Carved in Stone: The archaeology of rock-cut sites and stone quarries 9781407358093, 9781407358086

Table of contents :
Title page
Copyright page
Of Related Interest
Contents
List of Contributors
Foreword
1. The Archaeology of Quarries and Rock-Cut Sites
1. General context
2. Quarries: a research closely connectedto the nature of the rock
3. Rock-cut monuments: still a study niche?
4. Towards new research perspectives
Bibliography
2. From Surfaces to Tools: Traceology and Experimental Analysisof Digging Techniques of Mediterranean Rock-Cut Tombs
Introduction
1. Presentation of the sites and their problematics
1.1. Fontvieille necropolis, Bouches-du-Rhône, France
1.2. S’Elighe Entosu, Usini, Sardinia, Italy
1.3. Sas Concas and Museddu (Sardinia, Italy).Presence of similar anthropomorphic engraved elements
1.4. Sant’Andrea Priu and S’Incantu (Sardinia,Italy). Presence of an important painted iconographicprogramme
2. Methodology
2.1. Non-invasive techniques for the study of the toolmarks
2.2. Experimentation
3. Difference of treatment on the walls of the hypogea
3.1. Diversified treatments of walls and grounds
3.2. Presence of coating on the walls
4. Conclusions
Bibliography
3. The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in FranceBetween the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries
Introduction
1. The concept of souterrains in France
1.1. Definition
1.2. Typology
1.3. Dating elements
1.4. Distribution of souterrains in France
2. The digging of souterrains
2.1. Extraction methods
2.2. Lighting
2.3. Tools1
2.3.1. Swung percussion tools
2.3.2. Struck Percussion Tools
2.3.3. Drills
2.3.4. Other tools
2.4. Extraction routes
2.5. Orientation when digging a souterrain
2.6. Finishing works
2.7. The workers
2.8. Excavation time
3. Conclusions
Bibliography
4. Cutting in the Chinese Loess
1. Cave dwellings (yáodòng) on the Loess Plateauacross the Yellow River in North-Central China
2. Conventional typologies of contemporaryyáodòng dwellings
3. Evolutionary approaches
4. Critique
5. Alternative approaches
6. Contemporary perceptions and the heritage issue
7. Conclusions
Bibliography
5. Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja(Sulawesi, Indonesia): An Ethno-Archaeologyof Stone Economy and Ritual
Introduction
1. Death, monuments and society in traditionalTana Toraja
2. Research questions and methodology
3. Anatomy of Toraja rock-cut tombs
4. Finding and reserving a location on the rock face
5. The stone workers: costs, workspaces,tools and roles
6. Cutting out the tomb: a technical andritual chaîne-opératoire
7. Consecration of the tomb
8. Construction failures and abandonments
9. Tomb worksites as stone quarries
10. Conclusion
Bibliography
6. A Rock-Cut Landscape By the Sea: Myrina Kastro in Prehistoryand Antiquity (Lemnos Island, North Aegean Sea, Greece)
Introduction
1. A rock-cut landscape
2. The sea: a maritime cultural landscape
3. A female factor in a rocky seascape
4. Further research directions
Bibliography
7. Koramaz Valley of Kayseri, Turkey Rock-Cut Architectureand Underground Cities
Introduction
1. General Description of Koramaz Valley
1.1. Büyük Bürüngüz Village
1.2. Subaşı (Üskübü) Village
1.3. Küçük Bürüngüz Village
1.4. Ağırnas Village
1.5. Dimitre Village
1.6. Vekse Village
1.7. Ispıdın Village
2. Conclusions
Bibliography
8. Renaissance-Era Rock Cut Cellars in the Economy of a FortifiedCity in the War Frontier between Two Civilizations
Introduction
1. Historical background
2. Survey of extinct vineyards
3. Geology, geographical and cultural background
4. Characteristics of Krupina’s rock-cut cellars
5. Purpose of cellars
6. Dating
6.1. Archaeological data
6.2. Political, cultural and economic context
6.2.1. Vacancy on the wine market
6.2.2. Rise of the domestic winery
6.2.3. Cultural and religious changes
6.2.4. Decline of the wine-industry in Krupina
6.3. Evidence in artwork
6.4. Dating through technology
6.5. Dating through analogy
7. Conclusions
Bibliography
9. Addi Behaylay – A Possible Stone Quarry Site for YehaGreat Temple: A Result of Recent Archaeological Survey
Introduction
1. Previous Investigations
2. Survey Objective
3. Methodology
4. Result of the Survey
4.1. Addi Behaylay stone quarry
4.1.1. Addi Behaylay 1 (AB-1)
4.1.2. Addi Behaylay 2 (AB-2)
4.2. Addi Behaylay Kidanemihret (AB-K)
5. Discussion
5.1. Who used the Addi Behaylay stone quarry sites?
5.2. Technique of quarrying
6. Future research
Bibliography
10. Archaeology of Early Middle Ages SarcophagiQuarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France)
Introduction
1. Sarcophagi quarries in the Southern Paris Basin
1.1. Quarrying district of Panzoult (Indre-et-Loire)
1.2. Quarrying district of Manse and Courtineauvalleys (Indre-et-Loire)
1.3. Quarrying district of Anglin and Gartempe valleys(Indre and Vienne)
1.4. The late antiquity and early Middle Ages quarryof Vinon (Sancerre, Cher)
2. Sources of the study
2.1. Written sources
2.2. Prior archaeological data
2.3. Sarcophagi
2.4. Quarries and production centres
3. Multiscalar approach and main characteristicsof sarcophagi exploitation
3.1. Quarries, special archaeological sites
3.1.1. Three-dimensional issues
3.1.2. Nature and hierarchy of main elementsof the exploitation
3.2. At the block scale: reconstruction of the ‘chaîneopératoire’ and technical gestures
3.3. At the quarry face scale: organisationof the extraction
3.4. At the quarry scale: operation and planning
3.4.1. Operating strategies
3.4.2. Space and waste management
3.5. At the quarrying centre scale: local/regionaleconomy of the sarcophagus
3.5.1. Topography of the sites
3.5.2. Sarcophagus market
3.5.3. Chronology, tempo and quantification of theproduction
4. Sarcophagi quarry study protocol
4.1. Identification of production sites
4.1.1. Constitution of a rock reference collectionand determination of the rock types
4.1.2. Quarry surveying and recognition
4.2. Observation, analysis and recording of data
4.2.1. Observation and recording of the remains
4.2.2. Study of blocks founds in the quarry
4.2.3. Geology of the quarries
4.3. Documenting quarries
4.3.1. Photographic coverage
4.3.2. Archaeological drawings
4.4. Graphical representation of the exploitation
4.4.1. The exploitation diagram
4.4.2. Operating plans and topo-chronologies
5. Quarry excavation: problematic, meansand methods
5.1. Interests of the excavation
5.1.2. Nature of quarry waste
5.1.3. Depositional process
5.2. Quarry excavation methodology
5.2.1. Spot survey and extensive excavations
5.2.2. Excavation strategies
5.2.3. Excavation and recording techniques
5.2.4. Dating and findings issues
6. Case studies
6.1. Contributions of digital 3D to the study of quarries
6.1.1. Reconstitution of Vinon quarry (Cher) fromold photographs
6.1.2. Quarry ceilings finally accessible: exampleof Barbauderie 2 (Panzoult, Indre-et-Loire)
6.2. Operational planning
6.2.1. Example of the wall 5 of Barbauderie 1(Panzoult, Indre-et-Loire)
6.2.2. Topographic evolution of Pied Griffé(Saint-Pierre-de-Maillé, Vienne)
6.3. Space and waste management
6.3.1. Movement of men and materials from the lastexploited quarry faces of the underground quarryBarbauderie 5–6 (Panzoult, Indre-et-Loire)
6.3.2. Waste management in the pit quarry of Pied Griffé(Saint-Pierre-de-Maillé, Vienne)
7. Conclusions
Bibliography
11. Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum PlasterOver Time in Construction in Ile-de-France
Introduction
1. Geological and chemical overview
2. Historical overviews
3. Extraction
4. Kilns
4.1. Medieval kilns
4.2. Dampmart early Middle Ages kiln
4.3. The kiln of the castle of Saint-Martin-du-Tertre
4.4. The kiln of Sarcelles
5. Experimental archaeology approach
6. Conclusions
Bibliography
12. Building Stone Through the Centuries: The ‘Paris Stone’ Versusthe ‘Oise Stone’ (France)
Introduction
1. Paris and its geological resources
2. The extraction centres of Saint-Leu-d’Esserentand Saint-Maximin
3. The Ancient period (first to fourth centuries AD)
3.1. Ancient Paris (Lutetia) and its quarries
3.2. Genesis of the quarry district of Saint-Leud’Esserent and Saint-Maximin
4. The Merovingian (fifth to eighth centuries) andCarolingian periods (ninth to tenth centuries)
4.1. Lutetia becomes Paris
4.2. The Oise quarry district betweencontinuity and rupture
5. The Classical Middle Ages (eleventhto thirteenth centuries)
5.1. Paris, capital of the kingdom, the omnipresentParis stone
5.2. The quarry districts of the Oise limitedto the local market
6. The fourteenth and fifteenth centuries:a period of transition for the stone market
6.1. Evolution of the stone supply in Paris
6.2. Beginning of the export of the Oise stone
7. The market of stone, from the sixteenthto the eighteenth century
7.1. Paris and the specialisation of its quarry districts
7.2. The differentiated development of quarrydistricts in the Oise region
8. Towards a great diversification of the stone market(nineteenth-twentieth century)
8.1. Paris metropolis and the end of its quarry districts
8.2. Only the quarry district of Saint-Maximin remains
9. Conclusion
Bibliography

Citation preview

Carved in Stone The archaeology of rock-cut sites and stone quarries

Edited by

Claudia Sciuto, Anaïs Lamesa, Katy Whitaker and Ali Yamaç B A R I N T E R NAT I O NA L S E R I E S 3 0 5 4

2021

Carved in Stone The archaeology of rock-cut sites and stone quarries Edited by

Claudia Sciuto, Anaïs Lamesa, Katy Whitaker and Ali Yamaç B A R I N T E R NAT I O NA L S E R I E S 3 0 5 4

297mm HIGH

297mm_BAR Sciuto TITLE ARTWORK.indd 1

2021

11/10/2021 12:47

Published in 2021 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series 3054 Carved in Stone. The archaeology of rock-cut sites and stone quarries ISBN  978 1 4073 5809 3 ISBN  978 1 4073 5808 6

paperback e-format

doi  https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407358093 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library © the editors and contributors severally 2021 Cover image  Ventilation shaft of Mimar Sinan Underground City, Ağırnas Village, Koramaz Valley, Kayseri, 2014. Photograph by Ali Ethem Keskin. The Authors’ moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher. Links to third party websites are provided by BAR Publishing in good faith and for information only. BAR Publishing disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third-party website referenced in this work.

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For more information, or to purchase these titles, please visit www.barpublishing.com iii

Contents

List of Contributors.......................................................................................................................................................... vii Foreword............................................................................................................................................................................. ix 1. The Archaeology of Quarries and Rock-Cut Sites.................................................................................................... 1 Jean-Claude Bessac, Anaïs Lamesa and Claudia Sciuto 2.

 rom Surfaces to Tools: Traceology and Experimental Analysis of Digging Techniques F of Mediterranean Rock-Cut Tombs........................................................................................................................... 9 Marie-Elise Porqueddu, Maxence Bailly, Xavier Margarit, Paolo Fallavollita and Maria Grazia Melis

3. T  he Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries................. 23 Luc Stevens 4.

Cutting in the Chinese Loess.................................................................................................................................... 41 Constantin Canavas

5.

 reating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia): An Ethno-Archaeology C of Stone Economy and Ritual................................................................................................................................... 49 Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams

6. A  Rock-Cut Landscape By the Sea: Myrina Kastro in Prehistory and Antiquity (Lemnos Island, North Aegean Sea, Greece)........................................................................................................................................ 67 Christina Marangou 7. Koramaz Valley of Kayseri, Turkey Rock-Cut Architecture and Underground Cities....................................... 77 Ali Yamaç 8. R  enaissance-Era Rock Cut Cellars in the Economy of a Fortified City in the War Frontier between Two Civilizations.......................................................................................................................................... 91 Martin Miňo 9. A  ddi Behaylay – A Possible Stone Quarry Site for Yeha Great Temple: A Result of Recent Archaeological Survey............................................................................................................................................. 103 Hiluf Berhe 10. Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France)......................113 Daniel Morleghem 11. Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum Plaster Over Time in Construction in Ile-de-France.................................. 143 Ivan Lafarge 12. Building Stone Through the Centuries: The ‘Paris Stone’ Versus the ‘Oise Stone’ (France).......................... 163 Jean-Pierre Gély

v

List of Contributors Adams, Ron Simon Fraser University, Canada

Stevens, Luc French Society for Souterrains Studies

Bailly, Maxence University Aix-Marseille, France – CNRS, France

Whitaker, Katy University of Reading, UK

Berhe, Hiluf Mekelle University, Ethiopia

Yamaç, Ali OBRUK Cave Research Group, Turkey

Bessac, Jean-Claude CNRS Montpellier, France Canavas, Constantin Hamburg University of Applied Sciences, Germany Fallavollita, Paolo Oben srl, Sassari, Italy Gély, Jean-Pierre University of Paris I Panthéon-Sorbonne, France Lafarge, Ivan Cultural Heritage Office, Département de la SeineSaint-Denis, France Lamesa, Anaïs CNRS Paris, France Marangou, Christina Independent researcher, Athens, Greece Margarit, Xavier University Aix-Marseille, France – CNRS, France Melis, Maria Grazia University of Sassari, Italy Miňo, Martin Regional Board Banská Bystrica – Monument Board, Slovak Republic Morleghem, Daniel University of Tours, France Porqueddu, Marie-Elise Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, Spain – University Aix-Marseille, France Robin, Guillaume University of Edinburgh, UK Sciuto, Claudia University of Pisa, Italy vii

Foreword This volume is the result of a long exchange, developed during two EAA (European Association of Archaeologists) conference sessions, respectively organized by the editors in 2018 and 2019, titled: “Archaeology of rock-hewn sites and quarries: people, stones and landscapes” and “Rockcut architecture: communities, landscapes and economy”. They were both aimed at turning the attention of the international scientific community towards the relevance of the archaeological study of rock-cut sites and quarries and promote the creation of a European network of researchers working on the subject. 

are fundamental to a better understanding of current developments within the subject.  The following four chapters are case studies in which particular attention is given to the study of carving techniques and their socio-economic implications: Porqueddu et al. approach the complicated study of toolmarks on the walls of prehistoric hypogea in France and Sardinia through the combined use of photogrammetry and the design of experimental sessions; Stevens presents a detailed catalogue of more than a thousand “souterrains”, dug between the 10th and the 16th century in France, focusing on the planning of different digging phases and the excavation techniques; Canavas brings us to China to examine the complex architecture of yáodòng in the loess plateau, examining the acts of digging and shaping holes and pits as social actions themselves; Robin and Adams provide a comprehensive report for the ethnoarchaeological study of the digging of a traditional rock-cut tomb in Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia), highlighting how economic, technical and ritual agents are intertwined throughout the process. 

The idea behind this initiative was that of investigating the archaeology of rock-cut sites and quarries as an archaeology of co-occurring agencies of humans and stones, the archaeology of the void left by daily activities and production, the shape of living and lived spaces. In short: seeing the human behind the tool. The chapters in this volume represent an overview of different case studies, approached as knots in the network of peoplestone interactions. Features that are carved in stone are examined as doorways between humans and the mineral world, as places of exchange and symbiotic relationships.

Three chapters are then dedicated to the investigation of larger rock-cut sites in which the distribution and organization of carved spaces responds to specific needs: Marangou analyses the development of the complex landscape of Myrina Kastro (Lemnos Island, North Aegean Sea, Greece), between prehistory and antiquity, pinpointing how carved features are linked to sea traffic; Yamaç unravels the intricate system of hundreds of rockcut features in Koramaz valley of Kayseri, Turkey, as the heritage of a centuries-long carving tradition; Miňo interrogates the function and organization of rock-cut cellars used for storing wine in the town of Krupina (Slovak Republic) during the renaissance, at the border between the Hungarian kingdom and the Ottoman empire. 

The study of marks left by humans on stone outcrops is an interdisciplinary endeavour that entails metrology and history of techniques from a socio-economic perspective. Moreover, the geological characterization of outcrops as well as the investigation of carved landscapes contributes to the understanding of the complex relationship between human groups and their environments.  The chapters in this volume are carefully organized according to three main research axes: • The art of carving: creation and management of rockcut sites. • Living in the stone: structure and organization of rockcut settlements. • Working with the stone: quarries and stone supply networks.

The last four chapters are dedicated to the study of quarries as linked to the procurement and usage of stone: Berhe reports on a survey done in Addi Behaylay, in the Tigray region, Ethiopia, that has delivered evidence of a possible quarry in an area now ravaged by the civil war1; Morleghem presents a comprehensive study of several underground or semi-underground quarries for early medieval sarcophagi in France, by applying a multi-scalar

Contributors to this volume are international scholars dealing with the study of rock-cut sites and quarries from different perspectives, all bringing their personal input to the general debate on the matter.

The editors consider that Berhe’s work is an important part of this collection, and we value his contribution. Nevertheless, we have been unable to reach the author since May 2021, due to the war in Tigray. For this reason, the chapter underwent only a partial review process. We regret that Berhe has not had the opportunity to be more closely involved in the production process and hope for the very best for him and his colleagues.

1 

The first chapter written by Bessac et al. aims at framing the study of carved sites in the wider development of archaeology during the last decades. It constitutes the historiographic introduction to the volume and helps to highlight theoretical and methodological issues that ix

Foreword approach to better understand exploitation strategies and the organization of labour; Lafarge draws up an extensive analysis of the diachronic use and exploitation of gypsum in Île-de-France, by linking quarrying sites and gypsum usage; finally, Gely exposes a thorough study of the use of building stone in Paris through the centuries, looking at how different quarrying centres have been supplying building materials to the growing city.  For us, this volume represents the first joint communication of an international dialogue that has been ongoing for years, with the creation of a research network and the organization of a series of conferences and workshops dedicated to the subject of rock-carved features. Claudia Sciuto Katy Whitaker Anaïs Lamesa  Ali Yamaç Acknowledgements: Part of this work has been funded by the excellence cluster of the Department of Civilization and Forms of Knowledge of the University of Pisa: I tempi delle strutture. Resilienze, accelerazioni e percezioni del cambiamento (nello spazio euro-mediterraneo), the Orient & Méditerranée laboratory – DIM-Matériaux anciens et patrimoniaux and the region of Île-de-France.

x

1 The Archaeology of Quarries and Rock-Cut Sites Jean-Claude Bessac1, Anaïs Lamesa2 and Claudia Sciuto3 CNRS Montpellier, France 2 CNRS Paris, France 3 Department of Civilizations and Forms of Knowledge, University of Pisa, Italy 1

Abstract: To fully appreciate the contributions of archaeological studies devoted to the understanding of quarries and rock-cut structures, it seems advisable to focus the attention over the human, geological and technical aspects that are common to this kind of sites. Such conceptual bonds became evident to archaeologists only recently, after a long theoretical and methodological development of research in the field. For a long time, studies of quarries and rock-cut monuments have been carried out independently, often underpinning different research goals. A brief overview of research approaches and bibliographical references on these specific subjects allows us to better appreciate the direction of the current investigations. This paper is divided into three sections: a general overview of the field of studies; a focus on quarries and, finally, the outline of recent advances in the study of rock-cut sites. Studies on ancient quarries are numerous and closely connected with the analysis of the nature of the stone itself whereas research on rock-cut sites remains somehow neglected and scattered, since it drew scholars’ attention only during the 21st century. Keywords: Quarries, rock-cut sites, history of techniques, historiography. 1. General context

complexes is scattered around its periphery (Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Turkey, France, Italy) and even well beyond (Persia, Afghanistan, India, Egypt, Ethiopia, Mexico). Apart from rare exceptions, such as Naqsh-i Roustan near Persepolis whose tombs are carved out of hard limestone, most of these features are cut out in relatively soft rocks, such as sandstones, volcanic tufa and more or less chalky limestones. Furthermore, the chronology of carving for the great rock-cut complexes goes far beyond Antiquity and extends diachronically from Prehistory (Sardinia, France, Ireland, England) to the Middle Ages (Italy, Turkey, India, Ethiopia). Despite these general chronological, geographic, and structural differences between the broad categories of quarries and rock-cut sites, we wish to draw attention to a technical aspect that is common to all these features: the process of carving the rock itself. Despite a possible shared methodological approach, research on these two types of sites followed different paths from the very beginning, and it is only recently that scholars have started reflecting on a common ground.

The large quarry basins which have marked monumental architectural history are generally quite distant from the most famous rock-cut complexes, both geographically and chronologically. The areas that have been the most targeted by archaeological research on ancient quarries are mainly distributed around the Mediterranean Sea and its eastern islands (Pentelicus, Euboea, Paros, Thasos, Marmara, etc.).1 Scholars have focused mostly on the Greco-Roman phases of activity of these quarries. Early research on the theme of stone extraction and supply converged on hard, so-called “noble”, or ornamental rocks (marbles, granites, porphyries, and other decorative hard rocks), because of their ostentatious character of status display and their prestige for powerful ancient clients and art lovers of all times. On the other hand, “ordinary stone” quarries (used to build all sorts of architecture) have never benefited from such enthusiasm, even when they were located adjacent to large rock-cut monuments, such as in Petra (Rababeh 2005, 49–60; Bessac 2007, 77–88). 

2. Quarries: a research closely connected to the nature of the rock

In terms of rock-cut architectures, a few sites are located in geographic areas neighbouring the large historic marble supply area of the Mediterranean basin, notably on the west coast of Asia Minor, while the largest part of these hewn

The archaeological and historical interest around ancient quarries did not begin until the end of the 19th century. Historians and epigraphists were pioneers in this field, such as Luigi Bruzza, interested in marbles, Charles Dubois, working on all ornamental stones, and Hugo Blümner,

1  As in the acts of the ASMOSIA congress, the first of which was published in 1988 (Herz and Waelkens 1988).

1

Jean-Claude Bessac, Anaïs Lamesa and Claudia Sciuto who wrote more generally on the technical vocabulary of craftsmanship (Bruzza 1870; Blümner 1884; Dubois 1908). The investigations carried out back then were essentially historical, based on the epigraphic study of inscriptions on semi-finished or rough blocks found in the great imperial quarries, known for the extraction of prestigious materials, and supplied throughout the Roman empire. Early studies were approaching quarries, especially those active in the Greco-Roman period, as a sort of “ancillary” production site, essentially a variety of mines (Léger 1875,704–706). It was only later on that archaeologists started to take into account the differences between the technical activity of the miner, who crushes the mineral ore without worrying about its final destination, and that of the quarryman, who produces blocks whose technical, dimensional and aesthetic characteristics are chosen and / or determined according to their final use (Bessac 1996, 397). 

to undertake systematic excavations of production areas, except for some ancient exploitation sites dug in the Egyptian Desert during the last two decades of the twentieth century (Maxfield and Peacock 2001). However, in the last twenty years, it became clear to archaeologists that the understanding of the design and logic behind the creation of ancient buildings, as well as the techniques and the economy of their construction, was lacking without linking it to the organization of the extraction sites. From the end of the 1970s, European researchers started adopting systematic methods for surveying rocky outcrops as well as considering the idea of conducting excavations in quarry sites. In North Africa and Asia Minor, the investigation of sites for the extraction of ornamental rocks benefitted from these new approaches, such as at Mons Claudianus in Egypt, and Dokimeion in Phrygia (Waelkens, Herz, and Moens 1992; Maxfield and Peacock 2001). Nevertheless, these operations were often aimed at unearthing the outcrops, collecting inscriptions, lapidary elements, and antique tools from contemporary quarrymen, rather than documenting the complete stratigraphic sequence (Fant 1989; Asgari 1995). During the same years, in the western areas of the Mediterranean basin, researchers began to take an interest also in the exploitation of “ordinary” rocks, while these studies often remained superficial or linked to fortuitous discoveries.

It was not until the last third of the 20th century that the theme of quarries took off again, under the pressure of disciplines related to archaeology, such as the archaeology of buildings or the anthropology of techniques (Bessac 1986a; Balfet 1991; Arlaud and Burnouf 1993; Rockwell 1993). However, at that time research was still dominated by epigraphers and historians, who had little training in the practical and material approach to extraction sites while the contribution of field archaeologists remained relatively marginal. In this scenario, some researchers started approaching the technical and economic aspects of ancient quarries, opening up a new research perspective (Ward-Perkins 1972; Dworakowska 1983; Bedon 1984; Dodge and Ward-Perkins 1992). Starting from the last quarter of the 20th century, the interest towards extraction techniques increased as a consequence for the involvement of different specialists in the study of ancient quarries, such as heritage curators, architects, engineers, and geologists. Already in the 1950s, a pioneer, Josef Röder, initiated the analysis of the technical processes of stone carving and directed excavation campaigns in quarrying sites with the aim of studying exploitation strategies, collecting ancient tools, and observing their traces on the rock surface. Röder started by working on the Roman quarries of volcanic tufa in Rhineland (Röder 1957), before plunging into the study of ornamental stone mining in Turkey, Egypt and Tunisia. His approach to the study of quarries constituted a major innovation but, unfortunately, this new perspective was not really developed and integrated in the archaeological discourse until a few decades later. Since these early studies, various research strategies were tested, together with the development of new methods and research questions, tailored to the specificity of each site (Bessac 1986b). Unlike central Mediterranean and European regions, in the Eastern Mediterranean and the Near East, the study of ancient stone quarries has often been limited to a few superficial observations and epigraphic notes, collected in the context of general archaeological surveys. As specified above, only the marble quarries and other ornamental stones attracted the attention of archaeologists, however without really inspiring them

The stratigraphic method was introduced gradually in the study of old quarries. From the 1980s, the archaeological authorities, particularly in France, began to support quarry investigations by integrating them into national research planning (Anonymous 1981, 73). Most of the field operations were still linked to fortuitous discoveries and rescue operations, such as in Saint-Boil, near Autun (Monthel and Pinette 1977). The study of the buildings themselves often prompted scholars to study provenance and production of building materials, as in the case of Cap Couronne, near Marseille, where research on the Hellenistic city walls induced archaeologists to investigate the traces of ancient coastal quarries (Guéry et al. 1985). A long-term study program on a vast limestone outcrop in the Bois des Lens, in the region near Nîmes, began in 1978 (Bessac 1996). The project continued for more than twenty years, gradually considering the relationship between quarries and built monuments, but this kind of approach remained an exception. Between 1980 and 2000, a research project focused on the mapping of the ancient and medieval quarries in France (specifically in Gaul) (Bessac and Sablayrolles 2002). Despite their relative limitations, these early surveys and excavations produced sets of innovative data encompassing technology, economics, socio-cultural phenomena, and even worship (Röder 1957, 213–271; Bessac 1996; Bessac and Sablayrolles 2002). Interest in and recognition of the potential of such research has recently led to the development in England of a multiperiod research agenda for extractive industries (Newman 2016). 2

The Archaeology of Quarries and Rock-Cut Sites The early 2000s was also a favourable moment for the development of multidisciplinary studies in archaeology. Research on stone quarrying around the Mediterranean basin became a relevant topic for all archaeologists, not only mining and quarrying specialists, while a major revolution for the subject was due to the cooperation with researchers from the natural sciences (Waelkens, Herz and Moens 1992; Benoit et al. 2000). Until then, there were few chemists, physicists, geographers and especially geologists involved in quarry research. This is particularly relevant for the study of antique and medieval quarries, while prehistoric archaeologists could count on a longer tradition of provenance studies (i.e. Clough and Cummings 1979). The methodological and theoretical gap had to be filled and, from the end of the 20th century, a new scientific paradigm for the study of extraction sites took over. The number of detailed geochemical analyses of rock samples and the extensive survey and sampling campaigns increased significantly and aimed, above all, at identifying the outcrops supposed to have supplied large construction sites.

physical limits due to the difficulties in accessing some subterranean areas, while excavations in these contexts are rare.5 3. Rock-cut monuments: still a study niche? As for stone quarries, research on rock-cut sites encompasses the analysis of both the underground features and/or the rock surface. The study of sites hewn in the bedrock began with the Napoleonic expedition to Egypt, in the dim light of the Pharaonic monumental tombs. From the very beginning of the investigations, the artistic riches of the tombs’ content and their decorations eclipsed the technical aspects of these majestic rock-cut structures. Similar was the destiny of other iconic monuments, such as the Sphinx and the temple of Abu Simbel, where the exceptional architectural and sculptural apparatus have largely monopolized the direction of the studies. In 1812, the discovery of Petra in the middle of a rocky desert, by Johan Ludwig Burckhardt, caused a general astonishment for the richness of its rock-cut architectural decorations but ignoring all questions about their practical realization. Later, the few texts engraved on the monuments in Petra caught the interest of explorers and researchers. At the beginning of the 20th century, two Dominican brothers, J. Jaussen and R. Savignac, began the study of the numerous inscriptions in the rock tombs of the Nabataean city of Hegra, in Saudi Arabia (Jaussen and Savignac 1997). Most inscriptions mentioned the names of the craftsmen who created the monuments, extremely rare and precious information (Nehmé 2007, 7–27); in the light of that discovery, even if the study of techniques was not yet on the archaeological agenda, scholars could no longer ignore the important craftsmanship of the workforce of specialists active in this extraordinary work.

In the last ten years, studies have benefitted from those earlier experiences, by applying protocols that are the result of the integration of different methods: archaeological survey, geological mapping and sampling, and geochemical analyses. The result of that are local studies that focus on a particular stone type or a quarrying basin, functional to a better understanding of local economies of stone supply (Gluhak and Hofmeister 2009; Mascione and Camporeale 2010; Pearson et al. 2015; Pruno 2018; Roubis and Sciuto 2019).2 Moreover, several reference datasets, both analogue and digital, are now available for learning and teaching to recognize and classify tool-marks (Bessac 1986a; Wootton et al. 2013; Lavigne 2018).

Despite the early interest shown, more than a century ago, in the work of past craftsmen (Jerphanion 1925–1942; Fonseca 1970), the archaeology of rock-cut monuments remained for long time confined to general architectural typology and, more particularly, to the analysis of stylistic features (McKenzie 1990; Thierry 1983–1994). Art historians were the first to approach the study of these monuments, seeking to date the rock-cut complexes and setting up typo-chronologies often based on masonry-built references. Likewise, the rare technical considerations proposed about stonework in rock-cut sites were strongly influenced by the conventions of monumental construction (which always develop from the bottom up, whereas in rock-cut architectures the procedure is generally reversed, since the rock is carved from top to bottom). Unlike buildings, rock-cut monuments were seen as architectures frozen in the rock, and therefore made in one piece. Carving phases, whether contemporary or spaced over a long-time span, were generally not mentioned.

Currently, in the Mediterranean Basin, a major long-term archaeological excavation project in an ancient extraction site has just ended: the ancient quarry of megaliths in Baalbek, Lebanon.3 Elsewhere, for Antiquity, there has been a marked decrease of scheduled excavations for the benefit of rescue and survey operations.4 Quarry sites dated to the early Middle Ages have lately been the target of more sustained research, in particular the underground exploitation of sarcophagi, which is considered to be the most important extraction activity known for this period. Underground quarries, dated to the Medieval and modern periods have also been mapped and investigated, with 2  Such as the proceeding of the conferences dedicated to quarries and construction sites published in the Spanish journal “Arqueología de la Construcción”, the proceedings of the CTHS: “Carrières et constructions en France et dans les pays limitrophes”, issued since 1991 or the proceeding of the conference “Montagne incise, pietre incise” (Stagno 2013). 3   Excavations of the Deutsches Archäologisches Institut led by Jeanine Abdul Massih. 4  For example, the Italian sites site of Fossacava (Paribeni 2020), while the scheduled excavation of the stone quarries in the area of Populonia have provided important data for understanding the exploitation and supply of calcareous stones between the Etruscan and Roman period in southern Tuscany (Mascione and Camporeale 2010).

It was not until the 21st century that the understanding of rock-cut monuments changed. For instance, the rejection 5 

3

One notable exception: Morleghem 2018

Jean-Claude Bessac, Anaïs Lamesa and Claudia Sciuto of the general scheme of a bottom-up realization of most rock-cut monuments happened very gradually (Bessac 2007, 89–109). The descriptive vocabulary also evolved and improved; initially modelled on that of traditional construction, it adapted to the jargon of quarrymen, miners, stonemasons and sometimes sculptors, closer to the actual practices of rock cutting (Bessac 2007, 566–568; Dehejia and Rockwell 2016). Following the example of studies on quarries, but well after them, research on rock-cut monuments really took off in the last 15 years. Monuments were integrated into archaeological research as a source for understanding the landscape and its transformations over time (Fauvelle-Aymar et al. 2010; Crescenzi 2012; Sogliani 2018; 2020), but unfortunately, hardly any excavation is currently carried out in these complexes.6

architectural decor. This extraction can be destructive, crushing the rubble, especially in soft rocks such as the volcanic tufa of Cappadocia (Lamesa 2018) or conducted in such a way as to provide ashlars for construction, as with the sandstone of Petra. In many cases, quarries and rock-cut sites are overlapping, located on the same outcrop, and probably some of the workers were involved in both activities. If in rock-cut sites the extraction activity is undeniable, it must be considered as closely associated, even mixed, with certain quarrying techniques and particularly with some special and complex stone carving processes, since it lacks the guide given by the natural alignment of the depositional joints. These are compelling socio-economic aspects which have barely been investigated and remain to be developed, especially through ethnoarchaeology and experimental archaeology (Lamesa 2011; Porqueddu 2018; Lamesa and Hailay Atsba Hailu forthcoming; Robin and Adams in this volume).

The contribution of digital technologies should also be mentioned. An overview of documentation methods that involve 3D modelling, stratigraphy and speleology was recently written by Giancarlo Pastura (2020). Photogrammetry represented an important breakthrough for the survey of rock-cut monuments, allowing researchers to better capture the volumes of the sites, in order to understand their evolution over time, and the directions in digging (Angelini 2018). Plans and cross sections, easily extracted from 3D models, also support a better understanding of the workers’ technical skills in achieving perfect right angles. Moreover, the combination of photogrammetry and 3D GIS could allow an analysis of the monument within the outcrop itself, observing the position of the carved spaces within the geological layers, and understanding technical and architectural choices that are conditioned by geomorphology. Finally, Virtual Reality is also becoming an interesting immersive medium for exploring undergrounds and sharing the process of interpreting the space according to carved features (Sciuto et al. forthcoming). The application of these methods contributed to the renewed interest for the study of rock-cut monuments, developed in recent years (Carpiceci, Inglese and Colonese 2015). The general understanding of rock-cut features, entailing its qualitative and quantitative aspects, should, above all, benefit from the methodological revolutions begun in the last decades.

A reflection about the technical means adopted both in quarries and rock-cut sites for coping with the characteristics of the rock, and the agency of the stone itself, can be made by examining the quarrymen’s know-how. Even though rock craftsmen are usually quite versatile, it is in the everyday practice of their work that they first discover hidden defects of the rock: cracks, harder layers, stratification joints, etc. They are the ones who judge how to get around or integrate these features into the general stylistic choices of the block/monument, knowing that the slightest error in this groundwork activity of carving and sculpting can wreck the work, and even determine its abandonment (Lamesa 2020). Similarly, the methodological challenges in the study of rock-cut sites are different from those of free-standing constructions because of this powerful agency of the bedrock itself. For example, while in standing monuments built within the classical tradition, archaeologists can easily assess the respect of proportions as compared to the rules defined by Vitruvius, in hewn monuments, even when actual formal reference models exist, the craftsmen must comply with the litho-stratigraphic peculiarities of bedrocks that they often discover as their work progresses down and deep into the layers they carve (Bessac 2009). 

4. Towards new research perspectives

The works collected in this volume aim at adopting a holistic approach to the study of quarries and rock-cut sites, by overcoming the old typo-chronological studies and embracing a truly transdisciplinary resolution. This work is part of a more environmental and anthropological perspective, which aims at balancing different approaches by applying them to various landscapes and features, taking into account the mind and the work of the professionals who carried out these activities as well as their manifold relationships with bedrocks.

Until the beginning of the 21st century, the links between the activity of quarrymen and rock-cut architectural productions was not always evident to scholars interested in monumental archaeology, nor to the general public. The aspects that are common to these two types of features began to emerge only recently, in all their technical and anthropological complexities.  Even in rock-cut sites, depending on the various types of architecture and rock concerned, the share of work needed for extraction is predominant, compared to that of the

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2 From Surfaces to Tools: Traceology and Experimental Analysis of Digging Techniques of Mediterranean Rock-Cut Tombs Marie-Elise Porqueddu1, Maxence Bailly2, Xavier Margarit2, Paolo Fallavollita3 and Maria Grazia Melis4 Experimental Laboratory-UAM LAEX, Departamento de Prehistoria y Arqueología, Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, Spain; Aix Marseille Univ, CNRS, Minist Culture, LAMPEA, Aix-en-Provence, France 2 Aix Marseille Univ, CNRS, Minist. Culture, LAMPEA, Aix-en-Provence, France 3 Oben srl, Sassari, Italy 4 University of Sassari, Dipartimento di Storia, Scienze dell’Uomo e della Formazione, LaPArS, Italy 1

Abstract: Rock-cut tombs are present, at the end of Prehistory, in Sardinia and in the south of France. A large literature is dedicated to these monuments, but the study of the digging process remains poorly discussed. This topic has been the subject of PhD research and a research programme developed and funded by the Galilée programme from the Université franco-italienne. This programme focuses mainly on the study of the surfaces in rock-cut tombs. The question of the walls’ surfaces from Sardinian and French hypogea is essential for the understanding of the realisation of these monuments and the action taken during the digging process. This research goes through the study of the walls, more precisely the digging traces, and the study of the macro-lithic tools used for the excavation. The study of tool marks on the walls is complex because of the state of preservation of the monuments but also of the treatments applied on the walls. Indeed, many hypogea are characterised by the presence of a specific treatment on the walls comprising a smoothing and/or the realisation of sculpture and engraving. Many Sardinian hypogea also have painted representations. Similarly, these artificial cavities have many problems of conservation. The walls suffer from moisture and vegetation as well as vandalism. In these circumstances, it is necessary to develop a non-invasive study technique to obtain quality data. In this prospect, we chose to set up a photography and photogrammetry method complemented by an experimental protocol. We focused on the differences of treatments that can be observed on the walls of hypogea as well as on the techniques and tools used in the excavation of these underground architectures. In this paper, we will describe the methodology adopted and the results obtained within the Galilée programme. Keywords: Rock-cut tombs, digging techniques, carving process. Introduction

Sardinia with the Laboratorio di Preistoria e Archeologia Sperimentale (LaPArS). Its members were Maria Grazia Melis and Paolo Fallavollita. The Galilée programme allowed each of the participants to meet in order to discuss specific problems and to work together directly on the field. Both teams have experience in this research area prior to the Galilée programme. It was a chance to develop these kinds of problematics with an international perspective around the PhD thesis of Marie-Elise Porqueddu entitled “Building underground: architectures and techniques of hypogean collective burials of the Western Mediterranean”.

Rock-cut tombs have been hewn, at the end of Prehistory, in Sardinia and in the south of France. Rock-cut tombs and hypogea are widespread for this period and are characterised by artificial cavities dug by prehistoric groups for their burials. A large literature is dedicated to these monuments, but the study of the digging process remains poorly discussed. This topic has been the subject of PhD research and a research programme developed and funded by the Galilée programme from the Université franco-italienne in 2016. This project included a French team based at Aix-En-Provence with the Laboratoire Méditerranéen de Préhistoire Europe Afrique (LAMPEA). The members of this team were Marie-Elise Porqueddu, Maxence Bailly and Xavier Margarit. The other team in the international project was Italian based at Sassari in

The main objective of the programme is the understanding of the chaîne opératoire for the rock-cut tombs in the Mediterranean area. For this purpose, we chose to study the state of the walls inside the hypogea. In order to understand the different techniques used for the 9

Porqueddu, Bailly, Margarit, Fallavollita and Melis construction of the rock-cut tombs, we need to recognise the traces left by the tools on the walls. The analysis of the wall surfaces from Sardinian and French hypogea is essential for the understanding of the realisation of these monuments and the different actions which were undertaken during the digging process. This research goes through the study of the walls, more precisely the digging traces, and the study of the macro-lithic tools used for the excavation. Sardinia and the South of France were chosen to develop this theme because these two regions present a diversified development of hypogea as well as a very dynamic research environment on the subject. For the South of France, our research focuses on the necropolis of Fontvieille in the Bouches-du-Rhône. This necropolis has a major interest for this study because it is composed of monuments that can be described as mixed because their structure has both an excavated lower part and an upper part erected using megalithic elements. Simultaneously, there are also monumental hypogea, the largest one reaching more than 40 metres in length which is advantageous to observe the walls’ processing techniques on large surfaces. Regarding Sardinia, several necropolises have been selected according to different criteria. The necropolis of S’Elighe Entosu in Usini was chosen because of the presence of various tool marks that had already been identified, as well as the ongoing research programme on this necropolis. The architectural ensembles of Sas Concas in Oniferi and Museddu in Cheremule have been integrated in the programme because of the presence of engraved elements. Finally, the necropolis of Sant’Andrea Priu in Bonorva and the tomb of S’Incantu in Putifigari have been selected amongst the other Sardinian structures since they present fully decorated rooms and particularly painted ones (Figure 2.3). 

