 Much scholarship recognizes that such political and fiscal considerations are crucial in outbreaks of anti-Semitic violence, yet in the present case, the specific political and fiscal entanglements have not been fully teased out from the documents and contextualized.33 3.1 Suplicación y requerimiento The Suplicación, the first of the documents preserved (early May 1449), is a text fused into the forms and structures of legal formulae and authoritative citation.34 It thus begins with the statement of the identity and titles of the sender, Sarmiento, plus those virtuous injured parties for whom he speaks by proxy: Vuestros servidores, súbditos e leales naturales, Pero Sarmiento, vuestro repostero mayor, e del vuestro Consejo, e vuestro asistente e alcalde mayor de las alçadas en la vuestra muy noble cibdad de Toledo, e los alcaldes e alguazil, cavalleros, escuderos, vecinos, común e pueblo de la dicha cibdad, por nosotros e en nonbre de vuestra corona e de la república de vuestros reinos … (¶1, p. 2; emphasis mine) Sarmiento here performs formal legal address in an official document, and claims solidarity with the good people of Toledo of all ranks including commoners, and appeals to the crown as an abstraction rather than Juan II himself, and Castile as polity. As we have seen, however, this apparently simple and direct statement obfuscates the truth: Sarmiento has been removed from the 32  Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, pp. 37–40 and passim. 33  Tritle, “Anti-Judaism,” attends to the deployment of St. Paul’s (anti-Judaic) notion of carnal reading to show that both sides of the converso debate mobilize it. Vidal Doval, “‘Nos Soli Sumus Christiani’,” analyzes “characterization of conversos” beginning with the Sentencia-Estatuto, and moving forward to the Apelación, taking both documents at face value. Without the Suplicación, the way that the converso problem is coextensive with and encodes the “Luna problem”—that is, the refusal of absolute royal authority—remains opaque. Izquierdo Benito, “Causas de la violencia,” focuses primarily on anti-Semitism. Round, “Rebelión toledana,” connects the rebellion to specifically Castilian class issues and to the Heresy of the Free Spirit. García Fernández, “Dominicos y franciscanos,” questions the connection to that Heresy; the Observant Franciscans themselves were often enough sources of extreme and heretical ideas. 34  All citations of this and the other documents analyzed or referenced here are taken from the editions in González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte, De la Sentencia-Estatuto, with paragraph and page numbers indicated parenthetically in the text. When the source text is not clearly specified, I will indicate it within the parentheses as SR (Suplicación y requerimiento), SE (Sentencia-Estatuto), AS (Apelación y suplicación), CP (Carta de privilegio). Díaz de Toledo’s Instrucción is also from this anthology and cited only by page number.

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offices claimed here and López de Ayala had been restored to most of his former positions; Luna has been appointed alcalde mayor de las alzadas and he in turn appointed his son alguacil; Sarmiento purged the city of opposition, and has coerced or bought either silence or support from Toledo’s people.35 This false solidarity will be repeated in their every document, with an increasing insistence on the divine guidance of their holy venture. The Suplicación next narrates an apocalyptic conflict between good and evil, passing immediately to Luna and conversos, both of which are subjects of the majority of assertions in the first section of the Suplicación (¶2–9) until ¶10, at which point the initial “nosotros” moves into agency again. In terms of the content of ¶2–9, the emphasis remains on the corona not the king of Castile, with Luna’s first crime being the desire to rule as if he were king, “tomar en sí la gloria e onor de vuestra corona so color de regimiento e administraçión” (¶2, p. 3). This is both a specific charge against Luna, and a traditional charge against Jews, and the continuing sequence of charges against both Luna and conversos collapses distinctions among all three: usurpation, tyranny, simony, usury, and injustice. Netanyahu minimizes the moral and religious charges of the Suplicación, but it includes not only the usual charges of tyranny and uppitiness on the part of Luna, but also refers to his converso allies or tools as “personas infieles e erejes, enemigos de nuestra santa ley e de nuestro Rey [Christ? or Juan II?] e de nuestras personas e faziendas” (¶2, p. 3), “las dichas personas eréticas e infieles” (¶3, p. 3), with similar expressions throughout. Indeed, ¶6 is one sentence, in which the same religious charge appears as in the Sentencia-Estatuto and in the Apelación: that “los conversos de linaje de los judíos … por la mayor parte son fallados ser infieles e herejes, e han judaizado y judaizan” (¶6, p. 5), extending into ¶7 with the charge that they blaspheme and are idolators (¶7, p. 6). The syntax and logic continue, asserting that Luna thus merits the same punishment for being “reçebtador e defensor de los dichos infieles y erejes” (¶7, 6). The actions attributed to Juan II in the text are in subordinate conditional clauses, like the implied threat of the further “detrimiento” to the corona “si vuestra señoría non aparta la voluntad absoluta que á tenido e tiene con 35  Galíndez de Carvajal, Crónica, Año 43º. 1449, chap. IX, describes Sarmiento’s deal with Prince Enrique, beyond impunity for murder and theft: “é demás desto, que no entrase en la cibdad de Toledo ninguno ni algunos de los que habia desterrado y echado fuera de la dicha cibdad, por quanto habian tenido la voz del dicho Maestre de Santiago [Álvaro de Luna], é para que siempre jamas no pudiesen haber los oficios y honras que en la cibdad solian haber, salvo que fuesen para las personas á quien el dicho Pero Sarmiento los habia dado,” p. 667b. This threat was made good on the persons of those overly optimistic souls who returned.

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el dicho vuestro condestable” (¶4, p. 4), or in accusations of passivity on the king’s part, “Vuestra merced á dexado e dexa perder [what his ancestors reconquered] por causa del dicho don Álvaro de Luna” (¶5, p. 4). Even the king’s presence outside Toledo’s walls, besieging the city, is Luna responsibility, with Juan II’s actions again in a subordinate clause: el dicho Álvaro de Luna trató y procuró, dolosa e maliciosamente, con doloso e ambicioso consejo, que vuestra señoría cercase como tiene cercada esta vuestra cibdad, e pusiese como tiene puesto real sobre ella, talando e destruyendo las viñas e árvoles, e matando e prendiendo nuestros vecinos, e quemando las casas d’ellos, e quitándonos los mantenimientos, e faziéndonos guerra cruel, como si fuésemos moros. (¶7, p. 7) Here, direct repudiation of Juan II is displaced onto Luna, as is the case in all three documents. In ¶8, Sarmiento emphasizes again that Juan II knows these things, because he has been “interpelada” by the grandes and by the “procuradores de la cibdades, en especial por nosotros” that he “quiera reinar e señorear … e quiera ser señor e Rey … e non quiera dar logar a que el dicho vuestro condestable quiera ser rey e señor d’ellos” (¶8, p. 7). There is a certain slippage here, beyond the emphasis on Juan II’s not wanting to rule: is the “nosotros” only Sarmiento? That Sarmiento himself had directly expressed this to Juan II seems unlikely, else he would not have been appointed to the administration of Toledo to remove it from the indirect power of the Aragonese faction. Or does this nosotros consist of Sarmiento speaking for the Ayuntamiento and the procuradores from within their ongoing attempts to assert municipal priority in political negotiations? Which of the individuals outlined in ¶1 is “nosotros”? Yet one theme of the document is that Juan II has allowed Luna “senbrar enemistança e cizaña entre los grandes de vuestros reinos con vuestra merced” (¶3, p. 4), in order to use the Crown’s power to end [acabase] all the grandes, causing civil war and losing what has been gained in the Reconquest plus inviting Granadan raids.36 In ¶5, as we have seen, Sarmiento invokes the Reconquest by referring to reconquered places “e los grandes d’ellos, con cuya sangre de sus predecesores los reyes de gloriosa memoria, vuestros progenitores, ganaron” (¶5, p. 4), claiming that they’ve been “desaforados”—that local rights and privileges have been suspended. In ¶7, Juan II is accused of making war against the citizens of Toledo “como si fuésemos moros” (¶7, p. 7), 36  Civil war: ¶4, p. 4; ¶7, p. 7; ¶12, p. 9. Moros and the Reconquest: ¶5, p. 4; ¶7, p. 7; ¶8, p. 7; ¶10, p. 8.

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and is then admonished to submit to the demand tendered here in order to have peace, thus avoiding Muslim heretics taking vengeance “en la sangre e vienes de los cristianos de vuestros reinos” (¶8, p. 7; emphasis mine). Indeed, in ¶10, the “we” of this document “soplicamos, requerimos e amonestamos” that the king redirect the military forces besieging the city and “enviar la gente armada … contra los moros enemigos de la ley e de la cruz Ξ, los quales desvastan e destruyen vuestros reinos” (¶10, p. 8). Nonetheless, while “moros infieles” appear here as heretics and villains, they are only bit players in a Reconquest side-drama, and will barely appear again in the other two. The real villains are Luna and the “conversos de linaje de los judíos … infieles e herejes.” Luna’s actions, as we have seen, are first cast as usurping the corona, motivated by greed, but the phrase “so color de regimiento e administraçión” is key to the most concrete of the accusations: selling public offices of both justice and administration (¶2, p. 3) to “personas infieles e erejes,” not only the enemies of Christianity but “de nuestras personas e faziendas” (¶2, p. 3); distributing collection of royal revenues to such persons and being a financial partner (“arrendar vuestras rentas, pechos e derechos … por vía de masa, seyendo él partícipe con ellos”) (¶3, p. 3); making the king order “injustas e inumanas” laws “para que pujasen vuestras rentas para su brujal interese,” bidding for the collection of groups of tax revenue and inflating the amounts paid by pecheros (¶3, p. 3); all too frequently demanding extraordinary levies of taxes, “fazer echar pedidos e monedas cada un año para fazer guerra a vuestra merced e a vuestros reinos e naturales” (¶5, p. 4); violating Toledo’s privileges, immunities, and exemptions by demanding funds, “procurando de la fazer pechera e tributaria,” stealing its lands and vassals (¶7, p. 6). The result is that “el estado universal de vuestros reinos” is destroyed, justice is lost, and “muy grande subversión” results because those charged with implementing justice are responsible for robbing and destroying “toda la tierra” (¶2, p. 3). Interestingly enough, the key statement begins with “son fechos pobres todos los vuestros naturales” (¶2, p. 3), followed by “e son muertos e robados injustamente muchos d’ellos” (¶2, p.3; emphasis mine). Because these “personas infieles e erejes” hold public office, “an usurpado e usurpan el señorío que pertenece a los grandes de vuestros reinos, e an tratado por la mayor parte todas la aziendas de los cristianos viejos, e todos los estados” (¶2, p. 3), “desaforándonos e matando e robando” (¶12, p. 9). Not only are souls lost, but “todo el estado de los oficiales e labradores [artesans and laborers]” (¶3, p. 3–4). Not just Toledo, but all Juan II’s realms are made “tributarios de tributos inmensos” and demands for extraordinary tax revenues have become ordinary annual demands, violating the local fueros of cities and towns (¶4, p. 4). Even converso perfidy is intended for the same purpose, “a fin que

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so color e nonbre de cristianos, prebaricando, estroxesen las ánimas e cuerpos e faziendas de los cristianos viejos en la fée católica” (¶6, pp. 5–6; emphasis mine). Yet, as we have seen, the privatization of tax-collection long precedes Juan II, Luna, and the events of 1449, and the destruction of the Jewish communities in 1391 along with the waves of subsequent conversions was followed by the prohibition of Jews holding public office or being tax collectors.37 The ensuing fifty years saw waves of constraints on Jewish commercial and financial activities, activities taken up by conversos, with obvious positive consequences for the royal coffers and equally obvious efforts on its part to rebuild both Jewish communities and to protect and sustain converso contributions to the royal fisc. On a small scale, as we have also seen, Jews and then conversos, as well as Christians of all estates, engaged in money-lending, and it was often tax payments for which pecheros had to borrow money, from lenders who were often involved in collecting taxes.38 Which is to say that the accusations here, like Sarmiento’s claims of power and position, obfuscate. 3.2 The Sentencia-Estatuto According to Sarmiento and the Ayuntamiento, it is the granting or selling of oficios públicos to conversos by Luna, motivated by greed, that is the cause of the muy grande subversión of Castile, according to the Suplicación performed before the king by the city’s representatives listed at the end. The SentenciaEstatuto represents a different kind of legal and political performance, that of a self-governing polity, in ayuntamiento, in a Toledo purged of dissidents and of “notorious” judaizers burned as a result of the (unauthorized) pesquisa that is reported only by its participants to the Ayuntamiento documented here—witnesses who, as participants, cannot be unbiased.39 In the Sentencia-Estatuto, the cosmology is the same: the virtuous are the present officials of Toledo and the cristianos viejos of the pueblo y común, and Sarmiento again claims his already-revoked appointment (¶1, p. 20). The document initially states that those gathered as the Ayuntamiento are Sarmiento, “los alcaldes, alguaziles, caballeros y escuderos, común y pueblo de la dicha çibdad de Toledo,” in the presence of Pasqual Gómez “escribano público,” with Esteban Garçía de Toledo appearing “en nombre y como procurador” of these groups (¶1, p. 21). This shifts somewhat at the end, where the text adds that 37  Cantera Montenegro, “Legislación,” provides an overview of 15th century legislation and 14th century precedents. 38  Colombo, “¿Por qué el campesino se endeuda?” and “Los dueños.” 39  Any gathering of persons is an ayuntamiento; the corporate body is the Ayuntamiento.

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also present were “otros vecinos de la dicha çibdad, para esto llamados especialmente y rogados” (¶10, p. 30), suggesting that the group was curated rather than merely a random assortment of citizens, much less the entire común. First, the purpose and activity of the Ayuntamiento are described as habitually “entender, platicar, tratar y proveer en el regimiento y buena governaçión de la dicha çibdad, e vecinos e moradores de ella;” Esteban Garçía then recounts: … que bien saben cómo en muchos días y por diversos ayuntamientos por ellos fechos avían platicado e entendido çerca del bien universal de la dicha çibdad e de los privilegios, exençiones y libertades a ella dados e otorgados por los reyes de muy gloriosa memoria, progenitores de nuestro señor el Rey, e por su alteza confirmados e jurados … (¶1, p. 21) The privilege is attributed to “Don Alfonso, rey de Castilla y de León,” and will be invoked several times in this document, each time without further specification (¶1, p. 21; ¶4, p. 24; ¶7, p. 27; ¶9, p. 29). The vagueness of the formulation—by 1449, there had been eleven Castilian kings named Alfonso— provoked scholarly doubt about its existence, but present consensus is that the privilege was that granted in 1118 by Alfonso VII, El Emperador. This privilegio states that “ningún tornado cristiano de nuevo non aya mandado sobre ningún cristiano en Toledo nin en su territorio daquí adelante.”40 This may indeed be the privilegio upon which the rebels base their cited precedent, but the vagueness of the citation is of a piece with the cobbled-together legal citations that characterize García de Mora’s Apelación. What the rebels have omitted is that the privilegio applied only to the newly-converted and does not specify any previous religion; what they have added is a statement that such conversos are prohibited from holding public office because of being “sospechosos en la fe,” though also specified are “otras causas e razones contenidas en el dicho privilegio” (¶1, pp. 21–22). In the text, the discursive link between this Alfonsine privilege and the prohibition of conversos holding escribanías públicas is the multiple conversations of “los dichos señores” (¶1, p. 22) about the importance of notaries to the crown and “gran parte de toda la cosa pública de la dicha çibdad” (¶1, p. 22), culminating in the Sentencia-Estatuto, which they have seen and discussed (“avían visto 40  González Rolán and Saquero Suárez-Somonte, introduction to the Sentencia-Estatuto, pp. 17–19; see also Netanyahu, “Did the Toledans …?” Note that the rebels leap from the Visigoths to Alfonso VII, omitting all reference to Alfonso VI, who conquered Toledo but was embarrassingly convivencial regarding Jews and Muslims.

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e platicado”) and have had reviewed by their educated or university-trained men (letrados; ¶3, p. 23)—in all likelihood bachiller García de Mora along with licenciado Alonso de Ávila, one of García de Mora’s co-conspirators in the last desperate attempt in late November to restore Toledo to Juan II’s control and claim clemency. These repeated discussions are also emphasized by the procurador Esteban García, the attorney and/or representative of the Ayuntamiento, of whom the notary records that he stated (“dixo”) these things (above, citing ¶1, p. 21), introducing for the first time the above-mentioned Alfonsine privilegio, which is also further subordinated to the already complexly layered sentence with “entre los quales [privilegios, exençiones y libertades] diz que estaba” (¶1, p. 21; emphasis mine). The phrase “diz que” also distances this from certainty, and, as Round notes, may signal a lack of complete compliance on the part of the notariate of the city; certainly, one important element of notarial duties was distinguishing documentary evidence from hearsay.41 The outcome of these discussions will be a combination of condemnation (sentencia) and legal statute (estatuto), and the fusion of legal and religious issues begins at the point of introducing this local privilegio, characterized as “teniendo el tenor y forma del derecho e de los santos decretos” (¶1, p. 21), and then supplementing it, as noted above, with the qualification that conversos are “sospechosos en la fe” (¶1, p. 22). The entire paragraph consists of one short formulaic sentence declaring the place and date of the meeting, and one extremely long and complex sentence, with its segments connected by vague subordinating elements. In the latter, the shift from the privilegio prohibiting conversos from holding public offices in general to the specific issue of local conversos holding escribanías is marked by “e que por quanto” [and inasmuch as] to again recur to the repeated discussions of the Ayuntamiento: “e que por quanto los dichos señores avían platicado algunas vezes çerca de las escribanías públicas de la dicha çibdad” (¶1, p. 22). This statement of the Ayuntamiento’s action(s) is followed by the previously-noted discussion of the importance of the notaries, followed by allegations that “confessos” held the public offices as notaries “tiranizadamente,” having bought or received them “por fabores y otras sotiles y engañosas maneras,” echoing the accusations against Luna in the Suplicación at ¶1–2 (pp. 2–3), all in disregard of the “corona real de nuestro señor el Rey e de los dichos privilegios y exençiones, libertades y franquezas de la dicha çibdad y de los christianos viejos lindos” (¶1, p. 22). This is the first instance of the use of “lindos” to qualify “cristianos viejos” in these documents, but this phrase—cristianos viejos lindos—will be repeated four times in the Sentencia-Estatuto (¶1, p. 22; ¶4, p. 23; ¶9, p. 29; ¶11, p. 30); the 41  Round, “Rebelión toledana,” p. 397.

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emphasis shifts from the grandes in the Suplicación to the “común y pueblo,” with other synonyms like “çibdad e vezinos” appears at intervals throughout, as well, in statements of the stakeholders, the groups represented as constituents of the community, as we saw in the opening sentence of ¶1 (p. 20; also e.g. ¶2, p. 22; ¶3, p. 23). Luna appears directly only once in this document (¶4, p. 25) since it invokes and enacts laws and conditions specific to Toledo itself; here, Toledo’s conversos are the focus. Both Toledo and the conversos are the points of expansion and abstraction, however, to the two opposing generalities in cosmic conflict: the welfare of Toledo and the entire realm, which is composed of cristianos viejos lindos, and the crimes and menace of enemigos who are conversos as judíos baptizados. Luna and conversos are still coextensive, however, in the characterization of the means by which conversos have gained public offices, particularly “tiranizadamente” and “por compra de dineros como por fabores y otras sotiles y engañosas maneras” (¶1, p. 22), which recalls the Suplicación (“tiránicamente” ¶1, p. 2; “vender y conprar [oficios] por dineros” ¶2, p. 3). Twice in the first paragraph, the term “confessos” is used, defined by the Diccionario de Autoridades as both someone convicted of heresy and simply a converso, thus also representing the collapse of any distinction between converso and infiel erege judío baptizado. After this point, however, the text reverts to converso as the general term, though it is often characterized by such phrases as “desçendientes de” or “del linage de los judíos” (passim e.g. ¶5, p. 26; ¶8, p. 28) or even more insultingly “desçendientes del linaje y ralea de los judíos” (¶9, p. 29; see also ¶4, p. 23, p. 24 × 2, p. 25 × 2; ¶6, p. 27 ¶7, p. 27; ¶8, p. 28, p. 29; ¶11, p. 30). The Sentencia-Estatuto performs law as well as enacting and embodying it, which can be said for all such notarial documents, which not only record the conditions under which and because of which the legal proceedings are taking place (here ¶1–3), but also record the official and notarial staging of the document (¶3, ¶10, ¶12), as well as the content of the findings (¶4–6, “declaración”), statute (¶7), and sentence (¶8), and the dissemination and entailments thereof in the local notariate (¶9–11). Here, the only specific legal document cited is the Alfonsine privilegio, which appears five times (¶1, p. 21; ¶4, p. 24; ¶7, p. 27; ¶8, p. 28; ¶9, 29), at the beginning of every significant shift in the discourse. Otherwise, legal precedents are only vaguely referenced, in characterizing the Alfonsine privilegio as “siguiendo el tenor y forma del derecho e de los santos decretos” (¶1, p. 21), or attributing the Sentencia-Estatuto’s own declarations about conversos to “derecho ansí canónico como civil” (¶4, p. 23). Among the many legal terms that characterize the rhetoric here, three are particularly significant. First, “procuraçión” is the action undertaken by Esteban Garçía as “procurador” (¶1, p. 21), legitimating the production of the Sentencia-Estatuto. Further, the second, “proçeso,” appears in ¶3 as the action against the “vezinos

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enemigos” that preceded and was the foundation of the procuración “según lo fecho e proçesado” in the presence of Sarmiento and the Ayuntamiento (¶3, p. 23). That “process” seems to have been the “pesquisa,” the third important legal term, reported in the very lengthy ¶4, specifically mentioned after and not before the long indictment of specific forms of “grandíssimos herrores” (¶4, p. 24), and then providing the (tautological) justification for punishment: “por virtud de lo qual la justiçia real, siguiendo la forma del derecho, proçedió contra algunos de ellos a fuego, e de allí, porque los sanctos decretos lo presumen …” (¶4, p. 25)—again, Sarmiento no longer holds royal authority, so he cannot dispense “justiçia real.” Here (¶4, p. 25–6), these conversos are declared enemies of the city and of “vezinos christanos viejos,” enemies who incited the royal siege of the city, even displacing Luna’s agency, though quoting and amplifying the Suplicación (¶7, p. 7). This pesquisa is likely the basis for deploying the term confessos initially in the document for the convicted conversos, though their guilt is always already presumed, and thus converso collapses into confesso and into “judíos enemigos de nuestra santa fe católica” (¶4, p. 25).42 Twice in the Suplicación, the document states that Juan II “bien save” (¶1, p. 2; ¶8, p. 7). In the Sentencia-Estatuto, which has passed from narrative to propaganda (here a kind of tautological legal theory and application), this becomes a continual repetition of “es notorio” or some synonymous locution, generally framing the assertion of precisely the prejudgement of conversos. In ¶1, “a todos era notorio” (¶1, p. 22) that the offices of public notaries had been “tiranizadamente” bought (again, echoing ¶1–2 of the Suplicación y requerimiento); in ¶4, “es notorio por derecho ansí canónico como civil” that conversos, who all without exception Judaize, cannot hold public offices (¶4, p. 23); it is “evidente” that they’re heretics (¶4, p. 24). Even the finding of the pesquisa that conversos “biben y tratan sin temor de Dios” is “notorio” (¶4, p. 25), and “notoriamente” they are the cause of Luna’s siege of Toledo (¶4, p. 25). The expression appears another seven times in this relatively brief document, including four iterations in the single paragraph (¶6) which reports the armed resistance of the Toledan conversos (¶5, p. 26; ¶6, p. 27; ¶8, p. 28; ¶10, p. 29). Beneath all noble language of the “regimiento y buena governaçión” of Toledo, the “serviçio de Dios nuestro Señor, y del dicho señor Rey y del bien público de la dicha çibdad” (¶1, p. 21 et passim), however, is a reinscription of the previously analyzed fiscal and political issues. First articulated is the problem for the “bien de toda la cosa pública” that the notarial offices have been sold to or otherwise “tiranizadamente” gotten by conversos “en menospreçio 42  This may suggest composition and revision at various moments by various hands.

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de la corona real de nuestro señor el Rey e de los dichos privilegios y exençiones, libertades y franquezas de la dicha çibdad y de los christianos viejos lindos” (¶1, p. 22). But beyond their Judaizing of heresies and their betrayal of the Visigothic “christianos viejos de esta çibdad” (¶4, p. 26) though following from these, the crimes of these conversos against cristianos viejos are economic: E por consiguiente lo han fecho e cada día fazen los dichos conversos desçendientes de los judíos, los quales por las grandes astuçias y engaños han tomado, e llevado e robado grandes e inumerables quantías de maravedís e plata del Rey nuestro señor e de sus rentas e pechos e derechos, e han destruido y echado a perder muchas nobles dueñas, caballeros e hijosdalgo, e por consiguiente an fecho, opremido, destruido, robado, e estragado todas las más de las casas antiguas y faziendas de los christianos viejos de esta çibdad, e su tierra e jurisdiçión, e de todos lo reinos de Castilla, según es notorio y por tal lo avemos. E otrosí por quanto durante el tiempo que ellos han tenido los ofiçios públicos de esta çibdad e regimiento e governaçión de ella, mucha e la mayor parte de los lugares de la dicha çibdad son despoblados y destruidos, la tierra e lugares de los propios de la dicha çibdad perdidos y enajenados; y allende de esto, todos los maravedís de las rentas y propios de la dicha çibdad consumidos en intereses y faziendas proprias, así por tal manera que todos los bienes y honras de la patria son consumidos y destruidos, y ellos son fechos señores para destruir la sancta fe católica y a los christianos viejos en ella creyentes. (¶5, pp. 26– 27; emphasis mine) This is the axis of the entire Sentencia-Estatuto, and, indeed, of the Suplicación: that conversos are appropriating taxes and commiting usury. One clear signal that this is propaganda is that the text explicitly identifies the victims of converso’s tax robbery as “nobles dueñas, caballeros e hijosdalgo”— categorically not pecheros, that is, groups completely exempted from paying direct taxes—and many such elite familes had intermarried with conversos and were thus not “pure” Old Christians, not lindos. The logic is equal parts myth and propaganda: because (“por consiguiente”) the Jews of Toledo betrayed the city to the Muslims in the 8th century, it follows that seven centuries later they steal royal revenues and alienate the property of present Toledans.43

43  Indeed, the complaints of Toledo’s citizens to Juan II recorded in Galíndez de Carvajal, Crónica use almost identical terms to lay the blame for their destruction and robbery on López de Ayala and then on Sarmiento; Año 39º, 1445, cap. XXV, pp. 638b–640a.

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Seven centuries later, the converso descendents of these Jews “an fecho, opremido, destruido, robado, e estragado todas las más de las casas antiguas y faziendas de los christianos viejos de esta çibdad, e su tierra e jurisdiçión, e de todos lo reinos de Castilla”—but what “casas antiguas e faziendas” did Toledo’s or even Castile’s tax-paying (pechero) christianos viejos—generally not members of the nobility—actually have?44 Surely this is a self-aggrandizing exaggeration, even if their dwellings and belongings were of course valuable to themselves. The most telling fusion of the goticismo deployed here in this tale of the Jew’s betrayal of Visigothic “christianos viejos” in the days of King Rodrigo (and will see more of in the Apelación) and the actual socioeconomic basis of this conflict is reported by Galíndez de Carvajal’s Crónica de Juan II. There, the chronicle states that the uprising is catalyzed by Alonso Cota shaking out the last dobla from an odrero, a minor laborer who made wineskins: “El primero movedor del escándalo fué un odrero vecino desta cibdad de Toledo, é á su voz é apellido se juntó todo el común; e hallóse escrito en una piedra en letras góticas de gran tiempo, que decia así: Soplará el odrero, y alborozarsehá Toledo.”45 Calling the resources of the vast majority of pecheros “antiguas casas e faziendas de los christianos viejos” obfuscates the ongoing economic and agricultural crisis of these years, and reveals the displacement of rage at the apparently endless demands for revenue from pecheros onto the crown’s primary means of bringing in revenue (heavy direct taxes on Jewish and Muslim communities, purchase of collection of tax revenues by financiers, and fiscal administrators, often conversos). Add to this that the endless theft in Toledo was actually perpetrated by Sarmiento himself, and that the broader civil unrest was also largely promoted and carried out by the Infantes of Aragon with their shifting allies among Castile’s grandes—it is clear that what is imputed to the conversos and to Álvaro de Luna is consistent with any other noble’s approach to Castilian fiscal and political matters. It is equally clear that the Infantes of Aragon were competing for control of Juan II and Castilian politics, and resented Luna’s resistance. This, then, is the second displacement within these documents, blaming conversos for the consequences of Sarmiento’s (and López de Ayala’s) acts, beyond displacing blame from Juan II to Luna. Further, it is equally clear that Luna and the conversos, along with previous royal Jewish fiscal servants and functionaries, were pursuing the Trastámara 44  Certainly, there were elite campesinos; see Colombo, “Los dueños” for bibliography. Indeed, we often fail to take sufficiently into account the social stratification and conflict within all estamentos and leyes. 45  Galíndez de Carvajal, Crónica, Año 43º, cap. II, p. 662a; emphasis in the original.

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royal program of extending the reach of the crown; revenues were both necessary for and expressed poderío real absoluto.46 This is precisely why the Suplicación demands that Juan II remove his “voluntad absoluta” from Luna (¶4, p. 4) and asserts that the same “voluntad absoluta” is to “negar justicia e renunciar vuestro inperio e señorío, e darlo e traspasarlo al dicho vuestro condestable, e a los dichos infieles e herejes” (¶9, p. 7). The king’s voluntad, however, doesn’t enter into the Sentencia-Estatuto, and is in fact implicitly denied in ¶9, when the entailments of the new statute and the sentencing of the converso notaries are in place. Sarmiento and the Ayuntamiento direct the other “escribanos públicos del número” to fill the vacant positions by electing “buenas personas idóneas y suficientes … según que … lo tienen por privilegio y sentençia del señor Rey Don Alfonso de suso nombrado, e de uso e de costumbre …” (¶9, p. 29). Again, the surface obscures the sleight of hand: first, either that particular Alfonso precedes by a century the (re)establishment of notaries in Castile or more than one is invoked; second, regulation of notaries had evolved over the course of the ensuing centuries; and, third, public notaries were appointed by the king. 4

Conclusion: “Cosas muy nefandísimas e facinerosas”

The “nosotros” of the opening paragraph of the Suplicación (¶1, p. 1) presents the good and just cristianos viejos, who will become lindos in the SentenciaEstatuto, an aesthetic judgement about who merits inclusion in the world in line with Hannah Arendt’s implication in Eichmann in Jerusalem, based on her analysis of the function of taste in Kant’s Critique of Judgment—creating a community of shared values and excluding those who do not share those values. As Corey Robin puts it in expressing our tastes, in sharing our responses to the objects of this world, we not only reveal ourselves—like action, a person’s taste “discloses … what kind of person he is”—but we declare a community of fellow appreciators. We fashion a solidarity of sensibility, a company of critics: “taste decides not only how the world is to look, but also who belongs together in it.”47 46  This is particularly clear in Nieto Soria, “El ‘poderío real absoluto’” and “La nobleza,” although in the latter Nieto Soria credits Luna with selfishly moving Juan II to pursue the Trastámara royal agenda. 47  Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem; Robin, “Trials,” pp. 19–20, particularly p. 20a.

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Those who are in line with God, the Trinity, plus the Virgin Mary, as revealed by the divinely-appointed García de Mora, are also in line with a radical exclusion of the treacherous Other, the Jew, baptized or not. Certainly, by the time our bachiller drafts his Apelación, the most essential difference between him and Adolf Eichmann is that Eichmann was, if banal, sane. One of the effects of the development of the nation-state and the reformulating of civil relationships has been impersonalization; rather than flowing through individual community-members as such, even if through their relationship to the monarch, tax revenues flow through institutions—the law, not the individuals in office, governs (or should), even in modern monarchies. Of course, even in “deep state” polities, individual persons process this flow of money, even if in a bureaucracy, Arendt’s “Government by Nobody,” but they are at a greater conceptual and actual distance.48 As we have seen, medieval and early modern transactions were very different; notaries recorded all significant financial transactions; notaries were members of their local communities of each ley, in which everyone knew each other. The legal, judicial, and penal systems within any particular locale were not only about justice, but were revenue streams, distributed in varying proportions to stakeholders at various levels. Taxes were imposed on a city, apportioned by the Ayuntamiento, and gathered from local commoners, many of whom borrowed to pay, perhaps from the very same persons who gathered the taxes. The economy was also mediated by notarial documents, such that they were an important and vulnerable element, and therefore a target in times of civil unrest. There is no reason to think that struggles like those documented in Communities of Violence over the control of debt and taxation via destruction of notarial documentation were not at play in Toledo in 1449, such that the lack of surviving documentation is not random. Again, as noted above, the discourse and the violence it potentiates follow the financial role. Society—cultural, material, spiritual, and intellectual—was a complex interweaving of varying statuses, whether religion, estamento, origin, wealth. The distribution of power was not static nor categorical, but ranged across statuses and domains, always mediated by the layers of law—civil law in the fueros and the Partidas, religious law in each religion, always with significant stratification. This interwoven community, convivencia with no implication that it was ever entirely pacific, was a complex shared material, social, cultural, and economic place with deep historical roots, under extreme pressure from political conflicts. Within this shared environment, if, as the saying goes, “everybody 48  See in particular her “Personal Responsibility under Dictatorship” (1964), pp. 29–31; “bureaucracy unhappily is the rule of nobody,” p. 31.