Cordes hill. The necropolis is well known for some of the most important hypogea in the Mediterranean area with the main one, called la Grotte des Fées, having a length of 42 metres and a depth of 5 metres. The necropolis entails four hypogea and one dolmen. The four hypogea are: the Castelet, La Source, Bounias and the Grotte des Fées; while the dolmen is named Coutignargues. The dolmen is a megalithic structure consisting of orthostats installed in a pit dug in the bedrock. Those hypogea presented a mixed architecture with a long-excavated corridor and megalithic slabs covering for the roof. The structures are excavated in limestone and covered with a cairn. The denomination of these original architectures as hypogea has been debated. Indeed, they are not entirely underground and present built elements such as the megalithic slabs. In this article, we consider those monuments as hypogea and mixed architectures. In fact, as Sauzade (1976) mentions, the chamber, the principal element by dimensions and main function, is underground. The dominant characteristic of these architectures is then that of hypogea. The other Fontvieille hypogea are all, in terms of length, half the size compared to the Grotte des Fées. The Bounias hypogeum measures 19 metres in length. Its planimetry is similar to that of the Grotte des Fées, in a longitudinal shape, but the vestibule and the corridor leading to the chamber are absent. It has a 4 metres long corridor with six steps followed by a 2.5 metres long anteroom. The chamber is 12 metres long with a maximum ceiling height of 2.9 metres (Margarit 2014). The tumulus of this hypogeum presents some characteristics. A channel is preserved and allows the estimation of the diameter of the mound, which would be about 40 metres. Not far away is the hypogeum of La Source. This measures 16.4 metres long, developed with the following spaces: a 2 metres long corridor with six steps, an anteroom with a length of 2.4 metres and a room of 11.9 metres long. The maximum height under the slabs of this space is 2.6 metres (Margarit 2014). The monument preserves, like the hypogeum of Bounias, the vestiges of a channel outlining the tumulus which would also have a diameter of 40 metres. The last hypogeum monument of the necropolis is the hypogeum of Castelet. Its access corridor is 2.8 metres long. It is followed by an anteroom, 3.3 metres long, leading to a room measuring 11 metres long. It is therefore the smallest monument of this ensemble. The ceiling height of his room is 2.5 metres maximum (Margarit 2014). An architectural study of the hypogeum, carried out within the framework of the research project, also offered the possibility of addressing the question of the cover slabs (Paillet and D’Anna 2014). This study made it possible to estimate the weight of these megalithic slabs, evaluated at an average weight of 7.55 tonnes1 for each of the eight slabs constituting the cover (Paillet and D’Anna 2014). Finally, the Fontvieille necropolis is marked by the presence of a megalithic monument, the dolmen of Coutignargues. Its base is still excavated in the substrate and it is built of roofing tiles and dry-stone rubble walls. The dolmen has an elongated trapezoidal plane chamber

1. Presentation of the sites and their problematics 1.1. Fontvieille necropolis, Bouches-du-Rhône, France The necropolis has been the subject of a new study with a collective research project called: Les monuments mégalithiques d’Arles-Fontvieille, état des connaissances, contextes et nouvelles données directed by Xavier Margarit from 2013 to 2016. This programme, as well as the publication of Jean Guilaine’s book, Les hypogées protohistoriques de la Méditerranée. Arles et Fontvieille, are the occasion to reconsider the old data from the nineteenth century and begin new analyses. The research project allows us to develop the study about the excavation process of these monumental hypogea. The Fontvieille necropolis is a Neolithic necropolis discovered during the nineteenth century. It is in the South of France, in the Bouche-du-Rhône near the city of Arles (Figure 2.1; Figure 2.2). That is why the necropolis is sometimes referenced as the Arles-Fontvieille necropolis in the literature. The environment where the necropolis is located is specific. The landscape is characterised by the plain of Crau and two hills in which the hypogea are dug. The main hypogeum is located on the biggest hill, the

1 

10

measurements in metric tons

From Surfaces to Tools

Figure 2.1. Map of the sites cited in the text. 1. Fontvieille (PACA, France); 2. S’Elighe Entosu (Sardinia, Italy); 3. S’Incantu (Sardinia, Italy); 4. Museddu (Sardinia, Italy); 5. Sant’Andrea Priu (Sardinia, Italy); 6. Sas Concas (Sardinia, Italy). Elaboration: M.E. Porqueddu. Figure created by the authors.

the edge of a limestone plateau overlooking the Riu Mannu valley, an important transit route joining inland Sardinia to the northern coast. The investigation undertaken by the University of Sassari, coordinated by Maria Grazia Melis, examined the excavations of tombs III and IV. In parallel, a systematic survey revealed evidence of settlement areas and several sources of local flint used by the same groups that used the necropolis. The archaeological excavation revealed a sequence of use spanning from the Final Neolithic to the Iron Age, as well as in the Punic, Roman, and modern eras. The architectonic characteristics of the hypogea were in line with the general features of Sardinian rock-cut tombs (called domus de janas), with one interesting exception, which regarded tomb IV: the entrance to the tomb was preceded by an extremely long corridor (27 metres), which probably had a ceremonial function. The corridor opened into a large rectangular room, of which the entrance wall has collapsed. Following the longitudinal axis, the room leads to a second smaller rectangular room. A small chamber leads off the northeastern wall, while the south-western wall features a niche

with a total length of 14 metres, including 10 metres for the chamber only (Margarit 2014). Two other dolmens are situated a little more than a kilometre from the ensemble of Fontvieille, the dolmen of Mérindole and the dolmen of Mas d’Agard (Margarit 2014). Thanks to the particular features, mentioned above, and the active research around it, the Fontvieille necropolis is the perfect case study to develop an original research about the chaîne opératoire of these mixed architectures. 1.2. S’Elighe Entosu, Usini, Sardinia, Italy The necropolis is situated in north-western Sardinia, where the highest concentration of Neolithic rock-cut tombs is to be found (Figure 3.1; Figure 3.2). It entails seven tombs dug during the Final Neolithic (first half of the fourth millennium cal. BC), as well as a tomb excavated in the Middle Bronze Age (near 1700–1600 cal. BC) and a small, probably natural cave, containing some traces of rock-cutting activity (Melis 2010; Melis et al. 2011; Melis 2016). The Neolithic rock-cut tombs were positioned along 11

Porqueddu, Bailly, Margarit, Fallavollita and Melis

Figure 2.2. Entrances to the hypogea at the Fontvieille necropolis and the S’Elighe Entosu necropolis. On the left: entrance to the Bounias hypogeum at Fontvieille. On the right: entrance to the domu de janas III at S’Elighe Entosu. Photographs: M.G. Melis and M.E. Porqueddu. Figure created by the authors.

Another necropolis in north-western Sardinia, Museddu, is characterised by the presence of similar representations. It consists of 35 rock-cut tombs, divided into three separate groups (Contu 1965; Derudas 2013) (Figure 2.1; Figure 2.3(1)). Although there is no stratigraphical data it seems likely that it was first used in the Recent-Final Neolithic. The area containing the necropolis was reused in the historical era. The tombs were dug into a horizontal limestone outcrop with different layouts, occasionally simple, sometimes complex, with quadrangular or elliptical chambers. Among these, tomb X, also known as the “Tomba Branca”, stands out for the monumental nature of its design. The extensive corridor, modified over time from its original form, opens into a single vast rectangular chamber. As in the case of tomb IV of S’Elighe Entosu, this layout demonstrates the greater significance given to the corridor compared to the internal area. This importance is underlined by the presence of schematic figures carved onto the three walls that today remain only partially visible, due to the poor state of preservation of the monument. These representations recall those of the tombs at Sas Concas, although different in some aspects. In most cases the figures are not upside-down but have raised arms; only two appear to be identifiable as “trident” shapes. The figures are connected in compositions that appear to evoke scenes of movement, dance, or acrobatics, with one figure above another or riding animals. In one example, several

A monumental although shorter corridor also featured in tomb III. In both examples traces of digging activity on the walls were identified and documented. Tomb III had a central chamber in which two pillars were originally positioned, only one is now conserved. A fireplace was dug into the floor and the walls contain entrances to peripheral rooms. The internal spaces also show signs of digging and modifications to the tomb, activities that followed its original creation. 1.3. Sas Concas and Museddu (Sardinia, Italy). Presence of similar anthropomorphic engraved elements The necropolis of Sas Concas, roughly three kilometres to the north of the modern town of Oniferi in central Sardinia, consists of 20 rock-cut tombs (Santoni 2000) (Figure 2.1; Figure 2.3(2)), dug into the southern side of a low hill formed of trachyte. The use of the necropolis began during the Middle Eneolithic (about 3000 cal. BC) and continued up until the Bronze Age. The principal cause of interest in this site is the presence of a group of anthropomorphic figures carved into the walls of some of the tombs (Contu 1965). These were upside down filiform figures (the body represented by a simple line drawing), depicted with lowered arms, following a “candelabra” or “trident” outline. Only one of the figures has their arms raised. 12

From Surfaces to Tools

Figure 2.3. Interiors of the other Sardinian necropolises. 1. Engraved anthropomorphic elements from the Museddu necropolis; 2. Engraved anthropomorphic elements from Sas Concas necropolis; 3. Painted elements inside the tomb Tomba del Capo at Sant’Andrea Priu necropolis; 4. Painted and engraved elements inside the chamber at S’Incantu hypogeum. Photographs: M. Bailly and M.E. Porqueddu. Figure created by the authors.

figures are joined in an abstract motif, in which one single figure is not clearly distinguishable.

Priu, investigated during 1916 by Antonio Taramelli (1919) (Figure 3.1; Figure 3.3(3)). He was able to identify 20 rock-cut tombs, dug into the side of a plateau of trachyte. These hypogea, dating to the Final Neolithic, later played an important religious and funerary role during the Early Middle-Ages (Caprara 1986). The principal feature of interest in this necropolis is the complexity of the design of several tombs, among them the so-called “tomba del Capo”, consisting of 17 chambers. As in many other examples of domus de janas in Sardinia, some tombs of this necropolis contain bas-relief representations of various wooden elements of domestic architecture: double-pitched roofs, conical and semi-conical roofs, and posts. Representations of domestic spaces are also evoked by fireplaces dug into the floor and niches in the walls. Traces of red-painted wall plaster emphasise various

Depictions similar to those found at Sas Concas and Museddu can be found in Sardinia carved or, more rarely, painted, on boulders, caves, natural shelters, statue menhirs, but also on clay loom weights. They have similar characteristics to other European iconographic contexts (i.e Valcamonica; De Marinis and Fossati 2012). 1.4. Sant’Andrea Priu and S’Incantu (Sardinia, Italy). Presence of an important painted iconographic programme Approximately 20 kilometres to the southeast of Museddu can be found the well-known necropolis of Sant’Andrea 13

Porqueddu, Bailly, Margarit, Fallavollita and Melis structural elements, such as the door jambs of tomb VII. The paintings in the “tomba del Capo” date to the Early Middle Ages when the tomb was converted into a church.

quantity, and the weathering due to natural and anthropic phenomena. We focused on the differences of treatments that can be observed on the walls of hypogea as well as on the techniques and tools used during the excavation of these underground architectures. We want, above all, to observe the different phases of treatment of the walls and distinguish the stages of the chaîne opératoire. The question of decorations is also addressed in order to understand the choices and the changes made in the chaîne opératoire according to the adopted decoration techniques, namely engraving, sculpture or painting. This stage of observation was organised in a few meetings and exchanges between the Italian and the French group.

The rock-cut tomb of S’Incantu, one of the most significant examples of Neolithic funerary architecture in Sardinia, is situated in the north-western part of the region (Demartis 1991) (Figure 2.1; Figure 2.3(4)). The hypogeum was dug into the southern side of a low tuff hill and is part of a small cemetery, consisting of four tombs. Along the longitudinal axis of the tomb, the layout follows a narrow corridor, which widens in proximity to the entrance of the tomb, an antechamber and then a main chamber, both of which are rectangular in plan. Entrances to another two rooms open off the northern and southern walls of the main chamber. This was probably the most important part of the tomb, as indicated by the presence of painted plaster on the walls and by numerous symbolic images, either sculpted in bas-relief or painted. Some of these, as seen in numerous other rockcut tombs, contain representations of aspects of domestic buildings, with the intention of replicating a house: a double-pitched ceiling with wooden beams, “supported” by two posts, doors and “false doors”, outlined by jambs and architraves, a fireplace dug into the floor between the two posts. Other symbolic features, well known among the artistic manifestations common to domus de janas (i.e. Sos Baddulesos in the territory of Usini; Melis 2010, 83–94), are the bovine horns that stand above the doors or false doors of the central chamber and the antechamber. The stratigraphic data suggests that the tomb was used during the fourth millennium BC, since it contained finds of the Final Neolithic and the Early Eneolithic. In an unknown period, probably in prehistory, the ceiling of the antechamber was intentionally demolished.

Photography and photogrammetry permitted non-invasive documentation of the surfaces of the walls and the analysis of the dimensions of the traces, their number, and their density on the walls. A specific protocol had been put in place previously at the S’Elighe Entosu necropolis (Melis and Porqueddu 2016). Laser scanner and photogrammetry were tested, both delivering good results. Photogrammetry, then, has been chosen because of its simpler application on the field. For the photogrammetry, we used a reflex camera and, in some cases, light spots. Indeed, the light must be uniform to carry out a photogrammetric protocol. The images were produced using software Agisoft Photoscan and MeshLab.2 Finally, we noticed that a good photographic protocol was enough for some sites. This protocol included photography from general to more specific details. The photography of an entire space inside the rock-cut tombs permitted us to show differences between the walls, the ground, and the roof. General photography of the wall shows the density of the tool marks and the differences between them. A closer photography was used to identify the shape of the traces and at the end, if the case needed it, a macro-photography was done on some details (Figure 2.4). The cameras used are reflex cameras.

2. Methodology 2.1. Non-invasive techniques for the study of the tool marks

2.2. Experimentation

The study of excavation traces on the walls is complex, because of the state of conservation of the monuments but also of processing techniques applied on the walls: many hypogea are characterised by the presence of a specific treatment on the walls comprising a smoothing and/or the realisation of sculptures and engravings. Many Sardinian hypogea also have painted representations. Similarly, these artificial cavities encounter many conservation problems. The walls suffer from the effects of moisture and vegetation as well as vandalism. In these circumstances, it is necessary to develop a non-invasive study technique to obtain quality data about the traces and the processing techniques used on the walls. We chose to set up a photography and photogrammetry method complemented by experimental archaeology. The protocol is mainly based on four stages: observation of the state of conservation, photography, photogrammetry, and experimentation.

After the documentation and the analysis of the traces, an experimentation phase is essential to establish a link between the traces and the tools discovered in situ, inside the hypogea. Those tools are characterised by picks, hammerstones as well as macro-lithic tools with two active parts, one for a pick and one for a hammerstone. They are known in Fontvieille, S’Elighe Entosu and Sas Concas. The methodology allows us to focus on the main problem: the differences of treatments on the walls of hypogea and the techniques and tools used during the excavation. Experimentation is a perfect tool to approach this issue. Indeed, it allows us to understand the gestures, the techniques and the strategies involved in the prehistoric excavation of underground architectures. We chose to The Agisoft Photoscan software was provided by the Dipartimento di Storia, Scienze dell’Uomo e della Formazione, of the Università di Sassari. The models were carried out by Chiara Caradonna, from Dipartimento di Storia, Scienze dell’Uomo e della Formazione de Sassari.

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The observation of the state of conservation of the walls allows us to notice the presence of traces, their 14

From Surfaces to Tools

Figure 2.4. Photography of the traces at the Cheremule necropolis. 1. Full view of the tomb; 2. View of the chamber; 3. Traces on the wall of the chamber; 4. Traces on the ground of the chamber. Photographs: M. Bailly. Figure created by the authors.

Figure 2.5. Experimentation process at the S’Elighe Entosu necropolis. 1. Work on the tool shank; 2. Finished experimentation tool; 3. Use of the tool; 4. Experimental traces analysed with photogrammetry. Photographs: M.E. Porqueddu. Photogrammetry elaboration: C. Caradonna.

proceed in two phases: the creation of experimental macrolithic tools and their use. The experimental protocol was performed at Fontvieille necropolis and at S’Elighe Entosu necropolis, due to the field and excavation activities taking place in both sites. Of course, some adaptations, mainly related to the macro lithic tools chaîne opératoire, were made on the protocol to fit the archaeological data on both sites. Both protocols were organised thanks to students of Aix-Marseille Université and Università di Sassari, who were volunteers in this experience.

the protocol at Fontvieille necropolis we managed to create five instruments, all made of quartzite, the only raw material used in the macro-lithic tools of this site. We focused on respecting the chaîne opératoire of the tools, mostly on the part with the hafting system. Indeed, the tools of Fontvieille are characterised by grooved hammerstones. There are picks, hammerstones and in some cases they present two active parts, one pick and one hammerstone. At S’Elighe Entosu, we mostly focused on the raw materials which were different. The archaeological evidence is heterogeneous with picks in limestone as well as in andesite. Within the experimental protocol we created ten picks. Data about these macrolithic tools, obtained through the experimental protocols, are reported and presented in two different tables, one about the Fontvieille necropolis (Table 2.1) and the other about the S’Elighe Entosu necropolis (Table 2.2). A code is also used to link every tool to a morphological and raw material group. The code used for the grooves of Fontvieille tools comes from the classification created by Pickin (1990).

The first stage involved a technological study of the macro-lithic tools found in the rock-cut tombs. This study permitted the reconstruction of the chaine opératoire of these instruments; from the raw materials to their deposit in the tombs (Porqueddu 2015a; 2015b; Porqueddu 2016; Porqueddu 2018a; 2018b). We tried to be as close as possible to the archaeological data using the same raw materials and the same techniques for the experimental tools (Figure 2.5(1), 2.5(2)). Other archaeological data, mostly from mining sites, and ethnological data were used in order to study and create the right fitting of the tools with vegetal material (Craddock 1994; Pickin and Timberlake 1988; Timberlake and Craddock 2013). For

The second phase of the experimentation is the use of the experimental macro-lithic tools (Figure 2.5(3)). In order 15

Porqueddu, Bailly, Margarit, Fallavollita and Melis Table 2.1. List of tools produced during the experiment for the Fontvieille necropolis (Porqueddu 2018a) Legend: dimensions are expressed in centimetres and weight in grams L = Length, Wi = Width, T = Thickness, We = Weight, approx. = around Tool’s number

Type of tool

Dimensions

Fitting

Full manufacturing time

8B

Tool with cutting edge

L = 28 cm, Wi = 12 cm,   T = 12 cm, We = 761 g

Branches / groove 6d

80 min

5B

Tool with cutting edge

L = 76 cm, Wi = 15 cm, T = 12 cm, We = approx. 1000 g

Branches / groove 6d

60 min

4A

Hammerstone

L = 20 cm, Wi = 10 cm,   T = 8 cm, We = 1400 g

Rope + groove 2a

40 min

1D

Hammerstone

L = 71 cm, Wi = 14,5 cm, T = 18 cm, We = 2500 g

Branches / groove 2d

75 min

1A

Pick

L = 83 cm, Wi = 26 cm, T = 12 cm, We = approx. 4000 g

Branches / groove 5

115 min

Table 2.2. List of tools produced during the experiment for the S’Elighe Entosu necropolis (Porqueddu 2018a, 2018b) Legend: dimensions are expressed in centimetres and weight in grams L = Length, Wi = Width, T = Thickness, We = Weight Tool’s number

Type of tool

Dimensions

Fitting

Full manufacturing time

0A

Pick in limestone

L = 50,3 cm, Wi = 20,8 cm, T = 9 cm, We = 1636 g

Wood, twine, and palm braid / Presence of fitting areas

120 min

0B

Pick in andesite

L = 32 cm, Wi =6 cm, T = 8 cm, We =526 g

Wood, twine, and palm braid

25 min

0C

Pick in limestone

L = 67 cm, Wi = 12,5 cm, T = 14,5 cm, We = 1206 g

Wood and string / Presence of fitting areas

45 min

0D

Pick in river pebble

L = 36 cm, Wi = 11, 5 cm, T = 8 cm, We = 554 g

Wood and string

30 min

0F

Pick in limestone

L = 42 cm, Wi = 14,2 cm, T = 18,5 cm, We = 1410 g

Wood, twine, and palm braid / Presence of fitting areas

75 min

5B

Pick in andesite

L = 61 cm, Wi = 16 cm, T = 6 cm, We = 1088g

Wood, twine, and palm braid / Presence of fitting areas

70 min

5C

Pick in andesite

L = 57 cm, Wi = 13 cm, T = 7,5 cm, We = 1042 g

Wood and string /Presence of a groove

200 min

5E

Pick in andesite

L = 43,2 cm, Wi = 13 cm, T = 9,5 cm, We = 794 g

Wood, twine, and palm braid

120 min

7C

Tool with cutting edge in limestone

L = 73 cm, Wi = 13 cm, T = 8 cm, We = 1098 g

Wood, twine, and palm braid /Presence of a natural groove

75 min

9A

Pick in andesite

L = 14,5 cm, Wi = 9 cm, T = 7,5 cm, We = 1126 g

Not fitted

30 min

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From Surfaces to Tools to study the traces on the walls of the hypogea, we needed to find surfaces in the same geological material. In both protocols, Fontvieille and S’Elighe Entosu, we chose to stay near the necropolis but not too close in order to not interfere with the site. As this study focuses on the surface of the rock-cut tombs’ walls, the main goal was to find surfaces with larger dimensions, enough to try different techniques and gestures. Indeed, the corpus of experimental lithic tools presents various shapes, from picks to hammerstones, with a different range of dimensions mostly on the handle (Table 2.1; Table 2.2). In order to better understand the gesture, a form has been provided to the students that participated, asking their age, their weight, their height and if they perform any kind of physical activities (from a current practice of sport to manual activities). The gesture and the amplitude of the movement were not the same from one person to another. We provided them with different tools to try varying mainly the size of the handle. They were then asked to fill in the rest of the form with the information about the tools that they tried, a description of the gesture and of the difficulties they may have found out during the experimentation. All those data were useful to foresee and understand something that we had considered upstream: the lack of adequate know-how possessed by the students. When an experimentation process is involved in a study, this is a crucial information to keep in mind that can explain some issues encountered during the experimentation. Finally, we managed to create different working surfaces, two in Fontvieille and four in S’Elighe Entosu, with different tool traces. The experimental traces were then documented, applying the same methodology that was used to document and analyse the archaeological traces (Figure 2.5(4)).

On the walls, we can notice either the absence of traces, which could indicate another treatment to erase them, for example at Fontvieille or S’Elighe Entosu necropolis, or in some cases other traces that present a high density and smaller dimensions. They don’t reflect the last phase of excavation but the intention to regularise the walls and the intention to give to the walls this aspect specifically. We can observe this trend at Sas Concas but also at the Museddu necropolis. Traces are a good indicator for the different phases of excavation and reshaping of the rockcut tombs but can also help to understand what final aspect prehistoric people intended to give to the wall. The differences observed for the treatment on the floor and on the walls was in some cases interpreted as the fact that the ground, during the period of use of the hypogea, may have been covered by a layer of another material such as wood, small pebbles or clay. In fact, this hypothesis has been made to explain the presence of small white pebbles in the Castelet hypogeum at the Fontvieille necropolis. This discovery was made and reported by Cazalis de Fondouce (1878; Benoit 1930). The presence of those pebbles led to an assumption made by some authors (Paillet and D’Anna 2014; Orgeval 2014): the ground of the exterior corridor could have been completely covered by some small white pebbles in order to allow the natural light into the long chamber of the monument. An experiment has been made by André D’Anna and Jean-Louis Paillet (2014) during their architectural study of the structure. They used white sheets to cover the corridor. The light reflected by the white sheets was enough, and they were able to work easily in the hypogeum. During a first survey at this hypogeum, a fragment of a white pebble has been discovered (Orgeval 2014). Nevertheless, this assumption remains a hypothesis which is even considered controversial as no further element has been discovered yet to corroborate or sustain it.

3. Difference of treatment on the walls of the hypogea 3.1. Diversified treatments of walls and grounds

A diversified treatment of the walls can also be seen for the different parts of hypogea. For example, at Fontvielle and S’Elighe Entosu necropolises, traces can be observed on the walls of the external corridor but not inside the chamber. This fact opens some questions about the importance of the aspect of the walls inside the chamber and not outside. One solution could simply be practical. The outside corridor does not need any further polishing of the walls because it is subject to deterioration due to weathering. Another reason could also be considered. Since the function of the corridor was merely to facilitate the entrance inside the tomb, the outward aspect had no meaning or purpose.

The methodology that we have just described, allowed us to obtain two different kinds of data that completed the analysis of the chaine opératoire for the rock-cut tombs at Fontvielle necropolis and in Sardinia. Indeed, the strict protocol for the documentation of traces on the walls and their experimental reproduction allowed us to identify different treatments on the walls, the roofs, and the grounds in the hypogea. Most of the traces are characterised by a sub-circular shape whose dimensions can vary. They demonstrate the use of a tool equipped with a tip. Other traces have been found, linked to the reshaping of the rock-cut tombs during other archaeological and historical periods. Some of them showed parallel lines, mostly at the encounter between the walls and the floor. These traces could be related to the use of a pickaxe. We observed a difference of treatments between the walls and the floor (Figure 2.4(3), 2.4(4)). Almost all analysed rock-cut tombs present this difference, in France as well as in Sardinia. On the floor we can notice in almost any rock-cut tombs some traces dating to the last phase of prehistoric excavation, traces that show a random division and a low density.

Some other hypotheses prove to be more interesting and particularly linked to the sites analysed during this study. Could the different aspects of the stone surface be linked to a difference of functions of those spaces? And could it be relative to another phase of excavation and use of the tombs? For this consideration, the domu de janas IV from S’Elighe Entosu is particularly interesting. A lot of traces were documented on the floor and the walls of the 17

Porqueddu, Bailly, Margarit, Fallavollita and Melis excavation of the rock-cut tombs. The quarrying tools found in the hypogea are used during the chaîne opératoire of excavation of the hypogea (Figure 2.6). Some of them seem to be used only during some phases of the chaîne opératoire such as the biggest tools that are inconvenient to use in the restricted parts of the hypogea and are more adapted to the first part of the chaîne opératoire, which is the creation of the underground volumes, and to the work on the external corridors. On the other hand, the smallest tools can be used for the regularisation of the walls inside the tombs. We can presume, depending on their shape, that the tools were used in different phases of the chaîne opératoire. The shape and the dimensions of the tools have a direct influence on the technique that is used and the traces they leave. The chaîne opératoire of excavation and construction for the rock-cut tombs in the Mediterranean is complex and seems to show some phases influenced by a certain geo-determinism, such as the excavation of the volumes of the tombs with the biggest tools, and other phases guided by cultural choices, such as the latest phases of excavation with the smallest tools and the regularisation of the walls. The bedrock type and its knowledge by prehistoric groups have an influence on the tools and techniques used, especially since the rock-cut tombs studied here are dug in soft rocks such

external corridor of this tomb. This allows us to determine the end of the corridor, where the trace ends (Melis and Porqueddu 2015). This corridor is particular because of its length. It measures 27 metres and it is one of the longest in Sardinia. This corridor is also characterised by the presence of artefacts such as ceramics, bones, and lithic tools. The sequence, from the excavation record, shows an intense use of this part of the hypogeum during the middle Bronze Age and the assumption of funerary rituals taking part in this corridor has been made (Melis 2010; Melis 2016). At S’Elighe Entosu, the stratigraphy is difficult to read, due to the multiple reuse of the tomb, and we can’t discount that maybe this corridor was not excavated during the Neolithic but rather during the Bronze Age, still using lithic tools. This hypothesis could explain the difference of treatment of the corridor and the presence of traces but for now it still is a working assumption. The experimental part of the programme allowed us to reproduce some of the macro-lithic tools from Fontvieille necropolis and S’Elighe Entosu necropolis. We were able to recreate traces and have a better understanding of the techniques and quarrying tools used for the prehistoric

Figure 2.6. Macro-lithic tools from the Fontvieille and the S’Elighe Entosu necropolises. On the left: tool from the Castelet hypogeum at Fontvieille. On the right: tool from the domu de janas IV at S’Elighe Entosu. The letters are used to mark the different faces of the tools. Photographs and elaboration: M.E. Porqueddu. Figure created by the authors.

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From Surfaces to Tools elements. The coating seems to be a preparation for the paint to be applied directly. Nevertheless, it is necessary to remember that a lot of the iconographic program for the Sant’Andrea Priu necropolis is not related to the Neolithic and/or the Chalcolithic periods but to the historical use of the tomb. It is therefore complex to date the coating even for the paintings of the antechamber where the paintings are probably still linked to the prehistoric period (Caprara 1986).

as limestone. Cultural choices can greatly influence the digging strategy through architectural choices that may or may not facilitate digging.  3.2. Presence of coating on the walls This study also allowed us also to better understand the presence of paintings in the rock-cut tombs. The use of plaster, often painted, is documented in Sardinian rockcut tombs, on the sacred building at Monte d’Accoddi and, less frequently, in domestic dugout structures and natural caves (Melis and Albero Santacreu 2017). At the Sant’Andrea Priu necropolis and at the tomb of S’Incantu, we can notice the presence of coating on the walls for the creation of the paintings (Figure 2.7). It was interesting to notice that the coating is directly put on the walls, covering the traces. In this case, we notice that the walls are quickly regularised, the traces do not present a thoughtful distribution. Other traces can be seen directly on the sculptures and engraved elements. No further treatment had been added to walls in order to receive the decorative

The study for the Sas Concas necropolis, where there are no painted elements but engraved ones, shows the presence of the tool marks even on the walls that are decorated with the engraved elements. It is the case for the Tomba dell’Emiciclo where the traces are also particular, with a tight distribution and a thin shape. It was not possible to see the same case at the Cheremule necropolis. There, the walls with the engraved elements are located outside, due to a collapse of the tombs, and are subject to poor preservation. The use of coating is mostly known in Sardinia for the painted elements in the domus de janas

Figure 2.7. Traces and coating at the Sant’Andrea Priu necropolis and the S’Incantu hypogeum. 1. and 2. Presence of coating at S’Incantu, with and without colour highlighting; 3. and 4. Presence of coating in the tomb Tomba del Capo at Sant’Andrea Priu, with and without colour highlighting. Photographs: M. Bailly. Elaboration: M.E. Porqueddu. Figure created by the authors.

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Porqueddu, Bailly, Margarit, Fallavollita and Melis Derudas, Pina Maria. 2013. Parco dei petroglifi. Uomo e paesaggio nella Valle di Cheremule. Cagliari.

(Tanda 2009; Rampazzi et al. 2007), but the presence of traces underneath them was not really documented till now. Finally, the presence of those decorative elements does not seem to have a lot of influence for the treatments of the walls, apart from the presence of coating. Still, the presence of coating on some of the traces that show a regular and a thoughtful distribution, leaves to question whether the iconographic programme was put in place during the first prehistoric phase of use of the tomb or during another prehistoric phase?

Margarit, Xavier, ed. 2014. “Les monuments mégalithiques d’Arles-Fontvieille, état des connaissances, contextes et nouvelles données”, Rapport de Projet Collectif de Recherche 2014. Aix-en-Provence: DRAC PACA – Service régional de l’archéologie /Laboratoire Méditerranéen de Préhistoire Europe Afrique. Marinis de, Raffaelle Carlo and Angelo Fossati. 2012. “A che punto è lo studio dell’arte rupestre della Valcamonica”. Preistoria Alpina 46 II: 17–43.

4. Conclusions

Melis, Maria Grazia, ed. 2010. Usini. Ricostruire il passato. Una ricerca internazionale a S’Elighe Entosu. Sassari: Carlo Delfino editore.

This program led us, the French, and the Italian team to have a better understanding of the hypogea and to make a comparison between the French and the Sardinian context. First, the study of the state of conservation of the walls inside and outside the hypogea allowed us to develop documentation methods and studies of hypogea’s walls as well as to approach the evaluation and conservation of underground architectures. The comparison between the sites led us to study the technical know-how involved in the chaîne opératoire of excavation of the rock-cut tombs. We could observe a tradition of digging with broad trends repeated in France as well as in Sardinia. But our focus on the different sites also allowed us to see the local adaptations to the environmental constraints as well as the architectural choices. The presence or the absence of the traces on the walls of those rock-cut tombs can be linked to their preservation but mostly, where we do not identify this kind of issue, to specific choices made by the human group. The examples involved show a variability of treatment inside the tombs but also some general direction. It gave the opportunity, by this international work, to have a better knowledge of what skills are involved in those underground architectures, and a better view of the cultural significance carried on by the rock-cut tombs in western Mediterranean at the end of Prehistory.

Melis, Maria Grazia. 2016. “Le indagini stratigrafiche nella tomba IV di S’Elighe Entosu”. In Usini. Nuove ricerche a S’Elighe Entosu, ed. Maria Grazia Melis, 9–32. Sassari: Università di Sassari – LaPA Melis, Maria Grazia, André D’Anna, Ramona Cappai, Jean-Louis Guendon, Laura Manca, Stefania Piras and Florian Soula. 2011. “Una ricerca internazionale e interdisciplinare nel territorio di Usini (Sassari): la necropoli a domus de janas di S’Elighe Entosu”. Rivista di Scienze Preistoriche: 59–94. Melis, Maria Grazia and Marie-Elise Porqueddu. 2015. “New documentation on digging techniques of the prehistoric funerary hypogea of the western Mediterranean”. Origini XXXVII/1: 129–150. Melis, Maria Grazia and Marie-Elise Porqueddu. 2016. “Architecture, creusement et évolution des hypogées à la fin du Néolithique : la nécropole de S’Elighe Entosu (Sassari, Sardaigne)”. In De la tombe au territoire. Actualité de la recherche Actes des 11e Rencontres Méridionales de Préhistoire Récente, Montpellier (Hérault), 25–27 septembre 2014, ed. Jessie Cauliez, Ingrid Sénépart, Luc Jallot, Pierre-Arnaud de Labriffe, Christophe Gilabert, Xavier Gutherz, 99–106. Toulouse: Archives d’Ecologie Préhistorique.

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Porqueddu, Marie-Elise. 2015b. “Partie 4. Le protocole expérimental: fabrication et utilisation du macrooutillage de creusement des hypogées”. In “Fouille programmée 2015 de l’hypogée du Castelet (Fontvieille, 13).” eds. Maxime Orgeval, Marie-Elise Porqueddu, Angélique Garziano:  67–76. Rapport Porqueddu, Marie-Elise. 2016. “Lo studio delle tecniche di escavazione degli ipogei funerari preistorici: un nuovo approccio metodologico a S’Elighe Entosu”. In Usini. Nuove ricerche a S’Elighe Entosu, ed. Maria Grazia Melis, 139–171. Sassari: Università di Sassari – LaPArS. Porqueddu, Marie-Elise. 2018a. “Architecture et creusement des cavités artificielles funéraires en Sardaigne à la fin de la Préhistoire : l’apport de l’archéologie expérimentale”. In Workshop La Préhistoire et la Protohistoire des îles de Méditerranée Occidentale: Matières premières, circulation, expérimentation et traditions techniques, Corte, Università di Corsica Pasquale Paoli, 26–27 settembre 2016, 99–106. Sassari: Università di Sassari – LaPArS. Porqueddu, Marie-Elise. 2018b. “Architectures et techniques de construction des sépultures collectives hypogées de Méditerranée occidentale à la fin de la Préhistoire”. PhD diss., Aix-Marseille Université, Università di Sassari. Rampazzi, Laura, Laura Campo, Francesco Cariati, Giuseppa Tanda and Maria Perla Colombini. 2007. “Prehistoric wall paintings: The case of the domus de janas necropolis (Sardinia, Italy)”. Archaeometry 49/3: 559–569. Santoni, Vincenzo. 2000. “La necropoli di Sas Concas, Oniferi (Nuoro)”. In L’ipogeismo nel Mediterraneo. Origini, sviluppo, quadri culturali, ed. Maria Grazia Melis, 939–951. Sassari: Università di Sassari.

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3 The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries Luc Stevens French Society for Souterrains Studies Abstract: In France, more than thousand man-made caves known as ‘souterrain’ were dug between the tenth and sixteenth centuries in order to allow members of a community to store goods or to live on a temporary basis underground. They are composed of various galleries, which lead to living spaces of one or more rooms intended to be occupied by members of the community. Therefore, we find in these souterrains utility structures (water wells, springs, ventilation pipes, granaries, niches, stone benches) as well as defensive structures (wooden doors, narrow passages, loopholes and trap wells). In contrast to the medieval mining industry, there is no information on the design and the conception of souterrains. However, a thorough analysis of those souterrains, their relationship with structures on the surface and of the method of hewing, allows us to learn some lessons on the planning of those souterrains, on the different digging phases and on the blueprint of these cavities. From the strategic decision of the location where the souterrain will be created to its final operational use, several elements like extraction shafts, ventilation pipes, landscape morphology, allow us to understand the excavation process of those souterrains. The tools used to dig the souterrains are simple, and comparable to those used in quarries to extract stone until the twentieth century. In the absence of texts, we know very little about the men and women who contributed to the digging of souterrains in France. Differences in the degree of sophistication of souterrains suggest that the craftsmen who created refuges under peasant settlements were not the same workers as those who were constructing beneath fortresses. Keywords: Artificial cave, digging, tools, Middle Ages, underground. Introduction

The first part of the paper focuses on the concept and definition of souterrains and their characteristics and purposes. The second part studies the methods developed by craftsmen during the Middle Ages to dig souterrains: including tools, extraction methods, digging strategies, orientation issues, the role of extraction shafts and workers.

Between the tenth and the sixteenth centuries, in many regions of France, men and women dug souterrains under their houses, castles and farms in order to protect their goods, their means of subsistence and their own lives. Traces of these souterrains appear on a regular basis, taking us back to the Middle Ages, either when an underground gallery collapses or during current-day construction works. Each of these new discoveries is followed by many questions about the design, the age and the role of these souterrains.

1. The concept of souterrains in France 1.1. Definition Souterrains are underground architectural structures composed of rooms and corridors that are generally dug by people into the rock. These artificial caves are structured and organised in a rational manner in order to fulfil the intended role: shelter, storage, and/or extension of dwelling houses. Souterrains are almost always linked to surface habitation and can constitute its extension and in some cases even become an integral part of it. Generally, they have been occupied for relatively short periods. Corridors and rooms are usually on a human scale and of a variable length, according to the needs of the people who were planning to use them.

The digging of a souterrain was a long-term endeavour that required a lot of effort from the craftsmen and families who made it. Even when the rock is relatively soft, like tufa or sandstone, digging a souterrain required many different resources including planning, time, labour, knowledge, tools and reflection. This paper will show that the construction of a souterrain is the result of a careful analysis of the needs, followed by the design of an appropriate solution. Key to this solution is the use of techniques developed for the extraction and working of stone. 23

Luc Stevens Based on a sample of 166 souterrains located in most French regions where they are found (see section 1.4 in this chapter), it appears that on average a souterrain measures around 40 m long (the maximum length is above 250 m and minimum length is around 10 m), covering an area of approximately 225 m² (the maximum area is above 1500 m² and the minimum area is 21 m²). On average, they contain three rooms (maximum number of rooms in a souterrain is nine) and two to three rebates for door frames (minimum number of rebates is none and the maximum is nine). Around 80 per cent of souterrains contain the remains of a reinforced door, more than 50 per cent include a loophole, 29 per cent a bottleneck and less than 10 per cent a pit trap (Noël and Stevens 2016, 91).

• • • • •

Souterrains used as refuges Escape and communication souterrains Storage souterrains Cult/Ritual souterrains Ring souterrains

Souterrains thus differ from many other types of man-made underground cavities (such as quarries, mines, aqueducts, and cellars) by the presence of installations intended for human occupation for short periods (benches, niches, ventilation shafts), defensive features (doors, loopholes, traps, etc.) and human-sized galleries and rooms. However, they do not constitute a rock-cut dwelling; their occupation is generally limited to particular times of need (tension and danger, storage, etc.).

Most of the time, souterrains used as refuges are dug under houses, farms, or small castles. We find them mainly in the Greater South-West area of France with specific concentration in the Central-West region. Made up of small, narrow, and winding galleries leading to one or more rooms (Figure 3.1), they were intended to provide refuge for families during the passage of armed troops and gangs of looters who were raiding the population on the surface. Therefore, we find in these souterrains defensive features like wooden doors blocked by a wooden or sliding bar, horizontal and vertical narrowing of passages known as bottlenecks (e.g., ChâteauRobin – Indre-et-Loire), loopholes (e.g. souterrain of Crissay-sur-Manse, Indre-et-Loire) and pit traps (e.g.

This typology is certainly not exhaustive, and we should not assume that we are in a compartmentalised world where each souterrain belongs exclusively to a single given category. Many souterrains have served multiple purposes either at the same time or at different periods in their history. The function of ring souterrains being still unknown, it is classified according to its shape rather than its purpose.

1.2. Typology Souterrains can be divided into several general categories that reflect various uses and shapes of these cavities:

Figure 3.1. Souterrain of Nauvettes with a double pitched roof, a central pillar, and a niche for a lamp in the right-hand wall (Lot-et-Garonne). Photograph by the author.

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The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries souterrain of Varzay, Charente-Maritime) (Figure 3.2). These defensive structures are complemented by utility structures like water wells, springs, or ventilation shafts and practical features such as niches in which to put lamps or objects of daily life, stone benches and so on. These souterrains also frequently have storage structures like granaries. In Northern France, souterrains used as refuges are known under the local name of muches and have taken a community or collective form that we do not find anywhere else in France. The muches first appeared in the sixteenth century against a background of repeated conflict between Charles V and Kings François I, followed by Henri II (Dewerdt et al. 2009, 40–41; Petit 2002, 83). To counter the repeated attacks by soldiers and mercenaries who used to ensure their subsistence by looting the population of the villages, these populations created souterrains that take the shape of underground villages. The entrance of the muches generally started in or close to the church or in a strong building of the village. From there, a large gallery with a stepped vaulted ceiling descends through the strata of top-soil and chalk of low quality to reach the stratum of chalk that is suitable for digging the muche. Next, the heart of the souterrain is formed by one or more underground ‘streets’ that lead off to single or double rooms or chambers that have been created on each side of the street (Figure 3.3). Each set of rooms was assigned to one family and their goods (including some livestock).

Figure 3.2. Souterrain of Varzay: Loophole and rebate protecting the entrance (Charente-Maritime). Photograph by the author.

Figure 3.3. Various phases of creation of the muches of Bouzincourt (Somme). Plan by H. Dewerdt and F. Willmann.

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Luc Stevens Escape and communication souterrains may often be more legendary in nature. Very few of them have been identified and when they exist, they have a limited length that joins two points of a fortress or forms an escape passage that reaches a short distance away in the countryside. Escape souterrains have been found under the castles of Puyguilhem (Dordogne) and Betz-le-Château (Indre-etLoire).

and twelfth centuries that the phenomenon really seems to develop. The excavation of the souterrain of Bois-du-Mont (Bessines-sur-Gartempe, Haute-Vienne) where the oldest occupation phase was estimated by thermoluminescence around 900 AD shows that older occupations remain possible but exceptional (Gady 1989, 23). The oldest souterrains are found mainly in the Loire regions (La Seigneurie in Doué-la-Fontaine – Maineet-Loire): tenth – twelfth century (Cousin 2002, 55); souterrain of Marjolet or Cabane (Aschères-le-Marché, Loiret): eleventh – thirteenth century (Gilotte 2008); souterrain of Montfort in Doué-la-Fontaine: tenth – eleventh century (Hunot 2011). It is during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries that the phenomenon seems to increase and spread to other French regions. However, there is much evidence of souterrain occupancy up to the fifteenth century. Souterrains are therefore characterised by relatively long use during the Middle Ages. In Tarn, excavations show almost exclusively a date between the beginning of the thirteenth century and the end of the first half of the fourteenth century. These dates are also confirmed by the inquisitorial texts which mention the use of clusels (an old name for a souterrain in southern France) in the first half of the thirteenth century (Coustet and Valette 2012, 216).

Unlike souterrains used for refuge, storage souterrains were not constructed primarily to shelter people but instead to secure their possessions. The nature of the storage is generally related to the agricultural activity on the surface. The galleries leading off to chambers where food is stored are generally relatively large, comparatively easy to access and with a number of doors in order to secure the assets stored in the souterrain. Some storage souterrains are composed of pits excavated as grain silos but we also find silos in souterrains used for refuge. The category of cult/ritual souterrains is the least welldefined category of this typology. Some souterrains have a plan and architectural features (like a bottleneck, offering pit, etc.) whose interpretation does not support any functional use. By default, some authors (see for instance Broëns, 1976; Nollent 1980; Triolet and Triolet 2002) have given a cult or ritual interpretation to these souterrains. In some cases, this interpretation is supported by several inquisitorial texts from the thirteenth century which reveal the existence of religious assemblies of unofficial cults (Ordinance by the Count of Toulouse Raymond VII in 1233, Council of Béziers in 1246). It is difficult to know the truth about them, but it cannot be ruled out that some souterrains were used for such reasons.

The available dating for ring souterrains shows periods of occupation that are fairly close to those of other souterrains. The muches in Northern France are clearly dated to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. They coincide with the conflicts between the King of France and the House of Spain. These dates are confirmed both by archaeology (graffitis with date, excavation by the GIEOS in the muches of Talmas (Petit 2002) and MesnilDomqueur (Petit 2010) and by texts (e.g. the Chronique of Vaultier (1598) mentions fortifications in quarries during the siege of Amiens in 1597 (Bernier 1835).

Ring souterrains differ from other souterrains not by their use but by their plan, which takes the form of a ring. These souterrains are mostly situated in the Massif Central and in the area of Bressuire (Deux-Sèvres). This less conventional shape of souterrain and the lack of obvious practical function have led some authors (Broëns 1976) to conclude that these souterrains too were used for some ritual purpose while some others assign them a function that is related to agricultural activities (storage) (Clavier 2006).

1.4. Distribution of souterrains in France Most French souterrains are located in the Paris and Aquitaine basins. More specifically, the large community souterrains (muches) are concentrated in three departments: Nord, Pas-de-Calais and Somme. The medieval souterrains designed for a small number of people (one or two families) are located roughly in the western half of France, with the exception of Brittany, the Landes and the Pyrenees (Figure 3.4). The key area lies between the Loire and Garonne rivers with a particular density in the countries of hills and plateaus such as the Albigeois, the Quercy, the Périgord, the Limousin, the Poitou and the Touraine (Piboule 1978, 119). Ring souterrains are mainly located in Haut-Bocage, in Corrèze and in the east of the Massif Central. The geology of souterrains favours soft, compact, homogeneous rocks that are easily worked by tools and in this context, limestone is the preferred but not exclusive rock (Piboule 1978, 120). Souterrains are also dug in other rocks such as decomposing granite, schist, sandstone, and chalk.

Finally, it is important to stress the strong link that exists between souterrain and surface habitation. The entrance of the souterrain is situated within or close to the dwelling and the souterrain can often be considered as an extension of this dwelling. This role is highlighted by the presence of fireplaces within some souterrains. 1.3. Dating elements Archaeological excavations performed over the last 30 years indicate a fairly long period of creation and occupation of souterrains spread over a large part of the Middle Ages. The oldest souterrains seem to appear during the tenth century but it is only from the eleventh 26

The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries

Figure 3.4. Distribution of souterrains in France. Figure created by the author.

2. The digging of souterrains

recorded in France, and a review of the literature. The onsite studies include the mapping of the souterrain, the identification of all its features, pictures of the key elements as well as tool marks. Whenever it is possible, the underground structure is considered in relation with the surface environment.

The creation of an underground space for people, to provide protection, storage of food or the extension of dwelling, is not always compatible with the extraction techniques encountered in quarries or mines and has required the implementation of specific methodologies. Some specific features of souterrains have required their designers and miners to develop specific techniques: (i) the lack of space: souterrains consist of narrow corridors and small rooms; (ii) specific features: the creation of bottlenecks, corridors with chicanes, silos, ventilation shafts or loopholes; (iii) the low number of external access points: the number of openings to the outside was always minimised. Most often there is only one access point.

2.1. Extraction methods

These constraints result in the implementation of digging methods and a modus operandi which differs from the extraction methods encountered in underground quarries. This does not, however, preclude a number of overlaps in tools and methods employed.

In circulation galleries, the space being narrow (generally between 60 and 70 cm wide), crooked and of varying shapes and heights, the primary objective of quarrymen is to cut blocks of a size that is easy to remove and carry to the surface. As a result, the rock appears to have been cut into small pieces and transported to the nearest extraction shaft or to the entrance. In most of the cases that we have been able to record, the extraction traces left in the corridors (and in particular in unfinished galleries) do not show evidence of block extraction but rather a working face where the rock is broken into small pieces without producing stone blocks with dimensions suitable for building work.

Our study on the digging of souterrains is based on several types of information which include onsite studies, a database of several hundreds of plans of souterrains

Generally, it seems that the final surface finishing in corridors was carried out as the digging progressed. This was observed in the souterrain of La Roque (Dordogne) 27

Luc Stevens 2.2. Lighting

where an uncompleted gallery has an almost perfect surface up to its end point (Triolet and Triolet 1995, 49). In a minority of cases, it seems that this finishing work was done at a later stage. This is observed by J. and C. Fraysse in the unfinished gallery of the Touches (Maineet-Loire). Here, the gallery is wide in its upper part and narrow at its base (Fraysse and Fraysse 1964, 27). The wide part allowed the craftsman to have enough space to handle the pick while at the base such a place was not necessary. The gallery was therefore not cut to its full width; it was only later that the gallery received its definitive shape.

In order to work in the best conditions, the workers had to have the best possible lighting. They used tallow or oil lamps fitted with a wick that were placed in niches (Figure 3.6) which they dug into the walls of the rooms and galleries. These niches are found at regular intervals at head height in the long corridors of souterrains (e.g. La Roche-Clermault (Indre-et-Loire), Rigny Ussé (Indre-et-Loire), and Cardonnet (Lot-et-Garonne). The quarrymen could also put a small wooden stake in the wall on which a tallow lamp rested. The traces of this last type of lighting are more difficult to distinguish today. However, several lamps were found in souterrains and offer a brief overview of lighting techniques: grease lamps with a foot made of ceramic (Figure 3.7) or limestone (Stevens 2003, 106), glazed ceramic lamps in the form of a beaker (Petit 2002, 24), or candles of tallow or wax (Triolet and Triolet 2002, 88) for example.

In large rooms, extraction techniques were very similar to those used in quarries. The main phases of this technique can be described as follows: the quarryman digs a groove about 40 centimetres deep around the block to be extracted; then, wooden wedges were inserted into the notches to detach the block; placed at regular intervals, the wedges were progressively driven into the groove with a sledgehammer until the block detached from the bedrock; in front of the block to be detached, small blocks of rock were placed or a bed of rubble whose role was to cushion the block in its fall and thus prevent it from breaking. This technique varies slightly from region to region and over time. Souterrains such as those of Chapelle-SaintLandaure (Vienne), Rougeal (Lot-et-Garonne) or the Cluzeau of Laborie (Dordogne) (Figure 3.5) (Stevens and Stevens 2015) have grooves attesting to such a digging technique.

To avoid having the working face in his own shadow, a righthanded quarryman preferably placed his lamp on the left wall and vice versa for a left-handed quarryman. In some souterrains, niches are found systematically on alternate sides of the wall. Two hypotheses can be envisaged in this case: either two teams each dug a corridor towards each other, or left and right-handed miners worked successively in the roadway. Finally, natural light coming through the extraction shaft and from the entrance also provided welcome and free

Figure 3.5. Grooves related to the extraction of blocks in the Cluzeau of Laborie (Dordogne). Photograph by the author.

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The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries

Figure 3.6. Lamp niche in the souterrain of Cardonnet (Lot-et-Garonne). Figure created by the author.

Figure 3.7. Lamp discovered in the souterrain of Prinçay (Vienne). Figure created by the author.

supplementary lighting in the immediate environment of these openings which complemented the weak light emission from the traditional lighting of the workers.

combining different tools at opposite ends; depending on the circumstances, the pick can be associated with a polka or a facing-hammer.

2.3. Tools1

The picks

We know the tools used for excavation largely thanks to the marks they left on the walls and ceilings of the souterrains. The tools used to dig the souterrains are simple, and comparable to those used in quarries to extract stone until the twentieth century. The rock in which most souterrains are dug is generally relatively soft (tufa, chalk, marl, decomposing granite, etc.) and can be dug quite easily with the help of a pick or an escoude. But other tools were also used such as the axe-hammer, the drill, the polka, and the bretture (the italicised tools are described below).

The typical pick (Figure 3.8c) is slightly curved, measures 25 to 35 cm from one tip to the other and is finished at both ends by a fine pyramidal point (Bessac 2002,193). The tip was not too sharp, perhaps even slightly blunt, to try and prevent the pick getting stuck in the rock (Triolet and Triolet 1995, 47). The pick is usually equipped with a wooden handle which, in the case of the digging of a souterrain where space is limited, would not be too long. The escoude is a longer-handled pick that allows for deeper excavation of the grooves used for block extraction. On average, in souterrains, the pick has been seen to leave marks of 4 to 15 cm long and maximum 1 cm wide.

2.3.1. Swung percussion tools

The facing hammer and the polka

The stone is extracted mainly by means of swung percussion tools: the pick, the polka, the facing-hammer, or devices

The facing-hammer (Figure 3.8d) is an ‘iron tool with two straight steel cutting edges parallel to the handle’ (Bessac 1986, 39). The polka (Figure 3.8a) differs from the facing-hammer only by the orientation of one of its

This section is based on the terminology of stone carvers’ tools defined by Jean-Claude Bessac (Bessac 1986).

1 

29

Luc Stevens

Figure 3.8. Tools of quarrymen and their marks in the rock as presented at the Stone Museum in Saint-Maximin. Figure created by the author.

Swung percussion tools discovered in souterrains.

two edges which is perpendicular to the handle. The two tools can also be combined with a pick as shown by the pick discovered in the Engarrigue souterrain (Tarn). The two tools leave very similar flat marks. However, marks of a facing hammer can be wider than those of a polka.

Since the metal was relatively expensive (Sprandel 1969, 315), it is likely that the pick was re-worked when it was abandoned or excessively worn. As a result, very few tools were found in souterrains. According to our knowledge, two picks have been discovered in the souterrains of the Tarn region and one in Loiret. A first one was found when the souterrain of Saint-Pierre-de-Messenac (Tarn) was cleaned in 1975 (CREDS-SSPCV 2000, 95). The tool found looks more like a pickaxe than a traditional quarryman’s pick (Figure 3.9a). However, the pick marks found on the walls of the souterrain confirm that it was indeed this instrument that was used to dig the cavity.2 The second pick was discovered in a silo at the entrance of the souterrain of Engarrigue (Mouzens, Tarn). The tool is described as slightly curved, made of iron, flat, the general shape of the pick being that of an elongated trapezoid, with one end having a cutting edge, and the other end a fine point (Balayé 1958, 368). The third pick was discovered in Saran (Loiret) (Figure 3.9b). It is curved and has two flat cutting edges. One edge is parallel to the handle (width 1.5 cm) and the other one is perpendicular (width 3 cm) (Laurent-Dehecq et al. 2019, 1787). This tool does not

In the souterrain of Cardonnet (Lot-et-Garonne), the traces of a pick clearly show that a tool with a flat edge (probably a polka) was used to dress the double sloped ceilings of rooms and galleries while the pick has been used for the finishing of the walls. In the Limousin, the walls appear to have been finished and flattened with a facing hammer or polka having a horizontal edge 3 cm to 6 cm wide, with shorter impacts on the walls (2 to 5 cm) (Conte 1990, 255). In the souterrains of Villiers-La Roche, four main types of polkas with different widths of edge have been identified (Roy et al. 2017, 1322). On average, in souterrains, the polka has been seen to leave marks of 1 cm to 7 cm wide. The bretture A bretture (Figure 3.8b) is an axe-hammer or a polka with straight teeth on the cutting edge. In the souterrain of Cardonnet (Lot-et-Garonne), the double sloped ceilings show parallel streaks close to each other that seem to point to the use of a bretture for the finishing of the ceilings.

2 

30

Oral information transmitted by B. Valette in October 2019.

The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries

Figure 3.10. Spoon drill discovered in the souterrain of Monsentou (Tarn-et-Garonne). Photographs by P. Gentié.

the construction period of a souterrain, these pipes also helped determine on the surface the position of the various sections of the souterrain and to assess the progression of two different sections being dug by two different teams towards each other. A spoon drill was recently discovered in the ventilation pipe of the souterrain of Monsentou near Lunel (Commune of Lafrançaise – Tarn-et-Garonne). It looks like a large and wide tip of a spear with a slightly twisted blade and welded onto a socket, into which is inserted a wooden handle, held by a nail (Figure 3.10). It is 33.5 cm long, 11.2 cm wide and 0.7 cm thick (Garnier and Bapel 2014, 30). The mark of a triangular shaped drill was also found in the unfinished ventilation pipe of the souterrain of Taysse Haut (Pailloles, Lot-et-Garonne) (Humbert 1972, 58–60).

Figure 3.9. (a) Pick or pickaxe discovered in the souterrain of Saint-Pierre-de-Massenac (Tarn). Photograph: SSPCV/ CREDS; (b) Extraction tool discovered in the souterrain of Saran (Loiret). Photographs by A. Laurent-Dehecq – Conseil Général du Loiret.

have exactly the shape of a polka and may have been used for both agricultural works and digging the souterrain. 2.3.2. Struck Percussion Tools Although no archaeological excavation has thus far discovered struck percussion tools in a souterrain, it is very likely that chisels (flat or bevelled), punches and points (made of steel rod, forged to a point) combined with a hammer or mallet could have been used to make certain details of souterrains such as niches, rebates, door housings etc.

According to N. Charneau and J.-C. Trebbi (Charneau and Trebbi 1981, 71), the drill could also be used in combination with a lever placed on the ground and exerting a vertical and regular pressure towards the ceiling of the souterrain. In Poitou, several souterrains (La Chaume, Prinçay) have in their walls a vertical series of notches, close to the ventilation pipe, which made it possible to raise the fulcrum of the lever as the vertical pipe was dug (Figure 3.11).

The literature mentions on some occasions the use of struck percussion tools in souterrains. In the souterrain of Sublaines (Indre-et-Loire), some marks found on the wall of the souterrain seem to relate to the mark of a chisel (Chaudriller et al. 2013, 107). Marks of chisels have also been found in the souterrain of La Tourette (Vienne) (Vivier et al. 2014, 54).

2.3.4. Other tools Other instruments and tools have certainly been used when digging souterrains. Winches and hoists combined with ropes and pulleys made it possible to bring up the blocks and waste from the excavation. Buckets (wooden?), baskets (wicker?), or other containers were most likely used to pull the waste out. To detach the most important blocks from the bedrock, wooden wedges associated with hammers were used.

2.3.3. Drills Ventilation shafts and other vertical holes (typically 10 to 20 cm in diameter) have always been dug from the souterrain toward the surface so that the extraction waste falls on the ground of the souterrain. Using a crowbar, auger or drill, the hole was made by percussion and rotation over a length of up to three metres. For particularly long vertical ventilation pipes, it is likely that extension handles were added to the drill as the digging progressed. During

Furthermore, in order to orient oneself underground, to estimate the distance to be dug to reach an extraction shaft or to allow an adequate alignment between the underground structures and those on the surface, it is likely that miners also used ropes, plumb lines and measuring 31

Luc Stevens

Figure 3.11. Notches dug in the wall to raise the fulcrum of the lever when digging the ventilation pipe in the roof. Figure created by the author.

instruments. The instruments could have included measuring rods, arithmetic or 13-knot ropes, square, compass, etc. However, we can only hypothesise the use of such instruments without being able to confirm it since no such instrument has been found so far in souterrains. Such instruments are however attested in the building works of the Middle Ages and in the mining works of the sixteenth century as shown by G. Agricola in his work De Re Metallica (Houden and Houden 1912).

increases, the deeper rooms become less and less easily accessible by the conventional route. The long and winding corridors, sometimes marked by obstacles such as a bottleneck or chicanes, do not allow the excavation waste to be evacuated easily. In contrast, an extraction shaft allows direct access in the heart of the souterrain without encountering any obstacle other than the one of verticality. An extraction shaft allows not only the removal of spoil resulting from the crushing of the rock, but also the removal of larger blocks of stone.

2.4. Extraction routes

At least two types of extraction shaft can be distinguished: on the one hand those that open directly in the ceiling of a room or gallery and on the other hand those that open laterally in one of the walls of a room. Some souterrains present both scenarios (e.g. souterrain of Prinçay, Vienne). The shaft shapes also vary between rectangular, square, or rounded. When the digging of the souterrain is completed, these extraction shafts are usually closed either by means of a vault or large stone slabs placed across the shaft. In Pétosse (Vendée), the shaft in the ceiling of a room was not closed by a vault or slabs but by backfilling with stones supported by a pillar built in the middle of the room.

In order to overcome the difficulties associated with the evacuation of extraction waste by the generally unique and sometimes complicated eventual access route to the souterrain, the designers often created multiple temporary accesses that only remained open during the construction period of the souterrain. These temporary accesses often take the form of extraction shafts or, in sloping terrain, galleries or adits opening into the slope (Figure 3.12). Rooms and galleries near the entrance can be cleared via the entrance access, but as soon as the size of the souterrain 32

The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries

Figure 3.12. Different stages of the digging of a souterrain situated in a slope with two accesses (left) or in a plain with an extraction shaft (right). Figure created by the author.

Extraction shafts that open in the walls of the souterrain can be closed either by a vault but also by backfilling with stones that descend down to the ground level of the souterrain. A closure resting on the ground of the souterrain or supported by a pillar avoids the collapse of the backfill into the souterrain (Prinçay) (Stevens 2017, 36).

Loire) and in the one of La Jante (Haute-Vienne) (Triolet and Triolet 1995, 45). In a souterrain such as the Cave aux Sourds (Vienne), nearly 10 extraction shafts were created to allow the digging of a souterrain which was originally more than a hundred metres long. When the souterrain features a terminal room, which is accessible only through a bottleneck (e.g. Chaume, Vienne), it is common, not to say systematic, for this room to be dug from an extraction shaft in order to avoid the evacuation of rock wastes through the bottleneck, the diameter of which may be less than 50 cm.

In the south-west of France, S. Avrilleau pointed out that out of a sample of 281 souterrains he studied, 67 of them had an extraction shaft systematically located at 26 cubits (13 metres) from the entrance to the souterrain (Avrilleau 2005, 18; Avrilleau 2014). This same author also notes a standard width of the corridors of 26 inches (65 cm).

In addition, as an alternative to creating extraction shafts and at the same time respecting the desire to create small spaces that are difficult to access, designers of souterrains have, on various occasions, dug galleries that are too wide for their eventual purpose and have then narrowed them with walls. For instance, in the souterrain of La Côte in Saint-Rémy-sur-Durolle (Puy-de-Dôme), the entrance gallery was reduced with the help of a stone wall on both sides of the gallery to create a bottleneck where one can move only on one’s knees. Similarly, in the souterrain of Bournan (Indre-et-Loire), the designers built a wall partially blocking the passage of a gallery to force the passage over a pit trap (Triolet and Triolet 1991, 73). In Aschères-le-Marché (Loiret), a terminal room was dug from the main corridor and then closed with a wall into which a bottleneck was introduced. The wall construction thus made it possible to avoid the excavation of an extraction shaft.

Such shafts are frequently and logically found in the rooms where the largest volumes to be extracted are located. Some quarrymen did not hesitate to dig four or five of them for a single souterrain (Petit-Savoie, Cave aux Sourds in Vienne, Pétosse in Vendée). Even for souterrains of relatively small size (a few tens of metres), several extraction shafts can be encountered. For instance, in Beaumont (Vienne), the souterrain of Barbotins, consisting of three rooms, has no less than three extraction shafts in addition to its main access for a development of approximately 30 metres. Thanks to these multiple accesses, two or more teams could work simultaneously on the excavation of the souterrain and work towards each other to ensure the connection between the different parts of the souterrain. Such traces of junctions are observed in the souterrain of Oiré (Maine-et33

Luc Stevens In addition to the extraction of the excavated material, these shafts contributed to other functions such as lighting (see section 2.2 in this chapter) or assistance in orienting the quarrymen in their digging work (see section 2.5 in this chapter). Furthermore, these shafts would have been very useful in ventilating the souterrain. Indeed, the excavation processes could generate dense clouds of dust, making the confined space unbreathable. Also, the presence of several active persons would consume oxygen fairly quickly if the place was not ventilated. This ventilation function of these extraction shafts is also confirmed by the installation of ventilation pipes in the filling or walls of many extraction shafts when they were closed after the digging of the souterrain.

between two sections of corridor during the digging. These boreholes are particularly useful if the junction has to take a specific shape such as a bottleneck or a chicane. Such a borehole is reported in the souterrain of Paluel (Dordogne) (Avrilleau et al. 1974). In addition, like the defenders of a fortress who positioned themselves in counter-mine galleries to listen to the digging of enemy sappers attempting to undermine them, the quarrymen digging a souterrain were also able to orient their work by following the sound of the picks against the rock of another team when they had to connect two galleries. In this regard, it is interesting to note the comment provided by Colonel Emy in his Basic Fortification Course: ‘The distance at which the noise of underground work is noticeable in the network depends on the nature of the ground; the noise is transmitted further if the ground is denser. In a terrain fragmented by explosions or saturated with water, the transmission is almost zero; in a terrain of rock or very adherent sand, we perceive the blows of pick at a distance of 15 or 20 metres. The sound of tamping to fill a mine can be heard up to 70 m away. When a miner works only with the shovel, it can only be heard from a distance of 10 m. The perceptible noise ceases when using only a wide flat chisel to work the earth by striking the end of the handle with the palm of the hand. In the absence of noticeable noise, the vibrations produced in the ground during underground work are recognisable by the agitation of peas or light round seeds or bells placed on the skin of a drum, the trembling of the surface of water contained in a large jug or the sound of a thick metal sheet lying on the ground’ (Emy 1843, 719).

Although extraction shafts are a common phenomenon in the Parisian and Aquitaine basins where souterrains are encountered, in some regions this feature seems not to have been observed. This is particularly the case in the Tarn, where shafts are particularly rare and where the digging and the evacuation seem to have been carried out principally through the main access (Paulet 2013, 15). This feature could be related to the fact that the souterrains of the Tarn area have fewer defensive characteristics and more storage characteristics which also require being able to easily pass post-construction with heavy loads through the corridors of the souterrains. 2.5. Orientation when digging a souterrain Being underground causes the loss of most usual surface points of reference. The same is true when digging underground. The miner or quarryman can easily deviate from his course and miss his target if he has to meet an existing corridor, or a corridor being dug by another team. In addition, a souterrain dug under a building, be it a castle, church or a simple dwelling, must avoid undermining the foundations of this building. It is therefore essential for the designer to define a set of landmarks or reference points which allow the plan of the souterrain to be related to the surface and vice versa.

In comparison with digging errors observed in some aqueducts or other long underground tunnels, the number of alignment errors still observable today in souterrains remains relatively limited (souterrain of Barbotins (Vienne); souterrain of Pétosse (Vendée). This small number is certainly due on the one hand to the know-how of the craftsmen who made them, but also to the small size of these souterrains.

Several elements support creating this relationship. The first reference point is, of course, the entrance itself, which provides the boundary between the surface and the souterrain. Extraction shafts also serve to locate the excavation relative to surface features. They allow not only the location of the corridors and rooms to be checked but also their depth. Ventilation pipes, usually dug into the ceiling of rooms, can also be used to define the location of an underground room relative to the surface. In the souterrain of Bordiers (Saint-Laurent-Lolmie, Lot), two rooms (out of a total of eight) each have two ventilation pipes present. ‘The grouping of ventilation pipes in pairs is characteristic of the surface-to-bottom surveying technique: two plumb lines can be installed in these pipes to obtain an exact surface location of an underground point but also and particularly its exact orientation’ (Obereiner 1994, 27). In addition, boreholes could be made to test the orientation to be taken before establishing the junction

Finally, it should be noted that the plan of some souterrains has been affected by the geology of the ground in which the souterrain is dug. The poor quality of the rock, the presence of too hard or too friable terrain, the presence of fault lines or groundwater may each lead the designer to modify the master plan of the souterrain. In Filescamps (Somme), it is very likely that the poor quality of the rock forced the miners to abandon the digging of this souterrain while 50 m of it was already completed (Triolet and Triolet 1995, 47). Also, in the north of France, the creation of a muche in the lower village of Maison-Roland (Somme) lead to frequent flooding of the network and required the inhabitants of the village to create a new muche in the upper part of the village in connection with the church (Dewerdt and Willmann 2003, 70). In Passafol (Loire), the axial gallery of the ring souterrain, generally rectilinear, bends following the presence of a fault while, in the area of the 34

The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries entrance, the presence of a very hard granite block forced the quarrymen to modify their plan in order to bypass this granite block (Clavier 2006, 36). 2.6. Finishing works It is likely that, depending on the type of feature being created, the finishing work was sometimes carried out as the excavation progressed and sometimes when the digging was completed. The creation of niches, intended to receive lamps or other objects, was carried out as the digging progressed. Indeed, these can help to place an object or a lamp during construction and do not constitute any obstacle in the work of digging and evacuation of waste. On the contrary, it is very likely that the digging of silos, pit traps and other obstacles was carried out when the main phases of digging were completed so as not to impede the evacuation of waste. The same is undoubtedly true for defensive door rebates. Ventilation pipes, which also played a role in the orientation of the excavation of the souterrain, were probably also dug as the digging of the souterrain progressed. In order to avoid having to install scaffolding, it is also very likely that all features that were no longer accessible from the final floor-level of the galleries were made before the final height of the gallery or room was reached. It should be noted, however, that since souterrains are generally small, most places are easily accessible from the floor of the rooms and galleries even on occupation. Figure 3.13. Stepped vault in the entrance gallery of the muche of Mesnil Domqueur. Photograph by the author.

When the excavation of a souterrain is complete, it is not unusual that some walls are built in parts of the souterrain, in order to seal extraction shafts, to improve defensive capabilities or to create specific features (partition walls, wood frame, etc.). In Petit-Savoie (Vienne), several traces of holes in the walls, floors and ceilings suggest that partitioning walls may have been created in order to divide the space of certain rooms. In many cases, the entrance gallery connecting the surface to the souterrain is built in stone. One of the most striking examples is undoubtedly that of the step-vaulted ceilings (voûtes à redan) in the muches of northern France which allow the transition to chalk of good quality (Figure 3.13). In the same way, a beautiful, vaulted entrance corridor with pitched roof crosses the motte to reach the souterrain at Pouant (Vienne) or in the souterrain of the Chapelle SaintLandaure (Vienne).

2.7. The workers We know very little about the men and women who contributed to the digging of souterrains in France. The absence of texts mentioning the individuals who dug these souterrains does not help to define the level of qualification of the craftsmen who excavated these cavities. The only exception to this lack of archive is the mention of ‘crocerius’, the diggers, around 1230 in the region of Laurac in Aude (Piboule 1978, 130). Another text mentions that two peasants dug a souterrain into a forest in 1223 in the region of Francarville (HauteGaronne) (Piboule 1978, 130). Differences in the degree of sophistication of souterrains suggest that the craftsmen who created refuges under peasant settlements were not the same workers as those who were constructing beneath fortresses. The creation of a simple gallery leading to one or two rooms can easily be created by peasants who are used to extracting the stone in artisanal quarries. However, the realisation of more complex souterrains that fit perfectly under a fortress without undermining its foundations demands an expert in military architecture. This link between the architects who build a fortress and the designers of the souterrain has been highlighted in particular in the case of La Celle-Guénand

Finally, the quality of the work carried out by the miners of the Middle Ages should be stressed. These monuments frequently display, especially in certain regions such as the Tarn or the Lot-et-Garonne, aspects of aestheticism that are not improvised. Real decorative elegance regularly goes beyond the strict requirements necessary for purely utilitarian works. The maxim ‘The medieval man ignores the gratuitousness of aesthetics, but he knows perfectly how to combine the beautiful with the useful’ takes on its true meaning here (Coustet and Valette 2012, 215). 35

Luc Stevens In Izel-lès-Hameaux (Pas-de-Calais), the ventilation pipe of the muche ends discreetly in an angle of the church (Dewerdt and Willmann 2003, 73).

(Indre-et-Loire) where underground and surface structures are perfectly superimposed (Figure 3.14). The souterrain remains constrained to the area beneath the castle courtyard so as not to undermine its foundations except for one room that stretches partly to the outside of the former curtain walls (Triolet and Triolet 1995, 79).

For the most complex projects such as souterrains under fortresses, it is likely that the architect in charge of the design of the fortress would also be involved in the design of the souterrain: this is supported by the strong relationship between the underground and the surface architectures. In this regard, it is worth recalling that in the Middle Ages the practice of war included miners and sappers who specialised in the digging of mine and counter-mine tunnels.

In the same way, all the extraction shafts of the souterrain located under the Motte Bascher in Pouant (Vienne) open inside the perimeter of the motte demonstrating the close link between the design of the surface structures and those underground (Piboule 1978, 147). In Vienne and Touraine, the analysis of several souterrains under enclosures shows that they never extend beyond the area defined on the surface by the ditches (Bonnamour and Arles 2013). In the Somme, the muche of Fransu follows the street layout on the surface, while the one of Domqueur is under the square of the village and does not extend under the buildings surrounding the square (Dewerdt and Willmann 2003, 71).

In northern France, several elements help us to better understand the nature of those who created the muches. The village characteristics of these souterrains and the existence of institutions such as village assemblies seem to demonstrate that these underground systems were built by

Figure 3.14. Souterrain under the castle of La Celle-Guénand. Plan J. et L. Triolet/mondesouterrain.fr.

36

The Design and Excavation of Souterrains in France Between the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries the inhabitants of the village above. Indeed, some villagers had the required expertise and skill for quarrying as is testified by the large number of underground quarries in the area (some of which also served as refuges before the digging of the muches).3 The works were certainly placed under the authority of this village assembly and had to be known to the authorities since the muches are frequently entered from the village church. (Dewerdt and Willmann 2003, 68 – 70).

day. This amounts to the extraction of +/− 1.90 m³/day (Usse and Usse 1998, 22). • As part of his work on Petra, Bessac estimates that a quarryman can extract 2 to 3 m³ of soft sandstone per 10-hour working day (Bessac 2007, 135). • In Austria, a recent experiment of souterrain digging showed that it took a man (without experience?) a week to dig a one-metre-long gallery (Weichenberger 2005).

The text written by Abbé Claude Godet in 1738 tells of the digging of the muche of Hiermont which took place in 1647: ‘This great masterpiece was first undertaken by five to six inhabitants of Hiermont who were Jacques Hurache Lieutenant of the Land and Lordship of Hiermont, Jean Lemas Mayor, Nicolas Gressier Clerk of the same land, Charles Gressier his son, Jean Bocquet, Charles Legris and Paquez Pichon, Adrien Toulouze. They first made the great entrance in 1647, which collapsed three times and was each time repaired and was only completed in 1648. The other inhabitants saw that this was very useful and wanted to have their own rooms, but they were only received there after each had contributed to the cost of the entrance, which they did willingly’ (Fourdrin 1979, 16).4

On the basis of the extraction of 1.5 m³ per day per person, it can be estimated that two miners working simultaneously could dig a souterrain of 150 m³ in less than two months with the help of families to remove the extraction waste. This estimate is similar to assessments made by other studies on souterrains: • 30 to 40 working days for a group of four to eight people to dig a souterrain of 70m³ (Piboule 1978, 131). • Between ten days and one month of work for a souterrain between 20 and 60 m³ in the Cantal area (Usse and Usse 1998, 22). • Between 1 and 4 months of work for four miners for a souterrain in the Tarn depending on its size (Paulet 2013, 21). • 176 days for two workers at a rate of ten hours per day for a souterrain in the Périgord, according to a contemporaneous price quote (Galinat and Delluc 1981, 19–21). • Between two and three months for a group of two workers to dig a souterrain of 185 m³ in La Fontaine de Montfort (Maine-et-Loire) (Hunot 2011, 230).

We learn from this text that the digging was undertaken by a small group of eight persons including several notables of the village (Lieutenant of the Land, Clerk of the Lordship of Hiermont, Mayor) and others whose functions are not mentioned. It is therefore very likely that the Lord of Hiermont was aware of this work. It is also interesting to note that the initiators of the souterrain asked for a contribution to the fixed costs (the digging of the entrance gallery) when other members of the village requested the use of the souterrain as their own shelter.

Finally, the existence of several souterrains that include unfinished rooms and/or galleries suggests that the whole of a souterrain was not always dug at the same time and that additions could be made over time or according to changing needs. Like any architecture, underground architecture evolves according to needs and hazards.

2.8. Excavation time The time necessary for the construction of a souterrain is closely related to the type of rock in which it is excavated and to the qualification of the miners employed in the task. Modern techniques allow work to be carried out quickly with the help of pneumatic picks and tunnelling machines. Experiments and studies on the traditional methods of stone extraction are therefore necessary to estimate the time required to dig a souterrain.

3. Conclusions This synthesis of research into the digging of medieval souterrains is based both on a review of literature and on the in-depth study of many souterrains across France. In the absence of archives describing the techniques and principles governing the digging of souterrains, it is largely based on the analysis of architectural forms and on the traces of tools which are still observable in the rock. The large number of surveys, plans and descriptions of souterrains and their relationship with their direct environment has contributed to the identification of the strategies that have guided the men and women of the Middle Ages in the digging of these souterrains.

Several studies and figures make it possible to estimate the time required for digging a gallery: • In 1920, a single well digger working on an underground groundwater abstraction gallery dug on average a 1.1 m wide, 1.7 m high gallery over a length of 1 metre in one

Economy of effort, commensurate with the technical constraints imposed by the underground architecture of the finished excavation, is undoubtedly one of the fundamental principles which prevailed during the excavation of souterrains. Using the knowledge gained in quarrying and

The study of Dewerdt, Paques and Willmann (2009) shows that, as from the fifteenth century, some quarries have been transformed into refuges by adding walls to create chambers. Progressively, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, specific underground networks, known as muches, have been dug to be used as shelters. 4  Translated from French by the author. 3 

37

Luc Stevens mining, the miners created souterrains which fulfilled the function assigned to them, while ensuring that they were as efficient as possible in planning the excavation to avoid unnecessary effort.

destabilising the structure above. Civilian quarrymen are certainly one group of specialists who would have been able to work on the construction of these; military engineers who traditionally worked on the sapping of the walls during sieges would also have been able to provide their services during the excavation.

In this context, the creation of the extraction shaft(s) constitutes the central element of the excavation of the souterrain. The extraction shaft is a direct link between the exterior and the heart of the souterrain avoiding the long access corridor that can be blocked by bottlenecks or other defensive obstacles. The analyses carried out by S. Avrilleau in the Périgord showed that the extraction shaft was not only an important element for the digging of the souterrain but might have been standardised with a regular distance of 26 cubits between the entrance and the extraction shaft. However, in some regions souterrains are not equipped with extraction shafts. For instance, in the Tarn, extraction shafts are infrequent. Souterrains in the Ségala area (Tarn) are located on a slope and have lower and upper accesses that do not require the creation of an extraction shaft.

Finally, the homogeneity of souterrain plans and the process of transmitting knowledge and construction skills can be explained at the regional level by the presence of experts and the social interaction that exists between the inhabitants of neighbouring villages. However, it is much more complex to explain the existence of souterrains with very similar forms in places that are several hundred kilometres apart. Future research into the construction of souterrains will take place through several streams of work. First of all, archaeological excavation of an increasing number of souterrains should allow for a better understanding of these hidden structures; in particular this will provide an overview of the collapsed or non-visible sections such as the extraction shafts and the immediate environs of the souterrain. These excavations should contribute to a better understanding of the techniques of excavation and extraction, but we would also better understand the people who dug and used these cavities. In addition, a detailed survey of the various tool marks in a representative sample of souterrains is currently lacking and this would lead to a better understanding of the tools used to construct souterrains. Furthermore, an in-depth comparison of underground plans and digging methods could make it possible to identify certain regional characteristics. Finally, experimental archaeology could also be used to refine our knowledge of techniques, conditions and digging times.

A second principle that has governed the excavation of souterrains is to ensure the stability of both the souterrain and the surface buildings. The stability of the souterrain is ensured by the extraction of a limited proportion of rock and for larger chambers by the preservation or installation of pillars. Because they are related to habitation, the souterrain must also avoid undermining the foundations of the settlement buildings above. Their construction is therefore carried out in a manner consistent with the surface architecture in order to avoid the collapse of the surface buildings while remaining in the footprint of these buildings. The main tools used by quarrymen to dig souterrains are essentially the pick and the polka with a combination of pointed and flat sides. Other tools such as brettures, wedges and hammer, drills, etc., were also used to excavate the rock. Agricultural tools have also been used in some cases. Knotted ropes and other measuring instruments were used by the miners to orient themselves underground. Buckets, baskets, or other containers were likely used to extract waste material.

Acknowledgements: I want to thank Martin and Linda Dixon, E. Clavier, P. Gentié and the editors of this volume for their comments on a preliminary version of this paper. Bibliography Avrilleau, Serge, Brigitte Delluc, and Gilles Delluc. 1974. “La galerie de fuite du château de Paluel (Dordogne). Un souterrain à usage unique?”. Subterranea 9: 12–18.

If the main techniques and strategies used to dig souterrains are known as well as the extraction tools employed, the same is not true of the identity of the persons who contributed to the digging of souterrains. For this aspect we are forced to make cautious assumptions based on observations and comparisons with the community of quarrymen, miners and military engineers. From souterrains we have observed and from their immediate surroundings, it seems that one can distinguish between family souterrains and more complex subterranean areas located under fortresses or fortified settlements. If the former were likely dug by local families and their helpers, those more complex forms beneath castles and forts are most certainly the product of mining specialists. These specialists were able to complete a complex underground network under a fortress without

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Bessac, Jean-Claude. 1986. L’outillage traditionnel du tailleur de pierre de l’Antiquité à nos jours. Paris: CNRS. Bessac, Jean-Claude. 2002. “Glossaire des termes techniques”. In Carrières antiques de la Gaule. Une recherche polymorphe, dir. Jean-Claude Bessac and Robert Sablayrolles, 189–194. Paris: CNRS.

Dewerdt, Hugues, Guillaume Paques and Frederick Willmann. 2009. Les Muches. Souterrains-refuges de la Somme, Saint-Cyr-sur-Loire: Ed. Alan Sutton.

Bessac, Jean-Claude. 2007. Le travail de la pierre à Pétra: technique et économie de la taille rupestre. Paris: ERC. Bonnamour, Gérald and Adrien Arles. 2013. “Souterrain et habitat rural du Moyen Âge: huit sites découverts dans le cadre de l’archéologie préventive dans l’ouest de la France et au sud de la Loire”. In Détection, caractérisation et fouille des structures souterraines médiévales, ed. Amélie Laurent, Laurent Fournier and Christophe Marconnet, 24–29, Comptes rendus du Séminaire d’archéologie en région Centre (SARC): https://www.culture.gouv.fr/Regions/Drac-CentreVal-de-Loire/Nos-secteurs-d-activite/Archeologie/ Journees-et-seminaires-d-archeologie-regionale/ Comptes-rendus-du-SARC-Detection-caracterisationet-fouille-des-structures-souterraines-medievales

Emy, Armande Rose. 1843. Cours élémentaire de fortification fait à l’école militaire. Paris: Librairie Militaire. Fourdrin, Jean-Pascal. 1979. “Cinq souterrains du Ponthieu”. Subterranea 29: 9–23. Fraysse, Jeanne and Camille Fraysse. 1964. Les troglodytes en Anjou à travers les âges. T. 3. Cholet: Imprimerie Farré et fils. Gady, Serge. 1989. Les souterrains médiévaux du Limousin. Approche méthodologique. Paris: Document d’Archéologie Française.

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Garnier, Jean-François and S. Bapel. 2014. “Une tarière à creuser les conduits verticaux dans un souterrain à Lunel (Commune de Lafrançaise – Tarn-et-Garonne)”. Subterranea 169: 30–31.

Chaudriller, Sandrine, Jérôme Arqueville, Valérie Deloze, Anne Dietrich, Florent Mercey, Sébastien Millet, Christophe Perrault, and Marc Viré. 2013. “Sublaines, Indre-et-Loire, le Bois Gaulpied, le Grand Ormeau, Zone 4, Lot 2. Un souterrain aménagé des Xe-XIe siècles”. Rapport de fouilles, Paris: Inrap Ilede-France.

Gilotte, Sophie. 2008. “Communes d’Aschères-le-Marché et Villereau (Loiret) – Le Marjolet et La Cabane – site A10 -C-8 (N° 45.009.023.AH)”. Rapport de fouille, Paris: INRAP. Humbert, Marcel. 1972. “Le souterrain de “Taysse Haut” à Pailloles, Lot-et-Garonne”. Bulletin du Groupe Archéologique de sauvetage du Villeneuvois 1: 58–60

Clavier, Eric. 2006. Les souterrains annulaires. Regard sur un phénomène rural de l’Europe médiévale. SaintJust Saint-Rambert: Ed. Groupe Archéologique de la Loire.

Hunot, Jean-Yves. 2011. “La Fontaine-de-Montfort: habitats et souterrains autour de l’An Mil”. Rapport final d’opération fouille archéologique préventive. Herbert Hoover and Lou Henry Hoover, trad. 1912. Georgius Agricola. De Re Metallica. London: The mining Magazine.

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Laurent-Dehecq, Amélie, Karine Payet-Gay and Emilie Fencke E., dir. 2019. “Saran, La Hutte, Le Mesnil. ZAC des Portes du Loiret. Zones C, E et souterrains (Loiret, Centre-Val de Loire)”. Rapport de fouilles.

Cousin, Michel. 2002. Archéologie des carrières souterraines de Doué-la-Fontaine. Angers: Association régionale pour la diffusion de l’archéologie en Pays-deLoire.

Noël, Sébastien and Luc Stevens. 2016. Souterrains et mottes castrales. Emergence et liens entre deux structures de la France médiévales, Paris: L’Harmattan.

Coustet, Robert and Bernard Valette. 2012. Souterrains et cavités artificielles du Tarn. Castres: Comité départemental d’archéologie du Tarn.

Nollent, Pierre. 1980. “Esotérisme souterrain à Barbarant”. Subterranea 34: 45–57.

Centre Regional d’Etude et de Documentation des Souterrains – Société Spéléologique des Pays Castrais et Vaurais (CREDS-SSPCV). 2000. Inventaire des souterrains du Tarn. Cantons de Castelnau-deMontmirail et Salvagnac. Lavaur.

Obereiner, Jean-Luc. 1994. “Les souterrains aménagés d’Aquitaine: le cas du souterrain de Saint-LaurentLolmie”. Quercy recherche 78–79: 6–41. 39

Luc Stevens Paulet, Lucie. 2013. “Souterrains aménagés ruraux médiévaux du Limousin à l’Albigeois: état de la question et étude de cas architecturale”. Mémoire de Master 1, Ecole Nationale d’Architecture de Toulouse. Petit, Bernard. 2002. Les “muches” dans le canton de Villers-Bocage (Somme), Rainneville: Association du Pays des Coudriers. Petit, Bernard. 2010. “Le souterrain aménagé de MesnilDomqueur (Somme)”. Revue archéologique de Picardie 3–4: 95–165. Piboule, Patrick. 1978. “Les souterrains aménagés de la France au Moyen Âge. Ombres et lumières d’un problème d’archéologie médiévale”. Archéologie Médiévale VIII: 117–163 Roy, Gwenaël (dir.), Céline Aunay, Céline Barthelemy, Jérôme Bouillon, Sandrine Chaudriller, Olivier Cotté, Anne-Sophie Coupey, Alexandre Fontaine, Philippe Gardere, Hélène Froquet-Uzel, Nicolas Holzem, Flona Kildea, Pascal Loeuil, Morgane Liard, Dorothée Lusson, Victorine Mataouchek, Francesca di Napoli, Bénédicte Pradat, Boris Robin, Pascal Verdin, Françoise Yvernault. 2017. “Maillé, Villiers et la Roche, Indreet-Loire (37). LGV SEA. Des occupations de l’âge du Bronze à nos jours sur le versant nord de la Vienne”. Rapport de fouilles, Paris: Inrap. Sprandel, Rolf. 1969. “La production du fer au Moyen ge”. Annales. Economies, sociétés, civilisations 2: 305–21. Stevens, Corentin and Luc Stevens. 2015. “Le Cluzeau de Laborie (Les Eyzies-de-Tayac, Sireuil, Dordogne)”. Subterranea 176: 2–9. Stevens, Luc. 2003. “Le souterrain de Petit-Savoie (Vienne)”. Subterranea 128: 106–117. Stevens, Luc. 2017. Le souterrain de Prinçay (Availlesen-Châtellerault). Paris: BOD Edition. Triolet, Jérôme and Laurent Triolet. 1991. Souterrains du Centre-Ouest. Tours: Editions de la Nouvelle République. Triolet, Jérôme and Laurent Triolet. 1995. Les souterrains, le monde des souterrains-refuges en France. Paris: Errance. Triolet, Jérôme and Laurent Triolet. 2002. Souterrains et croyances. Rennes: Editions Ouest-France. Usse, Annie and Jean-Philippe Usse. 1998. “Habitats troglodytiques, souterrains médiévaux et galeries artificielles du Cantal”. Bulletin Archéologique de la Région d’Aurillac 7: 5–89. Vivier, Daniel, Anne Autissier, Michel Aucher, Serge Baudry, Alain Tabutiaux, Michel Coutureau, Brigitte Véquaud, and Pierre Texier. 2014. “La Tourette de Luché, Commune de Varennes (86), (Site N° 86 277 0011), Fouille Programmée 2014”. Rapport de fouilles. Weichenberger, Josef. 2005. “Autriche, Les souterrainsrefuges”. Dossiers d’Archéologie 301: 62–67. 40

4 Cutting in the Chinese Loess Constantin Canavas Hamburg University of Applied Sciences, Germany Abstract: A particular cave-like construction known under the Chinese term yáodòng can be found on the Loess Plateau across the Yellow River in North-Central China. The typical soil, loess, originates from yellow-grey wind-carried sediment sand and is highly vulnerable to erosion processes. Referring to late Neolithic finds, older classifications described the various types of dwellings as a progress of emerging from the ground. In this evolutionary interpretation the older dwellings would be the ones dug in the ground or in cliffs, followed by larger ones dug in the sidewalls of a pit, and eventually by semi-underground constructions with walls of adobe, rammed earth or even bricks, and constructed roofs. More recent approaches consider the construction material, the loess soil with more or less vegetable support, as a conceptual linkage between the several types of caves and the surface dwellings. In this approach, buildings constructed with rammed loess on the ground surface are considered as “constructed caves”. Whether dug-out or exteriorly constructed, such traditional ensembles are often summarised as troglodytic architecture. They still continue to serve as living, working, or depositing space for over 20 million people in the Peoples’ Republic of China, and – because of certain advantageous ecological features (e.g. thermal isolation) – they become increasingly a source of inspiration for contemporary large-scale projects. The present study begins with a critique of the valorising assertions of the formalist evolutionary model, e.g. when the latter allows for describing some types of yáodòng as “constructed (or built) caves in natural holes” with the evolutionary background of mankind engaged in a process of coming out of the natural holes. This critique becomes necessary in order to cope with archaeological evidence on yáodòng dwellings that implies multiple development paths, as well as with the current coexistence of various yáodòng forms. Precisely the modern constructions of sunken courtyard yáodòng, as well as the so-called hooped cave dwellings (gūyáo) demand special classification models that depend not so much on the final form, but rather on the building process itself. The present study considers the spaces dug-out or constructed in loess through an approach of prehistoric archaeology. The approach focuses on the acts of digging and shaping the hole or the pit, considering them as social actions themselves – not necessarily bound (solely) to the function of the hole or the pit. This approach considers together digging and constructing beyond the earth surface, regarding the latter as an extension of the caving phase and providing new modes of understanding the collective engagement of the community in these processes. Keywords: Loess, rock-cut architecture, cave dwellings, cutting act. 1. Cave dwellings (yáodòng) on the Loess Plateau across the Yellow River in North-Central China 

been proposed which account for secondary loess production through alluvial depositing or flooding. The beginnings of the formation of loess should go back to the Pleistocene epoch, the earliest stage of the Quaternary geological period. The formation process as such is still going on (Golany 1992a, 14–18). What makes the material particularly valuable for dwellings – beside its thermic characteristics – is its solidity under dry weather conditions and the hard crust it forms under the influence of dry wind. 