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needs [wants?] a dog to kick,” how does one choose that dog? Which dog can’t bite back? Indeed, as we have seen, this complex interplay of elite political alliances can with reason be characterized on one level as consisting of two opposing sides—Juan II, Álvaro de Luna, the royal administration, and the shifting array of nobles supporting the crown; versus the Infantes of Aragon, the común, and the shifting and often overlapping array of nobles supporting their cause. Since this interplay of alliances becomes bloody civil war for much of Juan II’s reign, effective administration of revenues for military action is crucial, and is itself a manifestation of and support for efficacious royal authority. The perpetual allegation of Juan II’s weakness vis-à-vis Luna is not actually a matter of cha­ racter, nor is Luna’s alleged desire to reign necessarily overweening ambition, but a joint project of strengthening and extending royal administration—in a typically demagogic move, it is the assertion of royal authority that garners the criticism of weakness. Since two of the most effective administrative tools at Juan II’s disposal are, first, Jews and then conversos, and, second, his energetic and brilliant valido, Luna, turning the común against both is a strategy persistently waged by the grandes in resisting the extension of royal authority and centralization of power.49 This alone may well be enough to explain why a noble like Sarmiento would seize upon the useful madness of a García de Mora, to cover his crimes including his overt lèse majesté, in addition to contributing to the constant 15th century erosion of royal control and protection of Jews and conversos. Indeed, Crespo Álvarez notes that, at the moment of the Toledo Rebellion, “sólo los judíos y los conversos se mantienen plenamente fieles al rey,”50 surely cause enough for those resisting the extension of royal authority to find a way to destroy this part of the royal power-base. As Cooper notes apropos of royal communicative justice, “arreglo de disputas e injurias,” “la posteridad iba a confirmar, de hecho, que la verdadera fuente de la justicia comunicativa era la sociedad misma,” which is to say that choosing the dog to kick depends entirely on finding the dog that an effective segment of the polity would not or could not defend, and with a master unable to retaliate effectively: here, conversos were the dog that couldn’t bite back.51 Why conversos couldn’t effectively “bite back,” though, is precisely rooted in the anti-Semitism and anti-Judaism that I have not directly analyzed here, because it is an instrument and not a direct cause. Further, the assertions of such discourses are fictional when applied to entire categories of persons, that is, 49  Crespo Álvarez, “El cargo,” p. 175. 50  Crespo Álvarez, “El cargo,” 172. 51  Cooper, Castillos señoriales, vol. I.1, p. 93.

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while certain attributes and actions posited by anti-Semitism (and analogous discourses) may be predicated of individuals, they neither apply categorically to the group as a whole nor exclusively to individuals within the group. Yet anti-Semitism as it modulates from a religious to a racial basis exactly here is of course relevant to the situation of conversos and Jews, and over the course of Western history as well.52 If ever the role of symbolic discourses—fictions, lies—in potentiating action, particularly violence, is clear, it is in 1449 Toledo. Indeed, speculating with Round that García de Mora either was present in Durango in 1444 or had contact with the heretics there and the particularly virulent anti-Semitism of such millenarian heresies, the royal response to that irruption of heresy, a pesquisa which was followed by some reconciliations and more burnings, could conceivably have motivated vengeance in proxy against the crown’s agents, the conversos and Álvaro de Luna, with the fortuitous opportunity that became the Toledo Rebellion, and its subsequent homologous reenactment of the Durango repression.53 It is of course ironic that the relentless chaos caused by the resistance of the Infantes of Aragon and their allies to assertion of royal authority hastened the development of the centralized modern state and its fiscal apparatus, which is to a great degree generated precisely by the demands of funding military ventures, and that the ultimate result would be the complete exclusion of the grandes from substantive governance by Carlos I and Felipe II, extraordinarily clear in the former’s highly confidential 1543 “Instrucción secreta”— one of the most important lessons of Castile’s fifteenth century.54 The endpoint of encoding that resistance in violence against Jews and conversos is tragedy rather than irony, though the “purity” of the faith achieved no particular protection of pecheros and undermined rather than increased peace, justice, and prosperity. Similarly, Round characterizes as ironic the foundational moment of the Inquisition in Iberia, with its mandate to extirpate heresy, in the actions of millenarian heretics.55 52  See Yerushalmi, Assimilation, and Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism. 53  Round, “Rebelión toledana,” 434–5, 444–5; Avalle-Arce, “Los herejes de Durango,” 39–55. Avalle-Arce transcribes the various 15th century accounts of the Durango heresy in footnotes, including Galíndez de Carvajal, Crónica, Año 36, 1442, cap. VI, p. 608b, although the actual dates of the repression of the Durango heresy are likely 1444–1445, per Avalle-Arce. Note that García de Mora writes that the duty of the king is “le vengar sus injurias [of Christ]” (AS 18, p. 230). 54  On the role of funding military ventures in the development of the modern nation-state, see Bonney, “Introduction.” The instructions of Carlos I to Felipe II are found in Cómo ser rey. 55  Round, “Rebelión toledana,” p. 445.

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Not so much heresy as crime, however, is the moving force, here, and not crime on the part of conversos and Luna, but rather on the part of the Infantes of Aragon and their allies, and the Toledo rebels. In her introduction to The Hidden History of Crime, Corruption, and States, Bridenthal notes that “historians have tended to write more respectable stories about the formal development of states” rather than acknowledging “economic crime, which so easily and amorally changes sides, as having a bearing on significant historical transformations.”56 Interestingly enough, Melechen comments explicitly in “Loans, Land, and Jewish-Christian Relations” on the obvious legal knowledge of the stakeholders, but knowledge directed toward evading rather than abi­ ding by the law.57 Even in making and citing law both canon and civil, the perpe­ trators of the Toledo Rebellion of 1449 were twisting not only the truth, but the texts and documents that they were deploying. The propaganda with which I have charged them essentially consists of twisting certain truths and deploying categorical lies, which is one way to characterize bigotry. Certainly, these lies are the basis of the constitutive crime that created a “pure” and “orthodox” polity, which excluded and expelled a significant portion of its historical community in order to do so. Indeed, the legal bases expressed in vaguely and poorly marshalled authorities are perhaps best viewed as a cynical performance of legal forms, rather than sincere beliefs.58 Rather than indicating adherence, rather than creerse, we are presented with representarse, using knowledge of the various layers of law to avoid having to be lawful. Multiple and layered economic “crimes” might be alleged here, however, consisting on a local scale of Sarmiento’s, detailed above, and on a larger scale of a corrupt attempt to block the rightful flow of revenues to the crown and the legitimate deployment of royal power in the person of Luna as what we would now consider a prime minister. There is an inescapable contrast between the loyalty to Juan II of a lesser Aragonese noble as his high servant, and the opposition to him constituted by the very real usurpation of the Infantes of Aragon, born Castilian royals yet having moved with their father into the rulership of Aragon, while still holding considerable power, wealth, and ambition in Castile. Conversely, absolute monarchy, which constitutes the prince as above the law, could also be considered a kind of corruption or crime as the very foundation of the state, in 21st century Western polities shaped by the Peace of Westphalia, 18th century revolutions, and those of 1848.

56  “Introduction,” p. 2. 57  Melechen, “Loans,” p. 194. 58  Round, “Rebelión toledana,” p. 406.

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Certainly, as a citizen of a modern democracy, I find the notion of monarchy constituting a legitimate form of polity at best incongruous, admittedly an anachronistic judgment. But if the notion of absolute monarchy seems anachronistic at present, the specter of displacing the rage and frustration of a dispossessed commons onto vulnerable minorities is hardly distant from us, having made its horrific appearance, particularly directed at Jews, at a very near remove. If there is anything to learn from the Toledo Rebellion about reactionary political action, it is precisely in seeing how one side in a struggle among elites drew popular energy, which should not have been supportive, into its cause. The real issue in 15th century Castile was not religious, was not the sincerity of converts from Judaism nor their orthodoxy—there are always inept, insincere, or heretical practitioners of monotheisms. The real issue was the deployment of an aesthetic of subjectivity expressed as a religious concern which was a proxy for socioeconomic conflict displaced from its proper target in a struggle for definition of the structure and constituencies of the polity. Not that it makes a difference to the victims. 5 Acknowledgments I dedicate this work to Mercedes Vaquero, toledana—for her inspiration for and contribution to my work on the 15th century, the Trastámara, and their intellectual communities. I am deeply grateful to the editors, Yasmine BealeRivaya and Jason Busic, for the opportunity to stretch my limits almost beyond all bearing. My thanks to the energetic and highly competent University of Memphis Libraries ILL Department, which made this work even remotely possible. Bibliography

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Ladero Quesada, M.A., “Castile in the Middle Ages,” The Rise of the Fiscal State in Europe, c. 1200–1808, Oxford, 1999, 177–199. Ladero Quesada, M.A., El siglo XV en Castilla: Fuentes de renta y política fiscal, Barcelona, 1982. Ladero Quesada, M.A., “Ingreso, gasto y política fiscal de la Corona de Castilla. Desde Alfonso X a Enrique III (1252–1406)” in id. (ed.), El siglo XV en Castilla: Fuentes de renta y política fiscal, Barcelona, 1982, 13–57. Martin, G., “Alphonse X maudit son fils,” Atalaya 5 (1994), 151–79. Martínez Ángel, L., “Sobre el campo semántico del término ‘bachiller’ en época medieval,” Estudios Humanísticos. Filología 21 (1999), 243–46. Melechen, N., “Loans, land, and Jewish-Christian relations in the Archdiocese of Toledo,” in Iberia and the Mediterranean World of the Middle Ages I: Studies in Honor of Robert I. Burns (Medieval Mediterranean, 4), Leiden, 1995, 185–215. Milton, G.B., “Jews and Finance,” in The Jew in Medieval Iberia, 1100–1500, J. Ray (ed.), Boston, 2012, 227–55. Molénat, J.-P., Campagnes et Monts de Tolède du XII e au XV e siècle (Collection de la Casa de Velázquez 63), Madrid, 1997. Netanyahu, B., The Origins of the Inquisition in Fifteenth Century Spain, New York, 1995. Netanyahu, B., The Marranos of Spain from the Late 14th to the Early 16th Century, Ithaca, 1999. Netanyahu, B., “Did the Toledans in 1449 Rely on a Real Royal Privilege?,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 44 (1977), 93–125. Nieto Soria, J.M., “El ‘poderío real absoluto’ de Olmedo (1445) a Ocaña (1469), la monarquía como conflicto,” En la España Medieval 21 (1998), 159–228. Nieto Soria, J.M., “La nobleza y el ‘poderío real absoluto’ en la Castilla del siglo XV,” Cahiers de Linguistique et de Civilisation Hispaniques Médiévales 25 (2002), 237–54. Nirenberg, D., Communities of Violence, Princeton N.J., 1996. Nirenberg, D., Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition, New York, 2013. Oeltjen, N., “Kings, Creditors and Converts: The Impact of Royal Policy and Corporate Debt on the Collective Identity of Majorcan Conversos after 1391,” Sefarad 73.1 (2013), 133–64. Ortega Cera, A., “Arrendar el dinero del rey. Fraude y estragegias financieras en el Estrado de las Rentas en la Castilla del siglo XV,” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 40.1 (2010), 223–49. Pérez García, R.M. and M.F. Fernández Chaves, “Los judeoconversos y la economía de la Monarquía Hispánica,” Hispania (Madrid) 76, no. 253 (2016), 315–322. Provvidente, S., “El pensamiento conciliar del siglo XV: entre universitas y persona ficta,” Glossae. European Journal of Legal History 11 (2014), 118–42. Robin, C., “The Trials of Hannah Arendt,” The Nation, 1 June 2015, 12–25.

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Round, N., “La rebelión toledana de 1449: aspectos ideológicos,” Archivium 16 (1966), 385–446. Rucquoi, Ad., ‘Los franciscanos en el reino de Castilla’, in VI Semana de estudios medievales, ed. José Ignacio de la Iglesia Duarte, Francisco Javier García Turza, and José Ángel García de Cortázar, Logroño, 1996, pp. 65–86. Shatzmiller, J., Shylock Reconsidered: Jews, Moneylending and Medieval Society, Berkeley, 1990. Shatzmiller, J., “Politics and the Myth of Origins: The Case of the Medieval Jews,” Les Juifs Au Regard de l’Histoire, Gilbert Dahan (ed.), Paris, 1985, 49–61. Suárez Fernández, L., Nobleza y monarquía: puntos de vista sobre la historia política castellana del siglo XV. 2a ed. corregida y aumentada (Estudios y Documentos 15), Valladolid, 1975. Sicroff, A., Les controverses des statuts de «purité de sang» en Espagne du XV e au XVII e siècle, Paris, 1960. Tritle, E., “Anti-Judaism and a Hermeneutic of the Flesh: A Converso Debate in Fifteenth-Century Spain,” Church History and Religious Culture 95 (2015), 182–202. Valdeón Baruque, J., “Las oligarquía urbanas,” in Concejos y Ciudades en la Edad Media Hispánica: II Congreso de Estudios Medievales, Madrid, 1990, 507–21. Van der Put, A., “A Knight of the ‘Jarra’ and a Dame of the ‘Pilar’,” Burlington Magazine 23.125 (Aug. 1913), 287–291. Velasco Tejedor, R., “De financieros judeoconversos a nobleza titulada. Las estrategias de ascenso social de la familia Pisa (siglos XVI–XVII),” Historia y Genealogía 3 (2013), 243–61. Vidal Doval, R., “‘Nos Soli Sumus Christiani’: Conversos in the Texts of the Toledo Rebellion of 1449,” in A.M. Beresford, L. Haywood, and J. Weiss (eds.), Medieval Hispanic Studies in Memory of Alan Deyermond (Colección Támesis Serie A: Monografías, 315), London, 2013, 215–36. Woodcock, T., and J.M. Robinson, The Oxford Guide to Heraldry, Oxford, 1988. Yerushalmi, Y.H. Assimilation and Racial Anti-Semitism: The Iberian and the German Models, (Leo Baeck Memorial Lecture, 26), New York, 1982.

chapter 7

Toledo as a Geographical and Literary Reference in the Blood-Libel Legend David Navarro The privileged position of Toledo within the history of Iberia arises from its condition as capital of the “first peninsular state” with the establishment of the Visigothic regime and its Christian orthodoxy.1 The city expanded and enriched later during the Muslim rule and subsequently under Christian control with the advance of the Reconquista. Among the confluence of various lifestyles that shaped Toledo was the role played by its Jewish community. Iberian Jews experienced high social and cultural growth during the Caliphate thanks to their status as dhimmī or “protected ones.” They were assigned their own aljama or neighborhood, the madīnat al-Yahūd, which became the future city’s Jewish quarter.2 Interactions with the Muslim and the Mozarab inhabitants of Toledo outlined a framework of relative coexistence.3 This scenario was preserved after the Christian occupation of the city by Alfonso VI of Castile in 1085 enhancing Toledo as a frontier town with a diverse populace.4 By 1190, Toledo had become the wealthiest and most populated Jewish enclave in Castile, with two separate aljamas districts [‫]קהלת‬, the Vieja and the Mayor, as well as eleven synagogues.5 It became the spiritual core of the Iberian Jewry, a new Jerusalem that allowed them to thrive after the Visigothic invasion. However, the economic upheavals and unprecedented religious fervor that struck Western Europe during the second half of the 12th century resulted in an increment of the Jew’s perception as a religious dissident, adding new accusations

1  Benito Ruano, Los orígenes del problema converso, p. 33. 2  Izquierdo Benito, “Los judíos de Toledo,” p. 81. 3  This term, defined as convivencia or cohabitation by Américo Castro (1948, 1954), began a long debate about the interrelationship of Iberia’s three religious groups, with many opponents and supporters on both sides including Sánchez-Albornoz (1956); Asensio (1992); Glick (1992); Liuzzo-Scorpo (2014); Márquez-Villanueva (1977, 1994); Menocal (2002); and Nirenberg (1999, 2014). For an updated bibliography on the subject, see Soifer (2009) and Wolf (2009). 4  Hamilton, Representing Others, p. 112. 5  Ibid., pp. 73–74; León-Tello, Judíos de Toledo, vol. 1, p. 45.

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founded on economic and biologic terms of anti-Semitic nature.6 One of these claims, grounded in European folklore, was the blood-libel ritual accusing Jews of using the blood of Christian children to perform religious rituals connected with the Passover celebration.7 Toledo became no exception to this type of allegation occupying a core place in this anti-Jewish narrative in the Iberian imaginary. The following article analyzes the city of Toledo from a perspective other than that of a multicultural space as it is generally conceived; instead, I examine the confines of Toledo as a narrative epicenter of bloodlibel legend through several literary and legal samples composed during the 13th and 15th centuries: Milagros de Nuestra Señora [Miracles of Our Lady], Cantigas de Santa Maria [Songs of Holy Mary], Siete Partidas [Seven-Part Code], and the 1490 ritual-crime allegation of La Guardia. I argue that besides the long-standing role of the city as a prosperous Jewish stronghold and a diverse setting, it also became a focal scenario for the spread of this accusation. In this case, as a narrative conduit employed by the ecclesiastical authorities to destabilize already fractured Christian-Jewish relations, by combining antiJewish religious views and later anti-Converso animosity, leading to the final expulsion of the Iberian Jewry. The Jewish presence in Iberia dates from the galut [‫ ]גלות‬or Diaspora after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 BCE. The first testimonials are documented in the canons of the Council of Elvira in 306.8 Judaism retained its status of religio licita, granted in the times of Caesar and Augustus, remaining in force under the Codex Theodosianus.9 The new control of Iberia under the Visigoths established Toledo as the capital of the kingdom. The HispanoRoman population and the Jews lived under the new Roman law code of Breviarium Alarici, compiled by King Alaric II in 506 based on the Theodosian code. The relative tolerance towards the Jewish community shifted after King Reccared’s conversion to Catholicism in 587, initiating an extended period of hostility as illustrated by a series of anti-Jewish legislations lasting until the end of the Visigothic regime. These regulations were implemented in several 6  I refer to Langmuir’s definition of anti-Semitism or the hostility directed at those identified as Jews based on traditional anti-Jewish teachings and traditional folklore: “Jews have been widely hated because large numbers of relatively normal people accepted beliefs that attributed to Jews characteristics and conduct that have never in fact been observed or empirically verified.” In Toward a Definition of Antisemitism, p. 351; Monsalvo Antón, Teoría y evolución de un conflicto, p. 228. 7  For a selection of readings of blood-libel in Western Europe, particularly on Ashkenazic Jewry, see Dundes (ed.), The Blood Libel Legend; Monsalvo Antón, “El enclave infiel: el ideario del ‘otro’ judío,” pp. 215–216. 8  Katz, The Jews in the Visigothic and Frankish Kingdoms, p. 5; Pérez, Los judíos en España, p. 18. 9  Drews, The Unknown Neighbour, p. 7.

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Church councils hosted in Toledo.10 The Jews represented, in the eyes of the new regime, a religious group that did not fit within the ideal Unitarian conception, and that threatened the natural cohesion, becoming the alter of Christian theology and the monarchs’ discourse. The measures carried out against the Jewish minority rested on factors of religious and ideological nature. On the one hand, there were the theological differences, the allegation of Jewish blindness, guilt over the death of Jesus, and the denial of Christianity; on the other hand, the Jewish community rejected the role of the monarch as Rex Ecclesiae and his divine role, arguing that it was detrimental to the system of government and the rest of the kingdom.11 This notion was first crystallized in the literary framework in the form of Adversus Iudaeos. These polemical texts represented a Christian written expression and its reflection on Judaism, and became the ideological material used by church officials and rulers to expose the conflict of Ecclesia versus Synagoga around the biblical heritage of Verus Israel.12 Configured as manuals, they presented a doctrinal and didactic structure in the form of tractatus, sermons, and homiliae in order to question Jewish theology as a matter of impossible reconciliation.13 Toledo became the geographic epicenter of these dialectic productions and disputes, and the location where a large number of this type of treaties were compiled.14 This perception of the Jew 10  From the Third Council of Toledo, hosted by King Reccared, until the last council, held by King Witiza in 702, there was a radicalization of measures towards the Jews based on the desire to achieve political and religious unity in Visigothic Iberia. The anti-Jewish policies arising from these councils included prohibition from having authority over Christians, forced baptism of children born into mixed families, a ban on establishing trading ties with Christians, and forced conversion of the remaining Jews. For a study of the anti-Jewish laws approved in these councils, see García Iglesias, Los judíos en la España Antigua; Katz, The Jews in the Visigothic and Frankish Kingdoms; Roth, Jews, Visigoths and Muslims in Medieval Spain; Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos, Vives, T. Marín Martínez and G. Martínez Díez (eds.). 11  Cordero Navarro, “El problema judío como visión del ‘otro,’” p. 35. 12  Cohen, Living Letters of the Law, p. 9. 13  Isidore of Seville, Sobre la fe católica contra los judíos, p. 14. 14  Among the Church Fathers who participated in these works were Isidore of Seville (560– 636), Julian of Toledo (642–690), and Ildefonso of Toledo (607–667). De Fide Catholica ex Veteri et Novo Testamento contra Judaeos by Isidore of Seville represents the most important anti-Jewish text written during the Visigothic period. The work influenced other apologists such as Ildefonso and Julian of Toledo. The treatise is composed of two volumes to demonstrate Christ’s messianic role through the analysis and comparison of the Old and New Testaments. Using an argumentative and polemicist format, Isidore criticizes Jewish law and worship, the Hebrew liturgy, dietary laws, Jewish festivals, and the Jews’ responsibility in the Passion of Christ. See Bat-sheva, “Isidore of Seville: His Attitude Towards Judaism,” pp. 209–210. Julian of Toledo, born to Jewish converts, chaired

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served to shape the image of the other that rested first in arguments of theological nature and later embraced connotations of racial and biological origin: La aversión cristiano-judía tiene un origen tan remoto como consustancial a la formación de la doctrina cristiana y el propio desarrollo de su comunidad. […] Tiene, pues, antiguas raíces este “odio teológico” que a lo largo de los siglos medievales iba a desarrollarse como “odio sociológico” y degenerar aún más, andando el tiempo, en verdadero “odio racial.”15 The Christian-Jewish aversion has a remote and integral origin to the formation of Christian doctrine and the development of its own community. […] This “theological hatred” has ancient roots developed throughout the Middle Ages into a “socio-logical” hatred, which degenerated, as time passed, into true “racial hatred”. The concept of “otherness” applied to the Jew spread throughout the Iberian Christian kingdoms during the Reconquista. The monarchs did not abandon their desire to maintain an identity based in Catholicism and orthodoxy. Similarly, as in the rest of European countries, the Iberian Jew was projected in opposition to Christ as a blasphemer, hater of Christian symbols and murderer: “physically harmful to their Christian neighbors, lying in wait to murder Christians when opportunity arose.”16 The persecution against Jews was directly related to “the broader tendency toward rejection of out-groups by the 12th century European society.”17 From this period onwards, the negative perception four councils of Toledo (XII, XIII, XIV and XV). The first three were convened under the reign of Ervigio and the last under king Égica, with whom Julian worked intensively on the creation of a detailed anti-Jewish legislation manifested already in the XII Council of Toledo. His most influential work was De Comprobatione Aetatis Sextae in 686, in which he describes the messianic prophecies of the Bible to convert the Jews. Another important treatise is De perpetua Virginitate Beatae Mariae adversus tres infidels by Ildefonso de Toledo in which a Jewish character and two heretics are accused of rejecting the virginity of Mary. See Gonzálvez Ruiz, “San Julián de Toledo,” p. 14; Guerreiro, “La imagen del judío en los textos hagiográficos,” pp. 546–547. 15  Benito Ruano, De la alteridad en la historia, p. 68. 16  Chazan, Medieval Stereotypes and Modern Antisemitism, p. 61. 17  Chazan, ibid., p. 12. The first violent anti-Jewish attack took place at the end of the 10th century during the First Crusade of 1096. The Crusades represented not only anti-Muslim animosity, but also hostility toward any group that had allegedly brought harm or showed a menace to Christianity. Several factors contributed to perceptions of the Jews, as the economic upsurge initiated in the 10th century and maintained during the following centuries facilitated the development of commerce, economic activities and money trade in which Jews partook. The specialization of Jews in moneylending, an activity banned for

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toward the Jew intensified, enhancing the well-established theological diffe­ rences between Judaism and Christianity, along with other elements from po­ pular folklore. These features acquired different narrative forms—historical, moralistic, and parodic—which offered entries to shape the enmity of the Jew and the Christian vigilance in countering it.18 This combination gave rise to two new mythical structures into which traditional Christian anti-Judaism could be channeled:19 blood-libel or ritual crucifixion, and host desecration. Two elements seem to have contributed to the development of such allegations: the conception of the Jew as a diffuser in the spread of magic and sorcery, and the importance of blood in both creeds. Christians associated Jews with magic and with the development of Kabbalah. Its perception as a tradition of occult learning to unveil the spiritual energies of the universe and as a mystical approach for biblical commentaries, as well as the new medicinal practices derived from it, constructed the archetype of the Jewish sorcerer in the Christian imaginary.20 The importance of blood and its role in the JudeoChristian eucharist served to ascribe blood immense power. According to Mosaic Laws, Jews had to refrain from tasting blood, since it contained the spirit of living beings.21 The image of Jews plotting the death of Christians lies on a theological foundation in which the Jews acquire the role of “Sacred Executioner,” which stems from the earliest stages of the Christian Church: This role does not end with the death of Jesus but has to be continued throughout the story of the Church, kept alive by the concept of martyrdom renewing the suffering of Jesus, and therefore requiring a Judas in every generation.22 Blood superstitions in Christian folklore were abundant.23 The doctrine of transubstantiation, in which bread and wine transformed into the body and blood of Christ while retaining their outward appearance, was approved as an Christians, and the unpopularity of this profession enhanced the hostility toward them as social and economic dissidents. For a study of usury and Jewish involvement in medieval money trade, see Shatzmiller, Shylock Reconsidered: Jews, Moneylending, and Medieval Society. 18  Rubin, Gentile Tales, p. 2. 19  Stacey, “From Ritual Crucifixion,” p. 12. 20  For a fundamental notion of Kabbalistic studies, see Scholem, On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism; and Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism. 21  For a study of ritual purity practices in Judaism, see Maccoby, Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and its Place in Judaism. 22  Maccoby, The Sacred Executioner, pp. 148–149. 23  Ibid., p. 152.

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article of faith in the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, and gained popularity among the laity.24 Blood became more than a substance of life, a mechanism to obtain supremacy and carry out spells to empower the human soul. Its connection to vulgar magic led the medieval church to separate these ritualistic uses of blood from the religious aspects applied in the eucharist. Popular belief established a connection between blood, medicine and magic, acquiring the Christian idea that blood had a material and spiritual value due to its role in the eucharist, and extending this principle to other out-groups such as Jews: La centralidad antropológica de la sangre como objeto de rituales y con un valor escatológico añadido de salvación, ligado al sacramento eucarístico, hicieron que muchos fieles consideraran la sangre también debía ser importante entre los judíos, como sustancia taumatúrgica o como componente en sus ceremonias.25 The anthropological centrality of blood as a ritual object and the added eschatological value of salvation, linked to the sacrament of the eucharist, made many faithful devotees consider that blood should also be important among the Jews, as a thaumaturgic substance or as a component in their ceremonies. These ideas served to intensify the picture of the Jew as Christ-killer, whose alleged crime was passed on to their offspring, modifying the Crucifixion myth, involving in this case a child victim in the blood-libel accusations.26 24  Rubin, Gentile Tales, p. 29. Lateran IV also approved the decree Omnis utriusque sexus which required all Christians of proper age to take communion at least once a year, emphasizing this new eucharistic affirmation. In Rodríguez-Barral, La imagen del judío, p. 172. 25  Monsalvo Antón, “Los mitos cristianos sobre crueldades judías,” p. 59. 26  The juxtaposition of Jew and children became more heavily increased by an extensive narrative of ritual murder accusations throughout the 13th century. The host desecration stood as a new parallel narrative inserted in these tales and became the second most popular anti-Jewish defamation. With the establishment of the Eucharist as the most precious symbol of Christian community and identity, “the enactment of the host desecration narrative was a possibility offered to medieval people well tutored in a eucharistic lore which repeatedly and imaginatively invoked the danger posed by Jews.” In Rubin, Gentile tales, p. 4. The first host desecration narrative dates from Paris in 1290, one hundred and fifty years after the first ritual crucifixion story. Host desecration accusations in the Iberian Peninsula were mostly reported in the Crown of Aragon during the second half of the 14th century, such as the cases of Barcelona (1367), Huesca (1377), and Lleida (1383). In Castile, the most notorious host desecration allegation took place in Segovia (1410). In Rubin, op. cit., pp. 32, 109–115.

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The first documented case on blood-libel is believed to be the records compiled surrounding the death of twelve-year-old boy William of Norwich, England in 1144. Welsh monk Thomas of Monmouth, in his “Life and Passion of Saint William the Martyr of Norwich,” compiled the story of William’s murder and the investigation that followed years later.27 The legend about the death of young William, the emphasis on the identity of his killers, and the motifs of the crime occasioned the development of the first medieval accusation that Jews were guilty of ritual murder. The denunciation at Norwich revived the Jewish stereotype originally developed in antiquity.28 Although there is no foundation to establish a direct link the allegations that took place in Hellenistic times and their influence on the first medieval charge of this nature, claims of ritualmurder were employed to emphasize the theological differences between Jews and Christians and to reinforce the accusation of deicide on the former, despite the inaccuracy and biased position of the chronicles recording these cases: The medieval chronicles depict a scenario far removed from the actual historical reality; beyond naming the alleged victims, perpetrators, motives for the killings, dates, places, and punishments, they provide insufficient context for the analysis and interpretation of these persecutions.29 27  The work started in 1150 and completed in 1173 is the only registered source of the event. The book is divided in various sections; the first two books are devoted to the reconstruction of the crime, the evidence of the arguments exposed by the witnesses, and the accusation against the perpetrators. Configured as a hagiographic text by Monmouth in Norwich four years after the young boy’s death and based on an account obtained by a Jew converted to Christianity, it focuses on responsible suspects of the murder. The miracles and holiness attributed to William after his death play a secondary role. Despite the purpose of the work to enhance young William’s martyrdom there does not appear to be any surviving evidence for the cult. See, Langmuir, “Thomas of Monmouth: Detector of Ritual Murder,” p. 821; and Crook, English Medieval Shrines, pp. 181–182. 28  The first known accusation of ritual murder against Jews is recorded by the historian Posidonius in the 2nd century BCE. The story, based on a weak accusation, was suggested as a fabricated propaganda against Helenistic culture. According to Posidonius’s version, when Antiochus IV Epiphanes invaded and desecrated the Temple in 168, he found a Greek captive in the Temple, who told him that every seven years the Jews captured a Greek, fattened him up, killed him, ate parts of him, and took an oath of undying enmity against Greeks. The legend spread in literary circles later, being recorded in a similar version by Alexandria in the 1st century BCE. The second relevant accusation against Jews in antiquity took place in Inmestar, Syria during the Jewish celebration of Purim. According to a Christian document from much later, a group of drunken Jews of Inmestar allegedly took a Christian boy, tied him to a cross in place of an effigy of Haman, and mistreated him so greatly that he died. See Langmuir, “Thomas of Monmouth: Detector of Ritual Murder,” p. 828. 29  Po-Chia, The Myth of Ritual Murder, p. 4.

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This perception was maintained during the medieval period with more cases being reported throughout Western Europe, fueled by Monmouth’s story.30 The prevalence of these stories reached its peak during the 13th century, while decreasing in later years, due in part to the expulsion of the Jews from France (1182) and England (1290), and the destruction of Jewish communities in the Rhineland during the Black Death in 1348.31 This scenario also extended onto Iberian soil consolidating the myth of blood-libel in the form of literary narrations. Several texts refer to this ritual-crime, embodying a didactic purpose of religious nature in which Toledo emerges as the spatial core of the stories. A very early example of the blood-libel legend in Castilian literature is found in the works of Gonzalo de Berceo (1196–1264).32 Berceo utilized the themes that circulated from Latin sources and exempla collections, employing the vernacular to properly approach his audience. His narrative poems also functioned as sermons, with the ability to instruct as well as entertain with a moralistic aim, portraying the miracles of the Virgin in the homely context of familiarity. Berceo’s works coincided with a rise in Marian devotion, in which the Mother of Christ became a symbol of the Church, a nexus towards Christian communion, and a protection against evil or any adversary of the Christian faith.33 The syncretic context in which Berceo lived served to introduce in his poems the role played by the Jewish minority and how they were perceived by the Church and the rest of the society. The poet’s posture towards Judaism rested mainly on traditional anti-Judaism combined with popular folklore. In his Duelo de la Virgen (Lamentations of the Virgin), Berceo 30  “Thomas of Monmouth was an influential figure in the formation of Western culture. He did not alter the course of battles, politics, or the economy. He solved no philosophical or theological problems. He was not even noteworthy for the holiness of his life or promotion to monastic office. Yet with substantial help from an otherwise unknown converted Jew, he created a myth that affected Western mentality from the twelfth to the twentieth centuries and caused, directly or indirectly, far more deaths than William’s murderer could ever have dreamt of committing.” In Langmuir, “Thomas of Monmouth,” p. 844. Following the ritual-crime of Norwich, new cases were reported in Britain and the rest of continent, including the Libel of Blois, France in 1171, and Fulda, Germany in 1235. The case of the death of young Hugh of Lincoln in 1255 became the most influential ritualmurder in England, followed by several more reported cases until the expulsion of the Jews from England in 1290. For further study on the ritual-crime in England see, Chazan, The Jews of Medieval Western Christendom; and Jacobs, “Little Hugh of Lincoln,” pp. 41–71. 31  Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, p. 524. 32  The surviving documents pertaining to Berceo date back to 1240, when he served as a secular priest as well as a notary at the Benedictine monastery in San Millán de la Cogolla. In Lappin, Gonzalo de Berceo: The Poet, p. 4; Dutton, “La fecha de nacimiento de Gonzalo de Berceo,” pp. 265–66. 33  Ruiz Domínguez, La historia de la salvación, p. 160.