The geological formation known under the term loess (huángtǔ, “yellow earth”, in Mandarin-Chinese) originates from yellow-grey wind-carried sediment sand. In the case of North-Central China this sand was presumably carried by dry winds from the adjacent desert regions of Gobi and Mongolia. Beside the eolian deposit model further explanations have 41

Constantin Canavas An important feature of the loess ground is that it is highly vulnerable to erosion processes. This feature, together with the relative easiness to be dug out in comparison to rocky soil, has facilitated activities of digging in loess and constructing dwellings known in (Mandarin) Chinese under the name yáodòng. There are several debates and arguments regarding the terminology of these constructions. Several Western scholars (e.g. J.-P. Loubes) use the term “troglodyte” architecture, whereas others precisely criticise in it the connotation of underground structure, which is only one type of a large spectrum of types and usages (Bodolec 2005, 14). Besides, the term “cave dwelling” can be misunderstood as referring only to constructions dug out in the ground or in cliffs, whereas it can be also applied to a certain type of hooped independently standing dwellings. As we will see later, each term carries the limiting connotation of form and/or the interpretation or the narrative of the specific construction procedure. A compromise could be the Chinese term yáodòng or yáodòng dwelling itself, although several other Chinese terms are used to specify important particularities, as we will discuss later on. Geographically the Chinese loess and the distribution of yáodòng dwellings cover the Provinces of Shanxi, Shaanxi, Gansu, Henan, as well as the Autonomous Region Ningxia following a large part of the valley of the Yellow River in North-Central China.

Figure 4.1. Below ground structure in the archaeological site of Banpo. Photograph by the author.

sites in the Yellow River Valley archaeologists talk also of vertical as well as of pocket-form pits, attributed in certain studies to earlier periods (Bodolec 2005, 218–219) – possibly Mesolithic or even late Palaeolithic. As we will discuss later, such descriptions, chronologies, and terms are themselves highly interpretative and ideologically biased. Moreover, they have considerably influenced the perspective of looking at present-day yáodòng dwellings.

The role and the typology of yáodòng dwellings in the Chinese past has been an issue of archaeological research since the beginnings of the twentieth century. The most prominent finds until now are certainly those at the Neolithic village of Banpo, located between the Chan he and the Ba he rivers, to the east of Xi’an city, capital of Shaanxi. The village is considered as an example of the communities belonging to the Yangshao culture that can be traced back to 6,000/5,000 – 3,000 BC with evidence located across the Wei he (River) and the Yellow River. The Neolithic Yangshao culture was named after the Yangshao Village in Mianchi County, in North-Western Henan Province, which was studied after evidence was discovered accidentally by farmers in 1920–21. Banpo itself is a semi-subterranean site in a loess zone, with a part of the dwellings dug below ground, whereas others are built above ground. The archaeological remains were discovered accidentally in 1953 during the construction of Baqiao Power Plant. Beside dwellings, storage pits, tombs and post-holes have been discovered below ground (Figure 4.1). 

2. Conventional typologies of contemporary yáodòng dwellings Before beginning with the conventional description of the several types of contemporary yáodòng dwellings (Golany 1990a, 66 ff.; Knapp 1990, 14 ff.) we should remark that no single vertical or pocket-form pits (as described in archaeological records regarding Stone-Age sites) are in use as dwellings anymore. The typology of yáodòng cave dwellings is more or less standardised in the literature (e.g. Golany 1992a, 66, Figure 4.1). The cliffside (lateral) cave dwelling (kàoyáyáo) is a type of artificial cave cut into cliffs with a balcony-type flat yard that might link several dwellings dug in the cliff one beside the other (Golany 1992a, 66, Figure 4.1b). In several cases a roofed extension is added outside the cliff cave. Furthermore, such balconies can be found in a staircase arrangement one above the other.

Regarding the yáodòng dwellings early studies distinguish between semi-subterranean cave dwellings (bàn dì xià jiàn zhù), i.e. structures built partly below and partly above the ground, and “earth sheltered dwellings” (yǎn tǔ jiàn zhù) built with stones or bricks above ground with an earth covering shelter (Anonymous 1994/2001, 92–106; Golany 1992a, 2–6). Considering other archaeological 42

Cutting in the Chinese Loess The sunken courtyard (or pit cave) dwelling (dìkēngyáo) comprises a roof consisting of existing soil – or made artificially – and a group of cave dwellings dug at the lateral surfaces of the pit (Golany 1992a, 66, Figure 4.1a). In several cases the ground morphology could permit a semi-below ground dwelling, with the entrance giving to the balcony yard and one or two walls in the soil (Golany 1992a, 66, Figure 4.1d).

The dwelling types described above are mostly found agglomerated in villages. Typical formations include cliffside villages built (actually dug) into the slopes of terraced cliffs, as well as pit villages consisting of several sunken courtyards (Golany 1992b, 151–162). 3. Evolutionary approaches The question of positioning the different forms of Neolithic cave dwellings – with a special focus on those found in loess soil – in an evolutionary process has dominated several debates among Chinese scholars (Bodolec 2005, 218–219).

Hooped (independent) dwellings (gūyáo) constitute a category of yáodòng dwellings built away from cliffs or pits. They are mostly based on a more or less sunken foundation. The reason for which these alone-standing buildings are considered as yáodòng is related to the construction material and to the forming of the inner space. Their walls are built with bricks of rammed loess earth. Their characteristic outlook (Golany 1992a, 66, Figure 4.1c) is related to their hooped roof made of loess soil or rammed earth, generally structured by wooden beams. Their specific architecture includes arcs constructed with bricks or/and stones. Generally, there is no cliff in their neighbourhood; however, the way of forming the inner space is considered to simulate a cave – therefore several authors call them “constructed caves”.

The ideological premise inspiring the Chinese studies in the 1950s and 1960s, e.g. those conducted by the Chinese architect and historian of Chinese architecture Liu Dunzhen (1897–1968), is that of a linear civilisation process (understood as civilisation progress) in which emerging from the ground towards less deep pits, up to the semi-subterranean and, eventually, the above-ground constructions, was regarded as the plausible itinerary of Neolithic humans towards higher civilisation levels; archaeological evidence which did not fit to this model needed additional explanation. In this approach the older dwellings would be the ones dug in the ground or in cliffs in pocket form, followed by larger ones dug in the sidewalls of a pit, and eventually by semi-underground constructions with walls of adobe, rammed earth or even bricks and constructed roofs. This kind of evolutionary

Finally, several combined constructions are encountered, in which architectural types mentioned above are combined, or other extensions are added – eventually in a later phase – to an initial yáodòng dwelling (Figure 4.2).

Figure 4.2. Combination of cliff cave and sunken courtyard yáodòng in northern Shaanxi. Photograph by the author.

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Constantin Canavas model for Neolithic pits in the loess soil have been depicted and reproduced in several Chinese sources, (e.g. Hou and Su 1986, 46). Similar valorising assumptions regarded the material: soil and rocks were considered as primitive materials when compared with adobe, rammed earth and bricks in an evolutionary process leading to the claimed unity of Chinese architecture (see e.g. Liu 1980, 42–43; Liu’s treatise was first published in China in 1957). Such “fundamental” valorisations accompanied implicitly and beyond the specific archaeological discourse the public and the political perception of the contemporary yáodòng dwellings.

temporal line – although coexisting forms at one location (e.g. Banpo) suggest alternative (e.g. coexisting or inverse) models. This criticism becomes necessary in order to cope with archaeological evidence on yáodòng dwellings that implies multiple development paths – including going underground or digging out caves after the emerging of semi-underground or on-surface buildings, and of course the current coexistence of various yáodòng forms. The above criticism still follows purely static, geometricalformal distinction criteria, as well as the distinction between under- and above-ground structures. Regarding the (modern) constructions of sunken courtyard yáodòng, as well as the independent hooped cave dwellings (gū yáo), the building process itself (at least as it is performed at the present times) implies different classifications and stronger dependence on experience with constructing other yáodòng types than the static conventional typology which focuses only on the final form. For the former type a large sunken rectangular pit is initially dug out and serves as a sunken yard, where the soil subsequently dug out during the forming of the several lateral rooms at the walls of the sunken yard is gathered together (Golany 1992a, 76, Figure 4.9). The digging process of the lateral spaces, the transport of the soil dug out of them, as well as the arranging of the sunken yard are processes interwoven into each other mainly because of the necessity to dig gradually the lateral rooms in order to let enough time for the walls of the dug-out rooms to dry – generally several months (Golany 1992a, 74–78). It becomes evident that the sunken courtyard yáodòng (a typical example of a “going down” dwelling procedure) can only be constructed under the condition of sufficient experience with the construction of cliff caves. In other words, the “going down” dwelling procedure should be a development stage posterior to the side-cliff cave-dwelling.

Representing the process (or processes) of cave development depends strongly on archaeological evidence; such evidence has been considerably increased during the last decades. Several evolutionary models have been proposed until now – despite the fact that persuasive evidence regarding the assumed “intermediary steps” in such models is still missing. Moreover, parallel evolutionary models indicating inverse evolutionary directions have also been proposed (see e.g. Loubes 1988, 30). 4. Critique Critical approaches regarding the linear evolutionary model imply an explicit or implicit re-evaluation of the role of the soil. In conventional theoretical framings of the (pre-)history of architecture in China, dwellings built on the ground surface with wood-reinforced rammed earth are considered as a housing system in distinction from the subterranean dwellings. More recent approaches (typically by Jean-Paul Loubes) also follow the evolutionary model of the different types (“le sol va s’élever vers la surface”; Loubes 1988, 26); however, they consider the construction material, the loess soil with more or less vegetable support, as a conceptual linkage between the several types of caves and the construction-based above-ground dwellings. In this approach, buildings constructed with rammed loess above ground (sometimes called independent or hooped yáodòng) are considered as “constructed caves”: The loess soil removed from the earth in a “démarche soustractive” enables the extension of the caving phase into a constructing phase beyond the earth surface. The soil can be considered as material of continuity; constructing beyond the earth surface can be regarded as continuation of the digging process. Loubes (1988) indicates a further aspect of the continuity claim by stressing the socially collective procedure of manufacturing bricks out of the soil dug out during the construction process.

Let us now consider more closely the construction process of cliff caves (Golany 1992a, 77, Figure 4.10). First, the cliff is cut in order to form and level the terrace. Then begins the digging-out of the cave-rooms. At that stage we should underline the use of soil excavated from the cliff dwellings for the formation of the terrace and the enclosure wall (Golany 1992a, 78) – procedures typical for above-ground constructions. Finally, the hooped cave dwellings (gū yáo) are independent buildings with rammed-earth walls and no physical connection to lateral caves in their neighbourhood. However, as Bodolec (2005) has pointed out, the formation of the space with a vaulted roof simulates (or is inspired by) cliff-cave dwellings (Golany 1992a, 66, Figure 4.1c) – for which reason they are often called “constructed caves”.

A further issue in the criticism of the mono-directional evolutionary framework regards time’s arrow. The process of digging into the ground with the experience and the know-how of constructed housings above ground can be seen as a further option – not as devalued regression (Loubes 1988, 26 ff.). Indeed, the claim of a linear temporal evolution from the deep pocket-cave towards semisubterranean constructions is based upon evidence from different locations in North-Central China put in one single

In all processes mentioned above the (final) shaping of the arch at the entrance using adobe, bricks or stones is a characteristic that comes from independent above-ground buildings. As such it implies sufficient experience and a high level of architectural concepts in dealing with aboveground building techniques (Bodolec 2005). 44

Cutting in the Chinese Loess 5. Alternative approaches

associated with loess-related structures (repairing walls, brick fabrication) was also observed by the author of this study during a recent field study in northern Shaanxi (Shaanbei) in September 2019. J.-P. Loubes has made the point that the process of constructing rammed-earth walls from loess can be regarded as a specific social act – a kind of mutual communitarian help (Loubes 1988: 44). In a later work, he refers the design of yáodòng to “old Chinese cosmology” adopting a generalising regard on urban and rural, royal, noble and villagers’ architecture (Loubes 2003: 18ff., 76ff.). In our reading of the visual evidence, the work with the loess organises a social space in a way in which the actors fulfil symbolical functions rather than necessary operations in the construction procedure. In an approach similar to that presented by Thomas and Bailey (see above) the process of constructing rammed-earth walls from loess can be read as mise-en-matière of the collective memory of the given community, a procedure in which the depositing of material (loess) enacts the participation of a large number of community members in a project of strengthening the common memory of rural earth dwelling. Such aspects of current public perception and re-valorisation of yáodòng become visible and audible in the documentary video by E. Brosseau and C. Bodolec on repairing works regarding existing yáodòng in Shaanbei/ North Shaanxi (Brosseau and Bodolec 2012).

Keeping the focus on processual descriptions we propose two approaches that could integrate both ancient and present yáodòng dwellings in a generic model without recourse to formal architectural typology. The first one considers the spaces dug-out or constructed in loess in the valley of Yellow River through an approach of prehistoric archaeology originally implemented on Neolithic pithousings in Europe (Bailey 2018). The approach focuses on the acts of digging and shaping the hole or the pit considering them as actions themselves – not necessarily bound (solely) to the function of the hole or the pit. The focal question would be: “What does it mean to dig/ build a hole?”. First, this question should be addressed to the specific society/culture. Bailey refers to the work of Julian Thomas on Neolithic cultures and his questioning on the significance (meaning) of the role played by the action of digging-into-the-earth as the principal attribute in common with Neolithic pits and ditches (Thomas 1999, 93). The theoretical model is related to the concept of “deposit”, in the sense that depositional practice was a means of using the material world in order to create meaning (Thomas 1999, 224; Bailey 2018, 24–40, here 31). Thomas’ interest was guided by his assumption that the digging action in the Neolithic sites he studied could be related to actions of depositing flint, pottery, and bones. In the case of yáodòng the deposit is the soil itself. Digging, cutting, and perforating the ground are distinctive acts, accompanied by the depositing of the dug-out soil as a shelter, wall or fence of the pit. This focus yields a new anthropological narrative approach to  sites such as Banpo, e.g. by describing the different ways of making the pits by perforating the surface of the ground and assembling the dug-out soil in different ways. In the case of the contemporary constructions, e.g. in the case of the sunken courtyard, the narrative of the (known) constructing procedure, segments the time in “pit episodes” associated to the social life of the specific community.

There certainly exist further action forms for the symbolic appropriation of yáodòng structures in a given community. In a documentary video film on Chinese puppet and shadow theatre players in Gansu Province, “Chinese shadows” (Kouwenhoven et al. 2007), puppet and shadow theatre groups organise evening performances in several villages. In each session the players and the musicians operate in an improvised shelter erected as an extension of a cliff-cave yáodòng, whereas the public is gathered in the courtyard in front of the yáodòng entrance, beyond the linen screen hanging at the edge of the shelter. In a scene during a shadow theatre session at the Chengqiyuan Village in Hedao, a young couple bring their 3–4 years old son with the purpose of participating in an exorcistic healing procedure intended to free the child from an alleged behaviour disability. At a certain moment, the couple shifts a rooster under the linen screen, and shortly thereafter the child himself. The camera follows the scene behind the screen where one of the players, as the play is going on, marks a sign on the child’s forehead with blood – presumably from the sacrificial rooster. It is not our goal to describe closer nor to analyse further the ritual action in relation to the specific shadow play, the musical performance, or the figures/scenes and their symbolic content in the (regional?) cultural tradition.1 The anthropological evidence demonstrates how the space installed through the yáodòng construction (including the courtyard) is enacted by ritual actions that create or

The focus on the social frame and the process of constructing a yáodòng as a materialisation of social space yields the link to the next anthropological approach. In his monumental treatise Science and Civilisation in China. Vol. 4, Part III, 28: Civil Engineering Joseph Needham has reproduced a historical drawing from a later copy of the Erh Ya, Chapter 2, p. 6b (Literary Expositor), a dictionary stabilised probably in the third century BC, enlarged and commented in ca. 300 CE. In this drawing a group of men are represented schematically during a process of constructing a wall using rammed (tamped) earth (pisé) (Needham 1971, 39, Figure 719). Two men are preparing the material, the other two are depicted ramming the material as it is filled in the wooden moulds. Comparing this illustration with a recent photograph by J.-P. Loubes (Loubes 1988, 45, Figure 8) depicting a similar procedure in a village in the region of Xi’an, Shaanxi Province, one can’t but notice the increased number of persons involved in the contemporary representation (seven instead of four, in a similar frame). This phenomenon of large social presence during works

I feel indebted to the sinologist Barend J. ter Haar, Universität Hamburg, for drawing my attention to the Chinese shadow play tradition and the specific video, as well as to the popular reception of the legendary figure of Guan Yu (ter Haar 2017).

1 

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Constantin Canavas reproduce social meaning. In this ritual performance the separation of different action spaces enacts the yáodòng proper in background/backstage and the shelter with the performing artists – the extension added outside the cliff cave – as a space of healing performance, whereas the screen surface separating the players and the musicians from the community of the spectators/participants in the courtyard functions as the enactment of the collective memory in the form of the performing shadow figures. It may be of additional interpretative relevance that the interviews and the video shootings documenting the designing and the construction steps of shadow figures made of cow-skin parchment were mostly filmed in cliff caves, the yáodòng workspace of the craftsmen, a space marked by the specific light-shadow opposition as this is created in the inner space of the yáodòng cavity. 

popular classifications (see e.g. sites named under these classifiers, such as: http://ignition.eg2.fr/2016/04/30/ ephemeral-buildings-perpetual-architecture-shanxiyaodong/).  How many people still live in yáodòng dwellings? The question is difficult to answer adequately. Loubes (1988) mentions over 30 million, after quoting the estimation of 20 million by Agence Presse France in 1982 and c. 40 million reported by the Chinese participants of a conference on earth architecture in Beijing in November 1985 (Loubes 1988, 11–12). There are many uncertainties related to these (or other, more recent) answers. One results from the ambiguous criteria used to identify the used yáodòng as dwellings. Should mixed forms of caves with extensions be also considered, even if the cave is subsequently abandoned? In many cases the old yaodong dwellings are not all registered as ‘houses’; they are just “caves” with no certificates of use, and that may also be why they are not maintained and preserved by some village authorities. In 1992 Golany reported that ‘construction of new pit cave dwellings was officially forbidden, and currently only above-ground structures are being approved as new dwellings. As a result, many farmers of the region today are constructing aboveground earth-sheltered habitats (yantu jianzhu) that have a vaulted adobe brick arch covered by a tile roof.’ (Golany 1992a, 51)

6. Contemporary perceptions and the heritage issue Expressing such a coherence of collective memory or collective experience regarding yáodòng does not necessarily correspond to the perception of yáodòng dwelling culture by an external observer. Abandoned caves and buildings, or yáodòng constructions not used for dwellings any more form an essential part of the yáodòng landscape in Shanxi and Shaanxi (Figure 4.3). From the perspective of interested visitors the guide words “abandonment” or “ephemeral buildings” have become

Figure 4.3. Cliff cave yáodòng with extension in northern Shaanxi, presumably out of dwelling use. Photograph by the author.

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Cutting in the Chinese Loess 7. Conclusions

Recently, new cave dwellings have been built in yáodòng style as annexes to the traditional ones that have been partially abandoned or adapted to the needs of modern dwelling (Genovese et al. 2019). Moreover, the vernacular character, as well as issues of environmental adaptation, thermal properties, and re-evaluation of earth-sheltered architecture have become focus of many recent studies and on-going local, national, and international projects – including projects of touristic development (see e.g. Cao 2013, Genovese et al. 2019). Following national and local law and regulations, a large number of projects intending to protect the value of built vernacular earthen heritage are initiated. In order to permit the people to continue living in the site (taking consideration of the changing social needs), however, rehabilitation works – eventually changing the architectural character or singular aspects of the yáodòng construction – are undertaken in several cases (Frenda 2016).

Whether dug-out or exteriorly constructed (built) – traditional yáodòng ensembles still continue to serve as living, working, or depositing space for millions of people in the People’s Republic of China, and – because of certain advantageous ecological features (e.g. thermal isolation) – they become increasingly a source of inspiration for modern constructions and large-scale projects. Beyond functional interpretations and ideological (pre) assumptions on the development of mankind, we followed anthropological approaches that regard pit dwellings as a manifold stage in the development of people’s attachment to the land. Constructing a rammed-earth wall, a loading of bricks etc. can be considered and analysed as an interaction process inside a given community – beyond merely functional (e.g. workload reducing) criteria. Questionings such as ‘how many workers are “necessary” for constructing a rammed-earth wall?’ rather indicate the influence of specific social factors in organising and symbolically connoting the digging and constructing actions. Analysing the aspect of social action opens the perspective for new modes of understanding e.g. the collective engagement of the community in the process of digging pits in the loess soil, or in the process of constructing rammed-earth walls from loess as mise-en-matière of collective memory. In this context the present study allows for several layers of significance of the bi-directional cutting act. Such layers may be related to (earlier) expressions of social interactions and social linkage, thus providing space for revealing symbolic relations between human actors and the various forms of cut soil.

Indeed, the heritage discourse concerning the Chinese yáodòng has several facets. Some yáodòng constructions, especially some belonging to the independent hoopedroof type (‘constructed caves’), are already part of ensembles listed by the UNESCO as tangible world heritage such as small, fortified towns, e.g. Pingyao, listed since 1997 (Bodolec 2005, 269). On the other hand, the collective memory mentioned above can be a very ambiguous issue in a specific historical context. The mainstream national Chinese narrative on yáodòng is connoted with the historical focus directed upon sites around Yan’an in Shaanxi, where the communist leaders under Mao Zedong had installed their headquarters and living spaces during the period 1935–1948 in local yáodòng (Golany 1992a, 52–53). This scenery constitutes currently a major touristic attraction in a region otherwise marked by coal mining.

Bibliography Anonymous. 1994/2001. Handbook of Xi’an. Xian: nc.

Tracing the relation between the yáodòng constructions and the historiography regarding traditional architecture in China, as well as considering tendencies and debates on conservation of traditional architectural examples, would open new horizons for our topic, but would certainly exceed the scope and the frame of the present study. The debates on ‘Chinese architecture’ or ‘architecture in China’ and the activities of preservation and conservation of traditional constructions have a long history and their own documentation (see e.g. Zhu 2012). They are marked by vivid ideological and political discourses and debates in China since the 1930s, and the intensification of such discourses in the turbulent periods 1950–1980. A major preoccupation of Chinese scholars such as Liu Dunzhen was to demonstrate that the architectural forms, including the yáodòng dwellings, are parts of a unique evolutionary movement that eventually constitutes what could or should be called Chinese architecture – a long and tumultuous debate that originated in the Republic period and was enhanced after 1949, a debate far beyond our scope, that couldn’t be unrolled in the limited space of this study.

Bailey, Doug. 2018. Breaking the Surface. An Art/ Archaeology of Prehistoric Architecture. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bodolec, Caroline. 2005. L’architecture en voûte chinoise – un patrimoine méconnu. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. Brosseau, Elodie, and Caroline Bodolec. 2012. Yaodong, petit traité de construction. (Video) Paris: EHESS. Cao, Yonghe. 2013. The Renovation of Traditional Cave Housing in China – New Ecological Design for Old Yaodong. Milano: Politecnico di Milano, Facolta di Architettura. Frenda, Antonino. 2016. “Earthen architecture in the agricultural heritage system: sustainable development, restoration and continuity of tradition”. Journal of Material and Environmental Science 7 (10): 3614–3622. Genovese, Laura, Roberta Varriale, Loredana Luvidi, and Fabio Fratini. 2019. “Italy and China Sharing Best Practices on the Sustainable Development of Small Underground Settlements”. Heritage 2: 813–825.

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Constantin Canavas Golany, Gideon. 1992a. Chinese earth-sheltered dwellings: indigenous lessons for modern urban design. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Golany, Gideon. 1992b. “Yachuan Village, Gansu, and Shimado Village, Shaanxi: Subteranean Villages”. In Chinese Landscapes: The Village as Place, ed. Ronald G. Knapp, 151–162. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Hou, Xueyuan and Yu Su. 1986. “Stability and indoor environment of loess cave dwellings”. Proceedings of the 2nd International Earth Sheltered Building Conference: Advances in Geotectural Design, 45–47. Minneapolis: nc. Knapp, Ronald G. (1990). The Chinese House: Craft, Symbol, and the Folk Tradition. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Kouwenhoven, Frank, Antoinet Schimmelpenninck, Roel Verhallen, Bernard Kleikamp, and Sunyi Chen. 2007. Chinese shadows: the amazing world of shadow puppetry in rural northwest China. (DVD-Video, PALFormat) Leiden: Pan Records. Liu, Dunzhen. 1980. La maison chinoise (translated from Chinese). Paris: Berger-Levrault. Loubes, Jean-Paul. 1988. Maisons creusées du Fleuve Jaune. L’architecture troglodytique en Chine. Paris: Créaphis. Loubes, Jean-Paul. 2003. Voyage dans la Chine des cavernes. Paris: Arthaud. Thomas, Julian. 1999. Understanding the Neolithic. London: Routledge. Needham, Joseph. 1971. Science and Civilisation in China. 4.3 (28). Civil Engineering; Hydraulic Engineering. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ter Haar, Barend. 2017. Guan Yu: The Religious Afterlife of a Failed Hero. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zhu, Guangya. 2012. “China’s architectural heritage conservation movement”. Frontiers of Architectural Research 1: 10–22.

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5 Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia): An Ethno-Archaeology of Stone Economy and Ritual Guillaume Robin1 and Ron Adams2 University of Edinburgh, UK Simon Fraser University, Canada 1

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Abstract: The Toraja people from South Sulawesi (Indonesia) are well known ethnographically for their elaborate funerary ceremonies and conspicuous kinship houses. Less attention has been given to their liang pa’ (‘cut tombs’) monuments, which are costly collective graves executed by specialised stone workers for noble families. This tradition in all likelihood started in the late 17th century and is still living today, which offers a unique opportunity for archaeologists to investigate its material, social, ritual and economic dimensions. This paper is based on recent ethno-archaeological fieldwork in Tana Toraja, combining site surveys and interviews with tomb owners, stone workers and ritual specialists. It describes the different steps involved in the complex process of creating a tomb, from reserving a location on a rock face, to the negotiation of the costs, organising and carrying out the cutting work, and the use of the extracted stone material for other purposes. The research shows how economic, technical and ritual considerations are intertwined throughout the process. Creating a rock-cut tomb in Tana Toraja is not just a technical enterprise: it is also an expression of traditional beliefs, of the ritual relationship between the Toraja and their landscape, and the social value of stone as a material associated with death and status. Keywords: ethno-archaeology, rock-cut tombs, Toraja, chaîne-opératoire, ritual. Introduction

ethno-archaeological studies have been dedicated to this type of construction. Toraja rock-cut tombs offer a unique opportunity to observe this peculiar architectural technique (creating a space within natural bedrock or boulders by extracting stone) and to investigate its relationships to traditional belief systems, death, the landscape, and social life. This is particularly valuable for archaeologists working on prehistoric rock-cut tombs, which are widely distributed in the Mediterranean, where they were used for collective burials during the Neolithic, the Chalcolithic and the Bronze Age (Melis 2000). Ethno-archaeological research on Toraja rock-cut tombs is not intended to resolve problems of Mediterranean Prehistory, but rather to provide unexpected perspectives and expand the way we think about this type of monument more broadly. This paper will focus on one specific aspect: the process of creating a rock-cut tomb in Tana Toraja, with a discussion of the technical and ritual practices associated with it, and its economic dimensions.

South-East Asia is known for its living traditions of ‘megalithic’ construction, ranging from burial chambers made of large stone slabs, as in the island of Sumba in Indonesia (Hoskins 1986; Adams and Kusumawati 2011), to standing stones used to commemorate feasts of merits in the Naga highlands (North-East India, Jacobs et al. 1990) or funeral feasts in Tana Toraja (Sulawasi, Indonesia, Crystal 1974). These ethnographic contexts and monument building traditions have attracted the attention of archaeologists working on Prehistoric stone monuments in Europe, who have sometimes used them as comparative models to reinterpret their own research contexts (Jeunesse et al. 2016). Such ethno-archaeological approaches have been done either indirectly (using anthropological literature) or directly, through enquiry in the field (e.g. Steimer-Herbet 2018; Jeunesse and Denaire 2018).  This paper is based on fieldwork carried out by the two authors in Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia) in June 2017, which focussed on the local tradition of liang pa’ (‘cut tomb’) monuments. Unlike ‘megalithic’ burial chambers and standing stones, which are very widespread in SouthEast Asia, living practices of rock-hewn monuments are only known in Tana Toraja, and comparatively few

1. Death, monuments and society in traditional Tana Toraja  Tana Toraja is the name of the traditional territory of the Toraja people. It is located in the southern part of the island of Sulawesi in Indonesia (Figure 5.1). The landscape of Tana Toraja is essentially composed of 49

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams

Figure 5.1. Location map of Tana Toraja in Indonesia (base map: https://freevectormaps.com). Figure created by the authors.

highlands combining volcanic and sedimentary rock formations, dotted with traditional hamlets and wet rice terraces. The Toraja culture is quite distinct from the rest of Sulawesi, with a particularly elaborate and hierarchical social structure, with different levels of nobles and commoners, and a social organisation based on house kinship (Waterson 2009). The Toraja people are famous for their conspicuous kinship houses (tongkonan) and their particularly elaborate funeral ceremonies which involve large gatherings, animal sacrifices and feasts. 

(see below) and a more systematic approach to rock-cut tombs, including surveys of multiple areas (rather than a few selected case studies), is needed. Death and the ancestors are central to Toraja social life and beliefs. A dead individual has the potential to become an ancestor who will look after the prosperity and fertility of their descendants, as long as respect is shown to them through regular rituals set by the traditional aluk to dolo religion (Waterson 2009). Funeral feasts are part of this practice, at the occasion of which commemorative standing stones (simbuang batu) are erected in dedicated ritual plazas (rante’) located close to settlements. Also key to the respect for the dead are their final resting places. There are several forms of tombs in Tana Toraja, traditionally reflecting different social statuses of the deceased. Historically, commoners were buried in simple coffins placed inside natural caves, while noble families gathered the bones of their dead in elaborate wood-carved sarcophagi (erong) hung high up in mountain cliffs. Erong graves, which were in use since the 12 century AD according to a recent radiocarbon dating programme (Duli 2015), were progressively replaced in the 17 century by rock-cut tombs (liang pa’) (Nooy-Palm 1979, 259). In flatland regions of Tana Toraja where natural rock faces are lacking, noble tombs were built in the form of a miniature tongkonan wooden house (tangdan or patane), which in modern times have been replaced by equivalent constructions made of concrete.

Toraja culture and society have been extensively studied ethnographically since the 1960s. Anthropological studies have focussed on Toraja social organisation (Waterson 1986; Bigalke 2005; Buijs 2006), worldviews and death rituals (Nooy-Palm 1979, 1986; Koubi 1982; Volkman 1985; Jannel and Lontcho 1992; Waterson 1993; Sandarupa 1997; Tsintjilonis 2000, 2007), oral traditions (Waterson 1997; Sandarupa 2016), or more recently on the impact of tourism (Adams 2006) or the financial crisis (de Jong 2013). Liang pa’ rock-cut tombs are frequently mentioned in that literature (most detailed accounts are: Wilcox 1949, 84–5; Nooy-Palm 1979, 259–61; Brisbois and Douvier 1980, 116–7; Koubi 1982, 193–6, 229–30; Crystal 1985, 141–3; Waterson 1990, 199–228), but they have never been the primary focus of anthropological research per se. A few ethno-archaeological studies have been initiated in the last 20 years in Tana Toraja (e.g. Adams 2004), and recent fieldwork research by Akin Duli (Duli 2015, 2018, Duli et al. 2019) and Christian Jeunesse (Jeunesse and Denaire 2018) dedicated to traditional burial sites has been particularly worthwhile at addressing this knowledge gap. However, specific questions are still to be addressed

th

th

In Tana Toraja, liang pa’ rock-cut tombs are normally grouped together in cemeteries and are excavated into limestone cliffs or volcanic boulders (Figure 5.2). Tombs 50

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia)

Figure 5.2. Liang pa’ rock-cut tombs in a limestone cliff in Lemo (top left) and in a volcanic boulder in Bori’ (top right); tongkonan houses in Karuaya (bottom). Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

death, and its relationship to social organisation, body transformations, architectural biographies, and landscape uses. In the present paper, we will focus on the process of creating these rock-cut tombs by specialised stone workers, and the social and ritual practices associated with such an enterprise.

are family graves used over generations (i.e. collective burials in an archaeological sense). Each tomb is associated to a specific tongkonan kinship house from the local village: only individuals belonging to that house’s kinship group have a right of burial in the tomb. The tongkonan and the rock-cut tomb are often referred to as a pair, and no tongkonan is really complete without its liang pa’ (Waterson 1995). Tombs are explicitly described as houses of the dead: they are called ‘houses with no smoke’ (banua tang merambu or tongkonan tang merambu) in ritual poetry, and cemeteries are conceptualised as villages of the dead (Koubi 1982, 193–6). Tombs are closed by a small wooden door or shutter, often decorated with a carved buffalo head motif (pa’tedong) similar to that found on tongkonan doors and window shutters (Robin 2017). Richer tombs have small wooden human effigies (tau-tau) exposed on a rock-cut balcony just next to the grave entrance. The effigies are intended to represent, and indeed presence, the ancestors who are constantly ‘watching’ the living and their actions (Nooy-Palm 1979, 261–4). 

2. Research questions and methodology The creation of liang pa’ is not, or only superficially, addressed in the specialised anthropological literature, and this was one aspect among others that we were interested in examining during our short fieldwork project in Tana Toraja in June 2017. More specifically, we were interested in clarifying five primary issues: • Tomb creation: when is a new rock-cut tomb needed and created? Does that happen only when a new tongkonan is created? Or can a family decide to build a second, new tomb if the old one is full? Are there any specific rituals associated with the creation of a rock-cut tomb? • Location choice: How does the local geology within a region influence the location, dimensions and morphology of rock-cut tombs? Within a village community area, or at the scale of a cemetery site, to what extent is the quality of the rock taken into account in these choices? Can one excavate a tomb anywhere

Liang pa’ rock-cut tombs are deeply embedded in Toraja’s cosmological worldviews and social life, the latter being intimately shared with the ancestors (Waterson 2009, 319). An ethno-archaeological study of these monuments offers many fascinating insights into the materiality of 51

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams in one’s community cemetery or is this the object of prior negotiation? Can rock faces within the cemetery be owned or reserved by individuals prior to the creation of a tomb? • Tomb morphology: What are the dimensions of a typical liang pa’? What variability is there in the size, architecture and decoration of the tombs across Tana Toraja? Are potential differences determined by wealth or social status of the tomb sponsors? What are the economic (costs) and social (status) implications of this variability? Can tombs be altered during their lifespan, for instance be recut to be expanded in order to accommodate more burial depositions? • Stone workers: who are the specialised workers cutting the tombs? Are they part of the village community (does each village have a ‘tomb maker’?) or are they from elsewhere? How are they paid and how much does it cost overall to create a rock-cut tomb? Are stone workers also responsible for the wooden doors that close the tombs or are these made by another category of artisans?  • Cutting work: what tools or technologies are used to cut the rock? How many workers are involved in the work? How is the work organised, and what are the main steps?

covers Tana Toraja and other areas of south and central Sulawesi (Polvé et al. 1996, 83; White et al. 2017, 75). Overlying this complex of igneous rock in many parts of Tana Toraja are the Makale Formation Reef Limestones, attributed to the Lower to Middle Miocene geological epochs (White et al. 2017, 75). This mixed geomorphology provides two main types of landscape settings pertaining to rock-cut tomb cemeteries in Tana Toraja: some tombs are found in a dramatic karst topography marked by steep white cliffs (Figure 5.2), others are cut in large erratic boulders or outcropping dark basalts and other rocks of magmatic origin (Figures 5.2, 5.3, 5.5, 5.10). Dozens of tombs can be concentrated on a single rock face, especially on large limestone cliffs, such as the dramatic cemeteries of Pana’ in Suloara’ (32 tombs), Lemo (c. 90 tombs), or Suaya in Bulian Massa’bu (seven tombs). In volcanic geomorphological contexts, conversely, tombs are generally more dispersed since large, exposed rock faces are less common. Tombs are cut into boulders that are scattered in the landscape, with generally only one tomb per boulder, sometimes up to five. In these cases, it is harder to define a well-delimited cemetery area since tombs are virtually everywhere in the landscape, around settlements and within rice fields (e.g. in Batutumonga, Buntu Lobo, Deri, Lempo, and Suloara’). A few of these volcanic boulders can be exceptionally large and therefore concentrate a large number of tombs, as in Lo’ko’ Mata in Tonga Riu (95 tombs on four faces). Certain areas with a concentration of boulders can be dedicated solely to burials with no habitations or other aspects of the living economy interspersed amongst them and can therefore be considered large landscape cemeteries, as in Bori’ (109 tombs) or Salu Liang (‘river of tombs’) in Kole Sawangan (c. 70 tombs).

Our methodology combined site surveys and interviews with local informants, reflecting traditional ethnoarchaeological practices (David and Kramer 2001). Our main objective was to visit as many traditional villages and burial sites as possible in order to collect a maximum of data. We worked with Toraja guides who facilitated access to areas and communication with local communities. During the 14 days of effective fieldwork, we visited cemetery sites in 21 areas (lembang), representing a total of c. 650 rock-cut tombs, from within a 15 km radius around our base in the town of Rantepao. We mainly used photographs and sometimes photogrammetry to record the tombs, in particular their decoration and (where possible) their internal spaces. The majority of the cemetery sites we visited included old and recent rock-cut tombs. Some of them were in the process of being cut (67 tombs in total, i.e. roughly 10 percent of the tombs), and by combining different site visits, we were able to document the different stages of progression in the cutting work of a traditional liang pa’. We also carried out semi-structured interviews with stone workers at tomb cutting sites in cemeteries in Bori’, Buntu Lobo, Lemo, Lempo, and Tonga Riu (Lo’ko’ Mata). Interviews were also conducted with tomb owners and sponsors, and ritual specialists (to minaa).

Liang pa’ rock-cut tombs have been created and used continuously in Tana Toraja probably since the 17th century (Nooy-Palm 1979, 259; Crystal 1985, 143; Waterson 1988, 37). This long-standing tradition is marked by permanency and conservatism: cemetery locations have been used over centuries (with tombs being added progressively) and the tombs themselves have kept the same design throughout this period (a rectangular entrance with a wooden door, leading to a single rectangular chamber used for collective primary inhumations). However, a diachronic archaeological approach reveals a few subtle changes in the history of this tradition, particularly in terms of tomb dimensions and decoration. Based on local information and field observations (including dates occasionally written on tomb doors), there appear to be two main types of rockcut tombs corresponding to two main periods. The older tombs (pre-dating the 1950–1960s) are smaller than the most recent ones, with a chamber c. 160–180 cm deep, c. 80–120 cm wide and high, and an entrance opening of typically 80x50 cm (Figure 5.3). The wooden door is often decorated with intricate abstract carvings, similar in style to that seen on old erong coffins (Duli 2015). In these old tombs, individual bodies were tightly

3. Anatomy of Toraja rock-cut tombs  South Sulawesi has a varied geology which influences the context and spatial organisation of rock-cut tomb cemeteries. The highlands of Tana Toraja contain mountain ranges that took shape during ancient volcanic activity that occurred between 150 and 15 million years ago. The resulting creation of magmatic rocks (basalt, ryolites, and gabbros) comprise the Lamasi geological complex which 52

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia) More recent tombs (1960s-today) are distinctively larger and present different styles of decoration and burial depositions. The typical entrance opening for these tombs measures 100x120 cm and is closed by a wooden door decorated in most instances with a buffalo head motif (pa’tedong – see Figure 5.9), or more rarely a sun motif (pa’barre allo), spiral leaves (pa’barana’), or a Christian cross. The burial chambers can be of different widths and heights, depending on the finances available to the sponsoring family (Table 5.1), but the depth has to be exactly 220 cm in all new tombs. This specific measurement is based on the standardised length of the ornately decorated wooden coffins (200 cm), which have become more frequently used as an alternative to traditional corpse-wrapping (mebalun), and which are placed in the longitudinal axis of the chamber. Some of these recent tombs display elaborate stone reliefs directly sculpted on the rock face adjacent to the tomb entrance. These reliefs include buffalo heads and horns, normally executed directly under the entrance of the tomb (see Figure 5.5), which can be considered equivalents to the wood-sculpted kabongo’ exposed on the front of tongkonan houses (Robin 2017), as well as human figures depicting the sponsor(s) of the tomb, which can be considered stony versions of the more traditional tau-tau wooden effigies. It is difficult to know to what extent the methods used to create rock-cut tombs have changed throughout the four centuries of this tradition. We have often been told that the emergence of liang pa’ in the 17th century corresponded to the introduction of metal tools in Tana Toraja, which made it possible to cut into the stone (Waterson 1988, 37). Metal tools are still used today (see below) and it is likely that methods have not changed drastically over the two main generations of tombs. The larger size and added stone sculpture characterising the more recent generation of tombs may correspond to some improvement in technologies, but are more likely related to the significant economic growth in Tana Toraja from the late 1960s onwards (Waterson 2009, 117–118), which has resulted in a rise in available finances to support increasing ceremonial expenditures and status display between competing house kinship groups (see Waterson 1988 for a similar statement regarding the recent evolution of tongkonan houses’ dimensions, roof style, and decorations). In the next sections, we focus on the different steps involved in the creation of a tomb, from identifying its location in a rock face, to cutting it out and consecrating it. The information, collected in 2017 from stone workers, is more relevant to the more recent generation of liang pa’, but several aspects, such as the ritual involved in the cutting process, are rooted in older traditional practices.

Figure 5.3. Plan, elevation and cross section of a typical liang pa’ recently excavated into a volcanic outcrop in Suloara’. The wooden doorway has not yet been placed. Note the presence of a small (older) tomb to the right and above the new tomb (photogrammetry and drawing: Guillaume Robin). Figure created by the authors.

wrapped in several layers of clothes, which is the traditional mebalun (‘to wrap’) body preparation (NooyPalm 1979, 280–2; Volkman 1985, 145–52). Such wrapped bodies can be seen today through decaying, crack open wooden doors of apparently abandoned tombs. Bodies were deposited without coffins, in a lying position with the feet near the entrance, and piled up over several burial episodes.