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reminds the reader through the Virgin’s lament of the Jews’ responsibility in the death of Christ: Judíos e paganos faciéndoli bocines, dando malos respendos commo malos rocines, (…) matáronlo en cabo, diéronli grant passión. (50a–b; 51d)34 Jews and pagans jeering at Him, kicking Him wickedly like worthless old nags (…) they put Him through a dreadful Passion and killed him in the end.35 The belief that Jews were prone to murdering Christian children that deve­ loped alongside the idea of the blood-libel ritual is present in poem 18 of his Milagros de Nuestra Señora (Miracles of Our Lady). Titled Cristo y los judíos de Toledo (Christ and the Jews of Toledo), Berceo takes this city as the geographical setting of the plot while utilizing the same context as the Latin account. Toledo stood with Santiago de Compostela as archbishopric of the Iberian Peninsula. It was the headquarters of the Castilian crown since its reconquest in 1085, becoming a center of Christian literary production, which was enriched by its Semitic intellectual environment.36 The confluence of Jewish and Christian beliefs and their differences within the same spatial scenario are employed by the poet to represent a variant of the blood-libel legend. In this case, the victim is a wax image of Christ, depicting the popular Christian conception of Jews as enemies of the body of Christ.37 The joyful day that commemorates the Assumption of the Virgin turns into a dramatic event when the Virgin Mary interrupts the mass celebrated in her name to warn the audience of the Jews: “Otra vez crucifigan al mi caro Fijuelo” (420a) (They are again crucifying my dear Son).38 The congregants, with the rest of the clergy, rush to the Jewish quarter, guided by Christ and the Virgin. When they enter “enna casa del raví más onrado” (427a) (the house of the most honorable rabbi), the sacrilege is discovered:39

34  Dutton (ed.), El Duelo de la Virgen, vol. 3, p. 24. 35  Grant Cash and Bartha (trans.), The Collected Works of Gonzalo de Berceo, p. 196. 36  Márquez-Villanueva, El concepto cultural alfonsí, p. 76. 37  Stacey, “From Ritual Crucifixion,” p. 11. 38  Baños (ed.), Los Milagros de Nuestra Señora, p. 77; Grant Cash and Bartha (trans.), op. cit., p. 77. 39  Ibid., p. 78; ibid., p. 78.

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… un grand cuerpo de cera como omne formado; como don Christo sovo, sedié crucifigado; con grandes clavos preso, grand plaga al costado.40 (427b–d) A large body of wax shaped like a man. It was like Jesus Christ; it was crucified, held with large nails, and had a great wound in its side.41 The scene depicts the Jews performing a reenactment of the Passion of Christ inside the chief rabbi’s home. The entire Jewish community is held responsible for the desecration. The fact that the crime scene is taking place in the chief rabbi’s residence alerts the audience that all Jews, without exception and including the most relevant figures in their creed, cannot be trusted. The accused do not recognize the torture committed, perishing for their crime and reinfor­ cing their evil acts and their role in the Crucifixion: Cuanta fonta fizieron en el nuestro Señor allí la fazién toda por nuestra deshonor; recabdáronlos luego, mas non con grand savor, cual fazién tal prisieron, ¡grado al Criador! (428)42 What outrage they committed against Our Lord. There they did it all to our dishonor! They executed them immediately, but not with pleasure. They got what they deserved, thanks to be the Creator!43 A similar account of this ritual-murder is described in King Alfonso X’s Marian compilation Cantigas de Santa Maria (Songs of Holy Mary). The collection, made up of 427 songs written in Galician-Portuguese, relates miraculous events attributed to Mary with a devotional intention. Cantiga 12 depicts the same accusation as in Berceo’s Milagro 18, adopting the motif of the offense of a mock crucifixion.44 The scene takes place in a public, open space, the Jewish aljama, and all the members of the Jewish community are sentenced to death: 40  Ibid., p. 78. 41  Grant Cash and Bartha (trans.), op. cit., p. 78. 42  Baños (ed.), op. cit., p. 78. 43  Grant Cash and Bartha (trans.), op. cit., p. 78. 44   Esta é como Santa Maria se queixou en Toledo eno dia de ssa festa de agosto, porque os judeus crucifigavan ũa omagen de cera, a semellança de seu fillo (This is how Holy Mary

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Enton todos mui correndo | começaron logo d’ir dereit’ aa judaria, | e acharon, sen mentir, omagen de Jeso-Crist,’ a que ferir yan os judeus e cospir-lle na faz. (26–29) (…) E sen aquest’, os judeus | fezeran a cruz fazer en que aquela omagen | querian logo põer. E por est’ouveron todos de morrer. (31–33)45 Then they all hastily set out for the Jewish quarter and found, it is no lie, an image of Jesus Christ, which the Jews were striking and spitting upon (…) And furthermore, the Jews had made a cross upon which they intended to hang the image. For this deed they were all to die.46 The charge that Jews crucified images of Jesus was common in European folklore and portrayed a different ritual-crime that did not involve Christian children. Alfonsine legal legislation also referenced this accusation. Alfonso’s extensive juridical compendium of Siete Partidas (Seven-Part Code) devotes a whole treatise to the Jews of his kingdom in the Partida 7.24 section 2 “De los Judios.” This section takes formal cognizance of the popular accusation, forbidding the Jews to make waxen images of the crucifixion: Oyemos decir que en algunos lugares los judios ficieron et facen el dia del Viernes Santo remembranza de la pasion de nuestro senor Jesucristo en manera de escarnio, furtando los niños et poniéndolos en la cruz, ó faciendo imagines de cera et crucificándolas quando los niños non pueden haber.47

lamented in Toledo on the day of Her feast in August, because the Jews crucified a waxen image in the semblance of Her Son). In Alfonso X, Cantigas de Santa María, vol. 1, pp. 88–89. 45  Alfonso X, ibid., p. 89. 46  Kulp-Hill (trans.), Songs of Holy Mary, p. 19. 47  Alfonso X, Siete Partidas, vol. 3, p. 670.

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We have heard it is said that in some places Jews celebrated, and still celebrate Good Friday, which commemorates the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, by way of contempt; stealing children and fastening them to crosses, and making images of wax and crucifying them, when they cannot obtain children.48 According to this law, wax images were employed when children were not available to maintain the belief, based on popular folklore, of the Jew as “sacred executioner.” In this case, the enactment of the Passion of Christ through a wax image served to mock Christian practices that utilized this material for divine purposes as well as a form of rejection of the resurrection of Christ and His messianic role.49 This wax-ritual differs from the use made by Christians of this material in certain parts of Europe. Wax and oil were a very common donation for churches and monasteries and often served as devotional offerings for the cult of saints in exchange for the curing of illnesses and other favors.50 The acceptance of this paradigm by Christian society and its support from the ecclesiastical authorities reinforced the anti-Jewish portrayal of the Jew and his offspring as responsible for the Passion of Christ: 48  Burns (ed.), Las Siete Partidas, vol. 5, p. 1433. 49  The use of images, vows, ex-votos, and effigies to represent the meaning of resurrection in the Christian dogma remained a prominent issue in theological discussion and debate throughout the Middle Ages: “Christianity has defended the idea that body is crucial to self in the most strident and extensive, the most philosophically and theologically confused and rich form. It is in the images through which resurrection doctrine has been debated, explored, and preached that we see most clearly the assumptions that formal and material continuity is necessary for the survival of the body and that the survival of body is necessary for self.” In Bynum, The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336, p. 13. A popular practise among Christians throughout this period was a manifestation of saints’ cults through church dedications, new pilgrimage sites, shrines, relics, and statues. An essential element in the cult of saints was the use of vows or promises to the saint in exchange for the performance of miraculous actions. Many of these vows were presented in the form of domestic images such as pins, ribbons, jewelry, candles, and wax. Within this category of objects were the ex-votos. These include wax models of parts of the body that had been cured as a gesture to express gratitude. See, Wilson, Introduction, Saints and their Cults: Studies in Religious Sociology, Folklore, and History, pp. 19–21. 50  As Safran explains, “gifts made of wax, particularly votive gifts, were also intended to enlighten viewers about the outcome of successful prayer and sufficient piety. The votive was tangible evidence of gratitude for a miracle that had already occurred, and it made visible the potential for future miracles;” in The Medieval Salento: Art and Identity in Southern Italy, p. 150.

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The accusations against the Jews reflect a basic Christian anxiety and an intensification of the irrational element in Christian consciousness. The libels also point to the fact that, although Jews had been a minority for centuries in Christian society, and at times even a persecuted minority, Christian imagination preserved in all its original vitality the original trauma at the basis of Christian faith, the trauma of the crucifixion.51 A similar example appears in Cantiga 6, which depicts a similar form of ritualmurder of a Christian child.52 In this case, the story describes “un gran miragre que fez en Engraterra” (7–8) (a great miracle performed in England).53 A Jewish gambler kidnaps and murders a child who was gifted with a beautiful voice and sang praises to the Virgin. He hides the body under the floors of his home until an unknown voice denounces the crime. When the Jew is captured by the Christians, he is sentenced to death by burning while the rest of the Jews are put to the sword: Este cantar o menỹo | atan ben o cantava, que qualquer que o oya | tan toste o fillava e por leva-lo consigo | conos outros barallava, dizendo: “Eu dar-ll-ei que jante, | [e] demais que merende.” (27–30) (…) No que o moço cantava | o judeu meteu mentes, e levó-o a ssa casa, | pois se foron as gentes; (42–43) (…) Quand’ esto diss’ o menỹo, | quantos s’y acertaron aos judeus foron logo | e todo-los mataron; e aquel que o ferira | eno fogo o queimaron, dizendo: “Quen faz tal feito, | desta guisa o rende.” (87–90)54 The boy sang this song so well that anyone who heard it at once seized upon him and argued with the others to take the child with him, saying: “I shall give you supper or a nice tidbit.” (…) 51  Limor, “Christians and Jews,” p. 148. 52   Esta é como Santa Maria ressucitou ao menỹo que o judeu matara porque cantava “Gaude Virgo Maria” (This is how Holy Mary revived the little boy whom the Jew had killed because he sang “Gaude Virgo Maria”); In Alfonso X, Cantigas de Santa María, vol. 1, pp. 72–75. 53  Alfonso X, ibid., p. 72; Kulp-Hill (trans.), op. cit., p. 11. 54  Alfonso X, ibid., pp. 73–75.

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The Jew heeded well what the boy was singing, and when the people went away, he took him to his house. (…) When the boy said that, all who were there went at once to the Jews and killed them all. The one who had struck the boy they burned in the fire, saying: “He who commits such a deed reaps such a reward”.55 The setting of this cantiga might find its roots in the first ritual-murder case originating in England with William of Norwich. The poem does not change location, permitting the argument that the first ritual-crime allegations originated in England, expanded throughout Europe and reached the Iberian Peninsula a century later. It also enhances the familiarity that these nonHispanic accounts had in popular Iberian folklore, leading to the creation of local blood-libel accusations. This is the case of a ritual-crime allegation reported in Saragossa in 1250. The date of this case coincides chronologically with the compilation of Siete Partidas, begun in 1256.56 According to the account, the crucifixion of the young chorister name Dominguito de Val was revealed by a miraculous light shining over his grave, and the perpetrators were punished.57 Despite the lack of evidence and the inconsistencies of the story, the increasing popularity of the ritual-crime legend could have served as a motif for alluding to such a crime ascribed to the Jews in Alfonso’s Partidas and its reflection in several of the cantigas.58 Blood-libel allegations appear to be scarce in Iberian tradition for almost two centuries, emerging again in various cities of Castile and Aragon.59 The 55  Kulp-Hill (trans.), ibid., p. 12. 56  Rincón and Romero, Iconografía de los santos aragoneses, pp. 38–40; Pérez Martín, “Hacia un derecho común europeo,” p. 24. 57  De los Ríos, Historia social, política, vol. 3, p. 318. 58  Responsibility for the crime was attributed to a Jew named Moshe Albayluz, who was sentenced to death by James I, King of Aragón. The account of the trial was compiled by Aragonese chronicler Juan Francisco Andrés de Uztárruz in 1643 and published the same year in Saragossa. Uztárruz describes the account without any documented evidence of the kidnapping and murder of the child, yet still naming Moshe as the man responsible. In Historia de Santo Domingo del Val, 1643, pp. 29-41. There were two ritual-murder accusations against the Jewish aljamas in the kingdom of Aragon. In 1294, Jews of the city of Calatayud were alleged to have murdered a Christian as part of a magic ritual. The same year, the town of Biel reported the disappearance of a Christian girl, leading to the arrest of all the local Jews by the village officers. In Baer, A History of the Jews, vol. 2, pp. 6–7. 59  New blood-libel accusations did not appear until 1432 with an allegation in Majorca, and later in the town of Tavara near Valladolid in 1454, in which Jews were blamed for murdering a Christian child and extracting his heart out for magical practices. One last case of

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growing anti-Semitic sentiment in the Christian imaginary, which led to religious fanaticism, and the new matter of the Conversos contributed to intensifying the narrative production of these ritual-crime accusations. In this respect, Toledo acquired a prominent role in the spread of this type of allegations. The city was home to a substantial Converso community that had escalated publicly in Christian society and was perceived as a menace to the Crown and Church’s interests in a homogenized Christian state, leading to the establishment of the Inquisition by the Catholic monarchs Isabel and Fernando in 1485.60 As a result, the province of Toledo became the setting for the most famous ritualcrime accusation, the blood-trial of La Guardia in 1490. The magnitude of the case, which lasted until December 1491, involved the alleged torture and murder of a young child, holding accountable not only the Jews of the city, diminished by economic sanctions and social restrictions, but also the affluent Converso minority. After the forced conversions of Jews to Christianity in 1391, a new socio­ economic group emerged, the “New Christians” or Conversos, considerably decreasing the Jewish community of Toledo.61 Furthermore, the city was the core of a series of preachings, pogroms, and anti-Jewish legislations that marginalized the core of the Jewish quarter.62 On the contrary, the Conversos represented the most dynamic features of the former Jewish community, participating in professions and activities from which they had been excluded prior to conversion. The role they played in the public life of Toledo and other urban areas of the country elicited great jealousy and hatred. Since most of the conversions happened en masse, many Conversos kept together by family links and intermarriages, remaining a distinct group. The ecclesiastical autho­ rities and the old Christians soon began to perceive the Conversos as suspects, accusation prior to the La Guardia trial was reported in the town of Sepúlveda, Segovia, in 1468. In this case, the local Jewish community’s involvement in a series of monetary affairs and the volatile climax due to Castile’s civil were utilized by the ecclesiastical authorities as a pretext to blame them for performing a ritual-murder. In Baer, A History of the Jews, vol. 2, p. 245; and Antoranz Onrubia, “Noticias y tradiciones en torno al ‘crimen ritual.’” p. 475. 60  León-Tello, Judíos de Toledo, vol. 1, p. 255. 61  Izquierdo Benito, “Los judíos de Toledo,” p. 97. 62  The effects of preaching to maintain conversions in the city took place by Dominican friar Vicente Ferrer (1350–1419) in 1411. Prior to that, in 1405, the Ordenamiento de Valladolid (Ordinances of Valladolid) was approved, including twenty-three anti-Jewish laws respectively followed by the Leyes de Ayllón (Laws of Ayllón), Segovia in 1412. The restrictions included a requirement for Jews to live separately from Christians as well as limitations in engaging in certain occupations, including working as grocers, apothecaries, and physicians. In Cantera Montenegro, “Judíos medievales,” p. 231.

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leading to the accusation of crypto-Judaism, a more serious threat than the Jewish community itself:63 The veteran Christian society had to welcome the mass Jewish conversion, and embrace the New Christians as brothers. Yet powerful identity passions, serving as a carrier to economic and social rivalries, worked to reject the conversos.64 The economic downturn in the second half of the 15th century, along with the social escalation of the Conversos led to a climate of tension among the noble classes who had taken control of the cities, where the Converso group represented “the most powerful element standing in their way.”65 The relations between the Christians and the Conversos were aggravated due to the close ties and trust the latter established with King Enrique IV of Castile. This situation brought about a series of anti-Converso riots initiated in Toledo in 1449. The implementation of a decree denying Conversos access to civil service and church positions was encouraged.66 The oppression against the Conversos increased in 1462 with a royal petition establishing an Inquisition in Castile. This scenario led to a Converso uprising in Toledo on June 19, 1467.67 The riots initiated in Toledo against the Converso community were joined by other similar attacks in Seville (1465), Valladolid and Segovia (1473–74). The Toledo events highlighted the differences between Jews and Conversos. Unlike the Jews, the Conversos had claimed charges of authority in the city and the government, represented an integral part of the Christian society, and were able to take up arms when threatened. Their enemies perceived them as a “sign of the eternal 63  For the Converso problem, see Beinart, Inquisition in Ciudad Real; Netanyahu, The Marranos of Spain from the Late 15th Century, and The Origins of the Spanish Inquisition. For the establishment of the Inquisition in Spain, see Kamen, The Spanish Inquisition: A Historical Revision. 64  Yirmiyahu, The Other Within: The Marranos, p. 59. 65  Roth, Conversos, Inquisition, p. 51. 66  The decree was initiated by the alcalde mayor of Toledo Pedro Sarmiento and various officials, who in assembly issued the “sentencia-estatuto,” prohibiting Conversos and their descendants from holding any public office or exercising authority over Christians. The document became the first text of pureza de sangre [blood purity] in Spain and Europe. The opposition to the decree was supported by leading Conversos such as Fernand Díaz, the secretary of the king, and Fray Lope de Barrientos, the bishop of Cuenca, but it failed in 1451 when a royal clause prohibited Conversos from holding office in Toledo. This success encouraged the noble class to expand their operations in other parts of the kingdom. See Cantera Montenegro, “Judíos medievales,” p. 232; and Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, p. 239. 67  Yirmiyahu, The Other Within: The Marranos, pp. 145–146.

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Jew, who can never change [and] was now trying to invade the Spanish self and endanger it from within.”68 Converso success in the social life of urban centers resulted in the growth of rivalry between them and the oligarchies of Old Christians, making the anti-Converso sentiment a constant. Moreover, this changed the nature of the rejection of the populace toward the Jews and their converts, transforming traditional anti-Judaism into anti-Semitism and adding ethnicity as a new concept for segregation.69 The harshness projected against the Conversos and the religious centralization carried out by the monarchy led to the official establishment of the Inquisition, which began to function in 1481 in Seville.70 The head of the Inquisition moved to Toledo in 1485 for the purpose of controlling the influential Converso community of the city.71 The anti-Jewish propaganda that spread throughout Castile gained strength, and the Inquisition sought to identify those Conversos involved in false Christian practices and discover active evidence of Judaizing, acquiring the role of “custodian of that power.”72 The severity of accusations resulted in “‘converso danger’ invented to justify spoliation of conversos.”73 The Inquisition’s need to discriminate and plant the perception of the Converso group as an enemy entity in the Christian community again took the form of accusations of ritual-murder. However, as opposed to the references of blood-libel compiled on Iberian soil, which stood out for their folkloric connotations, the exploitation of this allegation in this century served other final purposes: to undermine the Converso control of public life and foment the accusation against them of spreading Judaizing customs. Toledo became the center of friction, where the blood-libel legend served as a mechanism of persecution against both Jews and Conversos, as manifested in the trial of La Guardia.74 A Jewish-born Converso named Benito García was arrested in Astorga returning from a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela after a piece of the host was found under his bed in the hostel where he was staying. He was accused of having committed desecration of the host and was sent to testify before the Episcopal vicar. According to García’s testimony, eleven men (six Jews and five Conversos, including himself) were accused of abducting a 68  Ibid., p. 147. 69  Cantera Montenegro, “Judíos medievales,” p. 233. 70  Hillgarth, The Spanish Kingdoms, vol. 2, pp. 422–23. 71  Baer, A History of the Jews, vol. 2, p. 339. 72  Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism, p. 242. 73  Kamen, The Spanish Inquisition, p. 41. 74  For an extensive account of the trial see, Baer, A History of the Jews, vol. 2, pp. 398–421; Fita, “La verdad sobre el martirio del santo Niño de la Guardia,” pp. 7–134; Lea, “El Santo Niño de la Guardia,” pp. 229–250; Loeb, “Le Saint enfant de la Guardia,” pp. 202–232.

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Christian child from the streets of Toledo during Passover of 1488, then ta­ king him to a cave near the town of La Guardia, where they used him to enact Christ’s crucifixion. The abducted victim remained nameless, but came to be known as the “holy child of La Guardia.” The absence of the physical remains of the victim, the location in which the case was reported and denounced, the accusation of a group of Jews and Conversos as participants in the ritual-crime, and the contradictions and inconsistencies that surrounded the case resulted in the perception of the incident as a “trial intended to create the impression of a Jewish plot against Christianity.”75 The first hearing took place in the jurisdiction of Toledo, but then was transferred to Segovia and later to Avila, which was suffering serious problems between the Christian and Converso community. Torquemada’s participation in the trial also served as an accusation of false practices that were allocated to the new converts, as well as their close ties with members of the Jewish community. The final verdict, despite the lack of evidence, was formulated based on a Jewish-Converso conspiracy against the Christian community of Toledo. The length of the trial and the final verdict, announced publicly in late 1491 by Torquemada, might have been prolonged to coincide with the final stages of Capitulaciones of Granada on 25 November.76 The conspiracy was extended to the rest of the kingdom. All suspects were convicted of murder, despite the numerous contradictions throughout the case and the fact that Jews were not subject to inquisitorial jurisdiction.77 After the trial, the image of the unknown child of La Guardia was converted into a popular symbol of veneration and, similarly to the alleged martyrdom of Dominguito del Val, became part of the Spanish hagiology.78 The significance of the case served to spread an efficient propaganda for the Inquisition and became one of the main regulators in the country’s religious agenda against its enemies and dissidents. The repercussions of the accusation conditioned the expulsion of the Jews in 1492 and extended to the Conversos who became the new scapegoat in the eyes of the ecclesiastical authorities. Toledo has played a pivotal role in the history of Judaism and the Jews of the Diaspora. For Sephardim, this city always symbolized a sacred place, a West Jerusalem that welcomed them to settle and flourish. The rise of anti-Jewish sentiment that spread in Europe during the Middle Ages, beginning with the early Church Fathers’ Adversus Iudaeos literature, did not evade Toledo and its 75  Shephard, “The Present State of the Ritual Crime,” p. 166. 76  Peinado Santaella et al., Historia del Reino de Granada, p. 471. 77  León-Tello, Judíos de Toledo, vol. 1, p. 265. 78  Lea, “El Santo Niño de la Guardia,” p. 245.

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large Jewish population. The chimerical fantasy in the European imaginary of Jews as Christ-killers with the capability for habitual infanticide expanded the blood-libel legend, relating the Jews with the consumption of human blood, magic, and diabolic behavior. The spread of these accusations reached the Iberian Peninsula, portraying blood-libel allegations in a literary format and taking Toledo as their main geographical location. The capital of the Crown of Castile, as an example of relative interaction between diverse cultures and religions, represented the ultimate setting for the forging of a legend utilised to inflict hatred against the largest Jewish quarter of the Peninsula. The ritualcrime accusation used in anti-Jewish propaganda by Church authorities instigated a series of attacks, culminating in the 1391 mass forced conversions to Christianity. Toledo, along with Seville, was the center of these persecutions. Over the course of the 15th century, several restrictions and measures against Jews were implemented in Toledo. The Jew as “other,” and who formerly had confronted Christian society based on theological differences, became a permanent component of that society, extending his otherness and animosity to the new Converso community. With the high increase in the number of Conversos throughout this century, Old Christians and various ecclesiastical authorities grew in suspicion. This led to a new series of riots, originating in Toledo and then spreading to other parts of the country. The failed uprising against the Converso community, with the goal of removing them from public and religious occupations, conditioned the establishment of the Inquisition in the city in 1485. The Holy Office justified its existence by claiming widespread heresy and Judaizing practises among Conversos. The ritual-crime served, in this case, as a mechanism to fuel hatred and apprehension toward this group as had occurred previously against the Jewish community. However, in this case, the accusation did not involve an anti-Jewish attitude, but was rather steeped in anti-Semitic elements including race and blood purity. The fact that the latest ritual-crime was reported in the province of Toledo in 1490 and the accused formed an eclectic group of Jews and New Christians intensified the popular discourse of ritual-murder and the themes of sacrifice and vengeance attributed to the Jew through these allegations, now extended to the Conversos. In 15th century Toledo, the ritual crucifixion legend forged in Europe three centuries before regained strength, and became one of the main arguments utilized by the Church to eradicate heresy. The effects of the legend spread the propaganda about the weakened Jewish community and the Conversos, who became the Church’s new religious menace over the course of the next century.

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Jacobs, J., “Little Hugh of Lincoln,” in A. Dundes (ed.), The Blood Libel Legend: A Casebook in Anti-Semitic Folklore, Madison, 1991, 41–71. Kamen, H., The Spanish Inquisition. A Historical Revision, New Haven, 1997. Katz, S., The Jews in the Visigothic and Frankish Kingdoms of Spain and Gaul, Cambridge, Mass., 1937. Langmuir, G.I., Toward a Definition of Antisemitism. Berkeley, 1990. Langmuir, G.I., “Thomas of Monmouth: Detector of Ritual Murder,” Speculum 59 (1984), 820–846. Lappin, A.J., Gonzalo de Berceo: The Poet and His Verses, Woodbridge, 2008. Lea, H.C., “El Santo Niño de la Guardia,” The English Historical Review 4. 14 (1889), 229–250. Lelli, F. (ed.), Giovanni Pico e la cabbalà, Florence, 2014. León, T.P., Judíos de Toledo, 2 vols., Madrid, 1979. Limor, O., “Christians and Jews,” in Rubin Miri and Walter Simons (eds.), The Erection of Boundaries. The Cambridge History of Christianity Christianity in Western Europe c. 1100–c. 1500, vol. 4, Cambridge, 2009, 135–148. Liuzzo Scorpo, A., Friendship in Medieval Iberia: Historical, Legal and Literary Perspectives, Surrey, 2014. Loeb, I., “Le Saint infant de la Guardia,” Revue des études juives 15 (1887), 203–232. Maccoby, H., Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and its Place in Judaism. Cambridge, 1999. Maccoby, H., The Sacred Executioner. Human Sacrifice and the Legacy of Guilt, London, 1982. Márquez-Villanueva, F., El concepto cultural alfonsí, Madrid, 1994. Márquez-Villanueva, F., Relecciones de literatura medieval, Seville, 1977. Martínez, Salvador, Alfonso X el Sabio: Una biografía, Madrid, 2003. Menocal, M.R., The Ornament of the World: How Muslims, Jews, and Christians Created a Culture of Tolerance in Medieval Spain, Boston, 2002. Monsalvo Antón, J.Mª., “El enclave infiel: el ideario del ‘otro’ judío en la cultura occidental durante los siglos XI al XIII y su difusión en Castilla,” in E. López Ojeda (ed.), Los caminos de la exclusión en la sociedad medieval: pecado, delito y represión, Logroño, 2012, 171–223. Monsalvo Antón, J.Mª., “Los mitos cristianos sobre crueldades judías y su huella en el antisemitismo medieval europeo,” in E. García Fernández (ed.), Exclusión, racismo y xenofobia en Europa y América, Bilbao, 2002, 13–87. Monsalvo Antón, J.Mª., Teoría y evolución de un conflicto, El antisemitismo en la Corona de Castilla en la Baja Edad Media, Madrid, 1985. Netanyahu, B., The Origins of the Spanish Inquisition in Fifteenth Century Spain, New York, 2001.

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Netanyahu, B., The Marranos of Spain from the Late Fifteenth Century according to Contemporary Hebrew Sources, New York, 1999. Neuman, A.A., The Jews in Spain; their Social, Political and Cultural Life during the Middle Ages, 2 vols., New York, 1969. Nirenberg, D., Neighboring Faiths: Christianity, Islam, and Judaism in the Middle Ages and Today. Chicago, 2014. Nirenberg, D., Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition, New York; London, 2013. Nirenberg, D., “Religious and Sexual Boundaries in the Medieval Crown of Aragon,” in M.D. Meyerson, and E.D. English (eds.), Christians, Muslims, and Jews in Medieval and Early Modern Spain: Interaction and Cultural Exchange, Notre Dame, 1999, 141–161. Peinado Santaella, R.G. and M. Barrios Aguilera (eds.), Historia del Reino de Granada. De los orígenes a la época mudéjar (hasta 1502), Granada, 2000. Pérez, J., Los judíos en España, Madrid, 2005. Pérez Martín, A., “Hacia un derecho común europeo: la obra jurídica de Alfonso X,” in Carlos Estepa Díez et al. (eds.), Alfonso X; Aproximaciones de un rey castellano a la construcción de Europa, Murcia, 1997, 109–134. Peuckert, W.-E., “Ritualmord,” Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens 7 (1931), 727–739. Po-Chia Hsia, R., Trent 1475: Stories of a Ritual Murder Trial, New Haven, 1992. Po-Chia Hsia, R., The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany, New Haven, 1988. Rincón, W. and A. Romero, Iconografía de los santos aragoneses II, Zaragoza, 1982. Rodríguez-Barral, P., La imagen del judío en la España medieval: el conflicto entre cristianismo y judaísmo en las artes visuales góticas, Barcelona, 2008. Roth, N., Conversos, Inquisition, and the Expulsion of the Jews from Spain, Madison, 2002. Roth, N., Jews, Visigoths and Muslims in Medieval Spain: Cooperation and Conflict, Leiden, 1994. Roth, C., The Ritual Murder Libel and the Jew: The Report by Cardinal Lorenzo Ganganelli (Pope Clement XIV ), London, 1934. Rubin, M., Gentile Tales: The Narrative Assault on Late Medieval Jews, New Haven; London, 1999. Ruíz Domínguez, J.A., La historia de la salvación en la obra de Gonzalo de Berceo. Logroño, 1990. Safran, L., The Medieval Salento: Art and Identity in Southern Italy, Philadelphia, 2014. Sánchez-Albornoz, C., España, un enigma histórico, 2 vols., Buenos Aires, 1956. Scholem, G., Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, New York, 1974. Scholem, G., On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism, trans. R. Mannheim, New York, 1965. Shatzmiller, J., Shylock Reconsidered: Jews, Moneylending, and Medieval Society, Berkeley, 1990.

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part 3 Language and Translation

∵

chapter 8

Shared Legal Spaces in the Arabic Language Notarial Documents of Toledo Yasmine Beale-Rivaya 1 Introduction Recent studies on the Arabic-language notarial documents of Toledo, housed in the Archivo Histórico Nacional and the Archivo Catedralicio de Toledo, reconsider traditional perceptions of the collection’s historical and contextual significance within the locus of Toledo and, more broadly, in Spain and the Iberian Peninsula.1 The Arabic-language notarial documents of Toledo, also known as the “Mozarabic (Arabized-Christian) documents of Toledo,” date from the 11th to 13th centuries and are an important tool for understanding the features of the Andalusí Arabic dialect of Toledo. These documents reveal not only the existing legal framework during the transitional period from al-Andalus to Christian Toledo, but also the relationship between the Church and the Mozarabic community. Scholars have referenced and discussed the events chronicled within this collection to diametrically opposed ends. They highlight the distance, separateness, and isolation of the Mozarabic community from the rest of the communities in Toledo in the 12th through 13th centuries (Hernández, Francisco, “Language and Cultural Identity: The Mozarabs of Toledo;” “Lengua e identidad cultural;” Pons Boigues; Hitchcock, “Mozarabs and Moriscos;” Chalmeta), or are used as evidence of this community’s integral role in the development of historical events in Toledo during this transition period (Olstein; Hitchcock, Mozarabs in Medieval and Early 1  Some readings that problematise the issue of Mozarabic identity in Toledo include Diego Olstein, La era mozárabe: Los mozárabes de Toledo (siglos XII Y XIII) en la historiografía, las fuentes y la historia; María de la Paz Estevez “The Development of Feudal Relations in a Post-Conquest Reality: The Experience of the Mozarab Community of Toledo (Eleventh– Thirteenth Centuries)”; Francisco Hernández “Language and Cultural Identity: The Mozarabs of Toledo”; “La Catedral, instrumento de asimilación”; Álvarez Palenzuela, La España musulmana y los inicios de los Reinos cristianos (711–1157); Ferrando Frutos, “Los romancismos”; “El árabe, lengua del Toledo islámico”. These works should be read keeping in mind the original transcriptions and translations in González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII Y XIII.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_010

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Modern). The dichotomy itself has been a topic of investigation as scholars begin to question the isolated vs. integrated paradigm: Mozarabs as central figures in Toledo or Mozarabs as a marginalized community (Beale-Rivaya; Aillet; Gordón; Taylor; Olstein). Diego Olstein challenges the traditional paradigm of associating the documents in the Arabic language strictly to Mozarabs (Arabized-Christians) and those in Vulgar Latin and Romance to Castilian or new immigrating Christians of Toledo. He argues that doing so on the basis of language alone artificially separates these documents and, in turn, the people depicted within these, from the broader Toledan context. Likewise, I have noted elsewhere that the people mentioned and those signing the documents seem to reflect a broad section of society from a variety of different backgrounds, both local and foreign, and that the term Mozarab is hardly ever used except when used as an onomastic.2 Asserting, therefore, that this collection of notarial documents strictly represents the activities of one particular community—the Mozarabs—is problematic because it creates an artificial separation that is not necessarily supported in the documentation itself. Ignacio Ferrando Frutos, for example, insists on the continued bilingualism of the Mozarabic community throughout the Andalusí period.3 If that is the case, should the documents in Arabic be considered more Mozarabic than those produced in the Romance language, even if, for example, these refer to matters of theology, and thus are probably more closely tied to identity?4 Ferrando Frutos’s contribution refocuses attention on a vital source for scholars of post-conquest Toledo: the purchase-sale contracts of land that reflect the transition and the literal transference of wealth from Andalusí Toledo to Christian Toledo. In this paper I re-read, transcribe, and translate the first document in the Archivo Histórico Nacional collection of documents produced and originally transcribed by Mozarabs of Toledo, and pay particular attention to the standard formulas González Palencia extracted in his transcriptions. I identify and consider several transcriptional and translation errors in the transcribed original document that have led to erroneous or inaccurate conclusions about the Mozarabic existence in Toledo, in particular with regard to the role of the Church in these contractual exchanges. I suggest that the traditional model of examining data relating to the Mozarabs has positioned 2  Beale-Rivaya, “The Written Record as Witness.” 3  Ferrando Frutos, “The Arabic Language among the Mozarabs of Toledo during the 12th and 13th Centuries.” 4  Diaz, Estudios sobre liturgia mozárabe; Urvoy, Le Psautier mozarabe; Gómez-Ruiz, Mozarabs, Hispanics, and the Cross; Burman, Religious Polemic and the Intellectual History of the Mozarabs; Hitchcock, “¿Quiénes fueron los verdaderos mozárabes? Una contribución a la historia del mozarabismo.”

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them a priori into the dichotomy of Mozarabs vs. others, and almost everything related to this community has been analyzed through this lens. The central question I answer in this paper is whether this collection of documents presents evidentiary support of the concept of shared culture apart from onomastic evidence. Through a new transcription and a fresh examination of the legal language included in the contracts in the collection of notarized documents in the Arabic language of Toledo, I argue that even matters of law strongly point towards a sharing of cultures, in this case, of legal contexts, within a singular legal space. Updated transcriptions will allow scholars to have a more nuanced understanding of the activities of the Mozarabs of Toledo. 2

The Legal Framework: Analysis of the “Formulas”

Ángel González Palencia transcribes each of the documents in the collection related to the Mozarabs of Toledo. Extracted from the transcriptions of each individual document are what he identifies as “Fórmula I,” “Fórmula II,” and “Fórmula III.”5 These are the standard portions of the contracts for salespurchases of land or property that do not change from transaction to transaction. They appear in the transcription of the documents merely as [1], [2], or [3] in the location where they appear in the original documentation.6 What remains is the variable content: the names of the parties involved, witnesses, information identifying the parcels of land in question, price, payment plans (if any), and any other pertinent details related to the particular transaction. In the following section I transcribe each of the formulas and then analyze them within a particular exemplar to discuss the context and the broader implications of these formulas.7 2.1 Formula III8 Formula III is the best-known portion of the contracts (Beale-Rivaya; Hernández, Francisco, “Lengua e identidad cultural; Los mozárabes de 5  González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII Y XIII. pp. VI–VIII. 6  Presumably, every time we find [1], [2], [3] in González Palencia’s transcriptions, they represent the exact same formulaic content without exception. One would need to go back and re-transcribe a significant portion of the documents to confirm that. I suspect that these formulas are standard with probably some small inconsequential deviation from time to time. 7  They are not analyzed in order [1], [2], [3]. For reasons of analysis and argumentation, I take the liberty to read them in another order. 8  The translations for the formulas are my own. They are purposefully very literal to try and reflect as closely as possible the original wording used.

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Toledo”). It establishes that both interested parties were present, and witnessed the writing of the contract, have agreed in sound mind, in sound health, and willingly entered into to the transaction. Further, both parties have agreed to the text and have heard it (had it read back to them). Formula III reads:

‫�ذ‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫�ور ف�ي���ه �ع ن����ه���م�ا �م� ن� ا �ش����ه�د ا ه ب��ه ع��ل ا ن���ف� ���س�ه�ا‬ ‫ح����س� ب� ����ص�ه و��س��م�ع�ه �م ن����ه���م�ا‬ ‫�ش����ه�د ع��لى ا �ش����ه�ل�د�ه�م�ا ب�ا لم� ك‬ ‫ى‬ ‫ح ق ا �ل� ا �ز ا � ط ا ع��ة‬ �‫و�عر ف����ه���م�ا و�ه�م�ا ب‬ � ‫ح�ا ل ا �ل���ص���� و ج و و ل��و‬ It was witnessed by both the aforementioned parties, by themselves [in person], according to the text [law] and both parties heard it [it was read back to them] and both parties knew that they are in good health, good mind, and in agreement.

2.2 Formula I Formula I establishes the transfer of ownership, responsibilities, and privileges (access and use) to the property in question. The previous owner may not make any claims on the property in whole or in part. The buyer is expected to acquire the property in spite of any defect and may not rescind or cancel the transaction at any point following the exchange. Formula I reads:

‫ف‬ ‫ق ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف �ة‬ �‫ي�ه�ا وب� ك‬ �� ‫كا ه ا لى ا خ�ر�ه�ا وع�ا �م��ة �مرا ����ق�ه ع��لى ض��رو ب� ا �وا ��ع�ه�ا �ى ��ا �عت���ه و�ي�ما ع�ا‬ � �‫ج��مي�� �م ن���ا ���ع‬ ‫��ل‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�خ‬ � ‫ح ق� و�م�ل�ك �هو �م� ن� �ه� ا ا لم��بي��ع ا لمو�صو�� وب��ه و�ل�ه و�م����سو ب� ا �لي��ه �يف� د ا خ��ل�ه و خ��ا ر ج��ه وب�ا �ل�د �ول‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ت‬ �� �‫�ور�لن��ف� ��س�ه ولا لا ح�د ���س���ه � �ش�� �م� ن ��م�� ا لم‬ ‫ا �لي��ه وا �ل�خرو ج �ع ن���ه ل ي���س� ب� ق� ا �ل��بي�� ا لم� ك‬ � ‫م‬ ‫ب �بتب �ف �ق يف� ى � ج يع �بيع‬ ‫قع‬ ‫ث‬ � ‫ا لمو�صو�ف� ك�ل�ه‬ �‫ح���ق�ا ولا �م��ل ك‬ ‫��ا ���لي��لا ولا �ك‬ ‫ك��ل�ه�ا‬ � ‫��ي��را و لا �م ن��ت���ف� �ع�ا ولا �مر����� �ا ب�و ج��ه �م� ن� ا �لو�ج�وه‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ت ت ن ض‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ولا ب���س�ب�� ب� �م� ن� الا ����سب���ا ب� الا و خ�ر ج �ع ن���ه ا لم��بت���ا ا لم� ك‬ �� ‫�ور ب�ا �ل��بي��ع ا �ل����ص��ي��ح ا �ل��ا م ا �ل��ب�� ا �ل��ب���ل ا �ل��ا‬ ‫ع‬ � ‫ا �ل���ص � ا �ل��ذ � ل �ت��� ص� ��ه �ش�� ك �م��ف� ��س�د لا ث�ن���ا لا �خ‬ � ‫ا‬ � �� ‫و ي و ير‬ ‫ريح ى م ي � ل ب ر‬

Translation: With all of [his/her] complete abilities, and with all of its differences in its whole and in the air, and in all of his own rights regarding the described [aforementioned] sale, in it and for it and assigned in the inside or the outside, as well as entering and exiting from it, without reserving for himself the aforementioned seller and no one else for him or on behalf of him, all of the thing (sale) in its totality the mentioned sale. And

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he does not own any right, neither big nor small, no benefit, no use, for any reason amongst all reasons, and there is no tax or lien on the aforementioned sale. The seller releases all his rights in favor of the buyer to finalize a clear new sale that has no connection or partnership or spoil [to the seller], and there is no right of rescission. The phrase “with all of its differences in its whole and in the air” refers to all the peculiarities of the property itself. In today’s terms, this means that the buyer accepts the property “as is” and has rights to the earth, as well as any improvements. This wording indicates this is a true sale of land and not a long-term property lease which would limit the usage and ability to exploit certain parts of the land. The section “as well as entering and exiting from it, without reserving for himself the aforementioned seller and no one else for him or on behalf of him” makes explicit that the seller relinquishes all claims to the property, including all rights of way and, again, can make no future claim. The purchaser gains the property free and clear. The contract is final and binding. Neither party can change his mind at a future date for any reason, including if either should be dissatisfied or should find any defect or encumbrance on the land: “The seller releases all his rights in favor of the buyer to finalize a clear new sale that has no connection or partnership or spoil [to the seller], and there is no right of rescission.” 2.3 Formula II Formula II lays out the technical process and legal basis by which the transaction took place. In this section the transfer of the agreed upon purchase amount is confirmed and witnessed. Transcription:

‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ ق ن �ذ ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� �ق�����ض ن‬ ‫� �ه �م���ه و�ص�ا ر‬ ‫د ��ع الا ر����سي��� ي�ا ��� ا لم� �ور ج��مي��ع ا �ل� �ه� ب� ا لمو�صو�� ك�ل�ه ا �لب��ا�يع ا لم� كور و ب‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن�ز �ة �ذ‬ ‫�ذ ت ن�ز‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ع���د ه و �يف� �م�ل�ك و �م���ه وا � ا ه �يف� ج��مي��ع ا لم��بي��ع ا �لو�صو�� ك�ل�ه �م�� �ل� �ى ا لم�ا ل �يف� �م�ا �ل�ه و �ى‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن � ف� �ق‬ ‫� اش ن‬ � �‫�غ ن ت �خ‬ ‫ا لم�ل�ك �يف� �م��ل �ك‬ ‫��ه ب��ع�د ا � عر �ا �د ر �ه� ا ا لم��بي��ع وا لم ب����ل��ه �بم������هى ��طره ولم ي ج���ه�ل �����ي���ا �م�� وع��لى‬ ‫ف‬ �‫����سن����ة ا �لن��� ص�ا � � �� ��عه� ا �ش�� �ت��ه� �م ا �� ا د ا��كه‬ ‫� ر ى ى بيو � م و ري � م و ر جع ر � م‬ Translation: The aforementioned Archdeacon has given all of the described gold in its totality to the aforementioned seller and he [the seller] has received it and it is now his and, in his ownership. [the money] is at his disposal/

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in his benefit recorded. And all of the sold property, all of its place [all of the land associated with it] owned in its possession, after knowing both sides the value of quantity of the sale, and the amount was deemed acceptable, and nothing was ignored related to it, and following the law of the Christians [al-nasāri] in their sales, purchases, references and understanding. Here, the buyer gives the seller the agreed upon amount after the appropriate due diligence. The seller has in turn received and accepted the money. The transaction occurred and was completed and witnessed. The contract makes clear that all the possession of the property has been transferred through “and all of the sold property, all of its place.” The phrase “owned in its possession” establishes the finality of the sale. Most importantly, both parties were able to negotiate and agree to a price that was “deemed acceptable by all.” The wording of the contract insists that there is no coercion in the sale. All parties apparently enter into the agreement freely. Any relevant issues concerning the property have been properly disclosed. The contract is drawn up under “the law of the Christians.” This phrase establishes that any dispute that may arise after-the-fact would be judged and resolved on the basis of Christian laws and not Muslim laws, despite the fact that the contract is written in AndalusíArabic. Of note is the use of the definite impersonal article the. The section reads “the law of the Christians,” not our laws or our Christian laws. The use of the definite article the [al] suggests that the person recording the contract does not necessarily identify with the Christian community. One would expect the notary to use an inclusive our if they were Christian, clearly establishing that the contracts fall under the jurisdiction of their own community. The use of the brings to the forefront the question of the nature of the collection of the Mozarabic documents of Toledo. As has been previously discussed and as we shall see in the extended example below, the participants in the documents were not only Mozarabs or even Christians, some were people of Jewish or Muslim faiths. The notary is also not necessarily Christian or Mozarab. What then, makes the collection a Mozarabic collection specifically and not just a collection of notarial documents in Andalusí-Arabic? A further point of note is the process of the contract, specifically as it re‫�ذ ق‬ lates to the word �‫“ الا ر����سي��� ي�ا �� ن‬archdeacon” or “arcediano.” Federico Corriente and Gili Gaya define “arcediano” in the following manner: “el principal de los diáconos de una iglesia. Hoy, dignidad en el cabildo catedral. Juez que ejercía jurisdicción delegada de la episcopal.”9 The Archdeacon is an important 9  Gili Gaya, Diccionario manual ilustrado de la lengua española, p. 100.

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figure in the hierarchy of the church in Toledo, a legal figure, and judge. For Gili Gaya and Corriente, the Archdeacon is clearly a religious figure and is a spe‫�ذ ق‬ cifically Christian authority. González Palencia transcribes the �‫ الا ر����سي��� ي�ا �� ن‬as “arcediano” and then adds in parentheses “[comprador]” purchaser. Through this parenthetical note in the standard formulaic portion of the contracts, a portion that González Palencia claimed appeared in all sale-purchase contracts, González infers that the arcediano or archdeacon was the purchaser in every transaction associated with the Mozarabic community. Richard Hitchcock (Hitchcock, Mozarabs in Medieval and Early Modern Spain: Identities and Influences) noted an ample bibliography that envisages the Mozarabs as an isolated community “as a consequence of a policy of systemic oppression” (80).10 The construction of the tropes of Mozarabic isolation, difference, and, especially, separateness from the rest of Toledan society was primarily based on González Palencia’s transcriptions. By conflating “archdeacon” with the “purchaser,” González Palencia leads scholars to the conclusion that this collection of documents primarily represents a concerted effort by the church or church officials to purchase land and at the same time to dampen Mozarabic power. By giving only a superficial acknowledgement of the variety of actors in these documents and by associating them with Mozarabs almost exclusively, we fail to see larger systemic processes reflected in the documentation. Two questions arise: 1) what is exactly the role of the Church in the contracts? and 2) what does this say about Mozarabic and inter-religious interactions in 12th and 13th century Toledo as a whole? To answer these questions, let us reinsert the formulas into a document. Consider the very first whole document transcribed by González Palencia, “Documento 1.” “Documento 1” reads:11

‫ن‬ ‫ن ف‬ ‫شت‬ ‫��س‬ � �‫ح ق � نب‬ � ‫ح���م��ي ش��� ا �لي���هود �ى �م� ن� ج��مي���ل��ة ب��� ت� �رج �ز و ج ا �لب���ل�يو�ش��ى ا �ل��ب ن���ا ج��مي�� �خ�����ص�ه�ا‬ �� ‫ا �����ر �ى ر ب�ى ا‬ � � ‫ع‬ ‫ح �م��ة �ق �ة ���لن�� ش �م� ن �ق � �م�د �ن���ة ط��ل�ط� �ة‬ �‫� ا ل��م�عرو�ف� ا �ل���قو�ج�وا ل ب‬ �‫و�هو ا �لن����ص ف� �م� ن� ا �ل ك‬ �‫ي�� ل‬ ‫�و ر �ي ج ك��� � رى ي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫م‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ش �ة ف‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ف �ق �ة‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن ش‬ ���‫وع��لى الا ����ا ع� �ي���ه �مع �م�� ي����ر��ك�هن�ا ب���س�اي�ر وح�د ه �ى ا �ل�� ب���ل� ا �ل��طر�ي� و �يف� ا �جل�و�� �ج� ب���ل ا �لب‬ ‫ف� � ش ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف �ة‬ �‫�ر ا � نب� ف�ر ج‬ ‫ب�رط�ا ل و ى ا‬ ‫ل���ر� ك‬ � �‫� ي���ل و �يف� ا � �غل�ر ب� ا �ل��طر�يق� و�ي���ه ب���لب��ه ج��مي�� �م ن���ا ���ع‬ ‫كا ه ا لى‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬ ‫ن �ذ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ض‬ ‫�ق‬ � �� ‫ح ق� و�م�ل�ك �هو �م�� �ه� ا‬ �� ‫ا خ�ر�ه�ا وع�ا �م��ة �مرا ��� �ه ع��لى ��رو ب� ا �وا ��ع�ه�ا �ى ��ا �عت���ه و�ي�ما ع�ا‬ ‫ي�ه�ا وب� ك�ل‬ ‫ا لم��بي�� ا لمو�صو�ف� وب��ه و�ل�ه و�م� ن���سو ب� ا �لي��ه �يف� د ا خ��ل�ه و خ��ا ر ج��ه وب�ا �ل�د �خ�ول ا �لي��ه وا �ل�خرو ج �ع ن���ه ل‬ � ‫م‬ ‫ع‬

10  Hitchcock, Mozarabs in Medieval and Early Modern Spain), pp. 80–83; Pastor, Problèmes d’assimilation d’une minoritée. 11  Archivo Histórico Nacional. Instituciones Eclesiásticas. Clero Regular/Secular. Catedral de Toledo. Car. 3017/3069. Caja 1965. Signatura I. 3041.1. González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII Y XIII. pp. 1–2.

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‫�ذ‬ ‫�ت‬ � ‫�ور�لن��ف� ��س�ه ولا لا ح�د ب���س�ب� ب��ه �ف� �ش��ى �م� ن� ج��مي�� ا لم��بي�� ا لمو�صو�ف� ك�ل�ه‬ ‫ي���س� ب� ق� ا �ل��بي�� ا لم� ك‬ ‫ح���ق�ا ولا‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ع ع‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ث‬ ‫�ق‬ ‫��ا ���لي��لا ولا �ك‬ ‫�م��ل ك‬ � ‫��ي��را و لا �م ن��ت���ف� �ع�ا ولا �مرت���ف����ق�ا ب�و ج��ه �م� ن� ا �لو�ج�وه‬ �‫ك��ل�ه�ا ولا ب���س�ب�� ب� �م� ن� الا ����سب���ا ب‬ ‫ت ت ن ض � � �ذ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫خ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫الا و�ر ج �ع���ه ا لم��ب���ا ا لم� ك‬ ‫�ور ب�ا �ل��بي��ع ا �ل����ص��ي��ح ا �ل��ا م ا �ل��ب�� ا �ل��ب���ل ا �ل��ا �� ا ل���صري ا �ل� �ى ل ي�����ص�ل‬ � ‫ن � �ف‬ ‫عن‬ ‫ح �ل��ا �ة �م��ط��ل�ط� �ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ق‬ ‫�خ‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ث‬ �‫ب��ه �ش��رك �م��ف� ��س�د ولا ث��ي��ا ولا �ي���ا ر�ب�ثم� ن� ع�د ��ه �لا � �م�ا ي� �م��� �ا ل �م�� ا ل���صو� ا ج ري� ب ي�� ل‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ ق �ذ ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ذ ت‬ ‫�خ �بم�ا ف����ه � ش‬ ��‫ع���ر د ر�ه�م�ا د ��ع الا ر����سي��� ي�ا �� ن� ا لم� �ور ج��مي��ع ا �ل� �ه� ب� ا لمو�صو‬ ‫حي��ر �ه� ا ا �ل��ا ري� ي‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ك�ل�ه ا �لب��ا �ي ا لم� ك‬ ‫�ور و� ب�����ض‬ ��‫� �ه �م ن���ه و�ص�ا ر �ع ن���د ه و �يف� �م�ل�ك و �مت���ه وا ��ز ا ه �يف� ج��مي��ع ا لم��بي��ع ا �لو�صو‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ع �ذ‬ ‫ن فق‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�غ ن ت‬ ‫ك�ل�ه �م ن���ز �ل� �ى ا لم�ا ل �يف� �م�ا �ل�ه و �ى ا لم�ل�ك �يف� �م��ل �ك‬ ‫��ه ب��ع�د ا � �عر��ا ��د ر �ه� ا ا لم��بي��ع وا لم ب����ل��ه �بم������هى‬ ‫ف‬ �‫�خ���ط ه ول ي ج‬ � �‫���ه�لا ش�����ي���ا �م� ن� وع��لى ����سن����ة ا �لن��� ص�ا � � �� ��عه� ا �ش�� �ت��ه� �م ا � � ا د ا��كه‬ ‫ر �ةم‬ ‫� ر ى ىش بيو � م وش ري � م و�ذ ر جعف ر � م‬ ‫ن ف‬ ‫ن‬ � � ‫ه‬ � � � � � ‫ع��لى ����سن��� ا لم��س�ل�مي��� ى… ب�ي�و�ع�ه� و�مر ج � ا �ل�د ر ك �����ه�د ع��لى ا �����ه�ل�د �م�ا ب�ا لم� كور ي���ه ع����ه���م�ا‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬ ‫� ف‬ ‫ح ق ا �ل� ا �ز‬ ‫ن �ف‬ ‫ن ش‬ ‫ح����س�� ن����ص�ه ��س��م�ع�ه �م ن‬ � � ‫ه‬ � � � � � ‫ا‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫ح‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ � ‫ه‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ � ‫ه‬ ‫ص‬ � � ��� �� ��‫ل‬ �� �� ‫ل‬ � ‫ب‬ ‫� ور� و‬ ‫و‬ ‫� و جو‬ ‫�م�� ا �����ه�د ا ه ب��ه ع��لى ا ��� ���س�ه�ا � ب‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ا � ط ا ع��ة ف� � �ض �ا ن ا ل�م� �ظ � ع�ا خ��م��س��ة ���س�ع�� ن ا ��ع��ة �م�ا �ة‬ ��‫و ل��و ى ر م��� � � ع‬ �‫و ي� و ر ب ي‬ ‫م م‬

Translation: Rabi Buasaq ben Nehemísh al Yahudi purchased from Dzamila bint Faradz wife of Baliushi all of her half of a vineyard in the neighborhood al Maerif in the neighborhood [hauma] of the district [alquería] dzalenkash [Chalencas] in the district [alquería] of the city of Toleitola, adjacent to [bordering/sharing] the road, and in the direction of the South-East the road, and to the North the [property] of Aben Bartal, and to the East it is adjacent to the vineyard of Ibn Frandzil and in the West the road in which there is the door [entrance]. [Formula 1] With all of [his/her] complete abilities, and with all of its differences in its whole and in the air, and in all of his own rights regarding the described [aforementioned] sale, in it and for it and assigned in the inside or the outside, as well as entering and exiting from it, without reserving for himself the aforementioned seller and no one else for him or on behalf of him, all of the thing (sale) in its totality the mentioned sale. And he does not own any right, neither big nor small, no benefit, no use, for any reason amongst all reasons, and there is no tax or lien on the aforementioned sale. The seller releases all his rights in favor of the buyer to finalize a clear new sale that has no connection or partnership or spoil [to the seller], and there is no going back nor second thoughts. For the price of 300 mithqal today present in Toleitola, until that date at the currency [rate] of 10 durham for 1 Mithqal. [2] The aforementioned ARSIDIAQN has given all of the described gold in its totality to the aforementioned seller and he [the seller] has received it and it is now his and, in his possession, and [the money] is at his disposal/in his

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benefit recorded. And all the sold property, all of its place [all of the land associated with it] owned in its possession, after knowing both sides the value of quantity of the sale, and the amount was deemed acceptable, and nothing was ignored about it, and following the law of the Christians [al-nasāri] in their sales, purchases, references and understanding.12 In the very first line of the contract the buyer is identified as the Jewish Rabbi named Rabi Buasaq ben Nehemísh. The Rabi could never have been an Archdeacon unless we are to understand archdeacon to refer to a figure of any religious authority. This expansion of the definition, however, is not supported by any of the historical dictionaries. Yet, the manner in which González Palencia translated “Formula II” places the figure of the Archdeacon as the purchaser in all cases. This contradiction requires a new reading of the document. Coupled with ARSIDIAQN we find the word “aforementioned.” The document reads “the aforementioned ARSIDIAQN has given all of the described gold.” However, the traditional figure of the Archdeacon has not been explicitly mentioned in the contract up-to this point. The only people who are “aforementioned” in the document are the purchaser and the seller. Given this, it is possible that González Palencia interpreted “aforementioned” literally, the only reasonable person to give the gold to the seller is the purchaser. This would imply that in 11th century Toledo, the term “Archdeacon” could refer to religious figures of any religion, which seems highly unlikely. I suggest that the word “aforementioned” in this context could mean something like “introduced at the beginning of this transaction.” It refers to the oral portion of the contract when all parties got together for purposes of completing the sale. We know there was an “oral” process that accompanied the written process. For example, the documents were often read back to the parties to ensure that all understood the agreement.13 Other indications that there was prior oral communication are that the contracts explicitly state that the parties had agreed to a negotiated price and that all issues related to the land had been previously disclosed. The written language in the contracts mirrors and records oral interactions. Thus, the contracts, although written, are not onedimensional. They are intertextual, they reflect the negotiation between an oral and a written agreement. The written language references events and relevant oral communication. Given this context, “aforementioned” in these contracts does not need to literally refer to an “aforementioned” figure within the 12  Italics are my own for clarity and emphasis. 13  Beale-Rivaya, “The Written Record as Witness,” p. 31; Hernández, Francisco, “Language and Cultural Identity; The Mozarabs of Toledo,” p. 32.

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confines of the written text. Rather, it refers to the fact that the parties involved were able to negotiate the price beforehand, and just as the contracts are read back to confirm understanding, the contracts can also reference people present not explicitly presented in the body of the contract. This intertextuality and symbiosis between oral and written language allows us to consider the word ARSIDIAQN at face value, to mean exactly archdeacon, the head of the Cathedral and Judge. This revised translation of the “Formula 2,” and especially of ARSIDIAQN, has significant impact for our understanding of the contractual processes. Mainly, a close reading of the formula at face value implies that Archdeacon, acting as a representative of the Church and an institutional representative of Christian law, served as an intermediary in every transaction related to the purchase and sale of land in the territories of Toledo, not as the purchaser— as González Palencia concluded. The contracts came to be housed in the archives of the Cathedral of Toledo because they were relevant to the church. The Church acted as the arbiter and judge for these agreements; the intermediary not the beneficiary, as was generally previously believed. We can now understand that the agreed upon sum was transferred from purchaser to seller through the figure of the Archdeacon, who in turn, accepts the money on behalf of the purchaser. The Archdeacon, after having confirmed the payment was complete, then gave the agreed upon sum to the seller. This process has several advantages. First, sellers and purchasers don’t have to interact directly. Second, they have the benefit of a presumably neutral party that can confirm that the correct amount was transferred. If a future dispute should arise, both parties have the benefit of said third party witnesses who can also act as judge. This would prove significant later, when Toledo was fully in Christian hands. Francisco Hernández also explained that: The Mozarabs then convinced the commission that their claims to ownership were legal and obtained a statute from the king that enshrined their right to those properties under a legal system with recognized the old “laws of the Christians”, later to be administered by Mozarabic judges (alcaldes).14 It becomes crucial for the Mozarabic community that the contracts establish clear and legitimate legal process, that includes an important religious figure in a central role. Francisco Hernández further explained that “el punto de partida en este caso es el estatuto legal de la existencia mozárabe. La historiografía 14  Hernández, “Language and Cultural Identity: The Mozarabs of Toledo,” p. 31.

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en su conjunto reconoce a los mozárabes autonomía jurídica.”15 This judicial autonomy is recognized through the precedents of the legal formulas. The revision to the formulas and their reinsertion into a text also help to highlight not only the role of the church within this multi-religious legal context and underscore the interaction between both Christian and Islamic law. Consider again the following excerpt: after knowing both sides the value of quantity of the sale, and the amount was deemed acceptable, and nothing was ignored about it, and following the law of the Christians [al-nasāri] in their sales, purchases, references and understanding [returns of damages or evictions]. According to Islamic law … selling with official reference of the authority [drk]. Ana Arsuaga Echevarria has suggested that a more sustained analysis of how each legal system was subdivided is necessary. She reflects: Habría que ver cómo se aplicaba esta parcela de la jurisdicción, basándose en qué fuentes de derecho, y hasta qué punto se mezclaron las formas judiciales de ambas comunidades. El sistema de dictámenes jurídicos sobre cuestiones religiosas, basados en opiniones legales recogidas en tratados de los grandes jurisconsultos musulmanes que utilizaban los cadíes musulmanes, era extraño para el sistema de derecho visigodo, basado en el romano.16 The new transcription provided here seems to clarify these roles. On the one hand, the parameters of the sale are conditioned and defined by Christian law. On the other, the value of the currency used is dictated by Islamic law. The contract is officially recorded by the “authority” [drk]. [drky], as it appears in the document, is an Arabic word meaning “gendarme” or police. There is no explicit information about the identity of this authority and whether he is Christian or Muslim. However, the word appears close to “Islamic law.” As previously discussed, there is evidence to suggest that the scribe of the document is probably not Christian due to his use of the direct article alongside “Christians.” In this second instance, the immediate clause to which “drk” or authority can possibly refer to is the authority of Islamic law. The clause referring to the figure of 15  Olstein, La era mozárabe: Los mozárabes de Toledo (Siglos XII Y XIII) en la historiografía; Las fuentes y la historia, p. 74. 16  Arsuaga Echevarria, “Los marcos legales de la islamización; El procedimiento judicial entre cristiano arabizados y mozárabes,” p. 44.

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authority of the Christian law seems too far removed to be the possible antecedent. This leads to the conclusion that the authority charged with accurately recording the terms of the sale is probably Muslim. 3 Conclusion Historically, the Arabic-language notarial documents of Toledo have been considered essential to understanding the Mozarabic (Arabized-Christian) community of Toledo. The focus of the analyses has traditionally been on how these documents reveal the differences and the separation of this community, the Mozarabic community, in relation to other communities, especially other Christian communities, coexisting in Toledo during the same period beginning in 1085 CE. This year marked a shift in the political structure of al-Andalus and the history of the Iberian Peninsula. Especially in Toledo, all events have been analyzed in a binary fashion, in terms of before and after 1085, María de la Paz Estevez frames the conquest of Toledo in the following terms: The Castilian conquest of Toledo in 1085 resulted in the emergence of a new society in that city and its rural surroundings during the 12th and 13th centuries. The transformation of the region of Toledo after the conquest and the numerous actions that altered the landscape, society, and culture […].17 What we have shown here is that the conquest of Toledo did not mark the beginning of a process but, rather, the reconquest marked the official date of a process already in transition. Documento 1 was produced in 1083 CE, two years before the official reconquest, and yet, the intervention and the authority of the Church and Christian laws is clearly laid out. The later shift from AndalusíArabic to Romance also implies a transition. However, “the continuity in the type of documents despite the change of language means that the same population is engaged in the same type of economic transactions.”18 Recent research has begun to show that said documents reveal a more multidimensional community than previously imagined. María de la Paz Estevez has po­ sited that “the Christian conquest of Toledo marked the beginning of a process of de-structuring and transformation carried out by the northern Christians to

17  Olstein, “The Arabic Origins of Romance Private Documents,” p. 435. 18  Ibid., pp. 441–42.

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impose their own forms of organization by introducing them into the existing structure to transform it from within.”19 The reconsideration of the formulas provided here reveals that the Church was not necessarily the benefactor of every transaction, as suggested by previous transcriptions. My analysis points instead to the Church, and in particular the Archdeacon, as mediator in the legal transactions. This reanalysis fundamentally changes our previous understanding of the role of this collection within the broader context of Toledo. Scholars formerly considered this collection to be a record of the process of absorption of Mozarabic culture into Northern Christian culture. The contract represented an activity designed to systemically reduce and deny Mozarabic cultural hegemony by religious figures and powerful lay peoples.20 The idea of Mozarabic isolation is not supported by the example I include herein. The document analyzed here records the purchase of a piece of land by a Jewish Rabbi, Rabbi Buasaq ben Nehemísh al Yahudi, from a woman with an etymologically Arabic name, Dzamila bint Faradz wife of Baliushi. There is no additional information about Dzamila regarding her religion. It is not clear from this document whether she is Muslim or Christian. Thus, this document cannot be characterized as Mozarabic in that it is not clear that a Mozarab intervened in the document. It cannot be characterized as Mozarabic because a person of Mozarabic identity did not benefit from the transaction, if anything a Jewish person can be said to have benefitted. Nor can it be used as evidence of Mozarabic isolation by the church because the church or its representatives seem to act only as witness and mediator. Diego Olstein and others have previously called into question the characterization of this collection as fundamentally Mozarabic. Olstein argues: La formación del nacionalismo mozárabe es presentada por una disyuntiva secular: integración del ‘nuevo pueblo hispano-musulmán’ o consumación del ‘nacionalismo hispánico’ [….] Los mozárabes de de las Cagigas constituyen una comunidad en busca de su carácter nacional en medio de nacionalismos en formación. Así, el estudio de éstos se convierte no sólo en un caso particular del ‘metabolismo’ de las minorías, sino también de la ‘formación del sentimiento nacional de todos los españoles.’21

19  de la Paz Estevez, “The Development of Feudal Relations in a Post-Conquest Reality: The Experience of the Mozarab Community of Toledo (Eleventh-Thirteenth Centuries),” p. 294. 20  Olstein, La era mozárabe. p. 32. 21  Ibid., p. 29.