4. Finding and reserving a location on the rock face As mentioned above, each liang pa’ rock-cut tomb in Tana Toraja is associated with a specific tongkonan house (Waterson 1995) located in the vicinity of the cemetery. 53

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams Table 5.1. Data collected at ten rock-cut tombs in process of being cut in Tana Toraja Lembang

Cemetery

Dimensions (d/w/h) (m)

Work duration

Costs

Carver’s home

Lempo

Boulder 17

2.30 × 3.00 × 2.50 (17.25 m )

8 months

95 million IDR

Lempo

Lempo

Boulder 17

2.20 × 3.00 × 2.00 (13.20 m )

5.5 months

85 million IDR

Lempo

Lempo

Boulder 17

2.00 × 2.00 × 2.00 (8.00 m3)

2 months

55 million IDR

Lempo

Lempo

Boulder 18

2.20 × 3.00 × 2.20 (14.52 m3)

Not recorded

60 million IDR

Not recorded

Lempo

Boulder 18

2.20 × 2.00 × 2.00 (8.80 m3)

Not recorded

40 million IDR

Not recorded

Lempo

Boulder 18

2.20 × 3.00 × 2.00 (13.20 m3)

Not recorded

60 million IDR

Not recorded

Buntu Lobo Boulder 1

2.20 × 3.00 × 2.00 (13.20 m3)

5 months

100 million IDR

Buntu Lobo

Buntu Lobo Boulder 20

2.20 × 3.00 × 2.00 (13.20 m3)

6 months

70 million IDR + 300kg rice

Buntu Lobo

Not recorded

50 million IDR 

Tonga Riu

Not recorded

50 million IDR 

Tonga Riu

3

3

Tonga Riu

Lo’ko’ Mata Not recorded

Tonga Riu

Lo’ko’ Mata Not recorded

Lemo

Lemo B

2.00 × 4.00 × 2.00 (16.00 m ) + bench 3–4 months 3

Practically, one liang pa’ cannot be associated with two different tongkonan, but one tongkonan can have several liang pa’, for example if an old one is full. As far as we could gather (see also Jeunesse and Denaire 2018, 100), there are two main reasons for creating a new liang pa’ tomb: either the old tomb of a tongkonan is full; or a new family branch is created and a new tongkonan is founded, which requires the creation of its own liang pa’. However, with recent economic developments, wealthy individuals may also decide to create a new tomb solely for their own nuclear family for the sake of comfort rather than necessity. In any case, the project of creating a new tomb is sponsored and supervised by a senior member of the family who will be responsible for paying the stone workers carving out the tomb. Roxanna Waterson highlighted interesting parallels between founding a tongkonan and founding a liang pa’ tomb: 

110 million IDR + 200kg rice Riu (Tonga Riu)

the land of one particular kinship group (tongkonan Rante’ Bulaan). In the past, other tongkonan groups could use the cemetery if they had good relations with the kinship group that owned the land, with no need to pay them any fees to create a liang pa’. Nowadays, perhaps because available rock surfaces are becoming rare, only members of tongkonan Rante’ Bulaan can cut new tombs at Sele.  Other cemeteries seem to have retained their original ‘public’ character, being owned not by a specific tongkonan but by a community of several tongkonan. For instance, the cemetery of Batu Lappa’ in Buri’ has 14 tombs that belong to at least seven different tongkonan. In the past, tongkonan in the vicinity could come freely and create their liang pa’ where space was available on the rock face. However, rights have become more restricted recently, and only tongkonan who already have a tomb in Batu Lappa’ are permitted to cut a new liang pa’. 

‘Just as the founders of a tongkonan are remembered, so too is the maker of a liang. A house founder may be referred to as to mangraruk or to umpabendan, ‘the one who erected’, and the commissioner of a liang as to pa’pa’na, ‘the one who pierced’. Quite often a liang is known by the name of its maker; liangna Dondan, or ‘Dondan’s liang’, for example, refers not to any particularly famous ancestor buried in this grave but to its original maker’ (Waterson 1995, 207).

The specific location of the new tomb within a rock face is also a matter of careful consideration and negotiations. The sponsor of the tomb will ask the advice of an experienced stone cutter who has the knowledge to identify a good location for cutting a liang pa’, based on the quality of the rock. Traditionally, if the selected rock face or boulder had never been cut for a tomb before, the sponsor would need to ask permission from the deities of the natural world. To do so, a kamboja plant is transplanted in the ground in front of the proposed liang pa’ location. If the plant does not sprout flowers or branches after three days, then it is considered to be a message from nature that the project should not be permitted to proceed and that another location must be sought.

Once the decision to make a new tomb is made, one needs to select an appropriate location. The main factors here are natural geology and land ownership. In mountainous areas north of Rantepao, where small volcanic rock boulders are scattered across rice fields, landowners can simply select a boulder on their property (as long as it respects a certain distance from houses). In the case of communal cemeteries on large rock faces, with multiple kinship tombs, rock ownership is less clear and traditional rights have sometimes changed over time. For instance, the cemetery of Sele in Suloara’ (35 tombs belonging to at least eight different tongkonan) is on

It is possible for a sponsor to reserve a spot on a rock face in advance of the cutting work. This process is called ma’suri (‘to reserve’) and is made by a professional stone cutter (not necessarily the same one that will be hired to cut out the tomb) for a cost of c. 200,000–300,000 IDR (c. 14–20 euros). 54

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia)

Figure 5.4. Marks created on rock faces to reserve tomb locations: a rectangular carving (Lemo) and painted squares (Deri), which correspond to the entrance opening of the future tombs. Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

only paid in cash nowadays, with food stuff provided to the workers as an additional expense (rice to cook and eat while working). A typical tomb costs 60 million IDR (4,000 euros) but this figure can vary according to the dimensions of the chamber, the hardness of the rock, and the distance between the worksite and the home of the workers (Table 5.1).

This consists of creating a mark that corresponds to the outline of the future entrance opening of the tomb. Different techniques have been observed: carving out a shallow rectangular surface, or two vertical parallel lines, or painting a rectangle (Figure 5.4). Such a ‘reservation’ is usually for a long, undetermined time, often several years. In some cases, reserved spots never end up getting used at all. We noted one in the old cemetery of Pana’ in Suloara’: this cemetery was abandoned several generations ago and nobody will use the remaining unused reserved spot there in the future. The tomb sponsor may not have been able to assemble the finances to build the liang pa’ there or may have decided to relocate it to the newer cemetery located 100 m away (Sele).

A minority of tombs have additional features which involve extra expenses. For instance, some sponsors require an upper recess or bench to be cut into the back wall or a side wall of the chamber. This extra space is reserved for their own body exclusively, so it does not get crushed by stacked wrapped bodies or coffins of other family members to be deposited progressively in the main chamber by future generations. We estimate the extra cost for this space to be 20–40 million IDR. A buffalo head sculpted underneath a tomb entrance in Bori’ cost 10 million IDR and took three months to be completed (Figure 5.5). The wooden doors that close liang pa’ tombs are made by specialised wood carvers and represent a separate expense.

5. The stone workers: costs, workspaces, tools and roles Liang pa’ are cut by stone workers specialising in tomb carving and standing stone (simbuang batu) quarrying. Costs to create a rock-cut tomb are negotiated months or years in advance of the project. Traditionally, and until recently, stone workers were paid in buffaloes, and up to 7 of them were paid for one tomb, which corresponded to a cash value of 42 to 59 million IDR in 2000 (Waterson 2009, 409; Duli 2018, 44). According to our own information collected in 2017 at ten worksites, stone workers are

When tomb cutting work commences, the crew of stone workers creates a temporary settlement in front of the rock face (Figure 5.6). This includes a shelter made of bamboo and leaves for their workshop (a small hearth to sharpen 55

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams

Figure 5.5. Kabongo’ buffalo head relief sculpted on the rock face underneath the entrance of a liang pa’ in Bori’. Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

metal picks), kitchen and sleeping area, a garden to grow chillies and vegetables to be cooked and eaten with rice, and an open-air bathroom area enclosed by vertical tarpaulins. If distant from home, workers sleep overnight in the shelter. 

there are no set cutting seasons or particular religious prohibitions imposing break periods.

Cutting a liang pa’ requires an experienced know-how that is normally transmitted from father to son, or another male member of the same family. Apprentices start to learn at a very young age and are paid in rice; they become fully-fledged stone cutters at the age of c. 20. Workers use iron pick tools with a hammer (indirect percussion) (Figure 5.7). Shorter picks are used for delicate and accurate work, such as cutting out the entrance doorway. Longer picks are used for rougher stone extraction work, for instance when hollowing out the chamber space. When cutting one tomb, workers are usually organised in a crew of three with specific roles and tasks taken in rotation: one is cutting the stone, the second is hauling out stone blocks that were cut from the interior of the tomb, and the third worker is resting, cooking or sharpening tools (Figure 5.7). Work payment is shared equally among the crew, and there does not seem to be any specific hierarchy, although senior stone workers can sometimes have more strategic roles, in particular liaising with tomb sponsors and sometimes sub-contracting cutting work to other, more junior, crews. Tomb cutting work can happen throughout the year;

Toraja rock-cut tombs are relatively simple underground structures, with an entrance opening and a single rectangular chamber with plain flat walls and ceiling. Nevertheless, the actual cutting work to create them is not a single, straightforward process. This process involves a sequence of distinct, well-defined steps, each having a specific name and requiring a dedicated ritual. Such a complex chaîne-opératoire must be considered not only as a process of ‘building’, but also as a process of progressive negotiation between the carvers and the deities of the natural world (deata – Waterson 2009, 141). Cutting a tomb is an intrusive action that alters the rock, opens up and penetrates into the mineral world, and therefore creates a disturbance that can be taken as an offense if appropriate rituals are not carried out as a compensation. Indeed, if the deities are not happy with this intrusion and disorder, they can provoke a failure in the cutting process, such as a crack in the rock, or water infiltrating the rock in a way that will make the tomb unusable. In order to ensure its success, the cutting work is carefully divided into a series of technical steps, to

6. Cutting out the tomb: a technical and ritual chaîne-opératoire

56

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia)

Figure 5.6. A liang pa’ worksite in Suloara’, with temporary living and work facilities installed by the stone workers. Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

57

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams

Figure 5.7. Cutting work in progress at a liang pa’ cemetery in Lemo: view of the worksite with extracted stone blocks and bamboo shelter for the workers (top); completion of the entrance area with a short metal pick (bottom left) and of the chamber interior with a long metal pick (bottom right). Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

which a specific ritual intended for the deities of nature is attached, and which involves the sacrifice of an animal. In general, the stone cutting crew slaughters the sacrificed animal, although the sponsoring family also attends and eats meat and rice (and provides the animals and rice for the rituals). The function of these sacrifices is to thank the

deities to have allowed humans to carry out the intrusive cutting work into the rock. This process culminates with the consecration of the tomb. Note that a similar sequence of rituals marks the phased construction of traditional tongkonan houses in Tana Toraja (Nooy-Palm 1979, 244–52; Koubi 1982, 195). 58

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia) Table 5.2. Sequence of cutting work Step and ritual name

Stone cutting activities

Ritual activities

1

Asking permission to nature

None

Branch of kamboja, dog sacrifice

2

Ma’suri (‘to reserve’)

Tomb entrance location inscribed on the rock face

None

3

Start of cutting work

Entrance doorway

Dog sacrifice

4

Ma’siku (‘elbow’)

Anterior corners of chamber

Chicken, pig or dog sacrifice

5

Ma’parampo (‘to arrive at destination’)

Back corners of chamber

Chicken, pig or dog sacrifice

6

Ma’rinding (‘wall’)

Completion of the side and back walls

Chicken, pig or dog sacrifice

7

Ma’bubung (‘roof’)

Completion of the ceiling

Pig sacrifice

8

Ma’sali (‘floor’)

Completion of the floor

Pig sacrifice

9

Di tutui (‘to make a door’)

Wooden door fastened to entrance doorway

Dog sacrifice

10

Massabu (‘to consecrate/inaugurate’), with mangrara (‘to anoint with blood’) 

None

Pig sacrifice, chicken blood splattered inside tomb

to the elevated floor that is laid beneath ricebarns (alang), and which is often used as a social space to meet and drink coffee, or to the central room of the tongkonan (Nooy-Palm 1979, 252–4, 276). The final step in constructing a liang pa’ tomb is the placement and fastening of the wooden door (Figure 5.9). This is celebrated with a ritual called di tutui (‘to make a door’) and which involves a dog sacrifice.

The sequence of cutting work and rituals (Table 5.2, Figure 5.8) was explained to us by Pak Saipan, a senior stone worker we met in Bori’. At the start of the process, a dog is killed by the work crew just prior to commencing work. Pak Saipan’s crew had killed and eaten a dog just prior to beginning their work a few days before our visit, and banana leaves were still lying around outside the entrance of the liang pa’ that would have been used as plates for the dog meat eaten for the small feast. The first step consists of cutting the entrance doorway, which is the most difficult and time-consuming part of the entire process. The next ritual is called ma’siku (from siku, ‘elbow’ in Torajan) for which a chicken or pig is killed and eaten. This ritual is held when the cutting crew establishes the front corners (near the door) of the liang pa’, for which workers traditionally use their elbow to set the meeting walls at the right angle. In the past, women could not eat the meat served at a ma’siku, as it could lead to problems with a future pregnancy. This restriction does not apply to the other rituals performed in the process of cutting a liang pa’. When the crew subsequently establishes the corners in the rear of the chamber, they hold a ritual called ma’parampo, which can be translated as ‘to arrive where you are intending to arrive’. The ritual involves the slaughter and eating of a chicken or a dog.

7. Consecration of the tomb Torajan tombs can be completed several months or years before they are eventually used for the interment of the deceased. During this interval between tomb completion and interment, they are normally left open, which conveniently allowed us to observe and record several tomb interiors during our visit in 2017. At this stage, tombs are not considered as sacred spaces, they are only lo’ko, simple ‘holes’ in the rock. It is only after the consecration ceremony that they become proper liang (‘tombs’), prohibited spaces that can only be open and visited at rare ceremonial occasions.  The tomb consecration is called massabu (‘to consecrate, to inaugurate’), a ceremony at which a pig is killed and eaten to give thanks to nature for allowing a successful liang pa’ construction. We observed this celebration in Lempo, which was attended by c. 20 people from the family of the tomb sponsor. The stone workers were not present on this occasion, but a female Christian minister joined for a short time and performed a sermon in front of the liang pa’. She led everyone in prayer in hopes that the good spirit in the liang pa’ would help the dead ancestors and the living family. She gave thanks to the family for hosting the event and to the carvers for creating the tomb. She prayed for the good health of the family of the deceased as well. In the meantime, a small pig had been brought to the location of the tomb, slaughtered, butchered and cooked in bamboo cylinders (pa’piong), and served on banana leaves. 

Ma’rinding (‘to make the wall’) is the ritual held once the walls between the four corners of the chamber are straightened and completed. It involves again the killing and eating of a chicken or a pig. The subsequent step is the straightening of the ceiling surface of the chamber: this is marked by a ritual called ma’bubung (from bubung, ‘roof ridge’), which is also performed after the completion of the roof of a tongkonan house (Nooy-Palm 1979, 244; Waterson 1990, 127–9). This requires a pig sacrifice. Then, the chamber floor surface is levelled and completed, which represents the last stone cutting work for the tomb. The dedicated ritual for this step involves the sacrifice of one or several pigs that are eaten in a small feast referred to as ma’sali (or massali, ‘to lay out the floor’ – Nooy-Palm 1986, 66). The meaning of the word sali was not clear to our informant but in a broader Torajan context it refers either

After the small feast, and as part of the whole massabu ceremony, a mangrara (‘to anoint with blood’) ritual 59

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams

Figure 5.8. Sequence of cutting work for creating a liang pa’ rock-cut tomb (drawing: Guillaume Robin). Figure created by the authors.

60

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia)

Figure 5.9. Installation of a wooden door (di tutui, ‘to make a door’) on a tomb at Lempo. Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

was held to mark the actual act of consecrating the tomb. This ritual is also celebrated to consecrate newly-built tongkonan houses (mangrara banua), although under a more elaborate form (Nooy-Palm 1979, 248–50; Waterson 2009, 195–200). At Lempo, a living rooster was brought to the liang pa’ to be consecrated; a small cut was made on its neck, and the animal was promptly held inside the tomb chamber and shook firmly in order to splatter blood on the interior walls and threshold. The normal procedure is to cut, but not kill, the rooster: after the incision, the rooster we observed appeared largely unharmed and went about its business. 

subsequent cutting work, such as an extension of the chamber or the addition of a carved buffalo head. The tomb becomes ‘petrified’ and can no longer be altered. This does not mean that tomb extensions never happen, but they are very rare and must be completed prior to consecration. In Bori’, we observed a liang pa’ that was originally completed 23 years prior to our 2017 visit but had remained vacant since then and had not yet been consecrated; its sponsor decided to expand its depth by an additional two meters and paid 50 million IDR for the cutting work (which was in progress during our visit).

The massabu ceremony is typically held soon before a body is to be deposited in the tomb. We witnessed the placement of the body in the tomb in Lempo nine days after the massabu, on the third day of the funeral feast. The placement of the wrapped body in the rockcut chamber (Figure 5.10) and the subsequent closure of the tomb door were carried out rather promptly, with no particular ceremonial protocol. This was in marked contrast to the slow sequence of dramatic rituals that had preceded (including the procession of the sarigan palanquin from the house to the cemetery – Nooy-Palm 1979, 261).

8. Construction failures and abandonments During our survey of liang pa’ cemeteries, we observed several instances of tombs for which the cutting work had been interrupted halfway through and left incomplete for several years. Such uncompleted tombs are typically the result of two primary circumstances: 1) during the cutting, the workers determine that the selected rock is of poor structural quality or is affected by infiltrating water (this can be most common in karst contexts around Rantepao) causing the project to be abandoned indefinitely and 2) the family sponsoring the work runs short of resources during the course of the cutting work and is no longer able to pay the stone carvers, in which case the project can be suspended provisionally for years or decades, or completely abandoned.

The consecration of the tomb definitively marks the end of its construction process. Once a massabu ceremony has been performed, it is no longer possible to do any 61

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams

Figure 5.10. Placement of a wrapped corpse into a liang pa’, concluding step of a three-day-long funeral at Lempo. Here the newly-created tomb was used for the first time. Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

We also observed vestiges of cutting failures. We were told that tomb carving work may be stopped as a result of an incident during the cutting process, typically a break in the rock originating from the cutting work itself (possibly facilitated by pre-existing weaknesses in the rock structure), causing a large part of the tomb to break off the rock face and fall to the ground, an example of which we saw in Bori’. Other rock-cut tombs that had been fractured into multiple pieces at Salu Liang and Batu Lappa’ cemeteries were described to us as having been struck by lightning. 

Unfortunately, we were not able to interview stone workers or sponsors that had experience with such cutting failures. Considering all the ritual precautions involved in creating a liang pa’, it would be interesting to know how these failures are interpreted (e.g. as results of rituals unsatisfactorily conducted, or as manifestations of disagreements from the ancestors or nature deities), whether they are considered as pollution (potentially impacting the social reputation of the sponsor), and whether specific rituals were carried out subsequently.  62

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia)

Figure 5.11. Woman collecting stone chips at a liang pa’ worksite in Bori’ (top); field retaining wall in Suloara’, built from stone blocks that were extracted during the cutting of the tomb visible in the background (bottom). Photographs: Guillaume Robin.

9. Tomb worksites as stone quarries 

(Figure 5.2, Figure 5.7). But the majority of the material is simply disregarded by the workers and can be taken away by members of local communities to be used at villages or in the fields. People do not need to pay or to be related to the family sponsoring the stone cutting in order to take this material. The extracted material can serve different purposes: polygonal blocks can consolidate terraces or retaining walls in rice paddies or banks of streams; small stone chips are typically collected to be spread over mud in hamlet courtyards or access paths (Figure 5.11).

Unlike most examples of stone monument construction, creating a rock-cut tomb is a subtractive process rather than an additive one. Undesirable stone material is detached and removed from the rock in order to create the tomb interior space. What is the fate of this unwanted material? In several instances, the extracted stone material was used at the front of the tomb by the stone workers in order to create a platform facilitating access to the tomb entrance area 63

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams This practice of collecting stone from tomb worksites is tolerated while the tomb building is occurring. However, once tombs are consecrated, removing the extracted stone material is no longer permitted, even if the stone is simply lying in front of the tomb without serving any purposes. The efficiency of the consecration, therefore, is extended beyond the tomb itself to its extracted fragments.

in Tana Toraja (probably originating in the 17th century) that is still very active today and is considered the most expensive and prestigious form of burial, more valued, for example, than modern concrete house-tombs (patane) that have become popular in the last few decades as a more economical and convenient alternative. Interestingly, the status of rock material associated with tombs is transformed throughout the process of creating and completing the tomb. After its consecration, the tomb itself moves from the status of a simple hole (lo’ko’) to that of a sacred burial space (liang); and the stone extracted during the process moves from the status of free refuse material to that of untouchable extensions of the sacred tomb.

10. Conclusion Our short visit in Tana Toraja in June 2017 has allowed us to learn many aspects of the place of liang pa’ rock-cut tombs in social life, death, and land use. Here we focussed on the process of creating these tombs, which has been overlooked in previous studies to date. The primary insight we gained from this work relates to the complexity of the process of creating liang pa’, despite the simplicity of the standard architecture of the tombs, which involves a series of both technical and ritual activities that are tightly tied together. The enterprise is not only one involving stone cutting, but also a permanent negotiation with the deities of nature. As a consequence, workers are not only responsible for cutting the stone, but also for conducting small rituals. 

Acknowledgements: The fieldwork project was funded by the Challenge Investment Fund, University of Edinburgh. We are grateful to our Torajan guides Amos Palungan and Samuel Palangda’, and to Dimitri Tsintjilonis and Roxanna Waterson for useful discussions and help in preparing the fieldwork. Bibliography Adams, Kathleen M. 2006. Art as Politics: Re-crafting Identities, Tourism, and Power in Tana Toraja, Indonesia. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

Second, tomb cutting has a noteworthy economic dimension, not only for the parties directly concerned (sponsors and stone workers negotiating cutting costs) but also for local communities: for them, tomb worksites are also small stone quarries that can be used freely to obtain convenient stone blocks and chips to improve (rather than to really build) areas of their domestic structures and rice fields.

Adams, Ron L. 2004. “An ethnoarchaeological study of feasting in Sulawesi, Indonesia”. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 26 (1): 56–78. Adams, Ron L., and Ayu Kusumawati. 2011. “The social life of tombs in West Sumba, Indonesia”. In Residential burial: a multiregional exploration, eds. Ron L. Adams and Stacie M. King, 17–32. Arlington (Virginia): American Anthropological Association.

Our research has also highlighted the long-noted conceptual connections between houses of the living (tongkonan) and tombs as houses of the dead (tongkonan tang merambu). This close connection is not materialised in the formal aspect of the tomb, apart from the decoration of the wooden door (pa’tedong motifs) and rare sculpted buffalo heads (kabongo’), which replicate tongkonan decorations (Waterson 1988). In contrast, the simplicity of the stone chamber and of the tomb exterior differs markedly from the conspicuous architecture of the kinship houses with which they are paired (see Figure 5.2). The connection between the tombs and the houses is nevertheless very explicit in many ways, and this article demonstrates how this is achieved through ritual terminology marking the cutting steps, which directly reference house building rituals.

Bigalke, Terence W. 2005. Tana Toraja: a social history of an Indonesian people. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Brisbois, Éléonore, and Francine Douvier. 1980. Les Toradja de Célèbes (Indonésie). Paris: Hachette. Buijs, Kees. 2006. Powers of blessing from the wilderness and from heaven: structure and transformations in the religion of the Toraja in the Mamasa area of South Sulawesi. Leiden: KITLV Press. Crystal, Eric. 1974. “Man and the menhir: contemporary megalithic practice of the Sa’dan Toraja of Sulawesi, Indonesia”. In Ethnoarchaeology, eds. Christopher B. Donnan and C.William Clewlow Jr., 117–128. Los Angeles: Institute of Archaeology, University of California Los Angeles.

Finally, we hope that this article contributes to the study of stone, and its particular social status and value in Tana Toraja. According to traditional religion (aluk to dolo), mythical ancestors of Toraja people originated from the mineral world. Being buried in stone is like returning to these origins. Stone, as opposed to other materials, such as wood, is associated with the origins, the ancestors, permanency and immortality (Waterson 2009, 130-1). Stone is used for standing stones (simbuang batu) that commemorate large funeral feasts. It is also the preferred material for burials, namely rock-cut tombs, which represent an old tradition

Crystal, Eric. 1985. “The soul that is seen: the tau tau shadow of death, reflection of life in Toraja tradition”. In The eloquent dead : ancestral sculpture of Indonesia and southeast Asia, ed. Jerome Feldman, 129–146. Los Angeles (California): UCLA Museum of Cultural History. David, Nicholas and Carol Kramer. 2001. Ethnoarchaelogy in action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 64

Creating a Rock-Cut Tomb in Traditional Tana Toraja (Sulawesi, Indonesia) Nooy-Palm, Hetty. 1979. The Sa’dan-Toraja: a study of their social life and religion. 1: organization, symbols and beliefs. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff.

Duli, Akin. 2015. “Typology and chronology of erong wooden coffins in Tana Toraja, South Celebes”. Time and Mind: The Journal of Archaeology, Consciousness, and Culture 8 (1): 3–20.

Nooy-Palm, Hetty. 1986. The Sa’dan-Toraja: a study of their social life and religion. 2: rituals of the East and West. Dordrecht: Foris.

Duli, Akin. 2018. “The roles of liang sites in the settlement system of the Torajan community”. In Selected Topics on Archaeology, History and Culture in the Malay World, eds. Mohd Rohaizat Abdul Wahab, Ros Mahwati Ahmad Zakaria, Muhlis Hadrawi, and Zuliskandar Ramli, 39–53. Singapore: Springer.

Polvé, Mireille, René C. Maury, Hervé Bellon, Claude Rangin, Bambang Priadi, Sulistio Yuwono, Jean-Louis Joron, and Rubini Soeria Atmadja. 1997. “Magmatic evolution of Sulawesi (Indonesia): constraints on the Cenozoic geodynamic history of the Sundaland active margin”. Tectonophysics 272: 69–72.

Duli, Akin, Rosmawati, Muhammad Nur, Stephen Chia, and Zuliskandar Ramli. 2019. “Archaeological study about burial tradition of Toraja ethnic, South Sulawesi, Indonesia”. In Proceeding of the 13th International Conference on Malaysia-Indonesia Relations (PAHMI). Contributions of Humanities and Social Sciences on the Direction of Malay Studies in the Era of Industry 4.0. August 21–24, 2019, Padang, West Sumatra, Indonesia, ed. Aslinda Sawirman Handoko, 1–9. Berlin: Sciendo.

Robin, Guillaume. 2017. “What are bucrania doing in tombs? Art and agency in Neolithic Sardinia and traditional South-East Asia”. European Journal of Archaeology 20 (4): 603–635. Sandarupa, Stanislaus. 1997. Life and death in Toraja. Ujung Padang: PT Torindo. Sandarupa, Stanislaus. 2016. “ ‘The Voice of a Child’: constructing a moral community through retteng poetic argumentation in Toraja”. Archipel 91, 231–258.

Hoskins, Janet A. 1986. “So my name shall live: stone dragging and grave-building in Kodi, west Sumba”. Bijdragen tot de Taal-Land-en Volkenkunde 142 (1): 31–51.

Steimer-Herbet, Tara. 2018. Indonesian megaliths: a forgotten cultural heritage. Oxford: Archaeopress.

Jacobs, Julian, Alan Macfarlane, Sarah Harrison, and Anita Herle. 1990. The Nagas: hill peoples of Northeast India: society, culture and the colonial encounter. London: Thames & Hudson.

Tsintjilonis, Dimitri. 2000. “Death and the sacrifice of signs: “measuring” the dead in Tana Toraja”. Oceania 71 (1): 1–17.

Jannel, Claude, and Frédéric Lontcho. 1992. Les Toradjas d’Indonésie: laissez venir ceux qui pleurent. Paris: Armand Colin.

Tsintjilonis, Dimitri. 2007. “The death-bearing sense in Tana Toraja”. Ethnos Journal of Anthropology 72 (2): 173–94.

Jeunesse, Christian, and Anthony Denaire. 2018. “Current collective graves in the Austronesian world: a few remarks about Sumba and Sulawesi (Indonesia)”. In Gathered in death: archaeological and ethnological perspectives on collective burial and social organization, eds. Aurore Schmitt, Sylviane Déderix, and Isabelle Crevecoeur, 85–105. Louvain: Presses Universitaires de Louvain.

Volkman, Toby A. 1985. Feasts of honor: ritual and change in the Toraja highlands. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Waterson, Roxana. 1986. “The ideology and terminology of kinship among the Sa’dan Toraja”. Bijdragen tot Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 142 (1): 87–112. Waterson, Roxana. 1988. “The house and the world: the symbolism of Sa’dan Toraja house carvings”. RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 15: 34–60.

Jeunesse, Christian, Pierre Le Roux, and Bruno Boulestin, eds. 2016. Mégalithisme vivants et passés: approches croisées / Living and past megalithisms: interwoven approaches. Oxford: Archaeopress.

Waterson, Roxana. 1990. The living house: an anthropology of architecture in South-East Asia. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Jong de, Edwin Bernardus Paulus. 2013. Making a living between crises and ceremonies in Tana Toraja: the practice of everyday life of a South Sulawesi highland community in Indonesia. Leiden and Boston: Brill.

Waterson, Roxana. 1993. “Taking the place of sorrow: the dynamics of mortuary rites among the Sa’dan Toraja”. Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science 21 (2): 73–96.

Koubi, Jeannine. 1982. Rambu solo: la fumée descend: le culte des morts chez les Toradja du Sud. Paris: CNRS.

Waterson, Roxana. 1995. “Houses, graves and the limits of kinship groupings among the Sa’dan Toraja”. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 151 (2): 194–217.

Kruyt, A.C. 1924. “De Toradja’s van de Sa’dan, Masoepoeen Mamasa-rivieren”. Tijdschrift voor Indische taal-, land-, en volkenkunde 63: 81–175.

Waterson, Roxana. 1997. “The contested landscapes of myth and history in Tana Toraja”. In The poetic power of place: comparative perspectives on Austronesian ideas of locality, ed. James J. Fox, 63–88. Canberra: Australian National University Press.

Melis, Maria Grazia, ed. 2000. L’ipogeismo nel mediterraneo. Origini, sviluppo, quadri culturali. Atti del Congresso Internazionale (Sassari-Oristano, 23–28 maggio 1994). Sassari: Università degli Studi di Sassari. 65

Guillaume Robin and Ron Adams Waterson, Roxana. 2009. Paths and rivers: Sa’dan Toraja society in transition. Leiden: KITLV Press. White, Lloyd T., Robert Hall, Richard A. Armstrong, Anthony J. Barber, Marcelle BouDagher Fadel, Alan Baxter, Koji Wakita, Christina Manning, and Joko Soesilo. 2017. “The geological history of Latimojong Region of Western Sulawesi, Indonesia”. Journal of Asian Earth Sciences 138: 72–91. Wilcox, Harry. 1949. White stranger, six moons in Celebes. London: Collins.

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6 A Rock-Cut Landscape By the Sea: Myrina Kastro in Prehistory and Antiquity (Lemnos Island, North Aegean Sea, Greece) Christina Marangou Independent researcher, Athens, Greece Abstract: Surface and sub-surface research on rock-cut features and related mobile finds at Kastro, a hilly peninsula that delimits the present main port of Myrina (Lemnos Island, North Aegean Sea), has revealed vestiges dating from various phases, at least since the Bronze Age to the Hellenistic period, in several extended areas.  During these stages, human action has influenced the landscape, which, at the same time, has guided choices of natural forms and spaces and triggered ways of action. A variety of combined artificial rock-cut features and rock-art appear to have both symbolic and utilitarian components, concerns and purposes. They reveal a complex rocky landscape, entailing an elaborate artificial system of space occupation, including intercommunicating carved features.  According to the current stage of ongoing research, besides other aspects, the Kastro rock-cut site would have also implicated intricate maritime facets and connections, as well as a possible female factor, congregating at a transitional place, where sea and rocks meet.  Keywords: Aegean Sea, maritime cultural landscapes, rock-cut features, late prehistory, antiquity. Introduction

Service, the Local Council for the Monuments of the Islands and the Greek Ministry of Culture, consists of fieldwork with surface surveying and recording, including photogrammetry and topography, as well as the study of mobile finds resulting from subsurface investigations (2002–2007) related to selected rock-cut features. Radiochronology, anthracological and metallurgical analyses and the study of portable artefacts and organic residues are currently in progress, with the contribution of specialist collaborators. 

The Kastro hilly peninsula is situated on the western coast of Lemnos Island, in the Northern Aegean Sea, bordering the present main port of its capital, Myrina, from the North (Figure 6.1). The rocky headland consists mainly of lava domes, most rocks being of dacite to trachydacite composition of the Lower Miocene (Anonymous 1993; Pe-Piper et al. 2009, 41; Fornadel et al. 2012, 89) and its maximum height is about 116 meters above present sea level (Admiralty Chart 1998, nr. 1636). Besides relics of successive occupation in Medieval and post-Medieval periods – a Byzantine, Ottoman, Venetian and Genovese castle, comprising important buildings and impressive walls (Hellenic Ministry of Culture 1999, 56–57) – earlier remains are also attested on Kastro. Despite destruction due to later activities involving subsequent modifications, several sectors of the headland still bear numerous vestiges of carved locations: the Kastro volcanic milieu had been transformed into ensembles of rock-cut features in extended areas, on various altitudes. The Kastro rocks are covered with lichens, with as a consequence the variability and irregularity of colours, which, added to their roughness, hampers the efforts to distinguish and identify the rock-cut structures, even when above the present surface. Erosion and anthropogenic destruction further intensify this problem.

Until now, the study of surface and subsurface data point towards dating the features at least from the Bronze Age to the Hellenistic period, without excluding a larger time span. Diachronic uses may be attested in certain areas, although they are not necessarily constant, nor generalized, while there is evidence for occupation during restricted specific periods preferentially in some zones. While attempting to explore broad chronological stages and/or cultural affinities, the study endeavours to classify various types of features and investigate their mutual relations, suggesting hypotheses about their potential uses and conceivable meanings – either every day and profane, or symbolic.  According to ongoing research, besides other functions, the Kastro rock-cut landscape should also involve intricate maritime facets and connections, as well as a possible female bias, congregating at a transitional place,

The on-going research on Kastro rock-cut features and rock-art, with a permit by the Greek Archaeological 67

Christina Marangou

Figure 6.1. General view of the Kastro peninsula and Myrina from the main island (from the North-East). Photograph by the author.

close to the seacoast, among carved rocks. The present paper, based on work in progress, focuses on the brief presentation of a general overview and categorization of the features, often on the surface, while it takes account of some interpretation perspectives for the numerous questions about their significance and purposes. 1. A rock-cut landscape  During the early occupation, in the course of successive phases of prehistory and antiquity, human action has influenced the rocky landscape, while, at the same time, the topography seems to have guided choices of natural forms and spaces and prompted courses of action. Selected outcrops and other natural rocks in the environment were carved into a variety of artificial constructions, such as rock-cut walls, channels, steps, ramps, angled structures, cavities, platforms, niches, ‘rooms’ and other delimited spaces, sometimes bearing rock-art. Besides what seems to be ‘significant’ boulders and monoliths (Marangou 2012b, 131, 132; 2018), there are various types of rock-cut structures, in isolation or combinations, suggesting practical objectives, but also possibly involving ‘enigmatic’ allusions. Described in ‘neutral’, non-interpretative terms, the features include: 

Figure 6.2. Carved conduit/channel. Photograph by the author.

• ‘post-holes’, ‘cup-marks’, but also circular larger cavities, including ‘wells/cisterns’ and conduits/channels (Figure 6.2); the latter sometimes along ramps or flights of steps, or related to angles of ‘rooms/platforms’, or to other carved structures, apparently connected to water/ liquids management;  • long and narrow ‘rooms’ or ‘platforms’ (Figure 6.3), which consist mostly of two or three vertical carved walls that form one or two angle(s) and contain part of a rock floor, steps, niches and benches. Stepped ramps or flights of steps may join them vertically to higher or lower similar structures.

• horizontally intercommunicating ensembles of smaller carved ‘rooms’ are also attested (Figure 6.4). They may be combined with, besides niches, also other features, carved in the space which is delimited by them, such as benches, steps, vertical or horizontal post-holes, cavities on the floor, or even ‘windows’ on the walls; in addition to being joined horizontally, some ‘rooms’ ensembles could also have been interconnected vertically. 68

A Rock-Cut Landscape By the Sea

Figure 6.3. Carved long ‘rooms’ or ‘platforms’, with a flight of steps on the right. Photograph by the author.

Figure 6.5. Three flights of steps in a more or less parallel direction, remains of a wall and a cavity (left); conduit forming an angle and change of direction (middle). Photograph by the author.

Figure 6.4. Ensemble of intercommunicating rock-cut small ‘rooms’. Photograph by the author.

Figure 6.6. Partly natural boulder with carved ‘Cybele façade’. Photograph by the author.

• various roads and ramps, stepped ramps and flights of steps of various dimensions and numbers (Figure 6.5), including longer passageways, often suggesting intercommunication itineraries linking carved complexes and sectors, on different areas or/and altitudes; sometimes there are even crossroads, including roads or ramps crossing stepped ramps or flights of steps. • partly natural and partly artificial boulders or outcrops, sometimes incorporating carved cavities and holes, small steps and/or niches, as well as so-called ‘façades’ (Figure 6.6).  • a number of petroglyphs on vertical or horizontal surfaces of boulders or niches (Figure 6.7), including on walls or floors of ‘rooms’ or ‘rooms/platforms’, occasionally close to cavities. 

Figure 6.7. Petroglyph representing an oared ship, carved on the vertical surface of a rock-cut feature. Photograph by the author.

The rock-cut features reveal a complex rock-hewn landscape on various altitudes, entailing an elaborate artificial system of space occupation, sometimes including intercommunicating carved ensembles (Marangou 2012a). They cover extended zones and present a manifold setting, implying a multi-functional site, with both practical and

immaterial components. In fact, combinations of rock-cut features may indicate concrete uses of space related, at the same time, to symbolic behaviours, therefore materialising diverse concerns and purposes (Marangou 2012b; 2018). It is conceivable that traces of delimited expanses may have constituted possible living spaces, consistent with a road 69

Christina Marangou network and water collection structures, as well as with a harbour area. However, a number of rock-cut features could not have been intended for habitation, for example, because they are too small, or very difficult to access – accessible after hard climbing on abrupt rocks – or because they consist of ‘non-utilitarian’, at least non-understandable elements (see further, ‘spaces of unclear interpretation’, ‘façades’ and ‘dead-ends’). This will become clearer with the following brief description of the above-mentioned categories of features and, when available, possible comparable elements in various regions and cultural areas.

to Hittite textual evidence (Gonnet 1993, 219). It has also been suggested that some device, or object, or offerings could have been embedded/inserted into ‘dowel-holes’ related to these structures. The holes might also have been used for the stabilisation of stelae or statues (Işık 1996, 57, 59, 62, figure 9; Thomas 2001, 250; Vikela 2003, 52–53; Yannouli 2004, 119), such as on stepped structures ending in niches and ‘thrones’. Examples of similar structures are known from Western Thrace and Eastern Aegean islands (Kaletsch 1980; Triandaphyllos 1985; Vikela 2003, 49–52; Yannouli 2004, 119, figure 17), as well as from Bulgarian Thrace, in particular on the Eastern Rhodope mountains (Naydenova 1990; Domaradzki 1994; Fol 1982, pl. 180; Roller 1999; Vassileva 2001; Zdravkova-Dimitrova 2006–2007), and in Anatolia (Ramsay 1889; Haspels 1971, figures 230–232; Frankovitch 1990, figures 76, 81; Vassileva 2001; Berndt 2002, 26 figures 36–37, 37 figures 60, 38 figure 61, 43 figures 68–69, 62 figure 110; Baldıran and Söğüt 2008–2009).

Preserved ensembles of small ‘rooms’ have higher walls than the longer ‘rooms/platforms’, almost attaining human height. Their function(s), ritual or/and profane, cannot be ascertained. Three such ‘troglodytic’ ‘rooms’ (Marangou 2012a, 273) (Figure 6.4) are equipped with conduits, benches, pits, as well as a ‘window’, while a few steps lead through an opening of the walls – a ‘doorway’ – between two of them, as their respective floors are situated on slightly different levels on the Kastro flank. Superimposed small ‘rooms’ are also attested; they may then be vertically joined through external steps. This seems, in general, to be the case of the longer ‘rooms/platforms’ (up to approximately 10 m long), where external flights of steps would have helped intercommunication with other levels (Marangou 2012a, 274) (Figure 6.3).

‘Stepped altars’ with an upper ‘idol-shaped’ seat, well known from Phrygia (Işık 1996), have been associated, in particular, to Iron Age cults, although with a long background in previous centuries (see for example Işık 1995; Ehringhaus 2005). Ensembles of such aniconic, openair, rock-cut structures, also called ‘Thracian sanctuaries’ in Thrace and the Northern Aegean (Triandaphyllos 1985; Naydenova 1990; Fol 1998; Nekhrizov 2005; Kızıl 2006– 2007; see also Owen 2009 on Thasos and Lehmann and Spittle 1982 on Samothrace), have been dated at least from the Late Bronze Age and Iron Age onwards (Domaradzki 1994; Berndt-Ersöz 2009). On Kastro, Bronze Age and Iron Age activity (Marangou 2012b, 128; 2020a) seems to be confirmed by mobile finds, some of which probably attest to ritual proceedings, apparently related to one of such flights of steps (see Marangou 2020a for details).

Kastro carved ‘façades’ occur on natural rocks (Figure 6.6), sometimes similar to parallels from Phrygia (Haspels 1971; Berndt-Ersöz 2006) and Eastern Aegean islands (Kaletsch 1980; Yannouli 2004), which have been interpreted as open-air sanctuaries of the goddess Cybele. They are sometimes related to lateral panels and niches, while a few steps help climb on top of the rock (Marangou 2012a, 272; 2012b). A floor may also be carved in front of a ‘façade’; it may bear ‘post-holes’ or/and cavities and even a pit, although it can be neither confirmed nor refuted that such Kastro combined surface features were all constructed and/or used simultaneously.

In other cases, a number of flights of steps that do not lead to a niche – as in the examples mentioned above – seem to start and to stop in the middle of the natural rock with no obvious reason (Marangou 2002b). In particular, a large rock is carved at various places with narrow stepped ramps comprising a few steps, ascending or descending tracks and passages, not easily distinguishable; this situation shows more complicated patterns than practical trajectories or simple routine (Marangou 2002b), such as concerning steps and roads in other Kastro areas. This induced behaviour in space, in a complicated itinerary, might suggest symbolic proceedings.

Spaces of unclear interpretation include small structures of invisible, complicated or very difficult access. Among those, there are flights of steps, which become narrower on their higher part and end into the rock without any visible issue (Marangou 2002b; 2012a). They are deadends, sometimes terminating with a last small step at a carved vertical panel with a cavity – a niche, as mentioned above (Figure 6.5, right). On the upper end of some such flights of steps, ‘dowel-holes’, or ‘cup-marks’ have been carved (Marangou 2009, 95). Such ‘cult installations’ are attested both in Thrace and in Phrygia (see among others Naydenova 1990, 88, 94; Gonnet 1993, 220).

Besides everyday practice, trails, paths and roads may indeed serve important functions of enactment during processions and rituals (Snead 2009; Snead et al. 2009). Such paths carved into the rock could suggest an open-air cult, as attested at least since the Bronze and Iron Age and in the Archaic and later periods in Greece (Marangou 2016; 2019; 2020a). There is abundant evidence of parallels, as already mentioned, also from the East and the North on high places, hills or mountains, involving processions and other ritual performances. Among Kastro examples, it would not

If cavities (and conduits) may indicate liquids management, even perhaps industrial activities, and if ‘post–holes’ may have had a practical, structural function, however, some such ‘cup-marks’ or ‘dowel-holes’ have been considered as attesting libations in Anatolia (Ussishkin 1975; Işık 1996, 61; Vassileva 2001, 55); they have even been associated 70

A Rock-Cut Landscape By the Sea seem a coincidence that two-stepped ramps almost parallel to each other, both dead-ends, bifurcate from a carved passageway, which, itself, ends with a flight of descending steps. Starting under the first stepped ramp, one can reach another flight of steps towards the North-North-East, this time much wider, lower and easier to climb on than the others. This ‘staircase’ leads to a large, carved, cubeshaped outcrop and to some other carved features. The implication is that this is really a crossroads (Marangou 2006, 133–134; 2020a; 2020b), without excluding the possibility that some of its features were constructed or/ and used in different, perhaps successive, periods.