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The figure of the Mozarab has been used for purposes of manufacturing a nationalistic Spanish construct based, in part, on the characterization of the Arabic language documents of Toledo as Mozarabic and by extension separate from other communities within Toledo. Further, it has been argued that the sales of these parcels of land resulted from necessity due to a devastation of the local vinelands by the Almohads.22 The document analyzed here does not reveal any of these motivations for the sale. With regard to the structure of the documents “Unsurprisingly, these documents written by the Mozarabs from Toledo are very similar to the economic contracts written by Muslims elsewhere in al-Andalus before and after the 12th century […] The surprising dimension, however, is the adoption of the Muslim notaries’ contracts by Christian society in post-conquest Toledo.”23 The similarities, however, do not preclude the innovative characteristics of these documents. Mainly, both Christian law and Islamic law interacted and were explicitly referenced in a single document. Christian law was used as the basis for establishing the parameters of the transaction, the process by which the terms were agreed upon and supervised, and the method by which a future dispute, should there be one, would be resolved. Islamic law served to establish the value of the money being interchanged. The significance of two distinct legal authorities within one document is twofold. On the one hand, even though Toledo was not technically under Christian control at the time of the production of this document, local authorities recognized that a change was coming. On the other, referring explicitly to Islamic law to establish the monetary value of the transaction implies recognition of a larger transition. It suggests that there is a recognition that the monetary value may soon change, and it was important to clearly define all terms and values in perpetuity. Thus, “even if the Christian conquest did not mean the immediate destruction of the old forms of organization, from the very beginning there was an evident strategy to standardize the organizational patterns, breaking the fragile agreements established between the conquerors and the conquered.”24 What is clear in the case study laid out here is that local people in Toledo foreshadowed the transition and began incorporating aspects of the new northern Christian authority and laws as well as aspects of Islamic law into the same documents. In a way, the inclusion of both laws, signaled an implicit recognition of legal, cultural 22  Ibid., p. 32. 23  Olstein, “The Arabic Origins of Romance Private Documents,” p. 436. 24  de la Paz Estevez, “The Development of Feudal Relations in a Post-Conquest Reality: The Experience of the Mozarab Community of Toledo (Eleventh–Thirteenth Centuries),” p. 295.

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and, possibly, linguistic transition. Most importantly, each legal system contributed in some fundamental way to the accreditation of the contract. Diego Olstein argued: “A crucial question in the historiography of medieval Spain and al-Andalus is that of the nature of Christian-Muslim relations.”25 The analysis provided here serves to advance that understanding. The analysis of the legal passages of the Arabic language legal documents housed in the Cathedral of Toledo shows that there was complex sustained interaction between the communities of the various religious faiths. At times, the communities were not merely interacting but also working together to come to mutual understandings. In the case study presented here, one person of possibly Christian or Muslim faith, Dzamila, and another of the Jewish faith, the purchaser, Rabbi Buasaq ben Nehemísh al Yahudi, placed their trust for the lawful sale of a property in a Christian authority figure, the Archdeacon, who would eventually act as a judge for the transaction. Finally, all the proceedings were recorded by a scribe who seems to be of Muslim faith. This sale explicitly references two legal systems that must be brought together, and the limits of each reconciled satisfactorily. In conclusion, the idea of shared spaces and shared cultures is not a purely theoretical construct that serves only to ignite academic debate. This case study demonstrates a need to review the original documentation and read it within a more nuanced framework. It also demonstrates that Toledo was a place of shared space, shared culture, shared negotiation, and shared trust, where these common values were reflected in the legal documents that bound its residents. Bibliography

Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

Archivo Histórico Nacional, Instituciones Eclesiásticas. Clero Regular/Secular. Catedral de Toledo. Car. 3017/3069. Caja 1965. Signatura I. González Palencia, Á., Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII Y XIII, Madrid, 1926.

Aillet, C., M. Penelas and P. Roisse (eds.), ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe?, Historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX–XII), Madrid, 2008. Álvarez Palenzuela, V.A., and L. Suárez Fernández, La España musulmana y los inicios de los Reinos cristianos (711–1157) (Historia de España, Vol. 5), Madrid, 1991.

25  Olstein, “The Arabic Origins of Romance Private Documents,” p. 433.

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Arsuaga Echevarria, A., “Los marcos legales de la islamización: El procedimiento judicial entre cristiano arabizados y mozárabes,” Salamanca, 2009, 37–52. Beale-Rivaya, Y., “The Written Record as Witness: Language Shift from Arabic to Romance in the Documents of the Mozarabs of Toledo in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries,” La Corónica 40.2 (2012), 27–50. Beale-Rivaya, Y., “Ethnic and Linguistic Pluralisms in the Arabic Documents of the Cathedral of Huesca in Aragón,” Revisiting Convivencia in Medieval and Early Modern Iberia, Newark, 2014, 387–404. Burman, T., Religious Polemic and the Intellectual History of the Mozarabs: C. 1050–1200, Leiden, 1994. Chalmeta, P., “Mozarabes,” Encyclopedia of Islam, vol. VII, Brill, 1993, 247. de la Paz Estevez, M., “The Development of Feudal Relations in a Post-Conquest Reality: The Experience of the Mozarab Community of Toledo (Eleventh–Thirteenth Centuries),” Al-Masaq 24.3 (2012), 293–308. Diaz, M., Estudios sobre la liturgia mozárabe, Toledo, 1965. Ferrando Frutos, I., “Los romancismos de los documentos mozárabes de Toledo,” Anaquel de estudios árabes 6 (1995), 71–86. Ferrando Frutos, I., “The Arabic Language Among the Mozarabs of Toledo During the 12th and 13th Centuries,” in J. Owens (ed.), Arabic as a Minority Language, BerlinN.Y., 2000, 45–64. Ferrando Frutos, I., “El árabe, lengua del Toledo islámico”, in Entre el califato y la taifa: Mil años de Cristo de la Luz. Actas del Congreso Internacional, Toledo, 1999, 107–23. Gili Gaya, D.S., Diccionario manual ilustrado de la lengua española, Barcelona, 1964. Gómez-Ruiz, R., Mozarabs, Hispanics, and the Cross (Studies in Latino/a Catholicism), N.Y., 2007. Gordón Peral, M.D., “Acerca de un mozarabismo en Andaluz,” Zeitschrift Für Romanische Philologie (ZrP) 110.5–6 (2009), 669–675. Hernández, F., “Los que parecían árabes,” Revista de Occidente (2000), 51–66. Hernández, F., “La catedral, instrumento de asimilación,” in Toledo, siglos XII–XIII; musulmanes, cristianos y judíos; la sabiduría y la tolerancia, Madrid, 1992, 79–97. Hernández, F., “Lengua e identidad cultural: Los mozárabes de Toledo,” in Francesc Xavier Mingorance i Ricart (ed.), I Curso de Cultura Medieval, Aguilar de Campo, 1991, 15–27. Hernández, F., “Language and Cultural Identity: The Mozarabs of Toledo,” Boletín Burriel 1 (1989), 29–48. Hitchcock, R., Mozarabs in Medieval and Early Modern Spain: Identities and Influences, Aldershot, 2008. Hitchcock, R., “Mozarabs and Moriscos: Two Marginalized Communities in SixteenthCentury Toledo,” in B. Taylor (ed.), Historicist Essays on Hispano-Medieval Narrative in Memory of Roger M. Walker, London, 2005, pp. 171–84.

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Hitchcock, R., “¿Quiénes fueron los verdaderos mozárabes? Una contribución a la historia del mozarabismo,” Nueva Revista de Filología Hispánica XXX 2 (1981),574–85. Olstein, D., La era mozárabe: Los mozárabes de Toledo (siglos XII Y XIII) en la historiografía, las fuentes y la historia, Vol. 1 (Acta Salmanticensia. Estudios Históricos & Geográficos 135), Salamanca, 2006. Olstein, D., “The Arabic Origins of Romance Private Documents,” Islam and ChristianMuslim Relations 17.4 (2006), 433–43. Pastor, R., “Problèmes d’assimilation d’une minoritée: Les mozarabes de Tolède (de 1085 a la fin du XIII e siècle),” Annales, Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations 25 (1970), 351–90. Pons Boigues, F., Apuntes sobre las escrituras mozárabes toledanas que se conservan en el Archivo histórico Nacional, Viuda é Hijos de Tellos, 1897. Taylor, D.H. and B. (eds.), Cultures in Contact in Medieval Spain: Historical and Literary Essays Presented to L.P. Harvey, Vol. III, King’s College, 1990. Urvoy, M.T., Le Psautier mozarabe, Toulouse, 1994.

chapter 9

Tathlīth al-waḥdāniyya (The Trebling of the Oneness): Translated from Arabic Clint Hackenburg 1

Translator’s Introduction

In the 12th century,1 an anonymous Jewish convert to Christianity composed an apology titled the Tathlīth al-waḥdāniyya (The Trebling of the Oneness).2 The author, who is described on separate occasions as either a layman or a priest, appears to have been the product of a rigorous education. Throughout the Tathlīth, he demonstrates a familiarity with Jewish, Christian, and Muslim arguments surrounding God’s nature and his attributes. The author also exhibits a firsthand knowledge of the scriptures and sources of the three Abrahamic faiths. In addition to quoting extensively from the Hebrew Bible (transcribed into Arabic), the author of the Tathlīth also presents an Aramaic passage from Targum Onkelos (transcribed into Arabic).3 He also cites passages from the New Testament and the Qurʾān and, on more than one occasion, he references several ḥadīth, one of which contains a complete isnād (chain of authorities). By utilizing such a variety of sources, the author displays that he is able to comfortably navigate Arabic, Hebrew, Aramaic, and Latin materials. In this regard, the author portrays himself as an ideal Christian apologist and polemicist who, on account of his background and linguistic abilities, was insulated from Jewish and Muslim critique.

1  For more information on the dating of this work, see Burman, Religious Polemic and the Intellectual History of the Mozarabs, c. 1050–1200, pp. 70–80. See also Potthast, Christen und Muslime im Andalus, pp. 327–338. 2  See van Koningsveld, “La apologia de al-Kindī en la España del siglo XII. Huellas toledanas de un ‘animal disputax,’” pp. 107–129. 3  Targum Onkelos is an Aramaic translation and, at times, exegesis of the Pentateuch. After being adopted by eastern (Babylonian) rabbis, it enjoyed widespread use during the medieval period as an authoritative translation and interpretation of the Torah. For more information on the Aramaic translations of the Hebrew Bible, see Encyclopaedia Judaica, pp. 572–679.

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This text would have been lost had it not been preserved by the Malikī scholar al-Qurṭubī4 (d. 1258) in his al-Iʿlām bi-mā fī dīn al-Naṣārā min al-fasād wa-l-awhām wa-iẓhār maḥāsin dīn al-Islām wa-ithbāt nubuwwat nabiyyinā Muḥammad (Information about the Corruptions and Delusions of the Religion of the Christians and the Presentation of the Merits of the Religion of Islam and the Affirmation of the Prophethood of Our Prophet Muḥammad).5 Taking this into consideration, there is no way of determining with any certainty the extent to which al-Qurṭubī quoted this anonymous work. As a result, the original length and accurate transmission of the Tathlīth cannot be established outside of al-Qurṭubī’s Iʿlām. In its surviving form, the Tathlīth can be separated into three distinct sections: (1) a logical defense of the Trinity,6 (2) a logical and, to a lesser extent, scriptural defense of the Incarnation,7 and (3) establishing the true religion and demonstrating that Jesus, the Son of Mary, is the Lord and Messiah.8 In the first part of the Tathlīth, the author builds his defense of the Trinity around a discussion of God’s power (qudra), knowledge (ʿilm), and will (irāda). Naturally, he connects these three faculties with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit respectively. In this regard, the anonymous author appears to have appropriated specific language found in the works of contemporary 12th century Latin-speaking theologians, particularly the works of Peter Hugh of St. Victor (d. 1141).9 However, the arguments and terminology found throughout the Tathlīth were in no way restricted to the Latin theological works of Western Europe. In reality, the Tathlīth displays a discernible level of continuity with earlier Christian Arabic apologetics produced east of the Mediterranean, specifically the works of Theodore Abū Qurra (d. ca. 825), Ḥabīb Abū Ra‌‌ʾiṭa 4  The al-Qurṭubī in question is Abū l-ʿAbbās Aḥmad ibn ʿUmar ibn Ibrāhīm ibn ʿUmar alAnṣārī l-Qurṭubī, also known as Ibn al-Muzayyin. For more information, see Binsharīfa, “AlImām al-Qurṭubī al-mufassir: sīratuhu min ta‌‌ʾālīfihi,” pp. 173; Kaddouri, “Identificación de ‘al-Qurṭubī,’ autor de al-Iʿlām bi-mā fī dīn al-Naṣārā min al-fasād wa-l-awhām,” pp. 215–219. See also Monferrer-Sala, “Al-Imām al-Qurṭubī,” pp. 391–394. 5  I consulted three editions of the Iʿlām: (1) Tathlīth al-waḥdānīyya, ed. and trans. Devillard, “L’écrit de Tolède: ‘La Trinité de l’Unicité,’ à travers la réfutation qu’en fait al-Qurṭubī,” pp. 24–36. Devillard’s edition does not include part three of the Tathlīth; (2) al-Qurṭubī, alIʿlām bi-mā fī dīn al-Naṣārā min al-fasād wa-l-awhām wa-iẓhār maḥāsin dīn al-Islām wa-ithbāt nubuwwat nabiyyinā Muḥammad, ed. al-Saqqā, pp. 47, 57, 71, 77, 91, 97, 105–6, 115–17, 163–165, 177, 181–85, 215–17; (3) al-Qurṭubī, Naqḍ kitāb tathlīth al-waḥdānīyya fī ma’rifat Allāh, eds. al-Kallām and al-Sharqāwī, pp. 351–370. Unless noted otherwise, all references henceforth to the Iʿlām are from al-Saqqā’s edition. 6  Iʿlam, pp. 47, 57, 63, 71, 77. 7  Ibid., pp. 91, 97, 105–106, 115–117. 8  Ibid., pp. 163–165, 177, 181–185, 215–217. 9  See Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 157–189.

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(d. ca. 830), ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī (d. ca. mid-9th century), ʿAbd al-Masīḥ ibn Isḥāq al-Kindī (ca. 9th to 10th century), Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī (d. 974), and ʿĪsa ibn Zura (d. 1008).10 Moreover, the Tathlīth shares demonstrable similarities with the Jewish philosopher Judah Halevi’s (ca. 1075–1141) Kuzari, notably its discussion of God’s attributes. Based upon the author’s emphasis on logic, Thomas Burman has suggested that the Tathlīth might have been written in response to the particular brand of rationalistic tawḥīd adopted by Ibn Tūmart (d. 1130) and the Almohads (al-Muwaḥḥidūn).11 As was often the case, any Christian or Muslim examination of the Trinity went hand in hand with an analysis of the Incarnation. Quite expectedly, then, the author of the Tathlīth presents a defense of the Incarnation rather reminiscent of the apologies of the aforementioned Christian mutakallimūn.12 In the opening paragraphs of his argument, the Christian author unpacks a series of customary Muslim questions and criticisms: “How can the eternal be temporal?” and “How can one be three?” However, unlike his rationalistic defense of the Trinity, the author offers both biblical and qurʾānic evidence to support his claims concerning the Incarnation. Most notably, this includes exploring the different manifestations of God’s voice as they appear in the Torah, Gospel, and Qurʾān. In doing so, the author compares Moses’ reception of God’s word spoken from the burning bush to the disciples’ reception of the embodiment of God’s word in the person of Jesus Christ. With this comparison in mind, the author attempts to exonerate Christians from Muslim accusations of associationism (shirk) and anthropomorphism. If the Qurʾān permits the possibility of a theophany through the intermediary of fire, then Muslims—in the eyes of the Christian apologist—are obliged to recognize that the human body, according to both the Bible and Qurʾān, is an even more appropriate medium through which God can manifest Himself.13 In the third and final part of the Tathlīth, the author first proposes an explanation for the development of illogical, dogmatic religious devotion. He argues that blind adherence to ancestral customs creates and perpetuates instinctive religious bias. In order to circumvent this conditioned vice, the author concludes that an honest and scrupulous believer must investigate 10  See Haddad, La Trinité divine chez les théologiens arabes, pp. 208–233. 11  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 78–79. For more information on Ibn Tūmart’s theology, see Fletcher, “The Almohad Tawḥīd: Theology Which Relies on Logic,” pp. 110–127. 12  See Griffith, The Beginnings of Christian Theology in Arabic, pp. 63–87. 13  The 9th-century Melkite theologian Theodore Abū Qurra offered a similar argument in his defense of the Incarnation. See Bacha, Les oeuvres arabes de Theodore Aboucara, pp. 180–186. See also Thomas, “Explanations of the Incarnation in Early ʿAbbāsid Islam,” pp. 127–149.

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the scriptures of opposing religions. Therefore, Christians are urged to provide evidence from the books recognized by the Jews to demonstrate that Christ was the awaited Messiah. Likewise, Muslims are encouraged to provide evidence from the books recognized by both the Jews and the Christians to demonstrate that Muḥammad was foretold. Subsequently, the author produces a series of biblical proof-texts from the Old Testament.14 Believing that these particular passages have substantiated the messianic claims of the Christian community, the author concludes that Christianity has unquestionably abrogated Judaism. Unlike previous sections of the work, the final paragraphs of the Tathlīth are overtly polemical. Rather than dismantling any alleged biblical testimonia of Muḥammad, the author instead chooses to lambaste Muslim marriage practices, which the Christian presents as lewd, scandalous, and antithetical to Christ’s teachings. Additionally, after highlighting the Muslim ancestral connection with Hagar and Ishmael, the author of the Tathlīth concludes that Islam—in view of its law and lineage—has been disqualified from any claims of superiority and that Muslims have been explicitly excluded from God’s covenant. On a final note, the language and style of the Tathliṭh pose a particularly difficult challenge for the translator. Al-Qurṭubī is, to a certain extent, justified in his rather harsh evaluation of the anonymous Christian author’s command of the Arabic language. On more than one occasion, the Tathlīth contains incomplete arguments, awkward phrasing, inaccurate word choice, and, at times, a cumbersome and substandard syntax and grammar. Generally speaking, the language of the Tathlīth is less than eloquent.15 2

The Trebling of the Oneness

2.1 Introduction Praise be to God, who gave freely of the faculties with which He endowed us, and who commanded us to praise Him. Therefore, we praise Him, thank Him, and glorify Him in such a manner that we were accustomed to praising, thanking, and glorifying our kings and the people who inspire fear from among those who possess authority in our community; in other words, it is a religious 14  These biblical passages, which have been transcribed into Arabic, have been transmitted with varying degrees of accuracy, ranging from quite accurate to severely convoluted. For more information on the author’s biblical quotations, see Monferrer-Sala, “Siete citas hebreas, más una aramea, transcritas al árabe en el Iʿlām del Imām al-Qurṭubī,” pp. 393–403. 15  Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 163.

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duty to thank Him, praise Him, and glorify Him while neither understanding His essence nor comprehending anything about it. Rather, we only know the names of His acts, [which became discernible]16 by virtue of His creation and His direction [of mankind] through His divinity. 3

Section One—Part One

3.1 The Hypostases are Names of Acts Now, regarding the matter of the Trinity, it is necessary for me to ask you: “Did everything that God create come into being by means of power, knowledge, and will, or did He create them without this?”17 If the question compels you to affirm these names [power, knowledge, and will], then I ask you: “Do these names pertain to His essence, or do these names pertain to His acts?”18 If you say “they are names pertaining to His essence,” then you have contradicted yourself and, by applying these names to the essence, you have fallen into the very thing you claim to have rejected, namely, anthropomorphism. However, if you say “they are names pertaining to His acts, and on account of them, God is called Powerful, Knowing, and Willing,” then it is the Trinity which He commanded us to affirm. 4

Section One—Part Two

4.1 The Hypostases of the Power, Knowledge, and Will If you say, “Why do you Christians not say, ‘In the name of the Powerful, the Knowing, and the Willing,’ when you say, ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit?’ It would then be clear that a father, a son, and a holy 16  Henceforth, the words appearing in brackets have been added to increase the clarity and coherence of the translation; however, they do not explicitly appear in the Arabic text. 17  For more information on this triad, see Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 78–79, 157–189; Potthast, Christen und Muslime im Andalus, pp. 327–338; Haddad, La Trinité divine chez les théologiens arabes, pp. 208–233. An almost identical triad is used by Abū Ra‌‌ʾiṭa (d. ca. 830), see Keating, Defending the “People of Truth” in the Early Islamic Period, pp. 226–227. 18  This type of language was prevalent in Arabic theological discussions of God’s attributes. ʿĪsā ibn Zura (d. 1008) claimed that God’s goodness, wisdom, and power were names, or more specifically attributes, of God’s acts. See Thomson, “Four Treatises by ʿĪsa ibn Zura Tenth Century Jacobite Christian of Baghdad,” pp. 142. Likewise, Judah Halevi claims that any adjective or description of God, apart from the Tetragrammaton, should be applied to God’s acts and deeds. See Halevi, al-Kitāb al-Khazarī, ed. Nabīh Bashīr, pp. 234–235.

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spirit are a third [of three].”19 Know that when Christ sent the disciples to all of the races he said to them, “Whoever believes among them, baptize him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”20 He spoke to us in a manner that we could understand. Therefore, he made these names, [which are the names of God’s acts, threefold]21 and according to the distinct causes22 of these acts. First, Christ attributed the cause of God’s creation to the faculty of power, and he called it “Father.” Next, he attributed the cause of Christ’s preaching among the people to the faculty of knowledge, and he called it “Son,” because knowledge is not realized until being born as speech. Finally, he attributed the annihilation of the world and the judgement of its people according to their actions to the faculty of will, and he called it “Holy Spirit.” God is the Powerful, Knowing, and Willing, which are names for the One who does not multiply. 5

Section One—Part Three

5.1 An Explanation of the Trinity He says, “If you Christians believe in the Trinity because it represents the names of God’s acts, then we object because His acts are more than three. Therefore, believe in them just as you believe in the Trinity, for God is also called Mighty, Powerful, Conquering, Hearing, Victorious, Seeing, Forgiving, Forbearing, Wrathful, Punishing, and other names derived from His acts.23 Accordingly, believe in them all just as you believe in the Trinity.” I say to you, “These names which we have mentioned are the sources of every other 19  See Sūrat al-Māʾida (5:73). 20  Matt. 28:19. It is worth noting that Arabic renditions of this particular passage appeared on coins minted in Toledo during the late 12th and early 13th century. See Nickson, Sovereignty belongs to God, pp. 838–861. 21  Al-Qurṭubī does not quote the words in brackets in the main body of the Tathlīth; however, he quotes them as an individual passage slightly later in his work. See al-Saqqā, Iʿlām, pp. 68–69. 22  The Arabic word used is qaḍāyā. The word qaḍīya/qaḍāyā often carries a meaning of legal affair, matter, cause, issue, problem, and concern, in addition to various other meanings. Thomas Burman suggests that the author of the Tathlīṭh was attempting to represent the Latin word causi, which appears to reflect the semantic range of qaḍīya quite nicely. Devillard, in his French translation, opted for oeuvres. Potthast, in his German rendition, settled on die Angelegenheit. See Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 164; Devillard, L’Écrit de Tolède, pp. 32; Potthast, Christen und Muslime im Andalus, pp. 537. 23  Approximately half of these names can be found amongst God’s Most Beautiful Names (al-asmāʾ al-ḥusnā). See Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed., s.v. “al-asmāʾ al-ḥusnā.”

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designation of God. From them all other names emerge, and in them all other names are incorporated. Therefore, the names ‘Mighty,’ ‘Powerful,’ ‘Conquering,’ and those names which resemble them, their source is the power. From it they emerge, and in it they are incorporated. However, the names ‘Forgiving,’ ‘Merciful,’ ‘Forbearing,’ ‘Wrathful,’ and ‘Punishing,’ their source is the will. From it they emerge, and in it they are incorporated.” If you say that the names “Eternal” and “Living” do not emerge from them,24 nor are they incorporated into them, therefore, believe in the five-ness (takhmīs) of God,25 then I say to you that the names “Eternal” and “Living” are names of essence and not names of acts. Each name pertaining to God’s essence indicates one meaning by the negation of its opposite, that is to say, “eternal” by negation of “temporal,” “living” by negation of “dead,” “master” by negation of “mastered,” and “deity” by negation of “deified.” Each of these names—power, knowledge, and will—are names of acts; they are three names pertaining to the one essence that cannot exhibit any multiplicity. In a similar manner, we understand that, with respect to the human soul, no act subsists apart from the three [power, knowledge, and will]. If one of them is deficient, then the act will not be fully realized; if a fourth is added to them, then the act will not be in harmony. Likewise, we understand that the direction of our Creator, as far as it concerns us, is bound to the three. Therefore, with respect to mankind, no act subsists without the three: the power, knowledge, and will. There is no fourth among them. If one of them is ineffectual, the act will not be fully realized by means of the other two, because if he knows and wills but is unable [powerless], then he will be ineffectual. If he is able [has the power to act] and knows but is not willing, then the act cannot be fully realized without his will to do so. If he is able but does not know, then the act cannot be fully realized on account of his ignorance. Therefore, the book brought us a knowledge of the Creator as manifested through His creation.26 In a similar fashion, we recognized in ourselves that the power, knowledge, and will are subsisting properties (khawāṣṣ qāʾima) by which an act may be fully realized, and yet they have one essence. In such a way, the three-ness of God is one.

24  The author is referring to the power, knowledge, and will. 25  Burman translates takhmīs as “quintinity.” See Thomas Burman, “In Support of the Trinity (mid 12th century),” pp. 150. 26  See Rom. 1:20.

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Section One—Part Four

6.1 Proof of the Trinity If someone among the opponents asks the question, “What is the proof of the truthfulness of that which you claim concerning the trebling (tathlīth) of the oneness of the Creator? How is it possible for three to be one and one to be three, despite your premise establishing that He is singular and eternal?” We say to them, “As for the three being one and the one being three—that, upon my life, cannot be.” Rather, we say that God is a timeless substance immutably existing within three eternal persons, whose substances are without distinction and without separation in the eternal, timeless substance, which is neither divided nor partitioned in itself or in its completeness. Therefore, the sum of the persons is three. He is neither three in the sense that He is one, nor is He one in the sense that He is three. I mean that He is not one person, rather He is three persons. This is our doctrine concerning the trebling of the oneness of the Creator. 7

Section Two—Part One

7.1 The Union of the Word Next, we begin by speaking about the [hypostatic] union (ittiḥād). If you say, “If the Trinity, in your eyes, denotes the names of acts that are attributable to subsisting properties whose essence—which is neither fragmented nor divided—is one, why then have you introduced division, thereby excluding the Father and the Holy Spirit? Why do you call Christ ‘Son’ and not ‘Father’ and ‘Holy Spirit?”’27 Know then that the names were differentiated once we came to understand the causes by virtue of their [particular] acts, as we have presented. Therefore, in the beginning, the cause of the creation of the world was attributed to the power, and it was called “Father;” the cause of preaching was attributed to the knowledge, the word in bodily form, and it was called “Son.” The cause of preaching was particular to the flesh to the exclusion of the others because Christ took on the [particular] role of preaching in the world—not the role of creating the world. For if in the beginning God had taken on a body with which to fashion creation, then the body would have been called “Father;” moreover, 27  For an in-depth analysis of technical Trinitarian vocabulary in Arabic, see Najib Awad, Orthodoxy in Arabic Terms, pp. 359–379.

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flesh would have been attributed to the Father. However, God took on a body in order to preach to creation. Therefore, preaching was attributed to knowledge, the word in bodily form, and it was called “Son.” That is why the Gospel says, “The Word became flesh and lived among us.”28 Thus, the Word alone became flesh because it was the one who preached orders and prohibitions to the exclusion of the power and the will. This is the most concise explanation of the hypostatic union. 8

Section Two—Part Two

8.1 The Meaning of the Hypostatic Union If someone asks about the meaning of the union, we say, “We believe in this on account of our faith in the Gospel and in that which the prophets and messengers of the Lord of the Worlds has transmitted and made known about God. Moreover, we believe that the accounts which have been transmitted to us are truthful and contain no lies.” If you say, “How is it possible that the eternal became one with the temporal and that the creator became one with the created?” We believe in this out of faithfulness to the book while respecting the parameters of reason. That is why we neither say that the eternal, from the perspective of its substance, became temporal, nor do we say that the temporal, from the perspective of its substance, became eternal. Rather, we say that the temporal became God; we do not say that God became temporal. In a similar manner, we say that coal became fire, not that fire became coal. If you say, “What is the cause of this union?” You will be told, “The will.” This question of yours is like the question of one who asks, “Why did God create the world?” It will be said to him, “God wanted this.” If you say, “Is this union eternal or temporal?” You will be told, “Eternal and temporal.” If you say, “How can it be eternal and temporal?” You will be told, “Eternal in power and temporal in act. Everything from His perspective occurs in the present moment because He—may He be blessed and exalted—is neither bound by time, nor does He calculate things with numbers. Everything from His perspective exists in the present moment.” 28  John 1:14. The Arabic word iltaḥama (to become flesh) is quite unique in Christian Arabic apologetics. Rather than using the conventional tajassada (to become a body) or ta‌‌ʾannasa (to become a human being), the author of the Tathlīth may have been translating the Latin incarnatus est. The phrase caro factum est (to become flesh) appears in the Vulgate in John 1:14. See Burman, “‘Tathlīth al-waḥdānīyah’ and the Twelfth-Century Andalusian-Christian Approach to Islam,” pp. 114.

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Section Two—Part Three

9.1 The Intermediary between God and Moses Next, we say to whomever would like to debate me among the remaining Muslims that your book says, “Moses heard God, and God spoke to him directly.”29 How was that possible when you declare that every sense is incapable of comprehending God in this world and the next because He is neither created, nor does He resemble anything that our imaginations can envision? If you say that God Himself spoke to Moses,30 then you require that He possess an organ of speech. In doing so, you have fallen into the anthropomorphism which you reject. If you say that God created a word in order to speak to Moses, then you have established that there is a created word that subsists in and of itself as a substance, since it is not an accident (ʿaraḍ) in God. It said to Moses, “I am God, there is no god except me. Therefore, worship me.”31 Consequently, you have established that the word is an intermediary between God and Moses. Moreover, you have established that Moses acknowledged its divinity, when he said, “Lord, show me, that I may look upon you.”32 It was the voice (lit. echo) that spoke to him, saying, “There is no god except me. Therefore, worship me.” If you say that the voice did not say to him, “I am God,” rather Moses [only] heard “I am God,”33 I say to you that the voice was [still] the active agent, and it was what motivated him. Moreover, he responded to it, and he answered to it. The proof was that Moses was unaware of what God wanted, in connection with his mission to Pharaoh, until He created a fire for him that he could see and approach. Therefore, when he came to it, God veiled Himself [for Moses] in the fire as a voice. It said to him, “I am God, there is no god except me. Therefore, worship me.” However, you say that Moses had known what God wanted regarding his mission to Pharaoh without the fire and the word. From this perspective, the account of the fire and the word are devoid of meaning, and reporting them is of no use. To speak such words is to speak an abominable lie. If Moses could not have understood the one sent to him except through an intermediary that was 29   Sūrat al-Nisāʾ (4:164). 30  The phrase bidhātihi can mean “in or through his essence.” Therefore, the anonymous author very plausibly could be stating, “If you say that God spoke to Moses through his essence.” 31   Sūrat Ṭā Ḥā (20:14). 32   Sūrat al-Aʿrāf (7:143). 33  The author is claiming that a Muslim may argue that, in order to avoid accusations of associationism and anthropomorphism, the interaction that took place between God and Moses occurred without the articulation of words.

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united with God, which was called by his name [i.e., God], then it was the intermediary that caused Moses to act. It was on account of the intermediary that he took up the mission to come before Pharaoh in Egypt and say, “God appeared to me on mount Sinai, and He has sent me to you. You are to send the children of Israel away with me and no longer punish them.”34 [In saying this], he specified the place from which he left the presence of God, and although God was in Egypt, He was also everywhere. Because God is everywhere, Moses was incapable of understanding the orders and prohibitions of God except through the circumscribed word of a created body, so God created a fire for him. Moses saw it—and then he approached it. After that, God veiled Himself for Moses in the fire as a voice. It was from the fire that Moses heard God, and it was the voice that stood in place of the Creator; therefore, he called it “God.”35 10

Section Two—Part Four

10.1 The Incarnation of the Intermediary If there is no doubt that the voice said, “I am God,” then I ask you, “Do you consider the voice truthful, or do you declare it false?” If we must consider it truthful because it spoke as if it were divine, saying, “I am God, there is no god except me. Therefore, worship me,” we say to you: “In the same way, then, Christ is truthful when he says, ‘I am God.’” We know that the apostles and their followers recognized the truth in what he said about the divinity. Likewise, we know that Moses had recognized the truth in the word [spoken from the fire] because he agreed to fulfill his mission to the people of Egypt. Therefore, you have confirmed that the body of Christ and his word, which spoke as if divine, were like the body of the fire and its word, which spoke with Moses as if divine. If you say that Moses did not worship the fire as the Christians worship Christ, you will be told that the word said to him, “worship me,” and Moses prostrated before the word and said, “I repent to you; I am the first of the believers.”36 If a Muslim, when he is hard-pressed to do so, says, “The fire and its voice were indeed an intermediary; however, they differ from Christ and his word because it is not characteristic of fire to speak. As far as Christ is concerned, he was a man, and men are known to speak. Therefore, in this case, there was no miraculous sign.” We say to you, “If you maintain that creation 34  See Exodus, chapters 8 and 9. 35  In a similar manner, Judah Halevi notes that the various intermediaries of God (fire, cloud, etc.) were often called God. See Slonimsky, trans., The Kuzari, pp. 200–201. 36   Sūrat al-Aʿrāf (7:143).

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can only comprehend the Creator through a created body that God has taken on and fashioned as an intermediary between Himself and the prophets with whom He spoke, then the intermediary—from the perspective of the prophets—is God.” Therefore, you have agreed to acknowledge the divine presence through the intermediation of a created being in the person of Christ, thereby falling into that which you have denied. Moreover, it does not benefit you to resort to saying that neither the fire nor Christ is a miraculous sign. Nevertheless, you charge us with associationism (shirk) for our belief in an intermediary. However, intermediation is not an affront to either reason or truth. Both [the fire and Christ] are intermediaries between God and creation. You believe that the fire was truthful, and one need not fear any falsehood from it, whereas you fear falsehood from Christ. [Remember] that Moses only briefly spoke of the fire and the word and that doubt was only replaced with certainty thanks to the miraculous sign of the staff and the hand that he inserted into his cloak.37 Likewise, those who believed in the divinity of Christ only had their doubt removed when those who were dead, and were brought back to life by him, acknowledged his divinity. Still, you believe that the creation of the fire—in its essence—is nobler [than the body of Christ], despite the fact that anything created in this world was made to be beneficial and subservient to the sons of Adam?38 In fact, there is sufficient evidence in what has been said in your Qurʾān. It says that God ordered the angels to prostrate to Adam, but Iblīs, who became damned forever, refused to prostrate to him, saying: “I am better than he. You created me out of fire, whereas you created him out of clay.”39 If you say, “You have lied about Christ; he did not claim anything which you have said.” We say, “To the contrary, you have criticized us for believing in what we have found in our book. We do not make false claims as you say. Moreover, we have forced you—by means of your own book—to believe in such a way [as we do].” When we deny [your claims], you say, “You [Christians] have lied about Christ.” Why do you call us liars when our book says the same thing as your book regarding the intermediary [who spoke to] Moses and his worship of it? And when you assert that your community will be held accountable for its actions on the Day of Resurrection, you also assert that the one who will hold 37  Exodus 4:6. See also Sūrat al-Naml (27:12). 38  In his discussion of the Incarnation, Theodore Abū Qurra, like the author of the Tathlīth, maintains that the human body is nobler than a burning bush or a pillar of fire. See Lamoreaux, trans., Theodore Abū Qurrah, pp. 139. 39   Sūrat al-Aʿrāf (7:12).

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it accountable will address the community on the Day of Resurrection, and he will reward it according to its actions. Your Qurʾān says, “And your Lord has come, and the angels rank upon rank.”40 Do you deny that Christ was the intermediary for the preaching? Do you deny that it is he who will approach with the angels, as it is presented in the Gospel? Here it says, “The Son of Man—by which I mean the veil taken from the line of Adam—will sit at the throne of his greatness and all of the nations will be presented before him. He will separate them as the shepherd separates sheep from goats. He will take up the believers to his right and the criminals to his left, then he will punish them and judge each group according to what they did in this world.”41 How can you assert that God is neither created nor perceptible to the senses, when you also assert that the one who will hold the community accountable, who is audible, will be perceptible? Your lord [Muḥammad] confirmed this, saying: “You will see your Lord as you will have no difficulty in seeing the moon on the night of the full moon.”42 Do you still deny that Christ was the intermediary for the preaching and that it is he who will approach with the angels, as your Qurʾān says, “Are they waiting until God and the angels come to them in the shadows of the clouds when the matter has already been decided? Nevertheless, all matters return to God.”43 11

Section Three—Part One

The Argument of the Adherents of the Faiths With God’s Help, Here Begins the Discussion of the Three Faiths44 Know that people of all religions are alike concerning claims of faith. They pass judgment upon every group while considering themselves to be faithful and others to be unfaithful. Such misguided assumptions overcome them through the education of their young and the advice of their fathers and forefathers, until that way of thinking becomes natural for them, even necessary for them. 11.1

40   Sūrat al-Fajr (89:22). 41  Matt. 25:31–34. 42  This ḥadīth has been recorded by al-Bukhārī on the authority of Jarīr. See Saḥīḥ al-Bukhārī book 97, no. 61. 43   Sūrat al-Baqara (2:210). 44  The third section of the Tathlīth (as it has survived in al-Qurṭubī’s Iʿlām) may have been an independent work (or a later addition) that circulated alongside the Tathlīth. The opening phrase of this section, “Here Begins the Argument of the Three Faiths,” resembles an independent title. Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 75.

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As a result, it becomes easy for them to disparage others. They view their religion favorably on account of the reward granted in their earthy life rather than that which is promised hereafter. Therefore, they begin to manage their lives and affairs in a manner undeserving of that promise. Nevertheless, you find people of every religion criticizing the people of other religions for being more preoccupied with the demands of their daily affairs and more persuasive in procuring their livelihoods. I figure that this is on account of their desire to amass the things of this world. It is that which brings about envy and hostility among them. Therefore, every group exhausts themselves in procuring their means of living and, as a consequence, the afterlife, being far removed from their senses, becomes neglected.45 For these reasons, people of every religion claim that they are more deserving than others of that which is good. Accordingly, they become less and less impartial toward each other despite their prolonged time together. This is because every group imitates their ancestors and becomes content with the narratives which praise their religion and humiliate others. This deprives man of all his senses, kills his thoughts, and drives off his ability to understand. Moreover, it severs his ability to recognize the useful aspects that he could receive from the narratives as well as his ability to use them against the very things of this world that he is to turn his back on. You certainly find a man in every religion who, when he wants to buy a shred of cloth to patch his robe or a strap to fix his sandals, seeks help and advice out of fear of making a mistake or an error [regarding his purchase]. However, when it comes to examining his religion and his afterlife, he is content with imitating his ancestors, disregarding evidence from anyone who contradicts his community, and humiliating anyone outside his own religion. Therefore, he jumps into debate even if he is not skilled in it. He sees it as an obligation, even though he does not understand it. What is more, he has not acquired any knowledge or skills apart from the superficial. Therefore, he recognizes the [perceived] virtue and not the [skillful practice of] dialectic or debate. 45  Due to the peculiar grammar of this particular passage, which is quite unwieldy, the logic of the argument is at times difficult to follow. Therefore, a variety of meanings can be entertained. Al-Qurṭubī goes so far as to argue that this passage is so poorly written that the Christian author’s intended meaning may be entirely lost. He even suggests that the reader may come away with the opposite meaning of what the author intended. See alSaqqā, Iʿlām, pp. 169. Fortunately, the general tenor is quite typical of Christian-Muslim dialogue, which often saw Christians and Muslims accusing one another of being overly credulous as well as easily distracted by worldly concerns. For an alternative reading of this passage, see Potthast, Christen und Muslime im Andalus, pp. 543.

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Everyone makes certain claims about which they are unable to be completely impartial on account of the profound nature [of the subject]. This is because they hold differing views about the Creator whom they cannot comprehend with their senses, so they differ regarding what they known of Him. To the contrary, people agree upon that which they can comprehend with the senses and envision in their imaginations. A sound mind is compelled to respond to the truth when it comes upon it and when it is revealed. For these reasons, every group argues in favor of their own religion and considers themselves to be superior to others. Let the following be an example for you: [Imagine] that you come across an Ethiopian slave who has been shown mercy by a man from one of the three religions. This man introduces the slave to his religion, and he recounts to him the stories of his ancestors. Subsequently, the slave accepts [what the man says] like an unquestioning child. The cause of this is that his mind is empty of any ideas that have been written down in books. Therefore, the slave becomes attached to what the man has recounted to him from his stories and from his knowledge. This becomes rooted in his mind to the point that he becomes one of the people of that man’s religion who ascribes superiority to it while denigrating and vilifying the people of other religions. [In another example]: Imagine that a pagan (majūs)46 entered our lands by chance or for trade, but over time his paganism became a burden upon him, and he felt grieved by his loneliness because he was the only one remaining in this belief. In due course, he became determined to reject it. Therefore, he decided to enter one of the three religions that he had previously considered corrupt on account of his paganism. If such were the case, he would be confused and uncertain which one was best for him to join because he found that every group claims faithfulness for themselves and disbelief for others. Furthermore, he found that they make similar claims regarding miraculous signs and that people of every religion claim that miraculous signs and demonstrable evidence have proved their religion. However, you do not find that it was one of the alleged miraculous signs that compelled the mind of the pagan to enter their religion. To the contrary, the reason that caused him to join [a particular religion] was his good sense to wait until he had listened to their evidence and employed his intellect to their claims in order to understand how they contested the truth. He found among their claims that the Christian and the Muslim concede to the Jew that his religion was first and that their prophets were true. 46  For more information on the meaning of majūs in an Iberian context, see Burman, Religious Polemic, pp. 167.

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However, the Christian would say that his book came later and that it abrogated any obedience to the religion of the Jew. Likewise, the Muslim would say that his book came later and that it abrogated obedience to the religion of the Christian, just as it has abrogated the religion of the Jew. However, when the pagan revealed to the Jew what the Christian and Muslim had claimed, the Jew denied [the claims] of both of them, saying, “After my book, no book has come from God.” Subsequently, when the pagan asked the Christian about what the Muslim had claimed, the Christian denied [the claims] as well, saying, “After my book, no book has come from God.” Therefore, it became incumbent upon the Christian to bring forth evidence against the Jew from the books that the Jew recognizes. If there is no evidence in them of an awaited Messiah, then the Christian has no proof against him, and he has no cause to blame him. However, if there is evidence in them of an awaited Messiah through whom the world will be reconciled and whose signs corresponded with the signs of he who came and appeared [Christ], if that were the case, then the Christian has [correctly] chosen the first message [Old Testament] and the second message [New Testament] for himself. The Jew, however, separated himself from God’s approval through his opposition to the second message and its subsequent beliefs, which he rejected on account of his traditions (sunna). Likewise, the Muslim must present evidence against the Christian from the books that the Christian recognizes and accepts. If there is no evidence in them of a Muḥammad who is to come, then he has no proof against him, and he has no cause to vilify him. However, if there is evidence in them of a Muḥammad who is to come, and the features of his life corresponded to the features described in the books [the Old and New Testament], then the Muslim is correct, and the Christian has separated himself from God’s approval. 12

Section Three—Part Two

12.1 The Awaited Messiah Here is the evidence of the Christian against the Jew: In the books that the Jew recognizes and accepts, there is evidence of the awaited Messiah. The Jews cannot deny this, because his expectation was known and obvious to them. The indication—regarding the time of his arrival—is that the Jews have been waiting for him since they were taken captive and dispersed until this very day. Since the Jews have been forced to await his arrival from the time of their scattering throughout the world, it is incumbent upon the Christians to tell them that he has indeed come.

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The proof that he [Christ] was the [awaited Messiah] is that the Jews have split on account of him. As a result, they have become two factions: those who disbelieved in him and those who believed in him. The disbelieving faction is the Jews and the believing faction is the Christians—one party believed, and one party disbelieved. Regarding the books, they [Christians and Jews] agreed and disagreed with each other. They agreed upon the words and readings, but they disagreed upon their interpretation, as they do to this very day. Therefore, it can be concluded that one of the two factions has disbelieved. When we examine the books, we can conclude from them that the condition of the sons of Israel has been one of both belief and disbelief. On the occasions that they disbelieved, they have been humiliated, because humiliation, captivity, and disunity are signs of disbelievers. It is also found in the books that God did not promise reward in the hereafter to the sons of Israel for their obedience and faith. Rather, He promised them [reward] in this world. Therefore, for their obedience and faith, He promised them sovereignty, prosperity, the punishment of their enemies, and an increase in their wealth and harvest. However, for their disbelief and infidelity, He threatened them with defeat, and He promised sovereignty and strength to their enemies. Therefore, they are no longer supported on account of their obedience and faith; rather, they are enslaved for their disbelief and infidelity. 13

Section Three—Part Three

13.1 The Messiah: Jesus Son of Mary I will confirm for you that Christ has come according to the words of the prophets. Thus, the prophet Hosea son of Beeri (peace be upon him) said in Hebrew: “Kî yāmîm rabbîm yēšĕḇū bĕnê yiśrāʾēl ʾên meleḵ wĕʾên śār.”47 Its meaning: “Verily the sons of Israel will live many days without a king and without a leader.” If a stubborn Jew is asked, “Do they have a king or a leader?” His only answer will be to say, “We have neither a king nor a leader.” Therefore, it will be said to them that since you have neither a king nor a leader, hear what the honorable Jacob, who had twelve sons, one of whom was the prophet Joseph (may God be pleased with all of them until the Day of Judgment), has said in Hebrew: “Lōʾ-yāsûr šēḇeṭ mîhûḏāh ûmĕḥōqēq mibbên raḡlāyw ‘ad kî-yāḇōʾ šîlô wĕlô yiqqĕhaṯ ʿammîm.”48 This is its meaning, “The scepter of the king will not be taken from Judah, nor the lawgiver from between his feet, until the Messiah 47  Hosea 3:4. 48  Gen. 49:10.

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comes; and to him will be the obedience of the nations.” Therefore, it will be said to them, “If you have neither a king nor a leader, then the Messiah has [indeed] come.” Since you have no king, it is as the prophet Jacob said. In Hebrew, the prophet Jeremiah (peace be upon him) spoke about a disbelieving faction: “ʾIm-yaʿămōḏ mōšeh ûšĕmûʾēl lĕp̄ ānay ʾên nap̄ ĕšî ʾel-hāʿām hazzeh šallaḥ mēʿal-pānay wĕyēṣēʾû. Wĕhāyāh kî-yōʾmĕrû [ʾēleyḵā] ʾānāh nēṣēʾ wĕʾāmarĕtā ʾălêhem [kōh-ʾāmar Yhwh ʾăšer lammāweṯ lammāweṯ waʾ‌‌ăšer laḥereḇ laḥereḇ waʾ‌‌ăšer lārāʿāḇ lārāʿāḇ waʾ‌‌ăšer laššĕḇî laššĕḇî].”49 Hear the word of God through the tongue of the prophet Jeremiah. Its meaning: “Even if Moses and Samuel stood before me, we would not be pleased with this people. Cast them away from me, let them go. If they ask, ‘Where will we go?’ You will say to them, ‘From death to death, from sword to sword,50 from hunger to hunger, my anger will be fully upon them.”’ They [the Jews] are subject to God’s wrath for their disbelief in the Messiah who has come. Then God (may He be exalted) said through the tongue of the honorable prophet Jacob in the Aramaic tongue (lisān Suryānī): “Lōʾ yiʿĕddê ʿaḇêḏ šûlṭān middĕḇêṯ yĕhûḏāh wĕsāp̄ raʾ‌‌ mibbĕnê bĕnôhî ʿaḏ ʿālmāʾ ʿaḏ dĕyêṯê mĕšîḥāʾ dĕḏîlêh hîʾ malĕḵûṯāʾ wĕlêh yištamʿûn ʿammayyāʾ.”51 This is its meaning, as God said through the tongue of his prophet Jacob, “The scepter of the king will not depart from Judah, nor the lawgiver from its sons, until the Māshīḥā, who is the Messiah, comes; and to him will be the dominion, and to him will be the obedience of the nations.” In such a manner, God (may He be exalted) spoke in Hebrew of the destruction of their kingdom through the tongue of the prophet Jeremiah: “Gāḏaʿ Adōnay bāḥŏrî-ʾap̄ kōl qeren yiśrāʾêl.”52 This is the meaning: “God, with the severity of his anger, has destroyed the entire nation of Israel.” Therefore, understand that the Messiah has come and that their dominion has been destroyed. Furthermore, God spoke through the tongue of the prophet Jeremiah concerning the law (sharīʿa) of the Messiah and the faith of the disciples. He spoke in the Hebrew tongue, saying: “Hinnēh yāmîm bāʾîm nĕʾum-Yhwh wĕḵārattî ʾeṯbêṯ yiśrāʾēl wĕʾeṯ bêṯ yĕhûḏāh bĕrîṯ ḥăḏāšāh. Lōʾ ḵabĕrîṯ ʾăšer kārattî ʾeṯ-ʾăḇôṯām 49  Jer. 15:1–2. The majority of the Hebrew in the second verse has been garbled to the point of illegibility. Moreover, the phrase, wĕḵillêṯî ḥămāṯî bām, which can be found in Ez. 6:12, has been attached to the end of the passage. 50  The Hebrew word laḥereḇ (sword) has been curiously translated into Arabic as ghayy (transgression) or ghinan (wealth) in the different Arabic manuscripts. 51  Targum Onkelos Genesis 49:10. The fact that the author has quoted Targum Onkelos is an even stronger indication that he is a converso (Jewish convert to Christianity). 52  Lam. 2:3. On more than one occasion, the author uses Adonay in favor of the Tetra­ grammaton. This is another indication that the author was a converso.

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bĕyôm heḥĕzîqî ḇĕyāḏām lĕhôṣîʾām mēʾereṣ miṣrāyim ʾăšer-hēmmāh hēp̄ ērû ʾeṯ-bĕrîṯî wĕʾānōḵî bāʿaltî ḇām nĕʾum-Yhwh.”53 Its meaning, “God says, ‘I will establish for the House of Israel and Judah a new covenant, unlike the covenant which I spoke to their fathers on the day which I brought them out of the land of Egypt and out of the abode of bondage.’” With these words, God made clear the faith of the apostles and their followers. He also spoke in another place through the tongue of the prophet Jeremiah, in Hebrew, about the faith of these apostles, saying, “Šûḇû ḇānîm šôḇāḇîm nĕʾum-Adōnay kî ʾānōḵî bāʿaltî ḇāḵem wĕlāqaḥtî ʾeṯḵem ʾeḥāḏ mēʿîr ûšĕnayim mimmišpāḥāh wĕhēḇêʾṯî ʾeṯḵem ṣiyyôn.”54 Its meaning, “Return, O obstinate children, for surely I am your master. I will take you, one from a city and two from a family, and I will place you in Zion.” In this manner, He took the apostles one from a city and two from a family. Next, in the following verse, He said: “Wĕnāṯattî lāḵem rōʿîm kĕlibbî.”55 Its translation, “We will provide you shepherds after my own heart.” Following this, He said, “Wĕrāʿû ʾeṯḵem dēʿāh wĕhaśkêl.”56 Its meaning, “They will shepherd you with knowledge and understanding.” In such a way, He made leaders (a‌‌ʾimma) and shepherds of the apostles so that they would teach the people knowledge and understanding. Next, He said in the following verse that He does not act in accordance with an obsolete covenant: “Wĕhāyāh kî ṯirbû ûp̄ ĕrîṯem bāʾāreṣ bayyāmîm hāhēmmāh nĕʾum-Adōnay lōʾ-yōmĕrû ʿôḏ ʾărôn bĕrîṯ- Adōnay wĕlōʾ yaʿăleh ʿallēḇ wĕlōʾ yizkĕrû-ḇô wĕlōʾ yip̄ qōḏû wĕlōʾ yēʿāśeh ʿôḏ.”57 Its meaning, “And when you have multiplied and increased in the land, in those days, the Lord says, you will never say, ‘The ark of the covenant of God.’ It will not come to mind, nor be remembered or believed in, nor will it be made again.” Therefore, know that the apostles and their followers among the nations (Gentiles) believed. In addition to this, the honorable Solomon said: “I have not learned wisdom, nor have I acquired knowledge of the Holy One.”58 What is knowledge of the Holy One?59 Understand, my fellow man, that it is not possible for anyone to 53  Jer. 31:30–31. 54  Jer. 3:14. 55  Jer. 3:15. 56  Jer. 3:15. 57  Jer. 3:16. 58  Prov. 30:3. Arabic-speaking Christians preferred the word quddūs meaning “Holy” or “Holy One” when referring to God; however, in this particular passage, the author of the Tathlīth chose the word muqaddasīna meaning “Holy Ones.” The author appears to be following the Hebrew plural qĕḏōšîm. 59  See Prov. 9:10.

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be holy unless he knows it and believes in it. Regarding the true faith, he says, “Who has ascended to heaven and come down? Who has held the winds in his hands? Who has gathered the waters in a garment?” Then he said in Hebrew, “Mî hēqîm kāl-ʾap̄ sê-ʾāreṣ mah-šĕmô ûmah-šem-bĕnô.”60 Understand its interpretation, be driven by reason, and you will be guided. It was Solomon who said, “Mî hēqîm kāl-ʾap̄ sê-ʾāreṣ mah-šĕmô ûmah-šem-bĕnô.”61 The meaning, “Who has established all regions of the earth? What is his name, and what is his son’s name?” Then he said in the following verse in Hebrew, “Kāl-ʾimraṯ ʾĕlôah ṣĕrûp̄ āh māḡēn hūʾ laḥōsîm bô.”62 Its interpretation, “Every word of God is a shield, shining for all who trust in it.” Understand, [and you will be guided]. Then God spoke through the tongue of the prophet Jeremiah in Hebrew: “Hinnēh yāmîm bā’îm nĕʾum-Adōnay wĕḵārattî ʾeṯ-bêṯ yiśrāʾēl wĕʾeṯ-bêṯ yĕhûḏāh bĕrîṯ ḥăḏāšāh … zeraʿ ʾāḏām wĕzeraʿ bĕhēmāh.”63 Its interpretation, “This day will come, God declares, when we will sow the House of Israel and the House of Judah with the line of Adam and the line of beasts.”64 The Adamic line was the apostles and their followers who believed in Christ upon his arrival. The bestial line was the Jews who opposed Christ. Accordingly, the disciple John (Yaḥyā), whose name is Johannes, said, “Whoever does not believe and persevere in the teaching of Christ, does not have God.”65 Understand, [and you will be guided]. Know that I have written for you—in both Hebrew and Aramaic—some testimonies of the prophets, speaking on the authority of God, taken from the books that were in their hands. Moreover, know that the Jews are not able to deny one letter from the testimonies and books when I debate them using passages in Hebrew and Aramaic, which the prophets (may God be pleased with them) spoke, in order to verify the coming of Christ, the faith of the apostles and their followers, and the estrangement of the accursed Jews who opposed Christ our Lord. Understand, [and you will be guided].

60  Prov. 30:4. 61  Ibid. 62  Prov. 30:5. 63  The author has combined Jer. 31:31 with the final words of Jer. 31:27. 64  Although Jer. 31:31 and 31:27 have been combined in the Hebrew, the Arabic translation appears to be a simple rendering of Jer. 31:27. 65  2 John 1:9.

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Section Three—Part Four

14.1 Hagar: The Mother of Ishmael You, my fellow man, find in your book in [Sūrat] Āl ʿImrān, “He revealed the Torah and Gospel before as guidance to the people.”66 Therefore, you recognize the Torah and Gospel,67 so substantiate your religion with the Torah, as we have substantiated our religion with the books of the prophets. Know that we do not accept anything from your books. If you say anything from your book, I will say to you—just as your messenger said [to you], “The burden of proof is upon he who makes a claim, and the taking of an oath is upon he who denies.”68 Therefore, you must substantiate your religion with the Torah and Gospel, which you have recognized. You claim that your book is from God, so substantiate it with the Hebrew Torah and with the Latin Gospel,69 which you have recognized.70 You say, “Muhammad is not but a messenger; messengers have passed away before him.”71 I ask you to substantiate [your claims] with the books that the messengers have brought, as you have said, “Substantiate what you have claimed.” However, I only need to take an oath because I have denied you. [Know], again, that we do not accept prophetic stories, accounts, or tales from Muslim72 that are attested in his book. [For example], it says, “Sufyān recorded a ḥadīth for us on the authority of al-Zuhrī on the authority of Qatāda on the authority of ʿĀʾisha, saying that the wife of Rifa‌‌ʾā came to the Messenger, and she said to him, ‘I was with Rifa‌‌ʾā, then he divorced me, then I married ʿAbd al-Raḥmān bin al-Zubair.’ The Messenger smiled and laughed, saying, ‘Do you 66   Sūrat Āl ʿImrām (3:3–4). 67  Muslim scholars and polemicists have often approached the Bible in widely divergent manners. To state that Muslims unequivocally recognize the Torah and Gospel on account of Sūrat Āl-ʿImrān is polemical wishful thinking. For more information on the Muslim interpretation and use of the Bible, see Schaffner, “The Bible through a Qurʾānic Filter: Scripture Falsification (Taḥrīf) in 8th- and 9th-Century Muslim Disputational Literature.” See also Saleh, In Defense of the Bible. 68  Variations of this ḥadīth appear on the authority of Ibn ʿAbbās. See Saḥīḥ Muslim book 30, no. 1. See also Saḥīḥ al-Bukhārī book 48, no. 7. 69  The author uses the word ʿajamī to describe the Gospel. Generally speaking, this word denotes a meaning of non-Arabic or foreign speech, particularly Persian; however, in an Iberian context, the non-Arabic language the author was referring to was, more likely than not, Latin. 70  Muslims routinely criticized Christians for not having the Gospel in Jesus’ original language. See ʿAbd al-Jabbār ibn Aḥmad al-Asadābādī, Critique of Christian Origins: A Parallel English-Arabic Text, pp. 95–96. 71   Sūrat Āl ʿImrām (3:144). 72  The author is referring to the famous ḥadīth collector Muslim ibn al-Hajjāj (d. 874).

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want to return to Rifaʿā? You cannot until you have tasted his sweetness and ʿAbd al-Raḥmān bin al-Zubair has tasted your sweetness.’”73 In another account, ʿĀʾisha said, “A man divorced a woman by saying ‘I divorce you’ three times, then another man married her and subsequently divorced her before he had entered her.” Later, her first husband wanted to marry her. The messenger was asked about this, and he said, “Not until the other has tasted of her sweetness that which the first has tasted.”74 Understand that we do not accept these sorts of stories from you because Christ said that it is necessary for a man to divorce his wife only if she has committed adultery. If she has committed adultery, then it is not permissible for him to return to her. Whoever divorces his wife has thus made her a means by which to commit adultery. I mean whoever divorces a woman without cause and whoever marries a divorced woman has committed adultery with her.75 However, you say that it is not permissible for her husband to return to her unless she commits adultery. Therefore, rather than prohibiting adultery, you have commanded adultery. Goatishness is thereby imposed upon you.76 However, I want to cut the tail off the billy goat and place it on its chin.77 This response is out of vengeance for what you have previously said. As your Qurʾān says, “Whoever avenges himself after he has been wronged—there is no fault with him.”78 You said in your poetry, “The Christians try to defend their absurdities.” Save yourself from your own absurdities, for you have spoken such viciousness and evil of our religion. You have spoken lies about our Christ. How do you speak about that which you do not know? How do you dare speak such things? Know that if you send something abusive after this, then I will send a book to every nation with the text of your law (sharīʿa) and everything that we know of it and its interpretations, and you will be unable to deny it. Understand, however, because you have spoken such vileness and filth about Christ and disparaged the one who will judge you and all of the nations on the Day of Resurrection, that you will meet a judge who will not demand 73  Variations of this ḥadīth can be found in several collections on the authority of ʿĀʾisha. See Saḥīḥ Muslim book 16, no. 129. See also Saḥīḥ al-Bukhārī book 77, no. 10. 74  Ibid. 75  Matt. 5:31–32, Mk. 10:11, Lk. 16:18. 76  The author is comparing Muḥammad’s views on divorce to the lecherous and sexually unscrupulous behavior of a male goat. 77  The latter half of this insult is unclear and appears to have been corrupted or misquoted. Nevertheless, the context suggests that the abusive remark appears to be rather crude. For a possible translation of this passage, see Potthast, Christen und Muslime im Andalus, pp. 549. 78   Sūrat al-Shūrā (42:41) with variations.

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proof from you, [as Muḥammad claimed]. Furthermore, if you send something insulting after this, then I will acquaint you with your family tree [i.e., your true origins] so that you will know who you actually are. Know that I did not want to insult anyone in the first place. However, when the first book was sent with such insolence and disparagement, I offered [in a similar manner] a reply about his mother Hagar. Know, however, that I have not said a tenth of what God has said about her and her son in the Torah, so listen now to what God has said about her and her son: “Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian who bore a son to Abraham, and he was wild. She said to Abraham, ‘Cast this handmaiden and her son out, for she and her son will not inherit over my son Isaac.’ Abraham was distressed by what she had said to him about his son. Therefore, God said to Abraham, ‘Do not let Sarah’s words about the child and your handmaiden distress you. All of what Sarah has said to you—listen to what she has said.’ And Abraham said that this is the word of God, saying, ‘This one will not inherit you. Rather, the one who is of your loins, he will inherit you.’ Then God said to Abraham, ‘Through Isaac your offspring will be named.’”79 Understand, and you will be guided. Know that this is how God cut off the inheritance of Ishmael and his mother. He said, “This one will not inherit you,” then He said about Isaac, “he who came from your loins.” Why did God say to Abraham, “through Isaac your offspring will be named,” but He did not say, “through Ishmael your offspring will be named?” Moreover, in the night, Abraham took a piece of bread and a skin of water and placed it on the handmaiden’s shoulders, then He placed Ishmael around her neck and sent her along with her son away from the settled lands. A nation will be born of him.80 It says in your Qurʾān, “The Bedouins are more stubborn in unbelief and hypocrisy.”81 Understand, [and you will be guided]. Peace be upon whoever follows the guided path and believes in the law of Christ, the true faith. God’s mercy and blessing be upon him.

79  Genesis 21:9–12. 80  Genesis 21:13–14. The Hebrew Bible states that Abraham sent Hagar and Ishmael to wander in the wilderness of Beersheba as opposed to al-ʿUmrān. 81   Sūrat Tawba (9:97).

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Bibliography

Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

ʿAbd al-Jabbār al-Hamadānī, Critique of Christian Origins: A Parallel English-Arabic Text, eds. and trans. G.S. Reynolds and S.K. Samir, Provo, 2010. Abū Rāʾiṭa, Defending the “People of Truth” in the Early Islamic Period: The Christian Apologies of Abū Rāʾiṭah, trans. S.T. Keating, Leiden, 2006. Al-Biqāʿī, In Defense of the Bible: A Critical Edition and an Introduction to al-Biqāʿī’s Bible Treatise, ed. and trans. W.A. Saleh, Leiden, 2008. Al-Qurṭubī, Al-Iʿlām bi-mā fī dīn al-Naṣārā min al-fasād wa-awhām wa-iẓhār maḥāsin dīn al-Islām wa-ithbāt nubuwwat nabiyyinā Muḥammad, ed. A. Hijāzī al-Saqqā, Cairo, 1980. Al-Qurṭubī, Naqḍ Kitāb Tathlīth al-Waḥdānīyya fī Ma’rifat Allāh, eds. Y. Kallām and N. Sharqāwī, Damascus, 2012. Judah Halevi, Al-Kitāb al-Khazarī, ed. N. Bashīr, Beirut, 2012. Theodore Abū Qurra, Les oeuvres arabes de Theodore Aboucara, ed. C. Bacha, Beirut, 1904. Theodore Abū Qurra, Theodore Abū Qurrah, trans. John C. Lamoreaux, Provo, 2005.

Aillet, C., Les mozarabes: Christianisme, islamisation et arabisation en péninsule Ibérique (IX e–XII e siècle), Madrid, 2010. Awad, N., Orthodoxy in Arabic Terms: A Study of Theodore Abu Qurrah’s Theology in Its Islamic Context, Boston, 2015. Binsharīfa, M., “Al-Imām al-Qurṭubī al-mufassir: sīratuhu min ta‌‌ʾālīfihi,” Majallat Dār al-Ḥadīth al-Ḥasaniyya 16 (1999), 139–173. Burman, T., “In Support of the Trinity (mid-twelfth century),” in O.R. Constable (ed.), Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslims, and Jewish Sources, Philadelphia, 1997, 148–151. Burman, T., Religious Polemic and the Intellectual History of the Mozarabs, c. 1050–1200, Leiden, 1994. Burman, T., “‘Tathlīth al-waḥdānīyah’ and the Twelfth-Century Andalusian-Christian Approach to Islam,” in John V. Tolan (ed.), Medieval Christian Perceptions of Islam, New York, 1996, 109–128. Devillard, P., “L’écrit de Tolède: ‘La Trinité de l’Unicité’, à travers la réfutation qu’en fait al-Qurṭubī,” Études Arabes 24 (1970), 24–36. Fletcher, M., “The Almohad Tawḥīd: Theology Which Relies on Logic,” Numen 38 (1991), 110–127. Griffith, S.H., The Beginnings of Christian Theology in Arabic: Muslim-Christian Encounters in the Early Islamic Period, Aldershot, 2002.