The maritime character of the rock-cut Kastro headland is indeed apparent by its strategic location between two bays, which would both have been used as harbours, at least during some periods in prehistoric or ancient times, even still in the 20th century (Marangou 2006; 2020b; forthcoming). Indeed, this maritime connection is implied by several characteristics of numerous carved-in-the-rock structures, their location in the natural landscape and seascape and their interrelations with the environment (Marangou 2006).  This maritime component becomes evident with the communication of a main carved ramp of a crossroads (different than the one mentioned in section 1 above), which is more or less parallel to the coast, at the edge of the cliffs, with lower levels: two descending flights of steps bifurcate from this road, while, lower, more ramps and steps are further directed towards the sea, at the same time permitting intercommunication between areas with carved rectangular ‘rooms/platforms’ (Marangou 2006; 2012a; 2020b). These itineraries involve planning out of the directed movement, providing access from higher levels towards areas close to the present coast and vice versa, indicating the importance of facilitated access, in particular towards and from the sea, including possibly boats moored in the bays/harbours. 

Since human requirements and preferences may change through time, diachronically diverse uses even of the same spaces are conceivable. On the other hand, concrete requirements may be necessary also in relation to ritual spaces (e.g. conduits for water management or steps facilitating access), therefore functional structures could coexist with symbolic ones. For example, a parallel presence of adjacent flights of steps or stepped ramps of different dimensions and sub-types may seemingly be due to differentiated uses (Marangou 2002b, 13; 2009, 96; 2012a, 271). Indeed, a flight of steps ending at a niche (Figure 6.5, right) – therefore probably related to a symbolically charged open-air space (see above) –, is more or less parallel to a partly preserved, perhaps utilitarian(?) staircase (Figure 6.5, middle), itself parallel to a small group of steps (Figure 6.5, left), the latter perhaps laterally joining intercommunicating superimposed ‘rooms’ (see above) (Marangou 2012a, 271). The seemingly diverse functions of these particular flights of steps could be due either to a diachronic, or a contemporaneous use of this area, and even for different purposes, practical or symbolic. 

If some areas with rock-cut features also attest (Hellenistic?) industrial activities and trade, such as ‘ingots’ (Marangou 2006, 131 figure 22.4; 2016, 189 figure 3) or Hellenistic coins (Marangou 2006, 131 figure 22.4; 2016, 191 figure 5), they may also offer a dominating view towards the entrance of the harbour and the open sea beyond (Marangou 2006). Even if conveying a parallel symbolic or ritual character (Marangou 2020b) (see also further, in section 3), some of these features could have served diachronically as observation posts towards the entrance to the harbour, if not as seamarks for mariners (Marangou 2006). In fact, there are testimonies, at least since the 16th century, about the dangerousness of Myrina bay, in particular with western winds, and until the 20th century instructions to mariners often warn about the difficult conditions for entering and anchoring in the harbour, implicating the importance of pilotage (Marangou 2006, 132 with further references; 2020b).

2. The sea: a maritime cultural landscape On Kastro, a number of carved roads, ramps, stepped ramps and combinations of them would seem utilitarian – without altogether excluding a parallel symbolic function. They allow intercommunication of various parts and sectors of the flanks at different altitudes and provide access to particular areas and structures of the peninsula. Staircases and roads or ramps interconnecting upper levels to lower ones are also directed towards the coast and therefore the sea and the bays on both sides of Kastro. In this ‘maritime cultural landscape’ (Westerdahl 1992; 2011) it should not be a coincidence if the various artificial features and enhanced natural rocks seem varying if orientated landward or seaward, closer to the shore or uphill (Marangou 2002c; 2018).

Besides its vital quality as a waterway facilitating intercommunication and exchanges with other islands and coasts, predictably the sea also played a crucial part in most other components, both material and transcendental, of human occupations and behaviours on Kastro. According to the current stage of research on fixed structures and mobile artefacts, besides other aspects, the Kastro rockcut headland would also have involved intricate, intangible maritime facets and connections. Indeed, the maritime associations in the Kastro landscape would not only have involved concrete elements, such as seashells and obviously imported by sea artefacts and raw material, but also symbolic components, such as ship representations, both as graffiti on sherds and as petroglyphs on rocks,

If human presence on Kastro is diachronic, extending at least from late prehistory (Bronze Age) to a large part of antiquity, in all periods the complex patterns that are emerging from the study of the site involve the presence and influence of the sea, which dominates the humans’ lives. A major feature of this coastal rock-cut site is definitely its proximity with water, in particular the Aegean Sea, which obviously surrounds the Kastro peninsula. 71

Christina Marangou already since the Bronze Age or Early Iron Age. The importance of the sea and the involvement of the Kastro occupants with maritime matters is indeed emphasized by a monumental ship petroglyph on a rock-cut structure in the harbour (Marangou 2002a; 2002b; 2002c; revised drawing in Marangou 2020c), also confirming the latter’s symbolic significance (Figure 6.7). Ritual and cult are predictably related to seafaring, seamarks and coastlines as transitional spaces (Marangou 2006; 2016, 191; 2020b). 

which, at the same time, constitutes a crossroads. In antiquity, a crossroads (triodhos) was considered important, liminal, even dangerous, and rituals enacted in such places were addressed to particular divinities (see Marangou 2006 and 2009 for further references). In fact, divinities such as Artemis, whose cult became important in Lemnos from the Classical period, as already mentioned, is a goddess associated with boundaries and liminality, including headlands, coastal areas and offshore anchorages (Marangou 2006; 2016, 189–191). Among other deities who were also connected with doorways and boundaries, Hekate was an early goddess of entryways and crossroads (Marangou 2006); there is however no particular evidence for her cult here.  

3. A female factor in a rocky seascape According to the present stage of research, as mentioned above (section 1), late prehistoric (Bronze-Iron Age) carved features, such as ‘dead-ends’, may also indicate (aniconic) cult (Marangou 2009, 2018). A divergent situation appears in antiquity (Marangou 2009), when, besides Geometric and Archaic to Hellenistic pottery, figurines and other artefacts related to ‘female’ tasks have been found in a number of investigated areas of Kastro. ‘Female’ implements, in particular clay loom-weights and spools, and fragmentary Classical or Hellenistic figurines, some of them wearing a polos headgear and/or enthroned were found (Marangou 2006, 133 figure 22.5; 2009, 97–98, figures 12.9a-b; 2016, 190 figure 4). Female figurines, including wearing a polos, have been found in Myrina, dating from the Archaic period (Archontidou 2000; Beschi 2001; Filaniotou 2012), while Classical and Hellenistic sanctuaries of the goddess Artemis have been investigated in the area (Beschi 1998; Archontidou 2000). It would seem significant that in 7th century BC Hephaistia, by the northern coast of Lemnos, the local goddess, also named Lemnos, was a divinity of nature, interestingly protecting water, since wells and several fountain models seem to have been dedicated to her (Beschi 2005; Greco 2010; 2017). This local divinity would be related to other goddesses of nature, such as the Thracian Bendis (see Vassileva 2001) and the Anatolian Matar or Cybele (Marangou 2006; 2009; on Cybele figurines see Acheilara 2005; Roungou 2013 for the North-Eastern Aegean islands and Rein 1996, among others, for Anatolia). As a confirmation of this hypothesis, some Kastro niches/‘façades’ (see above, section 1), comparable to similar examples from other areas (e.g. Vassileva 2001; Yannouli 2004), may have been either aniconic or representational ‘façades’ for Cybele, Matar or some other divinity of nature. 

Therefore, on Kastro, ancient clay female figurines show a cultic, symbolic parameter of several particular spaces, probably related to one or more liminal goddess/es of nature. If the identity of the divinity/ies represented and/or to whom such figurines and ‘female’ tools were offered on Kastro is impossible to prove for the moment, it is also true that a mingling of divinities of nature remains anonymous in the Iron Age and Late Geometric period (Kourou 2015: 186; on Kastro, see also Marangou 2009). Besides, as we have already seen (section 1), symbolic spaces, such as ‘dead-ends’ and ‘façades’ were indeed constructed within nature and would therefore seem to have been connected to natural entities. However, we can only assume, but not (yet) prove, that the latter was indeed female, according to parallel testimonies from other regions.  If the concrete ways in which the Kastro occupants conceived or visualised the otherworldly and the practices they used to perform their rituals varied in different periods, nature seems to have always been focal. Cult within nature (Bradley 2000), attested in the Bronze Age, such as in Minoan peak sanctuaries (Kyriakidis 2005) among others, and even later (Mylonopoulos 2008), is a constant feature through prehistory and antiquity. At the same time, the symbolic behaviours involved seem to have been diversified through successive periods, following varied patterns in particular natural and constructed places on Kastro. 4. Further research directions In this paper, some aspects and selected ‘places’ in this natural and at the same time constructed (Marangou 2012a) ‘cultural maritime landscape’ (Westerdahl 1992; 2011) have been discussed, suggesting a diversity of their potential roles and hinting at a range of material/ worldly, economic, industrial, social, cultural, symbolic or ritual (pre-)occupations. The carved structures reveal a composite, rocky landscape, including intercommunicating rock-cut features via passageways on different levels and zones. At the same time, the modified rocks transform the perception of the natural setting. “Megalithic” formations reveal a complex scenery, entailing an elaborate artificial system of space occupation within nature, while carved ensembles appear indeed to have had both symbolic and

Furthermore, the maritime landscape of the Kastro peninsula (Marangou 2012a; 2016, 192; 2020b), including in its quality as liminal space, is particularly adapted diachronically as scenery for symbolic behaviours (Marangou 2019). In particular, a number of Kastro clay figurines were found close to a possible simple, openair altar, in an area with a view over the sea, situated at a crossroads (mentioned above, in section 2), between a carved main road-oriented West-East and two descending flights of carved steps or stepped ramps, directed towards the coast (Marangou 2009, 97, figures 12.9a–b; 2020b). An intriguing female presence is therefore attested in a transitional place, between the sea and the rocky landscape, 72

A Rock-Cut Landscape By the Sea utilitarian constituents, materializing specific concerns and purposes and therefore also revealing human forethought and deliberation. 

Beschi, Luigi. 2001. “I disiecta membra di un santuario di Myrina (Lemno)”. Annuario della Scuola Archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni Italiane in Oriente LXXIX (3/1): 191–251.

In conclusion of this overview, during successive phases of prehistory and antiquity, on Kastro, diachronic human action has influenced the maritime and rocky landscape, while, at the same time, topography guided choices of natural forms and spaces and induced courses of action. At the present stage of the study, the hypothesis of their connections both to concrete and transcendental objectives seems promising. As research is still in progress, we may become aware of evidence about even more intricate processes, performances and dynamics in the future. 

Beschi, Luigi. 2005. “Culto e riserva delle acque nel Santuario arcaico di Efestia”. Annuario della Scuola Archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni Italiane in Oriente 83 (1): 95–218. Bradley Richard. 2000. An archaeology of natural places. London and New York: Routledge. Domaradzki, Mieczysla, 1994. “Les lieux de culte thraces (deuxième moitié du IIe–Ier mill. Av. J.–C.)”. Helis. III (1): 69–108.

Acknowledgements: Sincere thanks are due to the Greek Ephorate of Antiquities of Lesvos (formerly K’ Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities), the Local Council for the Monuments of the Islands and the Greek Ministry of Culture for the study and publication permit of the rockcut features and rock-art at Myrina Kastro. The author also wishes to thank the Ephorate of Antiquities members of staff for their help and the research collaborators for their contribution within the project.

Ehringhaus, Horst. 2005. Götter, Herrscher, Inschriften. Die Felsreliefs der hethitischen Grossreichszeit in der Türkei. Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp von Zabern.

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7 Koramaz Valley of Kayseri, Turkey Rock-Cut Architecture and Underground Cities Ali Yamaç OBRUK Cave Research Group, Istanbul, Turkey Abstract: Without a single architectural feature or archaeological finding regarding the period when it was excavated, it is very difficult to date a rock dwelled structure because these structures have always been used throughout history by being changed and some of them are still being used even today. This problem, which is even applicable to only one structure, becomes much more significant if you work in a valley, containing hundreds of rock structures. Kayseri (Caesarea, Mazaca) was the capital of ancient Cappadocia during the Roman and Byzantine era. Soft volcanic rocks, caused by a million-year volcanic activity which continued up to historical periods in the region, are observed in all over Kayseri Province just as the other areas within Cappadocia as well as the numerous structures, excavated in those volcanic rocks. Within the scope of a sixyear work; Kayseri Underground Structures Inventory Project, previously unpublished numerous underground cities, churches, dovecotes, even rock dwelled villages were explored. As the most important part of this study, in Koramaz Valley, 16 km in length and incorporating seven different villages therein, 476 rock-cut structures were explored and surveyed up to now. Although most of them are houses and barns, there are also 42 rock-cut churches, 11 underground shelters and tens of dovecotes and/or columbariums. We also observed that many structures, likely to be Roman rock-cut tombs due to their architecture and kline-style designs, turned into storages in time. Likewise, some structures, considered to be Roman columbariums, turned into dovecotes. Although the only structures, periods of which were exactly determined, are the churches, dated between the 7th and 11th centuries, some of the rock-hewn settlements in Koramaz Valley may be excavated much earlier as a part of rock-cut tradition for thousands of years. Keywords: Kayseri, Koramaz Valley, rock-cut church, cliff dwellings. Introduction

out from the ground by night. Those acquainted with the country collect wood with caution; but there is a danger to others, and particularly to cattle, which fall into these hidden pits of fire” (Jones 1929, 12.2.7).

Situated in the Central Anatolian Volcanic Province (CAVP) in the middle of Anatolian Plateau in Turkey, Kayseri and its vicinity had a tremendous volcanic activity, which had started approximately 11 million years ago and continued until the Early Holocene (ca. 10.000–8.000 ago) (Aydar et al. 2012, 83–97). As a result of a radiometric age determination carried out recently, it is understood that the activity of the main caldera of Erciyes Mountain continued until 150.000 to 200.000 years ago and after this period, the caldera blocked (Alıcı Sen et al. 2004, 81–98). But cosmogenic dating show that several smaller lava flows occurred from monogenetic vents during Early Holocene. On the other hand, a paragraph about Erciyes in “Geographica”, written by Strabo in the 1st century AD, was interpreted by some scholars as the mountain was active in this period as well.

But no Late Holocene volcanic eruption from Erciyes Mountain has ever been evidenced (Aydar et al. 2019, 565–576). These continuous eruptions have piled pyroclastic rocks with an enormous thickness on the surface. Both the elevations on the north and wide plateau on the south of Kayseri are completely covered by these volcanic rock deposits. The number of pyroclastic deposits shows significant differences regionally and is known to reach a thickness of 400 m in the north of Kayseri (Şen et al. 2003, 225–246.). When the volcanic rocks covering the entire area was first started to be dug and when the inhabitants started to use the underground as their dwellings are unknown. Possibly, this easy to carve soft rock has been dug by local people for centuries, and a civilization dwelling in rock-cut sites

“At a little distance further there are burning plains, and pits full of fire to an extent of many stadia, so that the necessaries of life are brought from a distance…. In some parts the bottom is marshy, and flames burst 77

Ali Yamaç was established in the region that is known as Cappadocia today. The continuous usage of the rock-hewn structures for thousands of years has made such an archaeological exploration impossible. The earliest dated rock-hewn structures encountered in Cappadocia are probably Hellenistic rock-cut tombs in Nevşehir / Mazıköy (Lamesa 2017, Ousterhout 2017) and Roman rock-cut tombs located in the south of Kayseri, especially the vicinity of Ayşepınar and Yeniköy (Durukan 2012). On the other hand, numerous other Roman rock-cut tombs close to the settlements have been changed in time in accordance with different purposes. From the Roman to Byzantine empires, the variety of the underground and rock-cut structures in this region was incredible. The structures carved in rocks in the area are not limited just with the houses, barns, dovecotes, tombs, and churches. There are also monasteries, aqueducts, cisterns, and even apiaries dwelled in rocks and these rock-cut structures observed in different parts of Kayseri have been continuously used until today (Gilli and Yamaç 2017).

Municipality, includes the research, survey, mapping, and documentation of all the underground structures in this province. Ongoing for about six years, “Kayseri Underground Structures Inventory Project”, has a distinctive place not only as Turkey’s but one of the world’s greatest underground structures research projects with 33 underground cities, six cliff dwelled villages, 46 rock churches, two underground aqueducts and 10 Assyrian tin mines surveyed and inventoried until now. Given the fact that only one of the cliff dwelled villages has 154 different structures, the magnitude of the work should be better understood. This project has become very significant currently, mainly due to the findings in Koramaz Valley. During our years of work in this valley, we worked with 16 researchers from five different countries, although conventional measurement techniques were used in general due to the narrowness of many buildings and the difficulty of working conditions, some important structures were drawn in 3D with a laser scanner.

The different natural formations of Cappadocia and numerous rock-dwelled structures dug in these formations, especially the rock-cut Byzantine churches, have drawn the attention of western travellers starting from approximately 300 years ago and have been subject to various research and scientific studies. These works and studies started for the frescoes in numerous rock-cut churches found in the area, have expanded to other rock-cut structures. Today, from the underground shelters to the hydraulic structures and from the dovecotes even to the rock-cut apiaries of the area, there are hundreds of different scholarly works and studies (for a comprehensive bibliography see (Hild and Restle 1981, Ousterhout 2017)).

When we started the Koramaz Valley rock-cut structures survey, which spread over a long time and realized with great efforts, we mainly had three goals, these were: 1. To urgently inventory all these rock-cut structures, which are continuously destroyed every day, 2. If we succeed, to include the Koramaz Valley to UNESCO World Heritage List, 3. To prepare a comprehensive conservation plan and restoration projects. We are happy to be able to achieve our first and second goals after years of work. We are also aware of how difficult to achieve our third goal is. On the other hand, as a group that never encourages mass tourism, we will definitely be involved during the preparation of the conservation plans of Koramaz Valley.

Though the area where all these works and studies are being carried out is named as Cappadocia, nearly all of these works are being carried only in Nevşehir – Ürgüp – Göreme triangle and this area is a very small part of the ancient Cappadocia.

1. General Description of Koramaz Valley

Cappadocia was a province of both the Roman and the Byzantine empires. In AD 371 it was the largest province of the Roman Empire with a total area of 50.000 km² and its capital was Kayseri (Mitchell 2018, Ramsay 1890). Kayseri was named “Mazaca” from the Hattians to Strabo and it was changed as “Caesarea” in the honor of Caesar Augustus in AD 14 and during the 3rd century AD, it was the largest city of Central Anatolia with a population of 40.000 (Baydur 1970).

There is an elevation difference of 700 – 800 m between the plain where Kayseri is located, and mountains located 30 km east of this plain and each creek flowing down these hills has formed its valley by eroding the soft pyroclastic rocks. On the east of Kayseri, there are six different valleys eroded by these streams flowing down to the valley from the high hills and there are structures carved on the walls of these valleys by the inhabitants dwelling in the area. The longest of these six valleys is Koramaz Valley (Figure 7.1). In this 16 km long valley, there are in total seven different villages. From east to west, these are Büyük Bürüngüz, Üskübü, Küçük Bürüngüz, Ağırnas, Dimitre, Vekse, and Ispıdın. Both the interior and surrounding of these seven villages located on the slopes of Koramaz Valley are full of structures carved in rocks. Though it is very hard to date these rock structures due to their continuous usage, the experts have dated some of these rock-cut churches on the

Despite being the capital of Cappadocia during ancient times, no comprehensive scientific research has been carried out until now in terms of the rock-cut architecture in Kayseri. To fill this gap we, as OBRUK Cave Research Group, have started to work for the “Kayseri Underground Structures Inventory Project” in January 2014. This project, carried out based on a triple protocol with Foundation for the Protection and Promotion of the Environment and Cultural Heritage (ÇEKÜL) and Kayseri Metropolitan 78

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Figure 7.1. Location map showing Kayseri and Koramaz Valley. Figure created by the author, after Google Maps and Google Earth.

valley to the 10. and 11. centuries (Karakaya 2014, 2013). On the other hand, it is a generally accepted assumption that the underground cities on Koramaz Valley have been dug between the 7. and 10. centuries by the Christians living in the region as a protection against the Arab raids (Cooper and Decker 2012, Hild and Restle 1981). Beyond all these, though rock-cut structures have changed in time due to different usages, by taking into consideration the entrance carvings and interior architecture, the first purpose of construction of some structures near Ağırnas can be Roman rock-cut tombs (Gilli 2017a). To sum up, it is possible to say that the background of all these structures carved in rocks on Koramaz Valley dates back to at least 2.000 years ago and probably to even older times.

Soft pyroclastic rocks eroded with streams formed various valleys all around Cappadocia and almost all of those valleys have rock-cut structures. Longest of them all, Ihlara Valley, which is 12 km, has 23 rock-cut Byzantine churches, some having strikingly beautiful frescoes. Zelve Valley, which is actually two different valleys intersecting each other and forming a triangle, has a rock-cut village with 4 churches, a mosque, and a total of 27 rock-cut structures. People lived in those rock-cut houses until the 1950s and the village abandoned due to rock collapses. Several other small valleys around Göreme, e.g. Zemi, Güvercinlik, Kılıçlar, Meskendir were mainly used for agricultural purposes during the Byzantine era (Burri and Petitta 2005, Castellani 2002, Gilli 2017b, Gilli and Yamaç 2015). So, although some of them have few rock-cut churches, their main rock-cut structures are underground irrigation/flood control aqueducts and dovecotes (Gilli and Yamaç 2015).

In total 476 different rock-cut structures have been explored and surveyed in Koramaz Valley and there are 42 rock-cut churches and 11 underground cities among these structures. Though most of the other rock-cut structures surveyed were houses, dovecotes, and barns, it is considered that at least 18 of them have been dug as the Roman rock-cut tombs and 16 of the structures have been dug as a Columbarium (Gilli 2017a, Gilli and Yamaç 2017, Yazlık 2019).

If we compare Koramaz Valley with the other valleys of Cappadocia, the most noticeable difference is the amount and variety of rock-cut structures of this valley. First of all, with a total number of 476, it has more than the sum of all 79

Ali Yamaç the rock-cut structures in all other valleys of Cappadocia. Secondly, there is no other valley within the whole Cappadocia with such a variety of rock-cut structures. Here in Koramaz, we can find not only houses, barns, dovecotes, or churches but also monasteries, columbariums, and even Roman tombs. And finally, it’s the only valley in the region that people still live in or around. Apart from the rock-cut structures and cliff settlements in the valley, the villages of Koramaz Valley are full of centuries-old buildings, some dated back to 13. and 14. centuries. Recently accepted to UNESCO World Heritage Site tentative list, new projects for the restoration and protection of various structures in the valley had already begun.

two different underground cities have connected at a point and with a total length of 1.273 m, Büyük Bürüngüz Underground City became not only the longest underground city of Koramaz Valley but also of Kayseri Province. It has another record with its 27 millstone doors (Yamaç 2019, 65–76). As several tunnels are blocked, this underground city, which extends beneath the entire village will possibly be much longer. 1.2. Subaşı (Üskübü) Village The previous name of Subaşı Village in Koramaz Valley, located 4 km north of Büyük Bürüngüz Village, was Üskübü and earlier it was Skopi. Though there is no old building among the contemporary structures of the village, in accordance with the 16. century Ottoman registrations (Inbaşı 1993), this small and entirely Christian village was probably settled at its current location in the Ottoman period as well. Subaşı Underground City, located approximately 2 km southeast of the village on a deserted plain, is different from all other underground cities in Koramaz Valley both in terms of its location and architecture. The structure is located approximately 2 km southeast of Subaşı Village on a deserted plain rising towards Sivri Mountain. This underground city, dug in a brokenly volcanic tuff and appearing as a small hill on the ground, has two entrances one of which has opened due to a collapse. One of the entrances of the structure is on the north wall of an underground structure consisting of a roughly dug main chamber and two side rooms connected to the main chamber. The only millstone door of Subaşı Underground City is at the other entrance on the

All these rock-cut structures in Koramaz Valley can be examined village by village from east to west: 1.1. Büyük Bürüngüz Village Büyük Bürüngüz Village is located 30 km east of Kayseri, at the beginning of Koramaz Valley and on the slopes of İvriz Mountain with a height of 1.858 m, has always been the biggest settlement of the valley. In accordance with the Ottoman registrations for the year 1500, all 99 houses were Christians, whereas in 1520, 92 houses were Christians, and 10 houses were Muslims (Inbaşı 1993). Differently from the other six settlements in Koramaz Valley, there is no cliff settlement around Büyük Bürüngüz. As it is also observed in Ağırnas Village in the same valley, all underground defense structures are beneath the houses and extend beneath the entire settlement like a cobweb (Figure 7.2). At the end of our explorations,

Figure 7.2. Büyük Bürüngüz Underground City. Photograph by A.E. Keskin.

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Figure 7.3. Plan of Subaşı rock-cut complex. Figure created by the author.

northwest of the south tunnel. This underground shelter with a low ceiling and intertwined rooms completely has the qualifications of a labyrinth. There is a huge rock-cut structure complex, located 200 m northwest of Subaşı Village dug on a rocky slope, with a church as well. In this structure complex, excavated on a steep wall there are 11 different structures of all sizes. Some are connected with tunnels and this complex, consisting of some small chambers and a chamber in the size of 100 m² and a kitchen with oven and chimney, is most possibly a monastery with its church, courtyard, kitchen, dining hall, living spaces, and ceremonial chamber (Figure 7.3). The church in this complex is a cross planned structure with an approximately rectangular planned narthex in front and can be dated to the 10th–11th centuries by taking into consideration the similar examples in Göreme (Karakaya 2014). It is one of the two largest rock-cut churches in Koramaz Valley together with Vekse No. 1 (Figure 7.4). On the partially destroyed south wall of the narthex, which has a barrel-vault ceiling, there is an arcosolium. 1.3. Küçük Bürüngüz Village Küçük Bürüngüz is the third village in Koramaz Valley after Subaşı Village and is just 1 km away from Subaşı Village. In accordance with 1500 dated Ottoman registrations, this village had 12 houses, all of which were Christians, and in 1520, the number of houses

Figure 7.4. Church of Subaşı rock-cut complex. Photograph by A.E. Keskin.

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Ali Yamaç 1.4. Ağırnas Village

increased to 22 (Inbaşı 1993). And in the 1831 population census, all 34 houses in the village had become Muslims as a result of the immigration or religious conversion (Cömert 2008). The small wall settlements group, located 400 m west of Küçük Bürüngüz Village on the rocky slopes of Koramaz Valley and extending on a line with a length of 200 m in total in the north-south axle, consists of eight independent structures in total. In two of these structures, most of which are dwelling or feedlot, there are small defense shelters reached by tunnels. This rock settlement in Küçük Bürüngüz has been destroyed much more when compared with the similar in Ağırnas and Dimitre. Though one of the reasons for this destruction is the illicit excavations observed in the region, the collapses and erosions in the region are much more than all settlements of Koramaz Valley. The intensity of the collapses even makes it impossible to estimate the purpose of the construction of certain structures in this rock-cut settlement.

Ağırnas Village has located 4 km north of Küçük Bürüngüz Village and on the slopes of Koramaz Valley. In accordance with the population and tax records of the Ottoman Empire, there were 53 Christian and 3 Muslim families in 1500. In 1520, this changed as 72 Christian and 2 Muslim families (Inbaşı 1993). The oldest houses of the village are on the first two lines facing Koramaz Valley and the house of Mimar Sinan (“Sinan the Architect”), who was born here in 1489, is also among these houses. Beneath all these old houses, there is an underground defence structure connecting to each other with tunnels. As we have seen a similar one in Büyük Bürüngüz Village, this underground shelter, extending beneath the entire village like a cobweb, continues through the entire neighbourhood by expanding to two different floors beneath the house of Mimar Sinan and extends beneath all surrounding houses. Mimar Sinan Underground City spreads to a total area of 1.850 m² in two-storeys (Figure 7.5).

Figure 7.5. Plan of Mimar Sinan Underground City in Ağırnas Village. Figure created by E. Tok, E. Gilli, Ç. Çankırılı & A. Yamaç.

82

Koramaz Valley of Kayseri, Turkey Rock-cut Architecture and Underground Cities As some of the interconnections have been cancelled, currently, we see four different underground structures beneath the house of Mimar Sinan, but it is obvious that they were one single structure. The existence of four millstone doors; three of them in situ, makes it obvious that the structure was built for protective purposes (Yamaç and Tok 2015, 37–46).

Koramaz Valley is quite different in many aspects from all other similar examples. The first and most important difference is the size of Ağırnas Cliff Settlements. Here, in total 154 rock dwelled structures have been explored and surveyed on three different walls of the valley. Though most of these structures are houses, storage units, barns or dovecotes, there are 5 churches and in addition to the ones in the village, there are 4 more underground shelters. By taking into consideration the churches and underground shelters in these settlements, it is easy to date the rock-cut architecture in this region between the 7. and 11. centuries (Lamesa 2011); however, some of structures in this region are quite evidently the Roman rock-cut tombs (Gilli and Yamaç 2017). Likewise, at least six of the dovecotes in those cliff settlements are Roman columbariums (Figure 7.8). Therefore, we can say that these rock structures in Ağırnas date to at least 2000 years ago (Gilli 2017, Gilli and Yamaç 2017, Yazlık 2019).

Another underground city in the village, located 300 m. south of the centre, is on a rocky slope on the east of Koramaz Valley. The main entrance of this structure, which is currently open to tourists, is protected with a millstone door. After the first room in the entrance, there is a small church (Figure 7.6). After the church there is a large chamber, with a length of 24 m and a width of 4 m, which has quite impressive workmanship. Another entrance on the northeast of the chamber has been cancelled but the millstone door protecting the entrance still exists. On the other hand, located approximately 500 m west of Ağırnas, there is an enormous rock dwelled village on the walls of Koramaz Valley (Figure 7.7). Though the similar of this rock dwelled village, extending to three different walls at the southwest of Ağırnas Village where Koramaz Valley is forked, can be seen in different places in Cappadocia, these cliff settlements in Ağırnas /

1.5. Dimitre Village 4 km after Ağırnas, Koramaz Valley reaches Dimitre Village. Differently from all other six villages in the valley, in accordance with Ottoman registrations from the beginning of the 16. century, the entire village was Muslims. In the registrations, in 1500, 37 houses, and in 1520, 48 houses were recorded in the village (Inbaşı 1993). The Greek name of this village, documented to be entirely Muslims for 500 years with the Ottoman registrations, proves that the history of this village is much older than the 1500s. Moreover, the “millstone doors”, still existing in some tunnels, shows that these structures were constructed for defence and as it is observed all over Cappadocia, these underground shelters were dug by the Christians to defend themselves against the Arab raids started in the 7th century. Old Dimitre Village is not located on the mainline of Koramaz Valley, but on the north slopes of a branch extending to the east (Figure 7.9). This region is the deepest point on the entire route of Koramaz Valley; here, in Dimitre branch, the depth of the valley reaches 80 m. The rock-cut structures on the walls of this branch are more than the rock-cut structures around Ağırnas. The most important reason is that, differently from Ağırnas, the residents of Dimitre Village continued to live in these rock-cut structures until recently. When the village became uninhabitable due to the collapses, in 1966, it has moved to the plain on the valley, to its current settlement (Cömert 2008). The rock-cut settlements of Dimitre have changed much more due to its inhabitation and usage until such a recent date. The original underground structures have changed over and over again, and houses have been constructed on top of them. During the relocation of the village in 1966, the householders removed the rocks of the houses and used them in the construction of the new houses. As a result of

Figure 7.6. Church of Ağırnas Underground Shelter. Photograph by R. Straub.

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Figure 7.7. Koramaz Valley develops south of Ağırnas Village, with another small branch towards the north. All those three rock walls of the valley are full of rock-cut dwellings. Figure created by the author, after Google Maps and Google Earth.

that Old Dimitre Village is the biggest cliff settlement of Turkey researched until now. These 229 structures scattered for 900 m are more intense in the northwest and southeast parts of the wall; however, they become rare in the middle parts. Architecturally, churches are quite similar; all of them are with a length of 6–7 m and have horseshoe apse. Eight different underground shelters, located in the cliff settlements and scattered to almost all parts, have also been explored. The millstone doors and/ or operation rooms in the tunnels and the shelters explored are much smaller than the underground cities in Büyük Bürüngüz or Ağırnas villages. Most of the shelters have one or at most two rooms. And the longest underground shelter explored is a three-room structure with a tunnel of 55 m in total, located on the southeast of the cliff settlement. Another reason why the defence shelters in the cliff settlements in Old Dimitre Village are less and smaller compared to the other villages is that the residents of this village lived in these dwellings until recently and probably, constantly changed and adapted these structures according to their needs. The top of this valley wall, where these cliff settlements are located, is a flat rocky plateau and on this upper plateau, there are tens of rock-cut graves carved in the rocks on the ground. Probably, the number of these graves belonging to the Roman or Byzantine periods is much more than the ones encountered in different parts of Koramaz Valley.

Figure 7.8. A columbarium in Koramaz Valley near to Ağırnas Village. Photograph by R. Straub.

the removal of the rock houses constructed, the old rockcut structures beneath have come to light. During this study, in Old Dimitre Village, in total 229 rockcut settlements have been explored and surveyed. Among these structures, most of which are dwelling, feedlot, and dovecote, there are also seven small rock-cut churches (Figure 7.10) and eight underground shelters. When all these numbers are taking into consideration, it is apparent 84

Koramaz Valley of Kayseri, Turkey Rock-cut Architecture and Underground Cities

Figure 7.9. West corner of Dimitre Village cliff settlement. Photograph by B. Langford.

1.6. Vekse Village The next stop after Dimitre in Koramaz Valley is Vekse Village which is 2.5 km far. This settlement, located on the south slopes of Koramaz Valley, is known to be centuries old. The opposite slopes of the valley consist of red-coloured volcanic rocks reaching to a height of 20 m from place to place and extending like a wall from one end to the other. Structurally, Vekse is very similar to Ağırnas. On one side of the valley, there is the current village and on the other side, there are the rock-cut structures. Though under normal conditions the rock-cut structures on the walls of the valley are expected to be older than the village itself, in Vekse, just like in Ağırnas, there are underground defence structures and rock-cut churches both in the village and on the walls of the valley. And this shows that just like the residents in Ağırnas, the residents in Vekse continued to live on both sides of Koramaz Valley. Differently from Ağırnas and Dimitre, there are not many rock-cut settlements on the walls of Koramaz Valley extending in front of Vekse. The number of rock-cut structures determined on the north and south walls is just 12 in total and five of these structures are churches. Probably, all other rock-cut structures are under the new houses of the current village. Apart from Vekse Church No. 1, all other four churches have approximately 6 m axle, horseshoe apse plans and are similar small structures. Vekse Church No. 1, located approximately 400 m southeast of Vekse on a rocky hill, is the largest of 42 rock-cut churches explored and

Figure 7.10. A small Byzantine church in Dimitre Village. Photograph by D. Albov.

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Figure 7.11. Plan of Vekse Church No.1. Figure created by A. Yamaç & E. Ianovskaya.

surveyed in Koramaz Valley and has a quite different architecture (Figure 7.11, Figure 7.12). The structure is entered from a door opened to the north. In the lower parts of the west and east walls, there are semicircular niches. Nave of the church is a Byzantine type “crossin-square” style. In the apse free-standing rectangularshape altar that was made from rock protrusion. The high dome supported with annular vaults and short templons of the apse. Dome pillars carved to the main rock are decorated with triangular and lintel embellishments. The double transept, expected to be in a church with such a plan, just exists in the south, and in this transept, there is another side-apse. Probably, since the rock block on the north part is not that thick, the other transept has not been dug. One fresco preserved fragmentarily on the east wall between apses and two human figures still can be seen. 1.7. Ispıdın Village This village, located on the west end of Koramaz Valley, is the last village of the valley. Unlike all other villages in the valley, Ispıdın is located on the north slope of the valley, which is less curved, rather than the south slope. According to the Ottoman registrations, in 1500 population census, there were 19 houses in total and 15 of these houses were Christians. In the 1520 population census, the number of houses increased to 35 and the number of Christian houses was 23 (Inbaşı 1993). In the village, there are 14 different rock-cut churches on both walls of Koramaz Valley. All these churches are

Figure 7.12. Vekse Church No.1, view from the apse towards the nave. Photograph by R. Straub.

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Figure 7.13. Plan of Ispıdın Church No. 1. Figure created by the author.

2. Conclusions

scattered to different points of the valley and the lack of dwellings apart from 3–4 small rock-cut structures on the same rocky slope is as interesting as the excessive number of churches in such a small village. As we have observed in Vekse, it is probable that all old rock dwelled or underground structures in Ispıdın must be under the modern houses of the village. On the other hand, even if we assume that, in a village with 19 houses in total in 1500, it is hard to explain the existence of 14 different rock-cut churches approximately 500 years ago. All these 14 churches are approximately in similar sizes and are small structures with the main axle length of approximately 6–7 m. Apart from one church, all other churches have horseshoe plan apse. In three churches, there is a windowed templon carved to the main rock between the apse and nave. Ispıdın Church No. 1, a small rock-cut church, located on the rocky ridge next to the bridge that crosses the Koramaz Valley in the southwest of the village, was the only densely frescoed church we have come across in Kayseri. We say “it was” because the intense destruction by illicit diggers that we have observed in this church only in the last year is incredible. Most of the frescoes dated 11th to 13th centuries are now unrecognizable. The church architecture is a cross plan and there is a small narthex in the north. (Figure 7.13, Figure 7.14) (Karakaya 2013, Straub et al. 2019).

As OBRUK Cave Research Group, we have been carrying out artificial cavity research and inventory projects in six different provinces of Turkey for years. All these works, but especially with the intense concentration of rock-cut structures in seven different villages, Koramaz Valley is important because it shows that a rock-cut dwelling lifestyle has been widespread in the region for centuries or even millennia. Supporting a comprehensive database to be created in the future with archaeological research carried out within the bounds of possibility will enable us to evaluate these structures, which have only been examined in terms of rock-cut churches, from a different perspective. Acknowledgements: We’ve been working together for more than seven years and during this period “Kayseri Underground Structures Inventory Project” reached an unbelievable level. It would be impossible without his dedicated attitude and extraordinary efforts. So, it is a pleasure to express our sincere gratitude to Prof. Osman Özsoy, Kayseri Coordinator of ÇEKÜL Foundation. 87

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Figure 7.14. Ispıdın Church No.1, view from the nave towards the apse. Photograph by R. Straub.

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Gilli, Eric. 2017b. “Underground hydraulic works related to artificial crop areas in Cappadocia”. In HYPOGEA 2017, Proceedings of International Congress of Speleology in Artificial Cavities, Cappadocia, Turkey, March 6–10, 2017. eds. Mario Parise, Carla Galeazzi, Roberto Bixio, and Ali Yamaç. 228–234. Istanbul: Ege Yayinlari.

Straub, Rainer, Bilgin Yazlık, and Ali Yamaç. 2019. “Die Untergrund-Christen – Isbidin Kaya Kilisesi, eine stark gefahrdete Hohlenkirche in Kappadokien”. Mitteilungen des Verbandes der Deutschen Höhlen und Karstforscher 65: 25–29.

Gilli, Eric, and Ali Yamaç. 2017. “More than four thousands years of underground solutions in Cappadocia (Turkey)”, Conference paper. Paris: AFTES Congress.

Yamaç, Ali, and Ezgi Tok. 2015. “An Architect’s Underground City.” Opera Ipogea 2015 (1): 37–46.

Yamaç, Ali. 2019. “Büyük Bürüngüz Underground Shelter (Kayseri – Turkey)”. Opera Ipogea 2019 (2): 65–76.

Yazlık, Bilgin. 2019. “Koramaz Vadisi Columbarium Mezarları.” Turkish Studies 14 (3): 669–733.

Hild, Friedrich, and Marcell Restle. 1981. Tabula Imperii Byzantini 2 Kappadokien (Kappadokia, Charsianon, Sebasteia und Lykandos), Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenshaften. Inbaşı, Mehmet. 1993. 16. Yüzyıl Başlarında Kayseri. Kayseri: nc. Jones, H. Leonard. 1929. The Geography of Strabo. Vol. VI, Books 12–14. Washington DC: Harvard University Press. Karakaya, Nilay. 2013. Ispıdın Kaya Kilisesi. In Kayseri Ansiklopedisi. Kayseri: Ulusal Yayınevi. Karakaya, Nilay. 2014. “Kayseri’nin Gesi Beldesi, Küçük Bürüngüz (Subaşı) Köyü ile Ağırnas Vadisi’ndeki 89

8 Renaissance-Era Rock Cut Cellars in the Economy of a Fortified City in the War Frontier between Two Civilizations Martin Miňo Regional Board Banská Bystrica, Monument Board of Slovak Republic Abstract: The town of Krupina is today located in the Slovak Republic, but in the past, it was one of the earliest royal towns of the Hungarian kingdom. In the sense of economy, it is located between the winemaking and ore-mining regions of central Slovakia. It made a significant profit from the wine trade, especially after the 1526 Battle of Mohacs. Soon after this, the once inland town appeared directly on the political and cultural border of the Islamic and Christian world, with the Ottoman Empire becoming its neighbour. This new situation together made Krupina’s wine trade crucial. To protect the town’s profitable activities from the tumultuous events at the frontier, the town developed a specific system of extensive storage rooms in a relatively small area encircled with town walls, in the form of underground cellars carved in the rock. Soft volcanic ash bedrock enabled the citizens to cut storage facilities not limited by the plots. This contribution examines the origin, mapping, and assessment of this phenomenon at this site which is unique in the area of Slovakia. Keywords: renaissance, winery, rock-cut cellar, trade, frontier. Introduction

rock-cut cellars and the landscape survey in the bounds of the town’s cadastre. The obtained data were then placed into the context of the historical political and economic situation.

As a protected Heritage Zone, the Town of Krupina needed an up-to-date regulatory document concerning the principles of protection of the area. To prepare this document a new evaluation of values needed to be assessed. As a part of this work the Monument Board of the Slovak Republic has attempted to map the town`s underground rock-cut storage facilities. Though this important heritage feature of the area was previously known, there has never been any survey to map the extent or to define the period of its origin. Traditionally the origin of the rockcut features was assumed to be in the renaissance period, but there was no data available to support this theory. The main economic component of the town’s economy was winery which could be traced back to the Middle Ages. So, if the rock-cut storage facilities were of later date how and where would the wine be stored in medieval times? Was it in the vineyards? The main goal of the presented research was to map every possible cellar, set at the least relative date of origin, and try to verify whether any wine storage facilities could be located in the vineyards. The mapping survey was conducted using the traditional mine-mapping analogue method of polygonal course mapping. To achieve it, magnetic angle measuring and distance laser measuring was used. Each rock-cut system was photographed. The goal of dating the rock-cut galleries was harder to achieve and is still not clear. The archaeological data were obtained mostly by a walkover survey in some instances combined by rescue archaeology. This applies to the galleries of the

1. Historical background The town of Krupina (Latin Corpona, German Karpfen, Hungarian Korpona) is located in the south of central Slovakia (Figure 8.1), in the river basin of the Krupinica River, which forms the boundary between the ranges of Štiavnické  Vrchy and Javorie with the Krupina Plateau. In the past, it was part of, alternately, the Hont (e.g. Gáll 1984, 33) and the Zvolen county (e.g. Strassen Charte 1787), as it is located on their border. From a broader perspective, the location could be characterized as the threshold between the northernmost part of the Carpathian basin and the northern Carpathians. From an economic point of view, it is situated on the boundary between the agricultural south and the mining north, making its location suitable for a trading centre. The oldest medieval settlement in the area of the city is determined only by the surface survey material at the site called Šajba. It is dated by Slavic pottery back to the period 8th – 9th century AD. Subsequently, we can observe the trend of shifting the settlement to the north, along the river. The site Pod husárskym mostom is the known settlement from the period 9th – 11th century (Malček and Pálinkás 2001, 146). The subsequent settlement phase dating to the 91

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Figure 8.1. Location of the town of Krupina. © EuroGeographics for the administrative boundaries. Figure created by the author.

(Equus asinus f. domestica), were used which is atypical for the territory of central Slovakia. Breeding and the use of donkeys in Krupina are related to Ottoman cultural influence (Drábiková 1988, 85). The people of Krupina also cultivated the wine themselves. Vine growing is documented by a written source from 1370 (Lukáč 2006, 29). Disputes concerning the monastery in Bzovík about land at Briač are known from the Middle Ages. This land was not only important for a road connection to Zvolen but also because there were vineyards situated there (Maliniak et al. 2015, 15–17). In the course of later development, viticulture reached such a scale that in the middle of the 18 century, Hont County was one of the three counties with the largest area of vineyards within the territory of modern Slovakia (Drábiková 1988, 75). Today, the cultivation of wine is abandoned, and vineyards are overgrown with dense vegetation. Only two major tangible relics remained in Krupina as a reminder of winegrowing: the adaptation of slopes on the site of vineyards; and storage areas.

12th to 13th centuries seems to have left the main stream of Krupinica River, moving along the Bebrava stream to the foothills of the Štiavnické Vrchy mountains, as evidenced by the hoard of silver coins from Pijavice (Balaša 1960, 90) and the extinct church of St Peter at the site Na Petre (Hanuliak 1995). Both sites date to the period 12th – 13th century. The relationship of the town itself with the church and the presumed settlement at St Peter’s church is still unclear. Written sources document Saxon colonization in Krupina as early as 1238 (Lukáč 2006, 27). The archaeological record has not proven this early phase of the settlement yet, but the hypothesis is supported by a still standing late-Romanesque Basilica and an ossuary. In the 1540s a town castle was built around the basilica. However, the city itself was fortified only in the 16th century, following the 1551 order of the Austrian Emperor Ferdinand I of Habsburg, when the town found itself in proximity to the Ottoman Empire and became a significant frontier fortress of the Austrian Empire protecting access into the mining centres (Miňo 2011).

th

2. Survey of extinct vineyards

Since the Middle Ages, Krupina has been a centre of trade. The wine was of great importance amongst traded articles. Krupina is located on the northern edge of the territory where wine growing is still economically advantageous as shown on the maps of The First Military Survey of the Austrian Empire from the 18th century (Figure 8.2; Arcanum Adatbázis 2018). Written sources depict the wine trade of the Krupina burghers. The wine was transported from Krupina to Banská Štiavnica (one of the most important silver mining locations in Europe) and Zvolen (another trading centre nearby to an important gold mining centre, Kremnica, and very important copper mining centre Banská Bystrica). Carts pulled by donkeys

To validate the written and cartographic sources on the extent of wine production around the town of Krupina, a short field survey was conducted which confirmed historic relics of vineyards. At numerous sites within the identified vineyard sites, two forms of parcel arrangement were found (Figure 8.3). The first is terraced, parallel to contour lines, reinforced with dry-stone walls. The second is perpendicular to contour lines, separated by piles of rubble collected from the field. Ethnographic literature (Drábiková 1988, 87) confirms the interpretation of the piles of rubble between the plots as remains of vineyard boundaries. Even one of the recorded nicknames for the 92

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Figure 8.2. Comparison of northernmost winery distribution based on the first military mapping (Arcanum adatbázis 2018) and the maximum extent of Ottoman expansion into the territory of present-day Slovakia (according to Dangl 1984, 88). © EuroGeographics for the administrative boundaries. Figure created by the author.

vineyards. This theory was based mainly on the toponym Kelegrund and its derivation by some older linguistic literature from the German Kellergrund meaning area with cellars (Majtán 1974, 114). This was not supported as no storage facilities were identified, except for a single rock-cut cellar recorded at the site of Vĺčok. However, this single example was in poor condition because of later interventions including the building of a concrete platform around the entrance and a railroad track just at its edge 3. Geology, geographical and cultural background 

Figure 8.3. Diagram of two basic types of arrangements of historical vineyards in Krupina. The dimensions and orientation can vary due to terrain. A – terraced, parallel with contour line (section), B – slope, perpendicular to contour line (front view). Figure created by the author.

people from Krupina, hrobliari (meaning: those who make piles of rubble), is associated with the characteristic rocky vineyards including many piles of rubble (Drábiková 1988, 87). The only dating material gathered during the survey came from the site at Strážavár, including a few pottery sherds dated to the 16th century. However, it could not be determined whether they are related to the vineyard or the neighbouring watchtower.

Krupina is located in the valley of the Krupinica River, which is a threshold between two ranges of volcanic origin (Štiavnické hills and Javorie) and the Krupina Plateau formed of volcanic ashes. The base of the Krupinica River valley and its tributaries are formed of river sediments. A considerable part of the historic town of Krupina is built on these sediments, but the western part of the town is based on the promontory of the volcanic mountains of Štiavnické vrchy. These coarse to blocky epiclastic volcanic conglomerates of pyroxene andesite (ŠGÚDŠ 2017) enabled the construction of large underground cellars by the burghers of Krupina in 16th – 17th century. 

Another goal of the survey was to test the theory of whether there was some kind of wine storage facility directly at the

Some 20 km to the north-west of Krupina lies the town of Banská Štiavnica (Schemnitz). The town was one of the 93

Martin Miňo most important silver mining centres in the Kingdom of Hungary from the Middle Ages up to the modern age. The royal town rights were granted around the year 1237 – 1238 though the archaeological record proves settlement since the 11th century (Štefánik 2010, 55). The geographical proximity of Krupina to Banská Štiavnica was an important precondition for the rock-cut architecture of the cellars in Krupina for two reasons. As an important silver mining town, it disposed of technological know-how and miners experienced in cutting the rock under the ground. The Krupina cellars have likely been excavated directly by the miners from Banská Šiavnica (Drábiková 1988, 77). Banská Štiavnica was probably an inspiration for the idea of locating the storage facilities underground. The second reason is that a precedent was set in medieval Banská Štiavnica, where the houses were built directly over the mouths of the mines. After the exploitation ceased, some of the mine galleries were repurposed as storage facilities (Lichner 2002, 149).

Commonly the entrance stairs are quite steep. They descend to the depth of the main gallery floor which varies from around 1m to 9 m below the street level. The average depth is around 4m below the modern street level. The staircase treads are made either of stone blocks or wood. Wooden staircases are usually preserved only in the form of imprints in the sidewalls. The only preserved wooden staircase is located in the cellar at Sládkovičova Street 14. (Figure 8.9). Each cellar always has a main gallery. The width of individual galleries is almost uniform, from 1.6 m to 1.8 m.  The exception is the main gallery of the cellar under Partizánska Street 3, where the width is up to 2.2 m. Each main gallery diverges into one or more side corridors of varying sizes, which may fork further. Some systems are quite extensive and complicated such as Partizánska Street 4 (Figure 8.8B). In some cellars, it is obvious that they consist of two originally separate cellars with separate entrances that have been merged (Figure 8.10). When merged, one of the original entrances was walled in. It could be assumed that this is also related to the merging of buildings above these cellars. An example is Partizánska Street 5, where we assume that the building originally consisted of two different houses with two different owners separated by a narrow yard. As the two houses became the property of a single owner, they were joined by building a covered carriageway. And so were the two cellars joined, by cutting a connecting gallery. Unfortunately, this assumption is not verified by surveying the house itself yet. In rare cases, it happened that two independent systems became connected by coincidence. In this case, either the connection was walled in, or only a narrow test adit was dug which, when reaching another system unintentionally, was abandoned (Figure 8.11). Some cellars are located on an empty plot today. Commonly at these plots, there is no proof of a building on the cadastral mapping from the 19th century. It is the task of further research to find out if these cellars could be an indicator of lost older architecture (Figure 8.11). The recent rescue archaeology intervention south of Sládkovičova Street 20 might be the first evidence to support this theory. Here an unrecorded house site was found nearby to the entrance to a houseless cellar (Miňo 2017). 

4. Characteristics of Krupina’s rock-cut cellars The cellars under the town of Krupina were first mapped by M. Lukáč (2006, 38–39), who recorded the occurrence of each cellar but did not distinguish their form or draw their plans. His record consists of 67 cellars. In the later investigations it became obvious that, in some cases, multiple records represented different parts of the same cellar system. This was made clear under various circumstances including, for example, during construction work or following the collapse of a ceiling. About half of the total number of cellars recorded by Lukáč are today inaccessible because they are backfilled or the entrance is walled in.  During the latter survey, it was found that the cellars have two forms: built cellars with an arched roof; and rock-cut cellars. Their distribution depends directly on the bedrock in which the cellar is located – whether it is on the volcanic rock or fluvial sediments. Rock-cut cellars are located in the western part of the fortified city, as well as in the western part of the historic northern suburbs. During the survey, 25 rock-cut cellars, 7 built cellars and 1 cellar of combined technique could be examined (Hojčková et al. 2017; 86–87, drawing II.6; Figure 8.4).

Especially in larger cellar systems, ventilation is provided by ventilation shafts. In more complicated cellar systems more than one gallery could be connected to a single ventilation shaft by narrow adits. Water sources were also recorded in some cellars. Three forms were distinguished: a dug well of the circular ground plan (Koháry Row 1, Partizánska Street 5); shallow water gallery (ČSA Street 15); and an extensive cubical cistern (Partizánska Street 4). There are usually no details cut into the walls of the galleries. The only exceptions are small niches in the cellar on the plot of Sládkovičová Street 14 (Figure 8.12). They probably served to store small objects or to hold a source of light. 

All the rock-cut cellars have approximately the same characteristics (Figures 8.5, 8.6). The entrance is most commonly located on the façade of the building (Figure 8.7), exceptionally in the yard of the building. The segmental-arched portal is either on the ground level or is sunken approximately 1m below the street level. Behind the entrance portal, there is usually a masonry entrance hall with either a barrel vault or a beamed ceiling. From this room a staircase descends cut into the rock, leading down to the rock-cut main gallery of the cellar. An exception is a cellar at Sládkovičova Street 14 with a unique two-level solution (Figure 8.8A). Here a large masonry system of cellars was observed, unlike the usual single entrance hall. Another rock-cut system is located underneath.

Considering the soft rock, the surface of which does degrade relatively quickly in a large part of the cellars, technological traces were not found. In rare cases, traces 94

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Figure 8.4. Town of Krupina. Distribution of rock-cut cellars. Dark colour – ground plans of the cellars (survey: M. Miňo and M. Fratričová); point – inaccessible cellar; light coloured area – the extent of volcanic bedrock (source Geological Map of Slovak Republic, adjusted according to field survey); gray line – town walls. Figure created by the author.

Figure 8.5. Generalized cross-section of rock-cut cellars in Krupina showing the typical layout: a) entrance from the street, b) entrance hall, c) staircase to main rock-cut gallery, d) main gallery, e) side gallery, f) ventilation shaft. Figure created by the author.

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Figure 8.6. Typical ground plan of a rock-cut cellar in Krupina, based on the site at Sládkovičova Street 22; entrance from the street (Partizánska Street 5); masonry entrance hall with staircase to the rock-cut main gallery (Sládkovičova Street 11); Rock-cut gallery (Partizánska Street 3). Figure created by the author.

of hand-cutting with a miner’s hammer and iron pick were preserved (Figure 8.13). All the cellars were probably made using the same technology.

that these cellars are not cellars, but partially buried original ground floors of these buildings. A rare type is the cellar on Bočkay Square 2, where there are two large equivalent rooms, arranged side by side.

A limited number of masonry basements are located in the part of the town where volcanic bedrock is not present. Mostly they comprise barrel-vaulted semi-sunken rooms. The street level in this part of the town rose approximately 1 m during the last century (Labuda 2006; Kvietok 2017; Malček 2017). In light of this observation, it is possible

5. Purpose of cellars The main purpose of the cellars was wine storage: some of them are used for this purpose to this day. The osteological find of a pork leg in an anatomical position from a cellar 96

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Figure 8.10. Diagram of the intentional interconnection of two originally independent systems with separate entrances, probably under two separate sites (a, b) an example from Partizánska Street 5: gray area – projected original two houses, circle – supposed point of interconnection of both systems. Figure created by the author.

Figure 8.7. Krupina, Partizánska Street 5. Typical entrance portal featured in all documented rock-cut cellars in town. Figure created by the author.

under the house at Sládkovičova Street 14 documents storage of food. Other trade goods might be stored here as well. Secondarily, the cellars could be used as a refuge at the time of need, which is remembered by locals at least from World War II. It could be presumed that the same might apply for the period of the Ottoman Wars. The cellar under the town hall was used differently: in this dungeon, the town prison was established until 1722 (Lukáč 2006, 125).  Although the purpose of the cellars is quite clear a question remains: why develop such a unique form in this region? Why wouldn’t typical masonry cellars be suitable? Two reasons come to mind. On one hand is the stable microclimate suitable for storing wine and food; on the other hand, the more important reason – the urbanism of the town. The density of structures in the walled town of Krupina and its historic suburb delimited by a palisade

Figure 8.8. Krupina. More complex cellar systems. A – Sládkovičova Street 14, a unique two-level solution, the top level is masonry, the bottom level is rock-cut (gray); arrows indicate entrance; B – Partizánska Street 4, the most complicated cellar system in Krupina. Figure created by the author.

Figure 8.9. Krupina. Types of stairs between the entrance hall and the rock-cut system. A – stone steps, Sládkovičova Street 21; B – the only preserved wooden steps, Sládkovičova Street 14. Figure created by the author.

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Figure 8.11. Krupina. The situation around the building Sládkovičova Street 34.(a) accidentally connected to the cellar at ČSA Street 15 (b); (c) – a cellar on an empty plot with a presumption of an older building perished before the mid-19th century. Figure created by the author.

Figure 8.13. Krupina, Sládkovičova 14. Technological traces of hand cutting the rock. Figure created by the author.

Figure 8.12. Krupina, Sládkovičova Street 14b, niche – the only cellar with any detail cut into the walls; there are two niches like this in this cellar. Figure created by the author.

turbulent frontier zone meant there was not much tendency to expand the city outside the walls. For example, in 1578 the Ottomans burned the suburbs of the town (Lukáč 2006, 31). With the limited space there was no other way to solve the demand for storage in a trade-oriented city than to go underground.

wall is very high when compared to the surrounding towns like Zvolen or Banská Bystrica. This factor considerably limited the space available for economic and storage functions. Additionally, the location of the town in a 98

Renaissance-Era Rock Cut Cellars in the Economy of a Fortified City in the War Frontier between Two Civilizations 6. Dating

trade patterns in the region. Paradoxically, the greatest amount of the Krupinas wine trade is expected during these turbulent times, according to historical context. The main volume of this trade was targeted in today’s Central Slovakia mining area. The reason for this situation is that in 1523 Ottoman troops conquered the region of Syrmium. Syrmium was at that time  one of the most important wine production centres for the Kingdom of Hungary and beyond. As the region fell under the Ottoman rule, the trade connection to the north was cut, creating room for the development of viticulture in the mountainous environment in the north of the kingdom (Baďurík 1990, 53). Even if the trade routes could be re-established the viticulture in the Balkans perished in this period due to climate changes bound up with the ‘Little Ice Age’ and cultural changes. These resulted in a transformation from vinery to liquor production and distillation (MrgićRadojčić 2017, 1310, 1314).  This situation in the early 16th century opened the possibilities for other regions to replace vacancies in the wine trade. 

The analysis of archaeological, historical, political, cultural, and economic data considering artwork and analogies places the most likely date of origin of the rock-cut cellars into the period of the 16th– 17th centuries. Nevertheless, it is not ruled out that some extent of hewing might have appeared before and after this. 6.1. Archaeological data The dating of the rock-cut cellars is still not well-settled. There are not many physical indications to support the date of rock-cut cellars in Krupina based on the analysis of the historical records. Few glazed ceramic fragments, which could be dated very broadly into the period of the 16th – 19th centuries, are the only archaeological material yet. A better key to dating the origin of the cellars could be the uniform shape of the entrance portals (Figure 8.7). They are usually fitted in the masonry of the entrance hall, but exceptionally also in the entrance of the main gallery or between the individual sections of the gallery. Due to the necessary construction gap between the mass of the portal and the rockcut wall of the cellar it can not be safely determined whether these portals were created at the same time as the cellars or were installed later. Portals are relatively simple, semicircular, some with a depressed arch and the bevelled edge to the door frame. Based on the evaluation of the research on the historical development of the building at Sládkovičova Street 20 portals of this type in Krupina can be dated to the period of the 16th –17th centuries (Fillová et al. 2010, 28). The archaeological data could determine the dating only very relatively to the period from the 16th century onwards, with a higher probability for the 16th–17th centuries. 

6.2.2. Rise of the domestic winery

It is clear from the written sources only that before 1722 there was a torture chamber and dungeon in the rock-cut cellar under the town hall (Lukáč 2006, 125). The origin of the rock-cut cellars dating back to the Middle Ages is not supported by any exact evidence yet. Some indirect indication of a younger date of the cellars could be the obvious disconnection with medieval German construction law recorded in the 14th century (Krupina was still a mostly German town in the Middle Ages), which forbade the location of the entrance of the cellars through a pit in the street area (Bindig 2016, 90). Analysis of political, cultural, and economic context makes it clear that the best conditions for the rise of viticulture in Krupina are dated into the period of the 16th century. This rise could be the main cause to trigger the need for vast rock-cut storage facilities. The decline of vine production from the 18th century could be an important milestone to determine the terminus ante quem. 

Agro-technical development which is dated to the period of the 16th century contributed together with the vacancy on the wine market in central Europe to the development of a domestic winery in unconquered parts of the Hungarian Kingdom (Baďurík 1990, 53). The great new player in the wine trade in the area has become the region of Little Carpathians in the south-west of today’s Slovakia and some 70 km away from the new capital Vienna. Vienna became the capital as Hungary and Austria united after the death of Luis II of Hungary at the Battle of Mohács in 1526. Although much of the wine production of the Little Carpathian wine region was destined for consumption in nearby towns like Bratislava, Trnava, and others, all the surpluses were exported to the west via the Danube (Baďurík 1990, 80). Some small amount was distributed also to the territory of Central Slovakia mining towns, but this amount couldn’t satisfy the demand (Baďurík 1990, 80). An important area was the Tokay region in the east; however, its production was focussed mainly on export to Poland (Baďurík 1990, 86). In this situation, the region of Krupina became the only island of domestic wine production in the area between the Little Carpathians and Tokay (Figure 8.2), which wasn’t under Ottoman rule (e.g. Dangl 1984, 88). Another advantage was its location near the mining towns at a time when domestic trade from Tokay or the Little Carpathian region was complicated by internal conflicts, such as the dispute between the Habsburgs and the House of Zápolya over the Hungarian crown, or later uprisings of the Hungarian nobles. All these factors made the 16th century Krupina a primary source of the wine in the surrounding mining region and frontier military garrisons. 

6.2.1. Vacancy on the wine market

6.2.3. Cultural and religious changes

However, the greatest boom in cellar cutting is expected during the period of Ottoman expansion to central Europe in the 16th – 17th centuries which caused changes in routine

Most of the Hungarian towns were associated with Saxon colonization in the 13th century. Citizens of German ethnic origin comprised a high portion of the population in

6.2. Political, cultural and economic context

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towns far into the modern age. These citizens preserved cultural and trade contacts with German lands, which is a reason for the massive expansion of the Lutheran Church in the region almost immediately after Martin Luther`s start of the church reformation in 1516 (e.g. Alberty and Martuliak 2001). Due to Lutherans’ church adherence to the communion in both kinds, an increase of demand for the wine for liturgical needs could be presumed. Because the wine would not be drunk during the ceremony only by the cleric, but also by everybody present.

6.5. Dating through analogy There is no record of a similar system of rock-cut cellars in the urban environment from Slovakia. However, analogies could be found in a rural environment, although they don´t have an entirely identical design. The geographically closest analogy is the rock-cut cellar under the main tower of Castle Čabraď. 

At the same time, it is recorded that nobility started to join the winery enterprise in the 16th century (Baďurík 1990, 58). In Krupina there are records that the noblemen moved into the fortified town from the surrounding countryside during the Ottoman threat (Vošková 2014, 13). We assume that many of them were involved in wine production. The sale of vineyards in Krupina by nobleman Thomas Palásthy and his wife Sophie Bakó from 1657 (Tóth 2001, 40) could support this theory. 

Though the tower is of an older date, the cellar is mentioned in the oldest known description of the castle from the year 1476 (Ratkoš 1958, 95). In the description of 1558, we learn that it was also used to store wine (Maliniak 2016, 132). In the vicinity of the castle, wine cellars are recorded in Rykynčice in a trial with outlaw Lucas Ďurčok of Ladzany in 1595. Unfortunately, we do not know more about the form of those cellars (Kožiak and Maliniak 2013, 16–17). However, there exist rock-cut cellars in the village today. 

Another important fact is that at this same time, the consumption of wine began to spread among the ordinary people in the 16th century in the region of Upper Hungary – today’s Slovakia (Baďurík 2005, 43). It is not clear if this was somehow connected with the Lutheran ceremonies or the fact that more people were involved in the wine production so they became more familiar with the beverage. 

Indirect evidence of the importance of the wine trade for the town of Krupina, and so indirect evidence of the need for extensive wine storage, is the relief design to the portal of the old town hall dated 1548 (demolished in 1901). The relief shows a grapevine (Lukáč 2006, 218), which is a motif unique to portals in contemporary art. Its use in one of the most important secular architecture in town might have some link with the importance of the plant in the lives of the town’s inhabitants in the 16th century. 

In the rural environment of Hont region, relatively small rock-cut cellars occur in almost every village. Their exact dating is not always clear. In Brhlovce the oldest cellar is dated to 1740 (Drábiková 1988, 76). Dated rock-cut cellars are also known from the nearby village Sebechleby, where the oldest date on a cellar is 1764, while the majority are from the 19th century. The same applies to the rock-cut dwellings from Lišov. However, these dates are based only on the dates written on the portals of the small structures above the cellars, not necessarily to the establishment of the cellar, which can be older than the structure above it. A more geographically distant analogy is the cellar system under Nádasdy mansion in Čachtice, located on the northern edge of the Little Carpathian wine region. The mansion was built at the beginning of the 16th century (Güntherová 1967, 255). The Čachtice cellar system is similar to the Krupina system. Because of its size and complexity, it differs from Krupina by having narrow bottlenecks that could be sealed easily for security. The material into which this system is excavated is loess. More common are similar rock-cut systems in the area of Bohemia ​​ and Moravia (in towns like Jihlava, Tábor, Týn nad Vltavou, Slavonice or Znojmo), where their beginnings are dated back to the 14th century but experienced the greatest boom in the 16th–17th centuries (Hromas 2002) which correlates with the results of all the other analysis made. 

6.4. Dating through technology

7. Conclusions

Comparing the few technological traces found in the rockcut cellars in Krupina to the site of a stone quarry at Pod

After mapping and evaluating the data from the rockcut cellars in Krupina it could be stated that Krupina´s

6.2.4. Decline of the wine-industry in Krupina The recession of the wine-industry in Krupina is considered to have begun at the beginning of the 18th century. Among the reasons is the retreat of the Ottomans from Hungary and the return of wine production in the broader area; a new trend of the increased popularity of beer-drinking among common people; but most important a gradual climatic change (Baďurík 2005, 53), which made it almost impossible to make viticulture an economically profitable enterprise in the Krupina area. The trend of decreasing production due to climate change is noticeable also in the Little Carpathians region (Baďurík 2005, 53).  6.3. Evidence in artwork

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Renaissance-Era Rock Cut Cellars in the Economy of a Fortified City in the War Frontier between Two Civilizations wine cellars are a unique phenomenon for the territory of Slovakia in terms of design and extent. Their existence is linked with the advantageous location of the town in the transitional area between winery and mining regions. The dating of the origin of the cellars is unknown. The presented research most probably encompasses the peak era of hewing the cellars in Krupina. Based on written documents about wine production the earliest occurrence could be in the 14th century, but there is no archaeological evidence to support this early dating yet. Based on the analysis of available data we assume that large cellars in the urban area were cut into rock mostly in the 16th17th centuries. The gradual abandonment of their use was most probably from the early 18th century, thanks to the renewal of the wine regions in Lower Hungary, climatic changes, and at the same time, an increased competition of the brewing industry. As a result of the pan-European epidemic of vine diseases in the 19th century, there was a great winery crisis, which practically meant the disappearance of the winery in Krupina.

Banská Bystrica: Archive of Regional Monument Board Banská Bystrica. Gáll, Ján. 1988. “Náčrt historického vývinu Hontianskej župy”. In: Hont. Tradície ľudovej kultúry – Гонт. Tрадициинароднойкультуры – Das Gebiet Hont. Traditionen Der Volkskultur – National cultural heritage of the Hont region – Hont – a népi kultúra hagyományai, ed. Ján Botík. 32–52. Banská Bystrica: Krajské osvetové stredisko. Güntherová, Alžbeta, ed. 1967. Súpis pamiatok na Slovensku. A–J. Bratislava: Obzor. Hanuliak, Václav. 1995. “Záchranný výskum v Krupine – na Petre – Archäologische Rettungsgrabung in Krupina – Na Petre”. AVANS 1993: 52–54. Hojčková, Anna, Martina Poliaková, Martin Miňo, Mária Flórová and Anna Faturová. 2017. “Pamiatková zóna Krupina. Zásady ochrany, obnovy a prezentácie pamiatkového územia”. Banská Bystrica: Regional Monument Board Banská Bystrica.

How was wine stored in the Middle Ages, if we accept that the wine cellars in the town are of the renaissance period (referring to the central European perspective of renaissance, which means 16th–17th century)? This is a question that couldn’t be answered yet and could be a space for future developments.

Hromas, Jaroslav. 2002. Podzemí v Čechách, na Moravě, ve Slezsku. Prague: Nakladatelství Olympia. Kožiak, Rastislav and Pavol Maliniak. 2013. “Ladzany vo svetle najstarších písomných prameňov”. In Z histórie Ladzian, ed. Rastislav Kožiak, 13–18. Ladzany: Municipality of Ladzany.

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Alberty, Július and Pavol Martuliak. 2001. “Banská Bystrica v znamení kalicha: história Zboru ev. a.v. církvi a evanjelického školstva v Banskej Bystrici do roku 1918”. Banská Bystrica: Trian.

Labuda, Jozef. 2006. “Documentation of archaeology research: Krupina – prístavba objektu Kvetinárstva a zlatníctva, Ul. A. Kmeťa, parc. 533/2, august 2006”. Banská Štiavnica: Archive of Regional Monument Board Banská Bystrica.

Baďurík, Jozef. 1990. Malokarpatské vinohradníctvo v 16. storočí – Малокаратскоевиноградарство в 16 веке – Kleinkarpatenweinbau im 16. Jahrhundert. Bratislava: Commenius University.

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Baďurík, Jozef. 2005. “Z dejín malokarpatského vinárstva a vinohradníctva”. In: Víno Malých Karpát, ed. Fedor Malík, 32–60. Bratislava: Vydavateľstvo PT.

Lukáč, Miroslav. 2006. Krupina, monografia mesta – Krupina, the monograph of the city – Krupina, die Monographie der Stadt – Krupina, La monographie de la ville – Krupina, a városmonográfiája. Banská Bystrica: Štúdio Harmony.

Balaša, Gejza. 1960. Praveké osídlenie stredného Slovenska – Besiedlung der Mittleren Slowakei in der Urzeit. Martin: Osveta. Bindig, Günther, 2016. Stavebný proces v stredoveku – Baubetrieb im Mittelalter. Trans. Jana Šulcová. Bratislava: AEPress.

Majtán, Milan. 1974. “Ergebnisse des deutschslowakischen Kontaktes in der Mikrotoponymie der Stadt Krupina (früher dt.Karpfen)”. Onomastica Slavogermanica IX: 111–115.

Dangl, Vojtech. 1984. “Bitky a bojiská”. Bratislava: Perfekt. Drábiková, Ema. 1988. “Vinohradníctvo”. In: Hont. Tradície ľudovej kultúry – Гонт. Традиции народной культуры – Das Gebiet Hont. Traditionen der Volkskultur – National cultural heritage of the Hont region – Hont – a népi kultúra hagyományai, ed. Ján Botík. 88–96. Banská Bystrica: Krajské osvetové stredisko.

Malček, Robert. 2017. “Documentation of archaeology research: Krupina, polyfunkčný dom ASCO”. Zvolen: Archive of Regional Monument Board Banská Bystrica. Malček, Robert and Tibor Pálinkás. 2001. “Prieskum údolia Krupinica – Begehung des Krupinica-Tales”. In AVANS 2000: 146.

Fillová, Ľubica, Miroslav Lukáč and Michal Šimkovic. 2010. “Documentation of architecture-history research: Krupina, meštiansky dom na Ulici A. Sĺádkoviča č. 20”.

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2016. “Stavebné a funkčné Čabraď na základe inventárov

Martin Miňo Abbreviations

do začiatku 17. storočia – A csábrági vár építészetiésfunkciószerintifelosztásainventáriumok alapján a 17. századelejéig”. In „Za Boha, kráľa a vlasť!” Koháryovci v uhorských dejinách, ed. Mária Ďurianová, 129–137. Zvolen: National Forrest Centre.

AVANS – Archeologické výskumy a nálezy na Slovensku (Archaeological research and finds in Slovakia) AH – Archaeologia Historica ŠDÚDŠ- Štátny geologický ústav Dyonýza Štúra (State geology Intitute of Dyonýz Štúr)

Maliniak, Pavol, Henrieta Žažová and Rastislav Kožiak. 2015. “Archive-historical research. Documentation of archaeology research: NKP Kláštor premonštrátov Bzovík”, ed. Ján Beljak, 10–24. Nitra: Archive of Regional Monument Board Banská Bystrica. Miňo, Martin. 2011. “Niekoľko postrehov k fortifikačným prvkom mestských opevnení v stredoslovenskej banskej oblasti – Einige Beobachtungen zu Elementen von Befestigungsanlagen mittelalterlicher Bergbaustädte”. In AH 36, eds. Zdeněk Měřínský and Pavel Kouřil, 289–302. Brno: Muni Press. Miňo, Martin. 2017. “Documentation of archaeology research: Krupina, Múzeum A. Sládkoviča, oporný pilier. Sign. KPUBB-2017/15965-2/52518/MIŇ”. Banská Bystrica: Regional Monument Board Banská Bystrica. Mrgić-Radojčić, Jelena. 2017. “Aqua vitae–Notes on Geographies of Alcohol Production and Consumption in the Ottoman Balkans”. Етноантрополошки проблеми 12 (4): 1309–1328. Ratkoš, Peter. 1958 “Hrad Čabraď na konci stredoveku”. Pamiatky a múzeá 7: 95–96. Strassen Charte von Thuroczer Gespanschafft 1787, National library Széchény, sign. TK1842. Štefánik, Martin. 2010. “Banská Štiavnica”. In Lexikón stredovekých miest na Slovensku, eds. Martin Štefánik and Ján Lukačka, 54–77. Bratislava: Institute of History of Slovak Academy of Sciences. Tóth, Krisztina. 2001. “A Palásthycsaládlevéltára 1256– 1847”. Esztergom: Komárom – Esztergom Megyei Levéltár. Vošková, Katarína. 2014. “Historické brány krupinských domov – Historic gates of the houses in Krupina”. Bratislava: Slovak University of Technology in Bratislava. Online Sources ŠGÚDŠ. 2017. “Geological map of Slovak Republic”. accessed February 12, 2018. http://apl.geology.sk/gm50js/ Arcanum adatbázis. 2018. “Europe in the XVIII. century”. accessed February 2, 2018. http://mapire.eu/ en/map/firstsurvey/?layers=osm%2C1%2C73&bbox= 356501.59843544476%2C5601288.096409433%2C2 704647.1073560594%2C6668960.507496774

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9 Addi Behaylay – A Possible Stone Quarry Site for Yeha Great Temple: A Result of Recent Archaeological Survey1 Hiluf Berhe Mekelle University, Ethiopia Abstract: This paper reports on a survey conducted in and around Addi Behaylay, a stone quarry site located north-east of Edaga Arbi, the administrative town of Weri Leke district. The survey was conducted to see if ancient sites exist between Yeha and Addi Akaweh after potential pre-Aksumite and Aksumite sites were identified around Feresmay, south of Yeha. A potential stone quarry for construction material was identified: Addi Behaylay 1 (AB-1), Addi Behaylay 2 (AB-2) and Addi Behaylay Kidanemihret (AB-K). The site is marked by the presence of stones used for pillar and wall construction measuring 2.5 m to 9 m in length, many of them with chisel marks. The stone type is Tekeze sandstone. The chisel marks suggest that the ancient people carved the stone on the site to remove the rough surface, while final dressing work was carried out in Yeha. None of the stone was used for stela. The site was very likely used as a stone construction quarry by the ancient people of Yeha. There is no other large ancient site closer to this quarry than Yeha using similar block types for wall construction and pillars. The ancient people of Yeha used Tekeze sandstone to build the Yeha Great Temple and pillars for Grat Be’al Gebri palace. No stelae are found in Yeha. The ancient people of Yeha might have known of the existence of the stone source at Addi Behaylay through the ancient residents around Feresmay. Local legend at Yeha relates that the source of stone for Yeha Great Temple is located at a place called Lihuts. The location of that place has never been identified. However, the technique of quarrying at Addi Behaylay confirms this legend: Lihuts, a Tigrigna word, indicates that the stone for the Temple construction was obtained by taking away the layers of horizontally bedded sandstone. The people could have transported the stone to Yeha through the valley of Feresmay using manpower and elephants. Keywords: stone quarry site, Tekeze sandstone, construction, Temple, pillars, horizontal bedding. Introduction 1

before the emergence of the Aksumite kingdom from about the eighth century to the mid-fourth century BC with its centre at Yeha. There, some influences of a South Arabian nature are recognized mainly in language, religion, art and monumental architecture (Phillipson 1998; Gerlach 2012). The most outstanding example of the cultural connection between Ethiopia and South Arabia is exhibited in the writing form – not only the language itself but also the script and the boustrophedon writing direction that are fully developed at Yeha (van Beek 1967). The connection between South Arabia and Ethiopia can well be pushed back to before the fifth century BC since the boustrophedon writing system in South Arabia died out before then (van Beek 1967; Munro-Hay 1991).

In Ethiopia, the ‘pre-Aksumite’ civilization2 of the region was marked by the presence of an Ethio-Sabean material culture developed in present-day Eritrea and Tigray. The civilization’s characteristics are mainly evident in Yeha (Phillipson 1998; Finneran 2007), the most famous centre of the D’MT3. D’MT is the name of a kingdom that existed 1  Unfortunately, since November 2020, reaching the author has been extremely difficult, due to the current war in the Tigray region. Since exchanges have been impossible, the chapter could not undergo a complete process of review and editing and this is the reason behind any incompleteness that might be spotted in the text. Nevertheless, the editors want to acknowledge the work done by Berhe on this chapter by including it in the edited volume. 2  The usage of this terminology is so ambiguous as not to define a specific time period. It is currently under discussion by some scholars. See for example Phillipson 2009; Curtis 2009; Schmidt 2009. 3  D’MT is the un-vocalized form; scholars propose that its vocalized form could be Da’amat.

The most fascinating archaeological features found in Yeha include: the famous Great Temple; pillars and the ruined palace structure at Grat Be’al Gebri; and rock-cut tombs. Some seventeen rock-cut tombs were opened by Francis 103

Hiluf Berhe

Figure 9.1. The Great Temple of Yeha with a view from the north-west. Figure created by the author.

the ruined palace at Grat Be’al Gebri. The possible location of the source of stone for Yeha Great Temple has been recently proposed, based on the construction material’s similarity with geological formations in the surrounding regional deposits (Asfawossen Asrat 2009). A German Archaeological Institute project is also currently seeking the stone quarry site. Thus, the present article presents the results of fieldwork prospection for the stone source for Yeha Great Temple and pillars at Grat Be’al Gebri, demonstrating that future petrological tests and detailed study using a multidisciplinary approach is required.

Anfray in 1960 for the first time (Anfray 1963). The temple measuring 18.5 m × 15 m is partially ruined and has only one entrance from the west. Due to its technique of construction and strength of the material from which it is constructed (Asfawossen Asrat 2009) the temple survived in a good condition for more than 2,500 years. Its wall is built from regular rectangular blocks of well-dressed stone measuring up to 3 m in length and no mortar was used for the construction. The edges and corners of the blocks are superbly dressed with high precision. Sergew Hable Selassie describes the architecture of the temple as ‘one of the masterpieces of art’ (Sergew Hable 1972: 14) (Figure 9.1). Local oral tradition relates that in the sixth century AD the temple had been converted into a Christian place of worship; a small building was then built within the main temple, later cleared away by the Deutsche AksumExpedition (DAE) in 1906 (Littmann et al. 1913)4. To the northwest of this temple, around 200 m away on another raised platform at Grat Be’al Gebri, stands a ruined palace structure identified by pillars and a walled structure. 

1. Previous Investigations  Located some 50 km to the east of the major ancient city of Aksum and only 31 km from the historic town of Adwa, Yeha was first visited and recorded in literature by Father Francisco Alvarez in the early sixteenth century. He was the first traveller to describe the Great Temple of Yeha (Beckingham and Huntingford 1961). Yeha was also visited by James Bruce in 1769 though he noted nothing about the temple or other archaeological remains (Bruce 1790). Henry Salt – the British traveller – visited Yeha in 1810 and made, relatively speaking, a better description of the temple, and copied some of the Ethio-Sabean inscriptions (Salt 1814). The next traveller who visited Yeha towards

Previous research at Yeha, recorded by foreign travellers and subsequent archaeological projects, had not considered the source of the stone for the Great Temple or the pillars of 4 

This was a German multidisciplinary team led by Enno Littmann.

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Addi Behaylay – A Possible Stone Quarry Site for Yeha Great Temple 3. Methodology

the close of the nineteenth century was Theodore Bent. In 1893, Bent made a detailed archaeological investigation including a full description of the Great Temple, altars and stelae, and the ancient inscriptions. He made detailed drawings and sketches (Bent 1896).

The area to be covered by the survey of eight days’ duration was first defined on a map. Walk-over survey was then conducted on foot, observing the topography of the area and looking carefully for traces of ancient human activities. Local residents in every locality were also interviewed. Sites were plotted onto the existing mapping. Any site discovery was followed by detailed description including recording the methods of carving the stones, metrical recording, noting the stone type(s), layout of the stones, and the nature of the topography where the stone quarry is located. Tools such as Global Positioning System (GPS) to capture geographic coordinates, digital camera, geographic compass, measuring tape, and notebook were used.

Yeha was also a focus of interest for scientific archaeological investigation during the outset of the twentieth century. The first scientific archaeological team using a multidisciplinary approach to work on Yeha was the German archaeological project commonly known as Deutsche Aksum-Expedition, directed by Enno Littmann. The team produced photographs, made a detailed description of the site, and even recorded the existence of a ruined structure with partially broken pillars on a mound which Anfray later identified as Grat Be’al Gebri (Littmann et al. 1913). In 1955 Jean Doresse uncovered a baptism basin to the south-east corner inside the Great Temple (Doresse 1956). Since that time and until 1998, no archaeological exploration took place on the site.

4. Result of the Survey The survey was conducted from 2 to 9 March 2011 assisted by one fourth-year university student of archaeology. A potential quarry site was discovered near Edaga Arbi town. Other sites of ruined ancient churches marked by standing and fallen pillars were discovered and recorded. One of the sites is Hambar Godewa. This is 3 km to the west of Edaga Arbi5. The site includes a circular mound, 20 m in diameter, located on a plain of cultivated land. Stone debris forming the mound suggests that the main building was located there. To the south, east and west of the mound are stone slabs originally used as thresholds. The western threshold is 1.63 m long, 0.41m wide (only the visible section could be measured as it is partially buried), and 0.15 m thick. The southern threshold is 3.73 m long, 0.71 m wide and 0.23 m thick. In contrast, the eastern threshold is 2.73 m long, 0.73 m wide and 0.17 m thick. Stones belonging to the ruined ancient building stretch for 70 m to the west, south and south-east, and 30 m to the north, north-east and north-west of the mound. Apart from the threshold stones, some 500 m away to the south of the mound are three pillars carved from sandstone. The pillars were possibly moved to these locations: today they are found on cultivable land, all of them lying on the ground. The southernmost pillar measures 2.20 m in height, 0.74 m wide and 0.40 m thick. The northernmost pillar is 4.35 m tall, 0.69 m wide and 0.28 m thick, whereas the central one is 2.25 m tall, 0.79 m wide and 0.50 m thick.

A French archaeological mission under the direction of Christian Robin carried out excavations in 1998 inside and at the gate of the Great Temple itself (Robin and de Maigret 1998). Asrat’s geological survey on the possible source for stone with which Yeha temple is built is the first work to suggest the general location of a quarry site: that survey also presented the detail of the type of stone used for the temple building (Asfawossen Asrat 2002; 2009). According to Asrat, the temple is constructed of finegrained sandstones whose possible source could be located within a 50 km radius to the east, south-east or south-west of Yeha. Since 2009, the German Archaeological Institute, under the direction of Iris Gerlach, has been working on the Great Temple dealing with archaeological, geological, and epigraphical research and conservation works (Gerlach 2012: 4, figure 9; Gerlach and Weiß 2015). 2. Survey Objective  The pre-Aksumite site of Yeha has been famous in literature since the sixteenth century and attracted many archaeological research projects due to its proximity to the Adigrat–Adwa main road. Those projects tended to focus on the visible monumental structures and the temple. Recently, another potential pre-Aksumite site was discovered at Addi Akaweh near Wukro Kilte Awlaelo (Hiluf Berhe 2009). Some important hints have also been recorded suggesting the presence of pre-Aksumite sites between Yeha and Addi Akaweh, with the discovery of four sites around Feresmay (Hiluf Berhe 2011). The present survey was thus conducted as a continuation of the previous archaeological survey results from Feresmay, with the objective of providing more detail about the possibility of the existence of archaeological sites between Yeha and Addi Akaweh. During the survey, a quarry site was identified and then recorded, along with many other archaeological sites including ruins of ancient churches.

Another site located during the survey is that of Enda Giorgis Sguh. It is 8 km to the north of the Edaga ArbiNebelet road, and approximately 30 km from the town of Edaga Arbi. The site is located in a broad valley surrounded by sandstone mountains except to its south, in which direction the Sguh stream flows, where the valley opens out. The site can be identified by the presence of pillars, 5  Although the official name of the administrative town of Weri Leke district (Wereda in Ethiopian language) is Edaga Arbi, it is also known as Indaba Tsahma, after a church dedicated to Tsahma located on hilltop at the southern edge of the town. Tsahma was one of the nine Saints who came to Ethiopia from Syria and Byzantine during the fifth century AD. The official name “Edaga Arbi” is thus used in this article.

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Hiluf Berhe crosses carved in stone, a stone basin for baptism, and mounded stone debris. According to the local reports this was the location of an early sixth century church dedicated to St George, until it was burnt by Ahmed Gragn during the sixteenth century. Today an annual commemorative ceremony is held in this ancient site. There are very old olive trees that suggest the antiquity of the site. All the pillars are upright, although in secondary contexts. The tallest pillar measures 1.87 m above the ground; the rest are 1.46 m, 1.01 m, and 0.83 m tall. Further research is needed to investigate the archaeology of the Hambar Godewa and Enda Giorgis Sguh ancient church sites.

it was difficult to distinguish easily from the rest in their natural, horizontal, bedding (Figure 9.3).  4.1.2. Addi Behaylay 2 (AB-2) At about 0.25 km to the south of AB-1, another site was revealed with indications of a stone quarry. Exposed to erosion very recently and today located on a small stream, site AB-2 is larger in size with a greater concentration of stone blocks than AB-1. Here clearly worked stone blocks measuring up to 5.5 m long, most possibly intended for pillars, are found lying on the eroded section. According to the local residents the effect of the erosion on the site started some thirty years ago due to clearance of vegetation on the hillside. As a result, many of the stone blocks are displaced from their original location. Before the beginning of the erosion, according to elders, the worked stone blocks were positioned together; during the past thirty years, however, they have become scattered in the stream. Just outside the eroded section of the stream, many other worked slabs are found in situ laid one over another. This provides clear evidence to reconstruct the arrangement of the stones before their dislocation by natural causes such as erosion. At site AB-2 there are two groups of worked stones. The first includes very large blocks, rectangularly shaped, possibly prepared for the purpose of making pillars. The second group comprises small, medium and large flat slabs possibly intended for the purpose of making thresholds and blocks for building walls (Figure 9.4).