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Haddad, R., La Trinité divine chez les théologiens arabes: 750–1050, Paris, 1985. Kaddouri, S., “Identificación de ‘al-Qurṭubī’, autor de al-Iʿlām bi-mā fī dīn al-Naṣārā min al-fasād wa-l-awhām,” Al-Qanṭara 21 (2000), 215–219. Monferrer-Sala, J.P., “Al-Imām al-Qurṭubī,” in David Thomas and Alex Mallet (eds.), Christian Muslims Relations: A Bibliographical History Volume 4, Leiden, 2012, 391–394. Monferrer-Sala, J.P., “Siete citas hebreas, más una aramea, transcritas al árabe en el Iʿlām del Imām al-Qurṭubī,” Miscelánea de Studios Árabes y Hebraicos, Sección Árabe-Islam 48 (1999), 393–403. Nickson, T., “‘Sovereignty belongs to God’: Text, Ornament and Magic in Islamic and Christian Seville,” Art History 38 (2015), 838–861. Potthast, D., Christen und Muslime im Andalus: Andalusische Christen und ihre Literatur nach religionspolemischen Texten des zehnten bis zwölften Jahrhunderts, Wiesbaden, 2013. Schaffner, R., “The Bible through a Qurʾānic Filter: Scripture Falsification (Taḥrīf) in 8th- and 9th-Century Muslim Disputational Literature,” PhD diss., Ohio State University, 2016. Slonimsky, H., The Kuzari: An Argument for the Faith of Israel, New York, 1964. Thomas, D., “Explanations of the Incarnation in Early ʿAbbāsid Islam,” in J.J. van Ginkel, H.L. Murre-van den Berg and T.M. van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian Identity: Cultural Interactions in the Middle East since the Rise of Islam, Leuven, 2005, 127–149. Thomson, H.F., “Four Treatises by ʿĪsa ibn Zura Tenth Century Jacobite Christian of Baghdad,” PhD diss., Columbia University, 1952. Tieszen, C.L., Christian Identity amid Islam in Medieval Spain, Leiden, 2013. Van Koningsveld, P.S., “Christian Arabic Literature from Medieval Spain: An Attempt at Periodization,” in S.K. Khalil and J.S. Nielsen (eds.), Christian Arabic Apologetics During the Abbasid Period (750–1258), Leiden, 1994, 203–204. Van Koningsveld, P.S., “La apologia de al-Kindī en la España del siglo XII. Huellas toledanas de un ‘animal disputax’,” Estudios sober Alfonso VI y la reconquista de Toledo: Actas del II Congreso Internacional de estudios mozárabes 3 (1985), 107–129.

chapter 10

The Toledan Translation Movement and Dominicus Gundissalinus: Some Remarks on His Activity and Presence in Castile Nicola Polloni The origins of the Toledan translation movement can be traced back to the translation activities developed in Southern Italy and Northern Spain since the end of the 11th century. In Italy, the translations were realized from Greek into Latin; whereas in Catalonia and the Ebro valley, translators as Plato of Tivoli, Robert of Ketton, and Hermann of Carinthia translated Arabic writings. Following different linguistic tracks, these first translations shared a common interest on scientific works, and particularly astronomy. The activity of these first translators was also directly connected to the main scientific milieux of the time, namely Salerno and Chartres, where the translated texts were read and used.1 By this point of view, Toledo does not appear to be a primary destination for those in search of scientific texts to translate. Despite the importance of the Toledan “school of Saʿid Andalusi,” whose members would be among the authors translated into Latin (starting with al-Zarqali), in the first phase of the translation movement only one translator is found in Toledo, Johannes Hispalensis atque Limiensis. In just a few decades, though, this scenario abruptly changed. In approximately thirty years, indeed, almost one hundred philosophical and scientific texts were translated from Arabic into Latin in Toledo, which soon became the main center of translating activity in Europe. The town attracted a wide number of translators and scholars, and the new works therein produced would be disseminated throughout the rising European universities. To understand the social context in which the translation movement found a positive development, it is very useful to recall some important events that took place in the Iberian Peninsula between the 11th and the 12th centuries. As it is well known, the taking of Toledo by the Christians in 1085 constituted a political shock for the Iberian Arabic kingdoms, and led Muʾtamid of 1  See Kristeller, “The School of Salerno,” 138–192. About the influences of the translated texts on William of Conches see Caiazzo, “The Four Elements in the Work of William of Conches,” pp. 3–66.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_012

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Seville to call the Almoravid King Yusuf Ibn Tashfin for help. The response to this call was the invasion of the peninsula by the Almoravids, who defeated the troops of Alfonso VI and besieged Toledo in 1109–10. This first invasion put an end to the instability of the reinos de taifa. But after a few decades of political precariousness, the Almoravid regime gave way to a new political order, established by the Almohad “revolution.”2 In 1147, the religious movement of the almuwahhidun, led by al-Mumim, conquered the Almoravid capital, Marrakesh, beginning the invasion of the Iberian Peninsula: the effect of the aggressive military approach and the radical theological positions of the Almohads was a wide movement of people migrating from al-Andalus toward the Christian kingdoms of the North. From this perspective, Toledo was in a peculiar position. Not far from the border with al-Andalus, Toledo was, indeed, a wealthy town with an ethnically mixed population of mozárabes, Castilian migrants, Jews, and Arabs who had not fled after 1085.3 By this standard, Toledo was the center of the Kingdom of Castile, and it may be well defined as the Castilian economic, religious, and cultural capital. It is toward this town that the migratory fluxes from alAndalus were directed, a fact which is corroborated by the 12th century documental witnesses. These documents, as pointed out by Ladero Quesada, show a peak of documents written in Arabic in the second half of the century, after having reached an equilibrium between Latin and Arabic writings around 1150.4 This process is a clear result of the compass of Arabic-speaking populations—Jews and Muslims, with their skills, cultures, and books—migrating to Toledo in consequence to the Almohad invasion. The new availability of skills and books is one of the main factors that made possible the development of a translation movement in Toledo, together with the displacement of the vast library of the Banu Huds from Zaragoza to the Castilian capital in 1140–41: a prominent library fund that made available to the translators many scientific and philosophical Arabic writings, as underlined by Charles Burnett.5 Thus, one can recognize in the Andalusian migration one of the most important factors for the establishment of a translation activity in Toledo, since it provided a wide availability of books and learned people. 2  For an overall perspective on the Almohadi invasion of Iberia, see Huici Miranda, Historia política del imperio almohade, Tetuán; and Fromherz, The Almohads. 3  See González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII y XIII; and Olstein, La era mozárabe. 4  See Ladero Quesada, La formación medieval de España, pp. 257–264. 5  Burnett, “The Coherence of the Arabic-Latin Translation Programme in Toledo in the 12th Century.”

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A second and fundamental factor can be detected in the Toledan clergy, regarding which the council of Coyanza should be recalled. One of the most striking consequences of the so-called Gregorian reform had been the arising of cathedral, and soon after, urban schools throughout Europe, between the eleventh and the twelfth centuries.6 The council of Coyanza, held in 1055, received and enacted these requirements: in a relatively short time, cathedral schools were established to train the clergy in the Iberian Peninsula, also in Toledo.7 At the very same time, the presence in that town of many mozárabes, whom were following a different liturgy from the Roman Catholic rite, constituted a thorny problem for the Church, which started a policy of progressive “romanization” of the Toledan (and Castilian) population beginning in 1085. As a consequence, the Toledan archbishopric (as well as a conspicuous part of the chapter) for almost a century was held by members of the French clergy, starting with Bernard of La Sauvetat, the first archbishop after the taking of Toledo.8 It is apparent that the conspicuous presence of French clerks in the Castilian capital, and the establishment of the Toledan cathedral school, has been crucial regarding the availability of cultural resources (Latin books and learned people), and a direct link to the main “markets” toward which the translations could be directed (the schools in France and Italy). The first translator operating in Toledo, Johannes Hispalensis, worked under the patronage of the Toledan archbishop Raymond of Salvetat (1124–52)— incorrectly supposed to be Gundissalinus’s patron as well by many scholars of the 19th and 20th century.9 Notwithstanding the relevance of Raymond for sponsoring the first Toledan translator, one can properly talk of a translation movement in Toledo only under the archbishopric of John of Castelmoron (1152–66) who established a patronage that would be confirmed by the subsequent archbishops, and especially Cerebruno of Poitiers (1167–80).10 This cultural patronage appears as a necessary but insufficient condition for the implementation of the translation movement. Patronage was surely made 6  See Fliche, La réforme grégorienne et la reconquête chrétienne. 7  On the Council of Coyanza, see García Gallo, El Concilio de Coyanza. 8  See Rivera, La Iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII (1086–1208). 9  Regarding the interesting figure of Don Raimundo, see Rivera, Los arzobispos de Toledo en la baja Edad Media (s. XII–XV ), pp. 17–20. See also the recent studies by Burnett and Robinson: Burnett, “John of Seville and John of Spain; Burnett, “‘Magister Iohannes Hispalensis et Limiensis’ and Qusta ibn Luqa’s ‘De differentia spiritus et animae’: A Portuguese Contribution to the Arts Curriculum?”; Robinson, “The History and Myths Surrounding Johannes Hispalensis”; and Robinson, “The Heritage of Medieval Errors in the Latin Manuscripts of Johannes Hispalensis.” 10  See Rivera, Los arzobispos de Toledo en la baja Edad Media (s. XII–XV ), pp. 21–30.

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possible by the vast economic assets of the Toledan chapter: the metropolitan see hosting the Primate of Spain, the Toledan archdiocese was extended to a wide part of the kingdom and received the ninth part of the overall episcopal tithes, as well as the tenth part of the crown land taxation and other important endowments.11 As Francisco Fernández Conde pointed out, this huge amount of financial resources was the most important mean of funding the Toledan translations, and this fact is corroborated by the presence in the cathedral chapter of both the most important translators of the time—Gerard of Cremona and Dominicus Gundissalinus—from which these translators received prebends and raciones.12 Furthermore, the importance of the cathedral school should be stressed, too. Indeed, Gerard of Cremona appears in the capitulary archives with the title of magister, and this title makes (almost) patent that Gerard taught at the cathedral school.13 At the very same time, though, while patronage can explain how the Christian translators were paid for their work, it does not clarify the modalities through which non-Christian translators were remunerated. Indeed, the translations were collaborative and bi-phasic: the first collaborator translated verbatim the Arabic text into Iberian vernacular, while the second collaborator wrote down the vernacular in Latin.14 In some cases, as with Gerard’s collaborator, Galippus, the first translator was a mozárabe, and it could be supposed that these people were integrated in some way into the chapter patronage— even though there is no documental trace of it. In other cases, and exemplarily with Gundissalinus’s collaborator, Abraham ibn Daud, the team was formed by

11  Fernández Conde, La religiosidad medieval en España; and F.J. Pérez Rodríguez, La Iglesia de Santiago de Compostela en la Edad Media, p. 37. 12  Fernández Conde, La religiosidad medieval en España, p. 266. 13  Burnett, “Communities of Learning in the Twelfth-Century Toledo,” pp. 9–18. This fact, though, does not seem sufficient to confirm the existence of a “school of translators” in Toledo, as supposed by Amable Jourdain and Valentin Rose, but can possibly partially explain the visionary account by Daniel of Morley of his journey to Toledo, as well as the legends about a school of necromancy active in the Castilian capital. On Daniel of Morley’s account (Daniel of Morley, Philosophia), and the existence of a school of translators in Toledo, see Jourdain, Recherches critiques sur l’âge et l’origine des traductions latines d’Aristote pp. 107–119; Rose, “Ptolemaeus und die Schule von Toledo,” 327–349; and the fundamental remarks on the hypothesis of a “School of Toledo” by Burnett in Burnett, “The Institutional Context of Arabic-Latin Translations of the Middle Ages.” 14  See D’Alverny, “Translations and Translators”; D’Alverny, “Les traductions à deux interprètes, d’arabe en langue vernaculaire et de langue vernaculaire en latin”; Burnett, “Literal Translation and Intelligent Adaptation amongst the Arabic-Latin Translators of the First Half of the 12th Century”; and Burnett, “Translating from Arabic into Latin in the Middle Ages.”

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Christian and Jewish people, and the “patronage hypothesis” is insufficient to justify, at least at present, the modalities of this kind of collaboration. Around the middle of the 12th century all the fundamental factors necessary for the beginning of a series of translations from Arabic into Latin are attested in Toledo. In the first place, the migratory fluxes from al-Andalus and the displacement of the Banu Hund’s library provided Arabic texts and linguistic expertise to realize the translations. The presence in Toledo of a learned Arabic-speaking population—exactly the kind of social class fleeing from the Almohad repression—had a crucial value in this regard, and it must be considered as a fundamental factor for understanding the rise of the translation movement. In the second place, the presence of a wealthy cathedral chapter, directly linked to France, provided some important financial means to guarantee the translating effort and a fundamental bond to the market outlet of these translations. At least by 1157, Gerard of Cremona was in Toledo aiming at translating Ptolemy’s Almagest.15 Between 1157 and 1187, the Italian translator completed around eighty translations, working with his collaborator Galippus. These translations cover many topics and authors, even if Gerard’s main interest seems to have been astronomy and practical science.16 Thanks to Gerard’s activity, by the end of the 12th century the Latin thinkers could finally have at their disposal the metaphysical and physical works of Aristotle. If the Toledan translation movement were a natural phenomenon, its examination through the Aristotelian four causes would clarify what are the most obscure points in our present knowledge of that translating activity, especially regarding the “efficient” (economic retribution) and “final” (destination and market of the translated texts) causes. This heuristic exercise, indeed, might be very helpful. The material cause is clear. The availability of Arabic writings in Toledo is patent. The transfer of the Banu Hud library to Toledo provided a vast amount of texts, and it is very likely that the scientific writings realized by the “circle of Saʿid Andalusi” were preserved. Moreover, the migration flow from al-Andalus also contributed to this text availability; while Latin texts (useful to clarify the Arabic writings to translate) were potentially available through the Toledan French clergy, and the cathedral school. The formal cause appears to be clear, too. Learned people fleeing from Almohad al-Andalus, such as Abraham ibn Daud, converged in Toledo, 15  See Hernández, Los cartularios de Toledo. Catálogo documental, p. 117, n. 119; and Burnett, “The Coherence of the Arabic-Latin Translation Programme,” 275. 16  See Burnett, “The Coherence of the Arabic-Latin Translation Programme,” 276–81.

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providing skills and knowledge to the rising translating activity. At the very same time, the large number of mozárabes, who were fluent in Arabic, surely contributed to translating activity, as witnessed by Galippus’s collaboration with Gerard. Finally, in some cases the teams’ Latinists moved to Toledo to translate new texts (Gerard), or with further aims, as we are going to see regarding Gundissalinus. The efficient cause is much more difficult to assess. On the one hand, it is apparent that the Toledan chapter contributed to the remuneration of the Latinists, who were members of the chapter itself. On the other hand, the way non-Christian translators were paid is completely unclear—an obscurity which is to be linked to the final “cause.” The final cause is almost completely unknown. The supply of translated texts must be related to some kind of demand, and their spreading throughout Europe, in a relatively short time, makes this point quite clear. The translated writings appear to have circulated primarily in France (Paris, in particular), and direct links between Toledo and France can be established by the presence in town of many French clergymen. Nonetheless, these remarks are weakened by the consideration that traces of the diffusion of the Toledan translations in France can be explained by the relevance Paris would have had since the beginning of the 13th century. In other words, since Paris became the most important scientific center in Europe, it is obvious that the newly translated texts were to be acquired. The relatively short time between the Toledan activity and the rising of the Parisian university makes it very difficult to assess whether the translations where realized for the Parisian demand of texts, or the texts were acquired by the Parisian masters in a second period, with no explicit relation to the means of their realization. Indeed, there are no documental traces at all regarding this thorny, but pivotal point. It is very likely that the translations were commissioned, since there are historical precedents, such as Peter the Venerable’s request to Hermann of Carinthia and Robert of Ketton to realize a translation of Islamic writings (among which, the Quran) for apologetic purposes. Moreover, the commissioning of translations would also cast some light on the modalities of retribution of non-Christian translators, even though, as we shall see, Abraham ibn Daud’s appeal to the archbishop of Toledo to start the translation of Avicenna’s Liber sufficientiae seems to entail a kind of remuneration: indeed, why did Ibn Daud ask so? For the mere sake of Latin knowledge? That seems rather unrealistic. Possibly, more light can be cast on these problematic issues by the examination of Dominicus Gundissalinus’s biography. On the one hand, Gundissalinus’s case can be very helpful to clarify the modalities through which the translation

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movement began in Toledo. On the other, though, it might also thicken the clouds of our understanding of this process. Dominicus Gundissalinus is in Toledo since 1162. Quite certainly, Gundissalinus was born in the Iberian Peninsula, since the name “Gundissalinus” or “Gundisalvi” is the patronymic standing for “son of Gundisalvus,” a typical Castilian name. His birth should be placed between 1115 and 1125, following a series of remarks on the rather scarce documental data at disposal. In the first place, Gundissalinus’s philosophical reflection appears to be quite close to that of the Chartrean masters, in particular to William of Conches’s and Thierry of Chartres’s speculation.17 Gundissalinus’s knowledge of their writings and doctrines has led many scholars to suppose a direct link between the Toledan philosopher and Chartres, and possibly also his personal presence in Chartres.18 If this were the case, considering that Gundissalinus is surely attested in Segovia since 1148, if should have been in Chartres sometime between 1135 and 1148. The archive of Segovia’s cathedral states his presence in that town on May 6, 1148. The document states registers “Dominicus archidiacunus Collarensis,” i.e., archdeacon of Cuéllar, a village close to Segovia.19 The identification of the “Dominicus” archdeacon of Cuéllar with Gundissalinus is

17  See Southern, “Humanism and the School of Chartres”; N. Häring, “Chartres and Paris Revisited”; and Dronke, “New Approaches to the School of Chartres.” 18  Regarding Gundissalinus’ connections to Chartres, see D’Alverny, “Les traductions à deux interprètes, d’arabe en langue vernaculaire et de langue vernaculaire en latin,” p. 197. The hypothesis of a direct and personal connection between Gundissalinus and William of Conches has been proposed and analysed by Alexander Fidora, see. Fidora, “Le débat sur la création: Guillaume de Conches, maître de Dominique Gundisalvi?.” At the same time, many studies have focused on the relation between Gundissalinus and Thierry of Chartres: see Häring, “Thierry of Chartres and Dominicus Gundissalinus”; Fredborg, “The Dependence of Petrus Helias’ Summa super Priscianum on William of Conches’ Glosae super Priscianum”; Fredborg, “Petrus Helias on Rhetoric”; Fredborg, The Latin Rhetorical Commentaries by Thierry of Chartres, pp. 14–20; Hunt, “The Introduction to the Artes in the Twelfth Century”; and Burnett, “A New Source for Dominicus Gundissalinus’s Account of the Science of the Stars?.” See also Polloni, “Elementi per una biografia di Dominicus Gundisalvi”; and Polloni, “Thierry of Chartres and Gundissalinus on Spiritual Substance.” 19  See Villar García, Documentación medieval de la Catedral de Segovia (1115–1300), n. 41, p. 91; and n. 42, p. 93. Unfortunately, the documental archive of Cuéllar (Cf. B. Velazco Bayón, Collección documental de Cuéllar (943–1492)) has no traces of Gundissalinus’s presence in that village. Nevertheless, one should not diminish the importance of Cuéllar during the Middle Ages, a relevant center in the Duero valley. See Velasco Bayon, Historia de Cuéllar, pp. 149–50.

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corroborated by the manuscript tradition of many of his works, which ascribes the paternity of these writings to Dominicus “archidiaconus Toleti” or, in the longer and more detailed qualification, “archidiaconus Segobiensis apud Toletum.”20 At least between 1144 and 1145 Segovia hosted an important translator, Robert of Chester, ‘whom’ translated ‘there’ the Liber de compositione alchemiae—the very first alchemical writing to be translated into Latin— and al-Khwarizmi’s al-Jabr.21 Robert presumably remained in Segovia until 1146–1147, since in 1147 he is attested in England, where he wrote a treatise on the astrolabe, and soon after, in 1150, adapted the astronomic tables to the latitude of London.22 Robert’s presence in Segovia is meaningful, since it attests a translating activity in that town before the arrival of Gerard in Toledo and the beginning of the Toledan translation movement. Can we suppose that Gundissalinus went to Segovia to carry out the work begun by Robert? This does not seem to be the case. In fact, at the time Gundissalinus was a welltrained person who had just finished his studies possibly in Chartres, not a translator, not yet. But this does not entail that a certain, incipient translating activity had surely begun in Segovia during those years, with or without the collaboration of Gundissalinus. Moreover, it is worth noticing that in 1149, i.e., one year after Gundissalinus’s arrival in town, John of Castelmoron became bishop of Segovia, an office he would hold for three years, until his election to archbishop of Toledo, in 1152 as John II.23 It is under his archbishopric that the translation movement begun, with Gerard of Cremona’s activity which started sometime before 1157. Gundissalinus moved to Toledo in 1161 or 1162.24 His relocation is to be linked to another inaugural figure of the translation movement, Abraham

20  See, for example, ms. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, lat. 6443, f. 44r; ms. Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. lat. 4428, f. 78r; ms. Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Ottob. lat. 2186, f. 1r; and ms. Cambridge, Gonville and Caius College, 504, f. 169v, reading “archidiaconus Toleti.” Regarding the reading “archidiaconus Segobiensis apud Toletum,” see for example ms. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, lat. 6552, f. 55r. 21  See Burnett, Robert of Ketton; Hughues, Robert of Chester’s Latin Translation of AlKhwarizmi’s Al-Jabr, p. 124; and Lemay, “L’authenticité de la préface de Robert de Chester à sa traduction du Morienus (1144).” 22  Rucquoi, “Littérature scientifique aux frontières du Moyen Âge hispanique.” 23  See Rivera Recio, La Iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII (1086–1208), p. 280, n. 75. 24  See Villar García, Documentación medieval de la Catedral de Segovia (1115–1300), n. 61, p. 109: “Ego Dominicus Colar dictus archidiachonus.”

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Ibn Daud (“Avendauth”), who arrived in the Castilian town around 1161.25 The Jewish philosopher is the author of the Latin translation of Avicenna’s prologue to the Liber sufficientiae, the very first translation into Latin of a work by Avicenna.26 As pointed out by Amos Bertolacci, Ibn Daud’s dedicatory letter of the prologue is an appeal to archbishop John to sponsor the translation of the whole Avicennian corpus, probably with the purpose of mirroring the work already begun by Gerard.27 Apparently, John’s positive response implied the necessary presence in Toledo of a Latinist to assist Ibn Daud during the translations: this Latinist was Dominicus Gundissalinus, who moved to Toledo in 1162, and there translated Avicenna’s De Anima with Ibn Daud before 1166.28 The collaboration between Ibn Daud and Gundissalinus (and John of Spain, the third member of the team) would go well beyond the translation of Arabic writings, and they gave birth to a pivotal speculative milieu of critical elaboration of scientific and philosophical works, as shown by Charles Burnett’s and Gad Freudenthal’s studies.29 The reconstruction of Gundissalinus’s transfer to Toledo, while persuading, entails some relevant problems. It is a matter of fact that Gundissalinus was an eminent Latinist, who studied in Chartres and therefore had a very good philosophical background, extremely useful for the translation of Avicenna. Nevertheless, this does not seem to be a sufficient reason, since no philosophical skills were required to Gerard, who was already translating from Arabic. And surely the archbishop could have easily found a good Latinist in Toledo— one should remember that the most part of the Toledan chapter was made of French clergymen: any of them could perfectly fit the required profile.

25  See D’Alverny, “Avendauth?”; Weil, Das Buch Emunah Ramah, oder Der erhabene Glaube, verfasst von Abraham ben David Halevi aus Toledo; and Cohen, A Critical Edition with a Translation and Notes of The Book of Tradition (Sefer ha-Qabbalah) by Abraham ibn Daud. 26  Avicenna, Prologus discipuli et capitula, ivi 314. 27  See Bertolacci, “A Community of Translators: The Latin Medieval Versions of Avicenna’s Book of the Cure.” This practice is common among Jewish philosophers, see Freudenthal, “Abraham Ibn Ezra and Judah Ibn Tibbon as Cultural Intermediaries. Early Stages in the Introduction of Non-Rabbinic Learning into Provence in the Mid-12th Century.” 28  Cf. Hernández, Los cartularios de Toledo, p. 130, n. 134; the dedicatory of the translation to John II in Avicenna, De anima seu sextus de naturalibus, pp. 3, 1–4, 26; and Polloni, “Elementi per una biografia di Dominicus Gundisalvi.” 29  See Burnett, “John of Seville and John of Spain: a mise au point”; and Freudenthal, “Abraham Ibn Daud, Avendauth, Dominicus Gundissalinus and Practical Mathematics in Mid-12th Century Toledo.”

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Thus, it seems not unreasonable to suppose that the reason why John required Gundissalinus in Toledo was the latter’s familiarity with the translating activity. If the archbishop wanted a collaborator to the biphasic translation of Avicenna, as requested by Ibn Daud, the most economic hypothesis is that John called Gundissalinus for the latter had already participated, to some extent, to Arabic-into-Latin translations while both were in Segovia. This supposition, though, encounters many difficulties, and especially there are no attestations of a translating activity besides the data herein analyzed, and, at least at present, this makes it extremely hard to produce an overall, document-based hypothesis. At the same time, the possibility of a translating activity in Segovia, in which Gundissalinus could have collaborated before going to Toledo, is a fascinating research hypothesis that must be corroborated (or rejected) by a renewed analysis of the Segovian documental sources, and the manuscript tradition of Gundissalinus’s translations. Another problematic question arises from the consideration of Gundissalinus’s arrival in in Segovia. Presumably, Gundissalinus was still in France before that date, possibly in Chartres. 1148 is the date on which the Council of Reims was held. At that council, the trial for heresy against Gilbert of Poitiers took place, as well as a harsh controversy between William of Conches and William of Saint-Thierry, as pointed out by Paul Dutton.30 Two of the most important Chartrean masters, Gilbert and William, were on trial, while the very same Chartrean speculative liberty appeared to be at stake. For this reason, wide participation by Chartrean scholars and masters in Reims should be correctly supposed.31 The importance of the council is further corroborated by the attitude the Holy See had toward the celebration of the council. Rome, indeed, urged the European dioceses to strengthen their participation at the council, and eventually “in hac synodo, archiepiscopi, episcopi, et abbates, usque ad mille centum resedisse dicuntur.”32 The urgency to have a wide participation at the Council of Reims is further attested by a letter the pope sent to Alfonso VII, king of Castile, asking him to encourage the Iberian clergy to vastly participate in the meeting.33 The effects of this request are testified by the accounts of the council, which saw

30  Dutton, The Mystery of the Missing Heresy Trial of William of Conches. 31  See Polloni, Glimpses of the Invisible, forthcoming. 32  Labbé – Cossart, Sacrosancta Concilia ad regiam editionem exacta, vol. XII, p. 1662, B. 33  “Illos autem episcopos en sola ex Gallia eo profectos arbitrare. Nam et Hispanos interfuisse intelligimus ex eiusdem Pontificis epistolis ad Alfonsum Hispaniae regem, et Bernardus Tarraconensem, superius descriptis.” See Labbé – Cossart, Sacrosancta Concilia, p. 1662.

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the presence of many representatives of the Iberian Church, among which were bishops and archbishops.34 Probably—as one should expect from his election to bishop of Segovia, the year after—John of Castelmoron also participated. Unfortunately, this fascinating figure is surrounded by an almost complete lack of documental sources. As it has been mentioned before, John became bishop of Segovia in 1149—his oath is preserved in the Toledan capitulary archive—but before that date, and until his election as archbishop, all data about him is a matter of speculation.35 He later became archbishop of Toledo under the name John II, and was supposedly the main sponsor of the first translations realized by Gundissalinus and Ibn Daud.36 For the outstanding career he would have, it is very plausible to suppose that John participated in the Council of Reims, together with many other clergymen from the Iberian Peninsula. If this were true, in 1148 we can situate in Reims, with a certain degree of probability, both John of Castelmoron and the Chartrean masters with their pupils, among whom, possibly, even Gundissalinus, who went to Segovia that very same year. Would it be possible to suppose a causal link between these two events? There are no certainties about this eventuality, but the coincidence between the dates is fascinating.

34  “Episcopos Hispaniarum Concilio Remensi interfuisse, docet Sandovalius in Alphonso VII aitque hunc Hispaniarum Imperatorem Concilium Palentinum cum Episcopis et Proceribus suis celebrasse era MCLXXXVI anno scilicet Christi praesenti, et imprimis lectum fuisse Eugenii III Papae Edictum: quo praecipiebatur, ut se se in Gallias ad celebrandum Concilium Generale Remis, indictum, et examinandas ibidem quatuor theses exoticas Gilberti Porretani Episcopi, conferrent, prolato ed iis judicio, ut vel per se ipso, vel interventum gravium et doctorum hominum illud postea Remis operirent. Adhaec in Epistula LXXIV ad Alphonsum Hispaniarum Regem scripta, sub datum in territorio Lingonensi V. Kal. Maii, se die XXVII mensis Aprilis, ait Eugenius: Quia Episcopos et Abbates regni tui ad vocationem nostram, tamquam devotus et humilis filius, Remensi interesse Concilio voluisti; benevolentiae tuae gratias exhibentes, precum tuarum consideratione devicti, eos qui venerunt a suspensionis sententia relaxamus. Quare plures Hispaniarum Episcopi et Abbates ad Concilium Remense venere. De praesentia Episcoporum Hispaniae in Concilio Remensi legendum Baronius num. XXXI.” See Labbé – Cossart, Sacrosancta Concilia, p. 1674. 35  John’s oath is the following: “Ego Iohannes, sancte secobiensis aecclesie nunc ordinandus episcopus, subiectionem et reverentiam et obedientiam a sanctis patribus constitutam secundum constituta canonum aecclesie toletane rectoribusque eius in presentia domni Raimundi, toletani archiepiscopi, perpetuo me exhibiturum promitto et super sanctum altare propria manu firmo.” See Rivera, La Iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII, p. 280, n. 75. 36  The scarce information in our possess has been collected by Rivera, Los arzobispos de Toledo en la baja Edad Media, pp. 21–26.

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All the same, even admitting a first meeting of John and Gundissalinus in Reims, this hypothesis does not explain by itself the reasons why Gundissalinus went to Segovia and became archdeacon of Cuéllar. What interests could Gundissalinus have had in that town? One explanation could be the supposition of a preliminary translating activity already in place in Segovia, from where Robert of Chester recently moved away. It is not unreasonable to suppose that Gundissalinus could have been willing to participate in this Segovian translation activities, aiming at finding new philosophical texts, in a similar fashion to Gerard’s transfer to Toledo with the purpose of translating Ptolemy’s Almagest. The translations that took place in Southern Italy and the Iberian Peninsula during the 12th century are a perspicuous example of the cross-cultural exchanges of knowledge that characterized the Late Middle Ages. It is not a casualty that the translations were realized in these two geographical regions: the series of conquests and invasions of those areas is structurally accompanied by a various and progressive interchange of customs and cultures, skills and knowledge, books and traditions. The Italian and Castilian translation movements were linked together by many implicit factors, beginning with their common effort to update the Western Latin scientific and philosophical debate appealing to the knowledge of “the Greeks” and “the Arabs.” While in Southern Italy the translation movement began at the end of the 11th century, Toledo arose as the most important translating center only in the second half of the 12th century, and only for a few decades. With the figure of Michael Scot, who left Toledo for Palermo, the two capitals of this process were finally joined: the 13th century would see a dissemination of translators and translations throughout Europe, and Toledo will be but one of the centers where they were realized. From this perspective, it should be underlined that the 12th century Toledan translation movement has been an extremely peculiar phenomenon for the number of translations realized and the concentration of translators in one place. Its relative exceptionality was caused by many factors, both social and cultural, that made possible the establishment of a well-organized system of translations and at least two working teams. At the same time, assuming the rise of the Toledan movement as a mechanist maturation of its inner conditions would be an imprudent error. Those conditions, indeed, were shared other places, and their roots are grounded on many minor translating efforts of the first half of the 12th century, as it possibly was the case for Segovia.

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Gundissalinus’s last attestation in the Toledan chapter is dated 1178, but the philosopher stayed in town at least until 1181, as it is documented by a certificate of sale of land owned by him.37 After 1181, Gundissalinus probably moved back to Segovia, where he is attested in 1190 by the capitulary archives of Segovia and Burgos.38 This is the last source witnessing Gundissalinus alive: since 1194 Cuéllar has a new archdeacon, John, whose existence is witnessed by a letter and further attested by the Toledan capitulary archive in 1198.39 Dominicus Gundissalinus is an exemplar case of the web of geographical and cultural connections upon which the Toledan movement was based. He appears to have studied in France, spent thirteen years in Segovia, and then became one of the most eminent figures of the translation movement. Very similar considerations apply to Gerard of Cremona, and to Ibn Daud and Michael Scot as well. All these translators, as well as their probable patrons such as John of Castelmoron, were the main protagonists of a dynamic event whose consequences would crucially change European culture from the thirteenth century onwards. Examination of the available data on Gundissalinus’s activity and biogra­ phy, though, displays how many obscure points still stand concerning the details of the rising and development of the translating activity in Toledo. Beside opening new possible lines of research, the formulation of secondary hypothesis, as those exposed in this paper, makes clear the unfortunate lack of data and knowledge on the events which led to the crucial phenomenon of the Toledan translation movement.

37  See Hernández, Los cartularios de Toledo. Catálogo documental, p. 185, n. 185; and Alonso Alonso, “Notas sobre los traductores toledanos Domingo Gundisalvo y Juan Hispano”; and González Palencia, Los mozárabes de Toledo en los siglos XII y XIII. 38  See Villar García, Documentación medieval de la Catedral de Segovia (1115–1300), n. 81, p. 135; Mansilla, “La documentación pontificia del archivo de la catedral de Burgos,” pp. 141–162 and 427–438; and Mansilla, Catálogo documental del archivo catedral de Burgos (804–1416), n. 40, p. 279. 39  See Rivera Recio, “Nuevos datos sobre los traductores Gundisalvo y Juan Hispano”; and Hernández, Los cartularios de Toledo, p. 242, n. 263: “Ego J(ohannes) Toletane ecclesie decanus Colarensis archidiaconus testis”. The new archdeacon of Cuéllar has been identified with Gundissalinus’s collaborator, John of Spain, by Charles Burnett and Francisco Rivera. See Ch. Burnett, “Magister Iohannes Hispanus: Towards the Identity of a Toledan Translator”; Ch. Burnett, “John of Seville and John of Spain: a mise au point”; and Rivera Recio, “Nuevos datos sobre los traductores Gundisalvo y Juan Hispano.”

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Kristeller, P.O., “The School of Salerno,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 17 (1945), 138–192. Labbé, P. – G. Cossart, Sacrosancta Concilia ad regiam editionem exacta, Venezia, 1730, vol. XII. Ladero Quesada, M.A., La formación medieval de España: territorios, regiones, reinos, Madrid, 2004. Lemay, R., “L’authenticité de la préface de Robert de Chester à sa traduction du Morienus (1144),” Chrysopoeia, 4 (1991) 3–32. Mansilla, D., “La documentación pontificia del archivo de la catedral de Burgos,” Hispania Sacra 1 (1948), 141–162 and 427–438. Mansilla, D., Catálogo documental del archivo catedral de Burgos (804–1416), Madrid, 1971. Olstein, D.A., La era mozárabe. Los mozárabes de Toledo (siglos XII y XIII) en la historiografía, las fuentes y la historia, Salamanca, 2006. Pérez Rodríguez, F.J., La Iglesia de Santiago de Compostela en la Edad Media: el cabildo catredalicio (1100–1400), Santiago de Compostela, 1996. Polloni, N., “Elementi per una biografia di Dominicus Gundisalvi,” Archives d’Histoire Doctrinale et Littéraire du Moyen Âge 82 (2015), 7–22. Polloni, N., “Thierry of Chartres and Gundissalinus on Spiritual Substance: The Problem of Hylomorphic Composition,” Bulletin de Philosophie Médiévale 57 (2015), 35–57. Polloni, N., Glimpses of the Invisible: Doctrines and Sources of Dominicus Gundissalinus’ Metaphysics, forthcoming. Rivera, J.F., “Nuevos datos sobre los traductores Gundisalvo y Juan Hispano,” Al-Andalus 31 (1966), 267–280. Rivera, J.F., La Iglesia de Toledo en el siglo XII (1086–1208), Roma, 1966. Rivera, J.F., Los arzobispos de Toledo en la baja Edad Media (s. XII–XV ), Toledo, 1969. Robinson, M., “The History and Myths Surrounding Johannes Hispalensis,” Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 80 (2003), 443–470. Robinson, M., “The Heritage of Medieval Errors in the Latin Manuscripts of Johannes Hispalensis,” Al-Qantara 28 (2007), 41–71. Rose, V., “Ptolemaeus und die Schule von Toledo,” Hermes 8/3 (1874), 327–349. Rucquoi, A., “Littérature scientifique aux frontières du Moyen Âge hispanique: textes en traduction,” Euphrosyne, 27 (2009) 193–210. Southern, R., “Humanism and the School of Chartres,” in R. Southern, Medieval Humanism and Other Studies, New York, 1977, 61–85. Vehlow, K., Abraham Ibn Daud’s Dorot ‘Olam (Generation of the Ages). A Critical Edition and Translation of Zikhron Divrey Romi, Divrey Yisraʾ‌‌‌el and the Midrash on Zechariah, Leiden-Boston, 2013. Velasco Bayon, B., Historia de Cuéllar, Segovia, 1974.

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Velasco Bayon, B., Collección documental de Cuéllar (943–1492), Cuéllar, 2010. Verbeke, G., “Moerbeke, traducteur et interprète; un texte et une pensée,” in J. Brams – W. Vanhamel (eds.), Guillaume de Moerbeke. Recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700 anniversaire de sa mort, Leuven, 1989, 2–21. Villar García, L.M., Documentación medieval de la Catedral de Segovia (1115–1300), Salamanca, 1990. Thorndike, L., Michael Scot, London, 1965.

Epilogue

Re-reading the Canons of Medieval Toledo: Echoes of Debates of Iberian Historiography Contemporary Spanish historiography can, in many ways, be considered a response to the following questions: What is Spanish? Is Spain Europe? Why is Spain different? Is Spain at all different? The debates over these questions were born in the 19th and 20th centuries when political ideologies often shaped how “historical memory” was employed, and in some cases, deployed. The argument “has traditionally centered around two polarized views”: 1) Spain as a fundamentally Catholic nation, a nation that despite setbacks fought to be unified because the Spanish people were essentially one with one identity; or 2) Spain, a nation defined by its multiple, mixed, and complex identities that merged, and from which flourished something new, precisely a result of that mixing.1 These debates reflect a “polarization of the field between ‘tolerance’ and ‘persecution.’”2 The disputes surrounding the question of the essence of Spain are two sides of the same coin or two extremes of a pendulum.3 Alejandro García Sanjuán explains: [D]uring the nineteenth century, two opposing historical paradigms about al-Andalus within the general framework of the history of Spain were developed. The first was based on the notion of ‘Reconquista,’ and entailed the assertion of the total incompatibility between Spain and alAndalus. The second, which arose largely in reaction to the first, is based on the notion of ‘Muslim Spain,’ and affirms the need to integrate alAndalus into national history.4 From this perspective, Medieval Iberia is characterized as a battle between religions. Either the history of Spain is the story of survival, imposition, and hegemony of the Catholic religion and identity over all others, or it is the story 1  Ray, “Beyond Tolerance and Persecution:”. 2  Some fundamental papers on this topic include: Castro, España en su historia; Nirenberg, Neighboring Faiths; Menocal, The Ornament of the World; Akasoy, “Convivencia and Its Discontents: Interfaith Life in Al-Andalus”; Wolf, “Convivencia in Medieval Spain”; SáenzBadillos, Judíos entre árabes y cristianos. 3  Soifer, “Beyond Convivencia,” p. 20. 4  Alejandro García-Sanjuán, “Rejecting Al-Andalus, Exalting the Reconquista,” p. 129.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004380516_013

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of the Golden Age of Islam imposed on an inferior people. García-Sanjuán continues, “If Spain was, therefore, the quintessence of Catholicism, al-Andalus could hardly be understood as part of its national identity. On the contrary, it would be understood as alien to the Spanish nation.”5 The effect of trying to understand the historical heritage of Spain from this point-of-view is that anything that is perceived as Islamic in medieval Iberia is understood as something inflicted, foreign, external. Those elements that have been incorporated into Spanish culture did so through “influence” and “invasion.” They are not born from a symbiotic relationship between the peoples residing within the borders of the peninsula. Thus, “[for] Eduardo Saavedra, the author of the first academic monograph in Spanish on the Islamic conquest, 1892. […] The almost unanimous characterization of the origin of al-Andalus as an ‘invasion’ delegitimized al-Andalus as a facet of national history.”6 This perspective of fundamental antagonism between members of different groups residing in medieval Iberia per se disallows the possibility that medieval Iberia, including al-Andalus, and modern Spain, are “different” or “special” precisely because they are the result of a mixing of peoples at a precise moment. The mixing gave birth to something new and genuine that would never have been replicated in another location or even in the same location at a different time. Rather, the model of Spain as a battle places the history of Spain principally within the binary archetype of “colonized” and “colonizer.” In many ways, this outlook ties medieval Iberia with events, attitudes, and activities in Latin America. David Nirenberg has argued that “in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries […] many non-Spaniards found it more morally instructive to cultivate a ‘Black Legend’ of Spanish intolerance (itself often represented as an ‘oriental’ inheritance from Iberia’s medieval history) than to till the historiographical soils of an interfaith ‘Golden Age.’”7 The other historiographical motif that has dominated the academic literature is that of convivencia or coexistence, a term famously coined by Américo Castro. “The historiographical motif that runs throughout this new interest in medieval Spain is the subject of convivencia, or coexistence-a term that has been used to describe the tripartite society of medieval Iberia.”8 The term convivencia often invokes the romantic notion of medieval Iberia and al-Andalus as an idyllic place where members of the three faiths intermingled, intertwined and lived seamlessly and peacefully together. “Convivencia 5  García-Sanjuán, p. 130. 6  Ibid, p. 130. 7  Nirenberg, “Mediterranean Exemplarities,” 179. 8  Ray, “Beyond Tolerance and Persecution,” 2.

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has frequently seemed an attractive prospect—to medievalists caught in the perennial battle against the libelous label of the ‘Dark Ages’; to Hispanists who could administer it as an antidote for the scourge of Spain’s ‘Black Legend’; and to some Jewish historians who visualized a ‘Golden Age’ of Jewish culture in medieval Sepharad.”9 The question of whether convivencia was a reality in medieval Iberia and not just a construct of hopeful imagination or an analysis of the past through rose-colored glasses has recently come into renewed focus. Edwige Talmayev has argued that the “unified construct of al-Andalus, stands in sharp contrast to [….] contemporary notions of a clash of civilizations threatening the future of Western civilization.”10 While this epilogue is not intended to be a thorough review of the debates of convivencia, we mention here just a few recent syntheses of the debate in order to underline the productivity of these essential questions, questions fundamental to the present volume. However, the focus on these philosophical debates has often reduced the history of Spain to a binary set of features: either tolerance or persecution; religious tolerance or exclusion; racism or inclusivity; utopia or dystopia. Not one paradigm is essentially true at any moment, “multiple exemplarities often coexist, competing for pedagogical and political power.”11 These philosophical examinations are considered so important for understanding the history of Spain that most academic scholarship must respond directly to these dominant paradigms. While having a framework with which to anchor one’s academic perspective can be helpful, these paradigms can eventually mutate into canonical interpretations. These interpretations, in turn, if left unquestioned or unproblematized, become fossilized and norma­ lized. Normalized perspectives cease to be productive for the study of history when they lead to “the inattention to the nuances of social and political power relations.”12 The academic activity becomes an exercise in “historical memory” rather than “history.” Depending on which side of the controversy convenencia convenience or convivencia coexistence one ascribes to, historical events can take on essential significance while other events from the period that may have been just as important become marginal. For example, scholars who subscribe to the perspective that Spain is defined by an uncomfortable relationship and even violence between members of the three major religions may primordially focus on the events associated with the so-called Reconquista or the Inquisition. In contrast, 9  Soifer, “Beyond Convivencia,” p. 20. 10  Tamalet Talbayev, “Andalusia as Trauma,” p. 80. 11  Nirenberg, “Mediterranean Exemplarities,” p.179. 12  Soifer, “Beyond Convivencia,” p. 20.

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those scholars that define Spanish identity as a positive result of coexistence of peoples of multiple identities may prioritize events or places of archeological importance such as the mosque of the Cristo de la Luz in Toledo or groups with hybrid identities such as the Mozarabs or Arabicized-Christians. When dominant interpretations are extracted from their academic context and popularized, they serve less as a tool to help interpret the data and more as mechanisms from which political and social positions are launched and imposed. The “Andalusian trope thus becomes a multifaceted signifier containing the germs of an imagined, transnational, transconfessional, and multilingual community.”13 The challenge of the academic working of medieval Iberian history is to objectively interpret historical remnants, whether archeological, manuscript-based, literary, musical, or artistic, and to relate those sometimes ephemeral and opaque fragments to a broader historiographical context, all the while questioning facile paradigms. Now we turn to the theme of this compendium, the city of Toledo. The centrally located city has also been central in the debates about the nature of Spanish identity. Scholars such as Francisco de Simonet and Fray Pons Boigues underscored the Catholic nature of Toledo and its inhabitants.14 They argued that the Spanish people are the inheritors of the Roman Empire. Alejandro García-Sanjuan describes Francisco de Simonet’s legacy in the following manner: […] historian Francisco-Javier Simonet, one of the leading Spanish Arabists of the time, affirmed that “the Spanish nation succumbed in the early eighth century, falling under the yoke of the Muslims. Since then, she continued to suffer for about eight centuries.” Simonet typified Spanish ultra-Catholic historiography. […] Simonet believed that the Islamic conquest was a devastating “national catastrophe.”15 For scholars such as Francisco de Simonet, Fray Pons Boigues and Saavedra, the “Arabic episode” of the peninsula serves only to highlight the steadfastness of the Spanish people in the face of long-term occupation. On the other hand, Toledo has also served to underline the inter-mixed nature of the birth of the nation of Spain. Toledo hosted Christian philosophers from Northern Europe 13  Talbayev, “Andalusia as Trauma,” p. 82. 14  Simonet, El Cardenal Ximenez de Cisneros y los manuscritos arábigo-granadinos; Glosario de voces ibéricas y latinas usadas entre los mozárabes; Historia de los mozárabes de España; Pons Boigues, Apuntes sobre las escrituras mozárabes toledanas que se conservan en el Archivo histórico nacional. 15  García-Sanjuán, “Rejecting Al-Andalus, Exalting the Reconquista”, p. 130.

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and Jewish thinkers alike. It housed and was the location of translation of the Qurʾān and other primary Muslim and Christian-Arabic sources.16 It was the location from which the Castilian-Spanish vernacular was introduced in its official capacity and laid the groundwork for what would become the foundations of Spanish law.17 Toledo has been studied to such an extent that it has itself become a trope and a symbol. Documents, events, archeological sites are read from traditional perspectives—either as examples of coexistence or examples of oppression and strife. The traditional readings have such an impact on the scholarship that we have become accustomed to reading the texts from a particular perspective and often confirming our assumptions or inclinations. We no longer see what we don’t see. The contributors in this volume have, in each chapter, proposed new readings and new interpretations that purposefully consider what other factors may have contributed to the result we are witnessing in the evidence under consideration. No chapter proposes a definitive answer, but all plant the seed of doubt—doubt of previous readings, of previous translations, of previous interpretations, of intentions ascribed to the events or documents analyzed. The chapters within this volume tease out the very routine and commonplace interactions of life in medieval Toledo moving beyond any romantic notions of al-Andalus and theoretical debates about Spanish “essentialness.” What we have tried to show is that overarching theories are not adequate to provide a panoramic vision of Toledo. We have also highlighted two problems related to the study of Medieval Iberia: 1) the extent that convivencia or coexistence are still productive theoretical paradigms from which to read medieval Iberian history; 2) canonical texts and interpretations may lead us into blind spots, and their reassessment may reveal such blind spots and open new possibilities of analysis.

16  Martz, A Network of Converso Families in Early Modern Toledo: Assmilating a Minority; Abad Castro, Arquitectura mudéjar religiosa en el arzobispado de Toledo; Maldonado, Arte mozárabe y arte mudéjar en Toledo: Paralelismos; Mendoza Eguaras, Catálogo de escribanos de la provincia de Toledo (1524–1867); Aguilera Pleguezuelo, “Las ciencias jurídicas en la Toledo musulmana”; Cantera y Burgos, Sinagogas de Toledo, Segovia y Córdoba; Calvert, Toledo: An Historical and Descriptive Account of the “City of Generations.” 17  Guerrero Ramos, “El léxico en el diccionario (1492) y en el vocabulario (1495?) De Nebrija”; García-Macho, El léxico castellano de los vocabularios de Antonio de Nebrija; Garrote, El dialecto vulgar leonés hablado en maragetería y tierra de Astorga; Notas gramaticales y vocabulario; Guijarro González and Villaverde, Maestros, escuelas y libros.

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Works Cited Abad Castro, M.C., Arquitectura mudéjar religiosa en el Arzobispado de Toledo, Toledo, 1991. Aguilera Pleguezuelo, J., “Las ciencias jurídicas en la Toledo musulmana”, in Toledo Hispanoárabe, Toledo, 1982. Akasoy, A., “Convivencia and Its Discontents: Interfaith Life in Al-Andalus”, Cambridge University Press 42.3 (2010), 489–99. Alonso Garrote, S., El dialecto vulgar leonés hablado en Maragatería y tierra de Astorga; Notas gramaticales y vocabulario, Madrid, 1947. Burns, R.I. Muslims, Christians, and Jews in the Crusader Kingdom of Valencia: Societies in Symbiosis, Cambridge, New York, 1984. Calvert, A.F., Toledo: An Historical and Descriptive Account of the “City of Generations”, London & New York, 1907. Cantera y Burgos, F., Sinagogas de Toledo, Segovia y Córdoba, Madrid, 1973. Castro, A., España en su historia: cristianos, moros y judíos, Buenos Aires, 1948. Fanjul, S., Al-Andalus contra España: La forja del mito, Madrid, 2000. García-Macho, M.L., El léxico castellano de los vocabularios de Antonio de Nebrija, New York, 1996. García-Sanjuán, A., “Rejecting Al-Andalus, Exalting the Reconquista: Historical Memory in Contemporary Spain”, Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies 10.1 (2018), 127–45. Guerrero Ramos, G., “El léxico en el diccionario (1492) y en el vocabulario (1495?) De Nebrija”, Málaga, 1988. Guijarro González, S., and M.A. Villaverde, Maestros, escuelas y libros: El universo cultural de las Catedrales en la Castilla medieval, Madrid, 2004. Martz, L., A Network of Converso Families in Early Modern Toledo: Assimilating a Minority, Ann Arbor, 2003. Mendoza Eguaras, M., Catálogo de escribanos de la provincia de Toledo (1524–1867), Toledo, 1968. Menocal, M.R., The Ornament of the World: How Muslims, Jews, and Christians Created a Culture of Tolerance in Medieval Spain, Boston, 2002. Nirenberg, D., “Mediterranean Exemplarities: The Case of Medieval Iberia”, In Iberian Modalities, Liverpool, 2013. Nirenberg, D., Neighboring Faiths: Christianity, Islam, and Judaism in the Middle Ages and Today, Chicago, London, 2014. Parsons Scott, S., and R.I. Burns, Las siete partidas, Philadelphia, 2001. Pavón Maldonado, B., Arte mozárabe y arte mudéjar en Toledo: paralelismos, Madrid, 1970.

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Pons Boigues, F., Apuntes sobre las escrituras mozárabes toledanas que se conservan en el Archivo histórico nacional, Madrid, 1897. Ray, J., “Beyond Tolerance and Persecution: Reassessing Our Approach to Medieval ‘Convivencia’”, Jewish Social Studies 11.2 (2005), 1–18. Sáenz-Badillos, A., Judíos entre árabes y cristianos: Luces y sombras de una convivencia, Córdoba, 2000. Safran, J.M., Defining Boundaries in Al-Andalus: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in Islamic Iberia, Ithaca, NY, 2013. Sanchez-Albornoz, C., “El porque de España, un enigma histórico”, Cuadernos de Investigación Histórica 7 (1983), 197–208. Simonet, F.J., El Cardenal Ximénez de Cisneros y los manuscritos arábigo-granadinos, Granada, 1885. Simonet, F.J., Glosario de voces ibéricas y latinas usadas entre los mozárabes, Madrid, 1888. Simonet, F.J., Historia de Los Mozárabes de España, Madrid, 1867. Soifer, M., “Beyond Convivencia: Critical Reflections on the Historiography of Interfaith Relations in Christian Spain”, Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies 1.1 (2009), 19–35. Stone, M., “Desde ‘las siete partidas’ a los códigos civiles norteamericanos”, AIH, Actas XI, (1992), 25–33. Talbayev, E.T., “Andalusia as Trauma: The Legacies of Convivencia”, in The Transcontinental Maghreb, 79–117. Wolf, K.B., “Convivencia in Medieval Spain. A Brief History”, Religion Compass 3.1 (2009), 72–85.

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Stern, S., “Four Famous Muwashshahs from Ibn Bushra’s Anthology”, Al-Andalus 23 (1958), 339–69. Thomas, D., “Explanations of the Incarnation in Early ʿAbbāsid Islam”, in J.J. van Ginkel, H.L. Murre-van den Berg and T.M. van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian Identity: Cultural Interactions in the Middle East since the Rise of Islam, Leuven, 2005, 127–149. Thomson, H.F., “Four Treatises by ʿĪsa ibn Zur’a Tenth Century Jacobite Christian of Baghdad”, PhD diss., Columbia University, 1952. Tieszen, C.L., Christian Identity amid Islam in Medieval Spain, Leiden, 2013. Toenies Keating, S., “Introduction”, in Abū Rāʾiṭa, Defending the ‘People of Truth’ in the Early Islamic Period, S. Toenies Keating (ed. and trans.), Leiden, 2006, 1–72. Tolan, J. (ed.), The Legal Status of Ḏimmī-s in the Islamic West (Second/Eighth–Ninth/ Fifteenth Centuries), Turnhout, 2013, 167–97. Tolan, J., Sons of Ismael: Muslims through European Eyes in the Middle Ages, Gainesville, FL, 2008. Torres, L., Arte almohade. Arte Nazarí. Arte Mudéjar, in: Ars Hispaniae, IV, Ed. Plus Ultra, Madrid, 1949. Urvoy, M.-Th, “Que nous apprend la poésie arabe”, in C. Aillet, M. Penelas, and P. Roisse (eds.), ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe? Historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX–XII), Madrid, 2008, 159–65. Urvoy, M.-Th, “Introduction”, in M.-Th. Urvoy (ed. and trans.), Le Psautier Mozarabe, Toulouse, 1994. Urvoy, M.-Th, “Influence islamique sur le vocabulaire d’un psautier arabe d’al-Andalus”, Al-Qantara 15 (1994), 509–17. Valdés, F., “La Puerta Vieja de Bisagra. Notas para una cronología de la muralla de Toledo”, in: II Congreso de Arqueología Medieval Española, Madrid, 1987, II, pp. 281–294. Van Koningsveld, P.S., “Christian Arabic Literature from Medieval Spain: An Attempt at Periodization”, in S.K. Khalil and J.S. Nielsen (eds.), Christian Arabic Apologetics During the Abbasid Period (750–1258), Leiden, 1994, 203–204. Van Koningsveld, P.S., “La Apologia de al-Kindī en la España del silo XII: hulls toledanas de un ‘animal disputax’”, Estudios sober Alfonso VI y la Reconquista de Toledo: Actas del II Congreso Internacional de Studios Mozárabes 3 (1985), 107–129. Van Liere, F. An Introduction to the Medieval Bible, New York, 2013. Velázquez, I. – Ripoll, G., “Toletum, la construcción de una urbs regia”, in: Sedes regiae (ann. 400–800), Eds. G. Ripoll y J. Mª. Gurt, Barcelona, 2000, pp. 521–578. Walker, R., “Becoming Alfonso VI: the King, his Sister, and the Arca Santa Reliquary”, Anales de Historia del Arte, Volumen Extraordinario, no. 2 (2011), 391–412. Wasserstein, D., The Rise and Fall of the Party Kings: Politics and Society in Islamic Spain, 1002–1086, Princeton, 1985.

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Wisnovsky, R., “Avicenna and the Avicennian Tradition”, in P. Damson and R.C. Taylor (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Arabic Philosophy, Cambridge, 2005, 92–136. Wolf, K.B., “Convivencia in Medieval Spain: A Brief History of an Idea” Religion Compass 3.1 (2009), 72–85. Yirmiyahu, Y., The Other Within: The Marranos: Split Identity and Emerging Modernity. Princeton, 2009.

Index ʿAbd Allah b. Buluggin 68 ʿAbd al-Rahman II 63–65 ʿAbd al-Rahman III al-Nasir 65 ʿAli b. Yusuf 69 ʿAmrus b. Yusuf 64 Abraham 260 Abraham Ibn Daud 266–268, 270–271 n. 25, 29 Abū Qurrah, Tawāḍrūs 148 Abū Rāʾiṭa, Ḥabīb b. Khidma 148–149 n. 56 Acre 70–72 Adrian IV, pope 40 Adversus Iudaeos 197, 212 Aghushtīn (author of Maṣḥaf al-ʿalām al-kāʾin) 144, 149, 151, 155–159 Ahmad b. al-Hariri 66 al Hakam I 18, 36, 65 al-Andalus 221, 232, 234–235 Alarcos 60, 74, 76 al-Baṣrī, ʿAmmār 148, 151 Alcaçer do Sal 75 Alcántara, puente de 62 n. 8, 65, 67, 69, 74 n. 75, 76 Alcántara, puerta de 62 n. 10,  8, 65, 67, 69, 74 n. 75, 76 Alcázar 64–66 Alexander III, pope 41 Alficén 65 n. 37, 39, 66 Alfonsine privilegio 179–180 Alfonso IX de León 75 Alfonso VI 15, 23 n. 35, 28, 30, 140, 142, 166, 170, 178 n. 40 Alfonso VI de León 68 Alfonso VII 142 Alfonso VIII 69, 72, 74, 77 Alfonso VIII, king of Castile 41, 48 Alfonso VII, king of León-Castile 40, 44, 46 Alfonso VI, king of León-Castile 33–34, 38, 42–43 n. 36, 55 Alfonso X 204–205 n. 44, 207 n. 52 al Hakam I 65 al-Himyari 72 al-Iʿlām bi-mā fī dīn al-nasārā min al-fasād wa-awhām wa-iẓhār maḥāsin dīn al-islām

wa-ithbāt nubūwat nabīnā Muḥammad ʿalayhi al-ṣalāt wa-al-salām (Information about the Corruptions and Delusions of the Religion of the Christians and the Presentation of the Merits of the Religion of Islam and the Affirmation of the Prophethood of Our Prophet Muḥammad, prayer and peace be upon him) 144 n. 23 Aljama 195, 204, 208 n. 58 al-Khazrajī, Aḥmad b. ʿabd al-Ṣamad (author of Maqāmiʿ al-ṣulbān) 144–145, 152 n. 79 Al-Maʾmūn, Yaḥyā 16 Al-Maqqarī 15–18, 24, 26, 30 Almofada, torre 69, 75 Almohads 119, 122 al-Qurṭubī (author of al-Iʿlām) 144–145, 148 n. 53, 154–157, 159 al-Qūṭī (author of Risālat al-Qūṭī) 143, 145, 151–152 Andalusí-Arabic 226, 232 Andalusí Toledo 222 Aniago 106 Ankara 65 Anscari M. Mundó 121 Anti-Judaism-Anti-Semitism 164, 166, 186 Apologeticus contra perfidos 146, 152 n. 83 Arabic-into-Latin 272 Arabic-language 221, 232 Aragón 106 Archdeacon 225–227, 229–230, 233, 235 Avicenna 268, 271–272 Ayuntamiento of Toledo 170, 175, 177 Bab al-Mardum, mezquita de 66 Beatus of Liēebana (author of Heterii et Sancti Beati ad Elipandum Epistola) 153 Berbers 6, 9, 16, 18 Berenguela I 77 Bernard, archbishop of Toledo 39, 43, 45–46 Birds 19, 21, 26 Bisagra Nueva, puerta de 74–75 Bisagra Vieja, puerta de 73 n. 71 Blood-Libel 195–196, 199–203, 208, 211, 213 Buyer 224–226, 228–229

304 Cáceres 75 Castile 195, 200 n. 26, 208–209 n. 59, 210–211, 213 Catalan 106 Cathedral of Toledo 230, 235 Cenebruno, archbishop of Toledo 47, 51 Cepeda 105–106, 121 Christian 221–222, 226–227, 229–235 Christian liturgy 97 Christian Toledo 221–222 Church 221–222, 227, 230–233 Cisnerian Reform 100–102 n. 21, 103, 105–107, 111, 119 Coimbra 103, 128–129 commons (including pecheros, campesinos, peasants) 165, 189 confessos 179–181 Constantinopla 70–71 Contract 222–227, 229–231, 233–235 Converso 195 n. 1, 196, 209–213 conversos (xref to this from “judeoconversos”)  165–167, 169, 171–173 n. 33, 174, 176–183, 186–188 Córdoba 61–63, 65–66, 75 Corpus Christi chapel 99, 101 Corriente 226–227 cristianos viejos and cristianos viejos lindos 177, 179–180, 182 Cristo de la Luz, iglesia del 66 Dhū-l-Nūn 16 Diego Olstein 221 n. 1, 222, 233, 235 Divine Attributes 149, 157

Index González Palencia 221 n. 1, 222–223, 227, 229–230 Gonzalo de Berceo 202–203 n. 35 goticismo 183 Granada 68, 73, 75 Gundissalinus 263, 265–266, 268–275 ḥadīth 238, 250 n. 42, 258–259 n. 73 Hebrew Bible 238, 260 n. 80 heresy 165–166, 173 n. 33, 180, 187–188 Honorio III, papa 75 Hypostatic Union 246 Ibn Arfaʿ Ra ʾsuhu 15, 19 n. 22 Ibn Baṣṣāl 15–17, 23, 30 Ibn Hayyan 62 n. 16, 65–66 Ibn Iḏarí 72 Incarnation 239–240, 248–249 n. 38 Infantes of Aragón 165–168, 183, 186–188 Inocencio III, papa 74 Jaén 75 Jerónimo Zurita 106 Jews 165, 167, 169, 172, 174, 177–178 n. 40, 182–183, 186–187, 189 Jordi Pinell 108 Juan, archbishop of Toledo 36, 45–46, 51–53 Juan II of Aragón (xref to this from “Juan II of Navarra”) 164 n. 1, 167–168 Juan II of Castile 164 n. 1, 166–167, 170 King Recaredo 121

Felipe II de Francia 70 Fernando III 77 Ferrando Frutos 221 n. 1, 222 fiscal aspects 165 Formula 222–225, 227–231, 233 Francisco Ximénez de Cisneros 100

La Guardia 196, 209, 211–212 Lenten liturgies 111 Lenten liturgy 109–110, 123 León, Archivo Catedralicio 103, 109–111, 120, 128 n. 119 lèse majesté 186 letrados 179 Liber denudationis 143–144 n. 22, 146 Liberiudiciorum (Fuero juzgo) 142 lion 19–20, 24, 26–27, 31 López, Diego 62 n. 7, 75, 83 Lute 18–19, 21–27

gardens 15, 19, 23–24, 26 n. 45, 27, 29–31 Gil y Gaya 226–227

Maqāmiʿ al-ṣulbān 145 Marcos García de Mora 171

Easter Sunday and Saint Mary 121 Elipandus, bishop of Toledo 35–37 Enrique I 77 Eugenius III 122

Index Marrano 210 n. 63,  64, 67 Maṣḥaf al-ʿalam al-kāʾin (Book of the Existing World) 7–8, 141, 143, 154, 160 Mateos, Alfonso 75 mercedes enriqueñas 166 Mérida/Marida 64 Messiah 239, 241, 253–255 Mozarabic 97 n. 4, 98–104 n. 29, 105–114, 116, 119–120, 122–130, 132 “Mozarabic” breviary 102 “Mozarabic” missal 102 Mozarabic parishes 99–100, 102, 105–106, 113, 119, 122–123, 125 Muhammad I 64, 67, 72 Muslim 226, 231–235 Mutakallimūn 150, 157 Muʿtazila 148, 150, 157 muwashshaḥāt 18–19, 21 n. 25, 27, 31 Navas de Tolosa, batalla de las 60 Neo-Mozarabic codices 99, 109, 112 Neo-Mozarabic liturgy 98, 100, 105, 107 notarial 221–222, 226, 232 notaries (xref to this also escribanos, escribanías, notariate) 178–179, 181, 184–185 Notary/scribe 49–50, 52 n. 72, 124–125, 179, 202 n. 32, 226, 231, 235 Old Hispanic chant 97–99, 101–102 n. 21, 104 n. 29, 104, 107, 109, 110 n. 63, 111–112, 122–123, 127 n. 115, 128, 130–131 Old Hispanic rite 97–103, 105–108, 110 n. 62, 112–113, 119–120, 122, 124–125, 130–131 Ordinance 120 ownership 224–225, 230 panegyric 15, 24–28 Pere Tomich 106 Pero López de Ayala 167 Pero Sarmiento 164 n. 2, 168–171, 173–174 n. 35 post-psallendo 110 Privilege 99–100, 105 Purchaser 225, 227, 229–230, 235 Qurʿān 148 Rabbi 229, 233, 235

305 Randel 97 n. 1, 103 n. 28, 107, 110–111, 119–120, 127 n. 115, 128 Raymond, archbishop of Toledo 44–46, 51, 54–55 Reccared, king of the Visigoths 34, 39 Requena 75 Ricardo I de Inglaterra 70 Risālat al-Qūṭī (The Letter of the Goth) 143 Roman liturgy 100, 102, 119, 122 Roman rite 97, 100, 122, 124 n. 100, 129 Saint Acisclo, Saint Eulalia of Mérida, Saints Justo and Pastor 112 Saint Luke, Saints Fabian and Sebastian, and Saint Mark 101, 112, 114 Salvatierra, castillo de 72 Samson of Cēordoba (author of Apologeticus contra perfidos) 146, 152 n. 83 San Lucas 99, 122 n. 92 San Marcos 99, 122 n. 92 San Martin 107 San Martín, puente de 76 San Pedro y San Pablo, basílica de 63, 66 San Sebastian 99 Santa Eulalia 99, 108, 122 n. 92, 126 Santa María del Alficén, iglesia de 66 Santas Justa y Rufina 99, 119, 122 n. 92, 126–127 Santiago del Arrabal, iglesia de 68 San Torcuato 100, 122 n. 92 Segovia 269–270, 272–275 Seller 224–226, 228–230 Siete Partidas 196, 205–206 n. 48, 208 Solomon Ibn Gabirol 152, 256–257 Targum 238, 255 n. 51 Tathlīth al-waḥdānīya (The Trebling of the Oneness) 141 tax collection (arrendar, arrendamiento, etc.) 177 taxes 176–177, 182–183, 185 Teodosio II 71 theophany 240 Toledan 98–99, 102 n. 21, 105–109, 119–123, 125–126, 128–130 Toledo/Toletum/Tulaytula 195–198 n. 14, 202–204 n. 44, 205 n. 44, 209–213, 263–266 n. 13, 267–275 Toledo Cathedral 97, 100–102

306

Index

transaction 223–227, 229–230, 232–235 Transfer of Knowledge 299 Translation Movement 263–265, 267–268, 270, 274–275 Trastámara (House of or Dynasty) 167, 183–184 n. 46, 189 Trinity 239–240, 242–244 n. 25, 245

Valmardón, puerta de 66–67 Visigothic Rite 142 Visigoths 166, 178 n. 40 Vouillé, batalla de 59

Urban II, pope 38, 40 Urraca I 69 Urraca, Queen of León-Castile 43–44 n. 42

Ximénez de Rada (author of De rebus Hispanie) 148 n. 54

Vado, puerta del 59, 68 n. 56, 69, 73–75

Wamba 67 Water 15, 23, 26–27, 30 witness 222 n. 2, 229 n. 13, 233

Ya’qub I 76