4.1. Addi Behaylay stone quarry  The site of the Addi Behaylay stone quarry is situated to the north-east of Edaga Arbi, the administrative town of Weri Leke wereda. Located only 2 km from the town, the site can be easily reached and is bounded by cliffs to its west and north and by a lowland area to its east. The geology of the area is reddish-brown Addigrat sandstone overlying the Edaga Arbi Tillites6. The area from Edaga Arbi to Nebelet, just north of the Weri lowland, is characterized by chained plateaux with a rocky façade facing south. Many settlements are located on the top of the table plateau. At the foot of the plateau the Weri lowland begins, characterized by bushes growing on the flat topography. The stone quarry site of Addi Behaylay lies at the eastern side of the foot of the plateau that stretches from Edaga Arbi to Feresmay (Figure 9.2). Here at Addi Behaylay, three separate stone quarry sites have been identified: Addi Behaylay 1, Addi Behaylay 2, and Addi Behaylay Kidanemihret.

4.2. Addi Behaylay Kidanemihret (AB-K) Some 0.25 km to the south of AB-2, a third site includes a large concentration of large worked stone blocks. Situated on the western side of a footpath (when heading towards Edaga Arbi town), this site is located at the foot of a cliff. The nature of the terrain here is very steep and it is a place where numerous worked stones can be found. As observed during the survey, the site comprises large and flat reddish stones formed from the natural horizontal bedding, from where the ancient people quarried the stones very easily and abundantly (Figures 9.5, 9.6). It is very clear that this is the main quarry site where the largest concentration of worked stones is located. All the stones bear clear chisel marks and were fully worked and ready for transportation. The tallest stone slab here measures 9 m. Most of the stones are found scattered, while many others still lie one on top of the other. But all the stones here were certainly intended for the purpose of construction: to judge from their shape, none seems to have been intended for pillars or for stela. The shape is flat and long indicating that they were to be used only for wall construction, as is discussed below.

4.1.1. Addi Behaylay 1 (AB-1) This site was the first to be revealed on either side of a footpath. It is marked by roughly-worked stones possibly intended by their quarrymen to be used for pillars and slabs. Currently most of them are used in a wall at the site, while others have undergone some process of erosion. As a result, it is very difficult to differentiate between those which were shaped by humans and those found in their natural form. Close by are new inhabitants who unfortunately know nothing about the history of the site and the worked stones there. It was using techniques of archaeological survey and investigation, noting features such as the shape of the stones, their location away from the main source on the slope, and similarity of height that revealed the major indicators making it possible to recognize the site and distinguish the worked stones from the rest. Compared to the other stone quarry sites (discussed below), AB-1 consists of very scattered and few worked stones. The tallest stone here measures 2.5 m. Eight worked stones possibly intended for pillars and thresholds or wall construction were found. There are, however, many other stones which appear to bear workmanship, but

6 

5. Discussion 5.1. Who used the Addi Behaylay stone quarry sites? Once the potential stone quarry sites were discovered and recorded, an important question comes to mind: Who used

Mulata Haftu, Geologist, Mekelle University. Per.comm., 2018.

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Addi Behaylay – A Possible Stone Quarry Site for Yeha Great Temple

107 Figure 9.2. Geographic location of the main sites and other archaeological features. Figure created by the author.

Hiluf Berhe

Figure 9.3. Stone block from AB-1 possibly intended for pillar as indicated by its size and shape. The surface of the stone is highly smoothed and deformed due to erosion and human activities. It is currently found on cultivated land; others were used to make a wall. Figure created by the author.

Figure 9.5. Worked stone blocks from AB-K (a) general view from east; (b) closer view of the site. All the stone blocks in (b) are worked with clear chisel marks on their upper surface. Figure created by the author.

Figure 9.4. Closer view of stone blocks from site AB-2. (a) pillars [?]; (b) stones possibly intended for thresholds. Figure created by the author.

Figure 9.6. Worked stones with clear chisel marks. Figure created by the author.

this stone quarry site? Before dealing with a hypothesis about the possible exploiters of this site in the remote past, it was appropriate to adopt an interview methodology to gather information from local residents about the history of the site. Numerous local residents were interviewed to

find out if they have histories of the surveyed locations. All the persons interviewed answered uniformly as follows: ‘These stones are not the works of humans in the past, but they are of nature’. Realizing that there is no information from the residents about the immediate history of the site, 108

Addi Behaylay – A Possible Stone Quarry Site for Yeha Great Temple they were asked additional questions about their history of settlement in this area. According to the residents, their predecessors started settling here about three hundred years ago. Thus, this is the main reason for the absence of connection between the ancient history of the site and the current residents. So, who used this stone quarry site? Sources indicate that the two largest centres of population in Tigray in the past are Yeha and Aksum. Yeha was the seat of the “preAksumite” kingdom known as D’MT while Aksum was the capital of the great Aksumite Empire. Looking at the nature of construction material at Yeha including stelae and considering the similarity between stones from the quarry and pillars at Grat Be’al Gebri palace, as well as the proximity of Yeha to the quarry, the ancient people of Yeha might have used Addi Behaylay as the source of stone for the construction of Yeha Great Temple and pillars for the palace at Grat Be’al Gebri. An ancient use of the stone sources, rather than historical exploitation, is further supported by the absence of connection between the present-day residents and the quarries.  Yeha is the largest and nearest ancient centre to the Addi Behaylay stone sources. The ancient people of Yeha probably had good knowledge about this site through local chiefs then residing around Feresmay. The settlement pattern between Yeha and Feresmay might have been connected during Yeha’s occupation period. This is suggested by the discovery of ancient settlement and worship centres at Addi Baekel, Feresmay, Filhat and Enda Giorgis (Hiluf Behre 2011). Another possible justification is that there is no other known ancient centre nearer to this source than Yeha which could exploit such a large stone quarry. The type of stone used for the construction of Yeha Great Temple and as pillars for the Grat Be’al Gebri palace is similar in appearance to the type of stone at the Addi Behaylay quarries: the type of stone found both at the quarry site and also at Yeha is Tekeze sandstone7. Petrological tests and microscopic comparison is necessary to affirm this hypothesis. 

Figure 9.7. Stones in natural bedding; (a) from AB-K, (b) from AB-2. Figure created by the author.

on the mode of transportation, the possible means of transportation of the stones to Yeha is by use of human power and elephants, as in the case of Aksum stelae (Phillipson 1998; 2000). Asrat’s geological study of Tigray supports the results of the survey that the Great Temple was constructed of sandstone which could have been quarried from the neighbourhood. According to Asrat, ‘… the nearest natural exposure of these sandstones is some 50 km east or south-east of Yeha. However, the western equivalent of this sandstone known as the Tekeze Sandstone is exposed in some gorges only some 15 km south-west of Yeha. The sandstone used to construct the Temple may have been quarried from such gorges, seeing their proximity to the place of construction …’ (Asfawossen Asrat 2009: 7) (Figure 9.7).

The stones worked and left at the quarry indicate that they were intended for the purpose of wall construction and the provision of pillars and thresholds, but none of the sites appear to have been producing stelae: there are no stelae at the ancient centre of Yeha. The selection of the site as a source of stone by, possibly, the ancient people of Yeha might have had manifold advantages: for example, Addi Behaylay may have been selected due to its proximity to Yeha; it is a site where easily workable, beautiful and abundant Tekeze sandstone in the form of massive horizontal bedding is found. The ease of transportation from Addi Behaylay to Yeha through the valley of Feresmay is another advantage (see Figure 9.2). Although further research is needed

5.2. Technique of quarrying The geological formation of stones at Addi Behaylay was probably one of the reasons which attracted the ancient people of Yeha to choose this area as a source for construction material. The fine-grained sandstone at Addi Behaylay is beautiful and arranged in horizontal beds. Generally, there are different means of obtaining construction stones: for example, collecting small stones

Tekie Fisseha, Geologist, personal communication, 10 May 2011, Aksum, Ethiopia.

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from fields, flaking from boulders or outcrops, and quarrying larger blocks from bedrock sources as in the case of Gobodura. At Addi Behaylay, however, the technique for obtaining the stones is somewhat different from what we have at Gobodura for granite stones (Phillipson 1998; Bessac 2014). The Tekeze sandstones at Addi Behaylay were not cut from the hill nor collected from fields as small pieces. The people there needed only to extract blocks layer by layer from the bed. Thus, only a little effort must have been exerted to chisel away the coarser part of these blocks. The type of Tekeze sandstones at these sources and at the Temple of Yeha show quite similar texture and colour. Asrat adds: ‘The Temple is entirely built of finegrained sandstone blocks which show striking uniformity in composition and texture, implying that they must have been quarried from a massive sandstone bed’ (Asfawossen Asrat 2009: 7).

Anfray, Francis. 1963. “Une campagne de fouilles a Yeha (Fevrier – Mars 1960)”. Annales d’Ethiopie 5: 171–232. Asfawossen Asrat. 2002. “The Rock-Hewn Churches of Tigrai, Northern Ethiopia: A Geological Perspective”. Geoarchaeology 17 (7): 649–663. Asfawossen Asrat. 2009. “The Temple of Yeha: GeoEnvironmental Implications on its Site Selection and Preservation”. In Proceedings of the 16th International Conference of Ethiopian Studies, eds. Svein Ege, Harald Aspen, Bihranu Teferra and Shiferaw Bekele, 1–10. Trondheim: NTNU-trykk. Beckingham, Charles F. and George W.B. Huntingford. 1961, The Prester John of the Indies: a true relation of the lands of the Prester John, being the narrative of the Portuguese Embassy to Ethiopia in 1520 written by Father Francisco Alvares, Cambridge: Hakluyt Society at the University Press.

In 2003 the author was informed by the residents of Yeha that the source of stone for Yeha Great Temple is called Lihuts, a Tigrigna word derived from the technique of quarrying the stones: peeling layer by layer of the horizontally bedded rock. But no exact location had so far been identified that could correspond to the name Lihuts. Thus, the technique of quarrying stones at Addi Behaylay may confirm this legend. 

Bessac, Jean-Claude. 2014. “Le travail de la pierre à Aksum”. Annales d’Ethiopie 29: 147–178. Bent, James T. 1896. The Sacred City of the Ethiopians being a Record of Travel and Research in Abyssinia in 1893. London: Longmans, Green, and Co. Bruce, James. 1790. Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile, in the Years of 1768,1769, 1770, 1771, 1772, and 1773, III. London: Imp. John Ruthven.

Additionally, the worked stones at Addi Behaylay show that some of the work was carried out at the source while final dressing (smoothing), modifying the size and decorating the stones for the final construction of the Great Temple must have been carried out at Yeha itself. This is suggested by the workable nature of the stones, the absence of well-dressed blocks at the quarry sites and the absence of rough-outs left at Yeha.

Curtis, Matthew C. 2009. “Relating the Ancient Ona Culture to the Wider Northern Horn. Discerning Patterns and Problems in the Archaeology of the First Millennium BC”. African Archaeological Review 26: 327–350. Doresse, Jean. 1956. “Les premiers monuments chrétiens de l’Éthiopie et l’église archaïque de Yéha”. Novum Testamentum 1: 209–224.

6. Future research  The present report is based on preliminary walk-over survey and field recording. Future archaeological excavations and petrological analysis are necessary to characterise the stone types at Addi Behaylay and Yeha temple. Tracing the route the people could have followed from Addi Behaylay to Yeha also needs to be investigated with further multidisciplinary research. Furthermore, correlating the age of the quarry site and Yeha Great Temple using scientific dating, pottery analysis and other comparative studies is recommended.

Finneran, Niall. 2007. The Archaeology of Ethiopia. New York; London: Routledge. Gerlach, Iris. 2012. “Cultural Contacts between Saba’ and the Ethio-Sabaean Culture Sphere. New Results of the Ethiopian- German Cooperation Project at the Pre-Aksumite Site of Yeha”. Paper read at the 18th International Conference of Ethiopian Studies. Ethiopia: Dire Dawa. Gerlach, Iris and Christian Weiß. 2015. “Yeha, Äthiopien: Forschungen zur Paläoumwelt und Ressourcennutzung”. iDAI. Publications 2015 (3): 4–6.

Acknowledgements: I am very much indebted to my former student Yemane Meressa for accompanying me during the survey. My special thanks are due also to the inhabitants of the surveyed area for their generosity in every aspect during our survey. And last, but not least, I would like to thank and appreciate the German Archaeological Institute for the full financial support to present this paper in the 4th Enno Littmann International Conference, held in Tubingen, Germany from 1–4 April 2014. 

Hiluf Berhe. 2009. “Preliminary Report on the Archaeological Excavation of Meqaber Ga’ewa at Addi Akaweh (Tigrai, Ethiopia)”. Annales d’Ethiopie 24: 15–31. Hiluf Berhe. 2011. “Newly Discovered Archaeological Sites from Feresmay Area (Tigray, Ethiopia)”. Nyame Akuma 76: 15–22.

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Addi Behaylay – A Possible Stone Quarry Site for Yeha Great Temple Littmann, Enno, ed. 1913. Deutsche Aksum-Expedition. Berlin: G. Reimer. Munro-Hay, Stuart C. 1991. Aksum, an African Civilization of Late Antiquity. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Phillipson, David W. 1998. Ancient Ethiopia. Aksum: Its Antecedents and Successors. London: British Museum Press. Phillipson, David W. 2009. “The First Millennium BC in the Highlands of Northern Ethiopia and South-Central Eritrea. A Reassessment of Cultural and Political Development”. African Archaeological Review 26: 257–274. Robin, Christian and Alessandro de Maigret. 1998. “Le Grand Temple de Yéha (Tigray, Éthiopie), après la première campagne de la mission française”. Comptes rendus Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 142: 738–98. Sergew Hable. 1972. Ancient and Medieval Ethiopian History to 1270. Addis Ababa: United Printers. Salt, Henry. 1814. A Voyage to Abyssinia and Travels into the Interior Part of that Country. London: J. J. Paschoud. Schmidt, Peter R. 2009. “Variability in Eritrea and the Archaeology of the Northern Horn During the First Millennium BC. Subsistence, Ritual, and Gold Production”. African Archaeological Review 26: 305–325. Van Beek, Gus W. 1967. “Monuments of Axum in the Light of South Arabian Archaeology”. Journal of American Oriental Society 87 (2): 113–122.

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10 Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France) Daniel Morleghem UMR 7324 Citeres-LAT, University of Tours, France Abstract: The production of stone sarcophagi is, in Gaul, the main extractive activity of the early Middle Ages. In the Centre of France, it is characterised by quarrying districts consisting of several underground or semi-underground quarries, whose study makes it possible to capture the acts of the quarrymen, the organisation of the work and the tempos of production. This research aims to understand the work of quarrymen and stonecutters. The first is to highlight the tool marks visible on quarry faces or broken blocks at one point or another of the manufacturing process. At the quarry level, we are also interested in the organisation of the site: the spatial evolution of the exploitation, the tempo and duration of each phase of extraction, the different areas of work, circulation and loading, the waste management, etc. The nature and the quantitative importance of the production are also studied at the level of the quarry or the production centre. The analysis and understanding of sarcophagi quarries are based on a multi-scalar approach – from the tool marks to the quarry considered in its entirety – by direct observation and the survey of accessible remains, but also on the reconstruction of the different exploitation phases, based on the retained quarry faces and identified exploitation patterns. A specific recording system has been put in place to describe block negatives, operating units, but also extraction and cut failures left in situ. The use of 3D technologies to survey quarries, in particular ceilings that are difficult to access but which retain important traces to understand the operations, has considerably increased the quantity and quality of the documentation produced. Excavations make it possible to complete the study of walls, floors and ceilings, on the one hand by releasing the base of the quarry faces and the grounds, on the other hand by making possible the characterisation of the archaeological deposit and the revelation of installations. Keywords: quarries, extractive practices, sarcophagi, early Middle Ages, methodology. Introduction

to the quarry district), but also according to the different chronological scales of the exploitation (from daily extraction to exploitation spanning over several centuries). Their study requires a specific analytical grid that will allow technical and economic questions to be answered, which may differ from one site to another.

When not entirely destroyed, sarcophagi quarries are largely backfilled, often poorly preserved and very difficult to access and study. The coarseness of the remains, the preponderant technical aspects of the subject, and the ungrateful nature of the fieldwork largely explain the disinterest of archaeologists to these remains1. Nevertheless, in order to fully understand the craftsmanship and economy of early Middle Age sarcophagi quarries, it is necessary not only to study tanks and lids found in the necropolises, but also to investigate the production sites.

This article presents a methodology applied since 2008 in the context of our research on stone sarcophagi from the Southern Paris Basin2. The first two sections will present sites studied and data used during the research. Methodology will be developed in the two following parts: the first corresponds to the whole protocol of study; the second is dedicated to excavation. Several case studies will be presented in the fifth part.

To understand quarrymen’s work, we must study the traces they left at different spatial scales (from tool marks 1  On the observation for Antiquity and research issues, see Bessac and Sablayrolles 2002.

First in the framework of a Master and a doctorate (Morleghem 2016) and ongoing research at the UMR 7324 Citeres-LAT. 2 

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Figure 10.1. Map of sarcophagi quarries attested in Gaul (Morleghem, 2020). 1. Vinon (Cher); 2. Anglin valley (Indre et Vienne); 3. Panzoult (Indre-et-Loire); 4. Manse valley (Indre-et-Loire); 5. Courtineau valley (Indre-et-Loire); 6. Doué-laFontaine (Maine-et-Loire); 7. Chaîne des Puys (Py-de-Dôme); 8. Bourbon-l’Archambault (Allier); 9. Ladinhac (Cantal); 10. Luxueil-les-Bains (Haute-Saône); 11. Mont-Béout (Lourdes, Hautes-Pyrénées); 12. Arcy-sur-Cure (Yonne); 13. Saint-Boil (Saône-et-Loire); 14. La Lie (La Roche-Vineuse, Saône-et-Loire); 15. Bois des Lens (Gard); 16. Périgueux (Dordogne); 17. Bouzentès (Villedieu, Cantal).

1. Sarcophagi quarries in the Southern Paris Basin

we know what kind of rock was used in each region and can roughly identify the outcrop areas. Currently, around twenty sites are identified in the whole of Frankish Gaul (Figure 10.1) – which have most often given rise to short synthesis articles – but of which fewer than ten have been the subject of archaeological field research. These quarries have different shapes and sizes, extractive practices, operational frameworks, and very diverse economic contexts. However, in the absence of written sources, we do not know who the actors of this extractive activity and economy were.

The production of trapezoidal sarcophagi in central France began in the second half of the fifth century and ended in the ninth century AD, with a period of massive production during the sixth to seventh centuries. Recent regional research accounts for a structured economy, considering the thousands of blocks produced in two or three centuries, but also highlights the monopolies imposed by some production centres. The religious or administrative boundaries, as well as the geological formations, could constitute limits to the establishment and the diffusion of quarry centres, as for example in the Loire and Vienne valleys.

Several production areas, consisting of several underground or semi-underground quarries, have been identified in Panzoult and in the Manse valley in Touraine, in Vinon in Berry, and in the valleys of Anglin, Gartempe, Vienne or Clain in Poitou (Figure 10.2).

Although sarcophagi have interested archaeologists since the nineteenth century3, production sites are still poorly known and documented. Thanks to petrographic studies,

1.1. Quarrying district of Panzoult (Indre-et-Loire)

For a state of the research in 2009, see Cartron et al. 2015. Recent doctoral theses: Finoulst 2012; Rougé 2014; Polinski 2015; Morleghem 2016. Corpus of sarcophagi recently published: Roger, Delhoume, and Floc’h 2015; Liégard 2018. 3 

Panzoult quarries are located in the lower Vienne valley, about 15 km upstream of Chinon (Morleghem 2016, 114

Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France)

Figure 10.2. Main rocks used for the fabrication of sarcophagi in the Southern Paris Basin and quarry centres identified (Morleghem, 2020). 1. Vinon (Cher); 2. Anglin valley (Indre et Vienne); 3. Panzoult (Indre-et-Loire); 4. Manse valley (Indre-et-Loire); 5. Courtineau valley (Indre-et-Loire); 6. Doué-la-Fontaine (Maine-et-Loire); 8. Bourbon-l’Archambault (Allier)

1.2. Quarrying district of Manse and Courtineau valleys (Indre-et-Loire)

259–276, 957–1038)4, carved in the eastern slopes of two valleys perpendicular to the Vienne valley. The site seems to have been created ex-nihilo, with no trace of ancient exploitation being known. About 3,500 sarcophagi were produced there between the end of the fifth century and the ninth century and distributed throughout western Touraine.

The quarrying district of the Courtineau and Manse valleys, located only 13 km south-east of the Panzoult quarries, is made up of two distinct groups (Morleghem 2016, 276– 290, 863–956). About 1,500 sarcophagi were produced there between the end of the fifth and the ninth century, whose distribution appears limited to the west of Touraine.

The site consists of two distinct groups of quarries in two different valleys. The Vilseau group to the west is made up of two quarries on the side of a very steep hillside; the excavation is limited and appears to have been stopped due to the poor quality of the rock. The Bottereau group to the east is made up of at least six quarries on the slope of a gentler hillside and whose area exploited is a little less than 0.5 ha. The biggest quarry (Barbauderie 5–6) extends for over 80 m along the hillside; it consists of a dozen galleries 40 m deep, 3 m to 5 m wide and up to 4 m high. Other excavations undoubtedly remain to be discovered, as the collapsing cones and embankments identified by survey seem to suggest. 4 

Some traces of ancient exploitation have been recognised in the Courtineau valley only. Underground quarries for sarcophagi are distant from each other, with numerous small quarry faces nearby. A small river flows at the bottom of the hill, which joins the Manse and then the Vienne about 15 km to the west. The distribution of quarries reflects an opportunistic exploitation and maybe a fragmentation of the ownership of the grounds in the valley. By contrast, a few kilometres to the west, in the Manse valley, the underground quarries are contiguous, larger in size and testify to long-term planning that seems to be constrained only by the composition of the bedrock. Excavations are open at the top of a steep hill at an altitude

For each site we will always give the latest publication or synthesis.

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Daniel Morleghem where the yellow Tuffeau of Turonian age has regular bedding and stratification joints every 40 to 60 cm, about the thickness of a tank and a couple of lids. About 10 m below flows the Manse River.

and literacy were not widespread, it is not surprising that this craft activity has not left any written record. This lack of written sources contemporary to the exploitation makes it almost impossible to identify its various actors. We can only assume that the management was the privilege of large ecclesiastical domains6, sufficiently powerful to possess grounds for opening quarries and to mobilise dozens of men each year – over several decades, even centuries – but also embedded in local and regional exchange networks. If the identity of quarrymen and stone carvers cannot be known, the study of the vestiges of extraction makes it possible to know their technicality and degree of organisation. Thus, these ‘know-hows’ are possible reflections of a certain professionalisation which is not however exclusive of the exercise of another activity outside the periods of operation of the quarries.

1.3. Quarrying district of Anglin and Gartempe valleys (Indre and Vienne) At the border between Berry and Poitou, sarcophagi quarries stretch for 10 km in the lower Anglin and Gartempe valleys (Lorenz and Lorenz 1983; Morleghem 2016, 248–259, 817–63; Morleghem 2019). The production of the site is estimated at around 1,250 sarcophagi, between the end of the fifth and the ninth century AD, with a local distribution area (about 40 km). The Jurassic limestone of the Anglin valley has been exploited since Antiquity. It was therefore a landscape marked by an ancient extractive activity in which quarrymen in the early Middle Ages opened their quarries. The topography of the valley, alternating gently sloping hillsides and high cliffs, leads quarrymen to exploit the slightest rocky outcrop, thereby explaining the distance of the quarries from each other. The presence of the Anglin River only a few metres from the quarry faces ensured the distribution of products to the necropolises. For example, the Pied Griffé quarry was opened in the only part of the hill where there was no visible karst or caves at the surface. It developed over several decades during the seventh century, following the pattern forced by the presence of siliceous faults or reef elements.

2.2. Prior archaeological data Some archaeologists have worked on sarcophagi quarries of the Southern Paris Basin before us. Their publications, however, are often a short summary focusing on extraction techniques. Thus, some quarries are documented by initial exploration: • Vilseau quarry in Panzoult: a map and some black and white photographs of the quarry were taken by François Eygun when the quarry was discovered, showing in particular a tank still in place, abandoned here by the quarrymen (Eygun 1961); a few colour shots taken by Robert Bedon in the 1980s testify to an illegal excavation and the probable destruction of the tank7; • Vinon quarry at Sancerre: around twenty black and white photographs taken by Jean-François Baratin in the 1970s8, as well as a few colour shots by Claude Lorenz taken in the 1980s9, constitute the only graphic documentation for this site; these photographs are all extremely precious since no real description was given in the brief note published just after the discovery (Picard 1972); • Pied Griffé quarry in the Anglin valley: this site is relatively well documented by the research carried out by Claude Lorenz in the 1950s and 1960s (Lorenz and Lorenz 1983); it has been partially excavated following the methodology that is most common for prehistoric excavations10.

1.4. The late antiquity and early Middle Ages quarry of Vinon (Sancerre, Cher) Vinon quarry is located in Berry, north-east of Bourges, below the Roman road between Bourges and Nevers and a few kilometres from the Loire (Morleghem 2016, 290– 297). It was discovered in 1971 and quickly backfilled; only the top of the quarry faces are still visible today. It measures approximately 20  m long by 13  m wide and a height up to 8 m. This site testifies to the reuse of an ancient quarry, still clearly visible in the landscape and present in the Merovingian local memory as a good place to extract huge stone blocks. Only a small part of the quarry was used to produce sarcophagi between the fourth and sixth centuries; the production is estimated at around one hundred units. 2. Sources of the study

In this regard, as early as the 1970s, Jean-François Baratin hypothesized that, ‘dans une économie où la circulation monétaire est faible, la capitalisation artisanale faible, qu’une activité aussi florissante se développe suppose son insertion dans une structure économique où les surplus alimentaires existent et peuvent être distraits en une épargne productive. Les grands domaines ruraux, laics ou religieux, sont les seuls cadres économiques possibles’ (Baratin 1974, 136). 7  Private archives. We thank him for having shared them to us. 8  Slides kept at the Service Régional de l’Archéologie of the region Centre-Val de Loire in Orléans. 9  Private archives, recently sent by Jacqueline Lorenz who we want to thank. 10  Notes and photographs were kindly shared with us by Jacqueline Lorenz. 6 

2.1. Written sources Despite their undeniably lucrative nature, production and trade of sarcophagi are not recorded in any early medieval document. In addition, unlike their counterparts in Antiquity or the Modern era, quarrymen of the early Middle Ages did not leave any written mark on quarry face5. However, in a society where the practices of writing 5 

Such as a name, a date, accounts, or other graffiti.

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Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France) 3. Multiscalar approach and main characteristics of sarcophagi exploitation

2.3. Sarcophagi Finished products (i.e. sarcophagi) constitute – at least have constituted until recently – maybe paradoxically, the first source of information concerning extraction practices and economy of sarcophagi. The nature of the stone in which they are fashioned is the first information provided, which makes it possible to discriminate and identify different origins.

Sarcophagi quarries research is complex and multiscalar: it is interested in the production and distribution of sarcophagi from the technical gesture of the craftsman to the economic networks. 3.1. Quarries, special archaeological sites

Numerous sarcophagi are left unfinished, as evidenced by the concentric pick marks characteristic of the process of digging extraction trenches. Some blocks, in particular tanks, also show vestiges of the detachment system used. For example, in Civaux (Vienne), the workmanship of many tanks testifies to a serial and rapid exploitation (Morleghem and Rougé 2017); we also frequently see the scar of the long wedge hole. A tank from Saint-Ambroix (Cher)11 also presents on the front panel three wedge holes that were used to extract a previous block (Morleghem 2016, 495–500).

3.1.1. Three-dimensional issues Stone quarries, whether open or underground, are archaeological remains that can only be understood when analysed in their three dimensions of development and from the inside. Among other particularities they are made up of block scars, most often incomplete due to the continuation of the exploitation. In addition, there is a remarkably close physical relation between the craftsman, his activity and the site morphology created as its work progresses: for example, the quarryman cannot reach the summit of a wall without any facilities (beam holes, ramps or scaffolding); also, he cannot extract a block from a ground covered with several cubic metres of waste. In order to understand the site, the archaeologist must above all place himself at the same level of the craftsmen, considering the physical and material constraints of their workplace.

2.4. Quarries and production centres The petrographic determination of the stones used makes it possible to define, based on geological maps, more or less extensive areas of outcrop and probable origins; these sites are also called production areas. We know today that sarcophagi of the Southern Paris Basin were manufactured using fifteen stone types of local, regional or extra-regional origin of which only five production centres are precisely located and the quarries actually known.

Many things can restrict, bias or make impossible the three-dimensional understanding of the operation. First of all, there is the lack of remains (missing or backfilled faces) in particular at the centre of the excavations: we can then wonder about the possibility of restoring the missing parts by comparison with the extraction schemes identified in other parts of the quarry. We also notice contradictory information between the walls, floors and ceilings (particularly between the two last): for example, an underground room may have been the subject of several phases or levels of extraction with different methods or patterns of exploitation12.

For example, the reddish sandstones, which are easy to recognise, correspond to occasional outcrops scattered throughout the Perche; in the same way the different facies of white Tuffeau identified in Touraine or Blésois come from the middle Loire valley and the lower Vienne valley. Petrographic studies carried out in recent years indicate that almost all the thousands of sarcophagi in the vast necropolis of Civaux (Vienne) have been extracted from the hillside between Civaux and Lussac-les-Châteaux a few kilometres east; although topographical indications of exploitation are clearly perceptible, research conducted so far has not brought to light any convincing traces of extraction of tanks or lids.

Finally, there is the problem of a graphic restitution of the archaeological analysis: how to show the threedimensional aspects of a quarry using two-dimensional methods? What elements must be represented? What degree of analysis and precision must be reached to be understood by a large audience and not only by a small circle of specialists, without this requiring a multiplication of the drawings or omitting important information?

Due to the early Middle Ages excavation itself, exploitation in the later Middle Ages or Modern era, structural collapse, or plant overgrowth, only around a quarter or a third of the quarry faces are generally visible. However, as the excavations at Doué-la-Fontaine, Panzoult and Pied Griffé have shown, the part in sight is only the tip of the iceberg, and the excavation often allows us to reconsider what the study of the visible faces had initially suggested.

11 

3.1.2. Nature and hierarchy of main elements of the exploitation From the tool mark to the entire quarrying centre, remains of the exploitation are plural, interdependent, 12  See for example Barbauderie 1 and 2 in Panzoult or Les Roches 1 in the Manse valley.

Sarcophagus 18_S0130 conserved at Poisieux (Cher).

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Daniel Morleghem 3.3. At the quarry face scale: organisation of the extraction

and hierarchical. Each element, on its scale, provides information on quarrying practices, site organisation or sarcophagi economy.

Extraction methods correspond to the arrangement of the blocks, relative to the others. Although the organisation of the sites is difficult to define at first glance, the extraction does not seem to have been random but appears rather structured. The arrangement of the blocks thus responds to geological, topographical, technical and also economic requirements, as well as to local and sometimes individual practices.

Traces of tools demarcate the trenches, the detachment systems (short or long wedge holes)13 and more generally the block scars. The latter, visible on the walls, floors and ceilings can be grouped into extraction units corresponding to as many phases of the site. Several extraction units shape the quarry, which can also be subdivided into spaces, rooms or galleries. All quarries and facilities (paths, terraces, waterways, outdoor workspaces, etc.) constitute the production site. To this are added the excavated materials: the waste resulting from the extraction and cut, but also from blocks broken during each step of the work or their transport.

Blocks are mostly arranged horizontally and flat, which generally corresponds to the stratification of the exploited limestone rocks. They sometimes appear on the side and more rarely slightly inclined. Blocks extracted vertically, in a direction perpendicular to the geological stratification, are much less frequent. In most cases it is then a question of dealing with a problem by extracting a block in the corner of two walls, outside the regular exploitation pattern.

3.2. At the block scale: reconstruction of the ‘chaîne opératoire’ and technical gestures The issues that might arise when working the single block are mainly linked to the craftsmanship. The observation of the quarry faces gives us information on the tools and techniques used by the craftsmen.

The trapezoidal shape of sarcophagi from the early Middle Ages has a great impact on the exploitation patterns and the development of quarries. Thus, if all the blocks are arranged in the same direction, because of their trapezoidal shape, the gallery or the quarry faces will tend to turn right or left. On the contrary, the most frequently observed headto-tail arrangement allows, by inscribing two trapezoidal shapes in a rectangular surface, to keep both side walls of an extraction unit parallel to each other, which ensures the rectilinear progression of the galleries14.

Each tool leaves a particular mark in the rock (point, furrow, concavity) which makes it possible to identify it (pick, ‘escoude’, cutting hammer, mason’s axe and wedge). The series of tool marks allow on the one hand to discover the length of the handle and the shape of the iron and, on the other hand, to understand how the tool was used, what was the position of the craftsman relative to the quarry face or the block, his technical skills and even if he was right-handed or left-handed (e.g. Bessac 1993b; Blondeau 2010). However, these detailed investigations, very time-consuming and dependent on the preservation of the sites, cannot be systematised in each quarry and obviously a whole production area.

3.4. At the quarry scale: operation and planning At the quarry level, investigations are not just technical but also relate to a variety of themes: work organisation, space and waste management, topography, chronology, and economics of the production, etc.

Trenches, wedge holes, as well as a series of tool marks, delimit the blocks extracted or being extracted. Their typological, morphological characteristics, and also the methods and the technicity of their realisation, can be specific to each quarryman, each quarry face, each quarry or each production site. Generally, we observe local or regional practices, some inherited from Antiquity, adapted to a particular type of stone and/or a quarrying strategy. The shape and dimensions of the block scars also make it possible to determine the nature of the elements extracted (tanks or lids).

3.4.1. Operating strategies Strategies correspond to the arrangement of the extraction units in relation to each other on the scale of a room, a gallery, or an entire quarry. While, overall, surface and underground quarrying is organised in extraction size units parallel or perpendicular to each other, quarry plans are varied and depend on the practices specific to each quarryman, production rhythms, and/or geological constraints. Two main strategies are observed:

The detachment of the blocks from the rock mass, their shaping and then their transport are not without risks. The pieces of tanks and lids abandoned in the quarry are as much frozen pictures that allow us to reconstruct the ‘chaîne opératoire’ of the extraction and the cut.

13 

• from a main gallery, several perpendicular galleries are dug which may or not be contiguous, thus forming more or less large rooms; 14  It has long been considered that the trapezoidal shape and the headto-tail arrangement result from a poor technical mastery and a saving of material. The excavation of Doué-la-Fontaine (Maine-et-Loire) in the 1990s allowed Michel Cousin to review these hypotheses (Cousin 2002, 34–35).

For a review of ancient tools for stonework, see Bessac 1993a.

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Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France) • parallel galleries are made, on the sides of which small extraction units (one, two or three columns of horizontal blocks in general) allow the quarrymen to take advantage of the rock separating them; when it is fully exploited it creates: ○ a space with a width up to 10 m; ○ a communication between the galleries which facilitates waste management but also circulation.

• an intermediate space between the quarry and the distribution network allowing the transport of the blocks from quarry to boat or cart, but which can also be allocated to the daily life of the craftsmen, to cutting or forging activities, or even to temporary storage of blocks. The analysis must also relate to the topographic and geological frameworks. This involves determining the relation between the natural environment and the spatial development of the quarrying centres: the criteria for choosing a quarry location, the links between the rock and the type of quarry or the extraction techniques, but also between the rhythm of production, the layout and the shape of the quarries.

Panzoult quarries, unlike other sarcophagi production sites, are characterised by a diversity of practices (techniques, methods, and strategies) which testify to the intervention of several teams of quarrymen. Thus, the four rooms of Barbauderie 2 each present one or more operating strategies (Figure 10.3). This quarry, as its neighbour Barbauderie 1, also has the distinction of a systematic vertical extraction.

3.5.2. Sarcophagus market Since the early 2000s, the intensification of research on sarcophagi and particularly the multiplication of petrographic determinations of stone types, allow us today to have, in some regions, a fairly complete picture of the distribution areas of each production site15. The importance of the production and distribution of objects from a site is driven by a plurality of natural factors (the geological resource or a topographical determinism for example), demographic (depending on the people who can afford a sarcophagus or the current mortality), cultural (practice of burial in a sarcophagus), political and religious (division and mesh of the territory, structures capable of ensuring this type of production), and of course economic (networks and exchanges practices).

3.4.2. Space and waste management Inside the quarries, we observe a segregation of workspaces, circulation paths or waste disposal, the spatialisation of which evolves as the exploitation and development of the quarry progresses. The quarry face is obviously the place of extraction of the block from the rock mass. Blocks are shaped at the foot or a few metres from the face as evidenced by numerous fragments of tanks and lids found in the extraction waste: the best example is the tank being cut discovered in 1961 in Vilseau 1 in Panzoult (Eygun 1961). Block extraction and shaping generate a significant volume of waste representing around two-third of the volume of rock exploited. Their management, particularly in an underground environment or in pit quarries, constitutes a major challenge for quarrymen:

Many questions can be asked, some of which unfortunately cannot be answered at present. The first one concerns the location of the quarries and their integration into a local and regional territory (is there a production centre in each diocese, each pagus, and each ‘viguerie’?). The second is about the location of the place of production in relation to the area of distribution of the sarcophagi manufactured there: is it in the centre, to the periphery or eventually outside? Then there is the question of distribution and links between places of production: is there a homogeneous distribution of quarries throughout the territory or are there local and regional production sites? In the second case, is there competition between these different centres and what factors (such as cultural areas, secular and religious boundaries, communication routes, etc.) may affect the organisation of the sarcophagus market between the fifth and eighth centuries AD?

• should it be removed from the quarry, which requires time and energy? • should it be left inside the quarry, which poses obvious storage problems (where and how?) and has an impact on the circulation of men and products? While quarry waste is left on site, quarrymen have implemented a variety of management strategies according to the ever-changing topography, but also the chronology and the rhythm of the exploitation (continuous extraction or intermittent exploitation). 3.5. At the quarrying centre scale: local/regional economy of the sarcophagus

3.5.3. Chronology, tempo and quantification of the production

3.5.1. Topography of the sites Production sites are not limited to quarry faces and extraction uses, but rather consist of a plurality of spaces with various functions. Three main entities can be identified:

The frozen nature of the quarries as we can see them now and the scarcity of dating elements make any chronological approach exceedingly difficult. The question also arises of

• a space of extraction and shaping inside the quarry; • a communication method to move products to places of use; it can be a watercourse or a land traffic route;

15  Even in the absence of evidence of exploitation, as it is the case for the sandstone of Bourbonnais or the limestone of Nivernais.

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Daniel Morleghem

120 Figure 10.3. Main plan of Barbauderie 2 quarry in Panzoult, with indication of block scars visible on the ground currently cleared (Morleghem, 2018).

Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France) how the extraction can be reconstructed on a day-to-day basis (or block after block) with the different operating phases.

which stands the research done by Jean-Claude Bessac on Gallo-Roman quarries of Southern Gaul, and medieval or modern era quarry studies20. Emergence of new research on the production of stone sarcophagi in Merovingian Gaul, as well as new tools (especially GIS and 3D), have made it possible to renew our methodological approach to sarcophagi quarries.

It is impossible to date the sites only from the quarry face since there was no significant evolution in extraction techniques and methods during early Middle Ages. Quarry dating is most often based on sarcophagi found in funerary contexts and corresponds to a wide range of chronologies, spanning from the fifth to the eighth century. In fact, and in the absence of archaeological excavation, almost all the sarcophagi quarries are dated to the early Middle Ages without further precision. In a few cases, pottery or radiocarbon dates allow us to date the main phases of exploitation, as for example in Pied Griffé where the second period of exploitation is dated from the middle of the sixth to the seventh century16.

4.1. Identification of production sites The recognition of places of extraction was the subject of several articles in the 1980s and 1990s. It requires a particularly good knowledge of regional, especially local, geology, and leads to the analysis of the conditions which governed the choice of the location of the quarry (Lorenz and Lorenz 1993, 9). 4.1.1. Constitution of a rock reference collection and determination of the rock types

Generally, quarries are composed of successive work sites where two, three, ten, 15 or 20 complete sarcophagi were produced17. It is relatively easy to determine their order from the organisation of block scars visible on the walls, floors and ceilings. It is also possible, based on changes in extraction methods or on the stratification of quarry waste, to highlight a reprise of operations. We can also assess the minimum operating time of each site: an experiment carried out in the 1990s by Michel Cousin allows us to estimate the manufacturing time (extraction and functional cut) of an entire sarcophagus at three days (Cousin 2002, 45)18; this duration may be increased to one week in harder rocks from Poitou and Berry particularly.

Petrographic characterisation of sarcophagi The localisation of the places of production is only possible after identification of the rocks used to sculpt the sarcophagi. Several obstacles stand in the way of the archaeologist in this task. First, the age of the discoveries, a small number of which having been kept21 or sampled that can now be subject to new examination. Second, the little reliable and precise petrographic information contained in the literature22. The creation of a ‘sarcophagi and quarries’ rock collection backed by a regional geological repository appears essential for any research on sarcophagi production and diffusion23. Systematic sampling is necessary, whether the sarcophagus is whole or fragmentary, decorated or not, made on ancient architectural blocks carved in tank or lid, and regardless of the level of knowledge of their context of use24. Thus, since 2008, some 1,750 samples have been taken from sarcophagi in the whole Southern Paris Basin25, and more than two hundred from sarcophagi quarries and rock outcrops.

Tens of thousands of sarcophagi were made between the end of the fifth and the eighth century in central France, which can be a few thousand per century or few hundred per decade, which is ultimately not very important on the scale of this territory. Recent research on quarries and sarcophagi of Touraine, Berry and Poitou suggests an intermittent production closely related to the needs of a local market, that is to say to the annual mortality of individuals or population groups with the means to buy a sarcophagus. Although this is not the only factor, it should have been possible to estimate how many potential buyers could die for the year or several years to come, to produce the ad hoc number of sarcophagi and distribute them in specific places.

20  See in particular the work of Laurent Dujardin in Normandy (Dujardin 1991; 1998) and of Paul Benoît, Jean-Pierre Gély, Marc Viré and others in the Paris region (for example Benoît et al. 2000). 21  Out of 2,500 sarcophagi – representing around 1,600 tanks and 1,550 lids – listed in the South of the Paris Basin, only 850 are conserved: in situ, in museums or archaeological centres, in the street, in or around churches or even in individuals’ property. 22  About 500 mentions. This remark on the mention of materials was already formulated in 1970s by Jean-François Baratin concerning the sarcophagi of the Loiret (Baratin 1975, 182–183), and more recently by Alexandre Polinski in the lower Loire valley (Polinski 2015, 157). 23  BRGM databases for example or specific to the researcher. 24  In most of the cases the sarcophagi deposited around churches or in villages come if not from the borough itself at least from the close surroundings; their weight and fragility limit their distribution. Some examples of distant transfers are known but remain very marginal. 25  This represents 60% of lids and 40% of tanks. These numbers are marked by the huge corpus of Civaux (Vienne) made up of nearly 1,000 sarcophagi kept around the church and in the town cemetery (Morleghem and Rougé 2012).

4. Sarcophagi quarry study protocol The archaeology of sarcophagi quarries borrows part of its methodology from studies of Antiquity19 at the forefront of 16  Dating based on the radiocarbon analysis of about fifteen charcoal fragments. 17  At least two blocks, a sarcophagus consisting of a tank and lid. 18  However, this duration is only indicative and is precise only for a particular type of stone. Experimental extraction and cutting should be carried out in each type of stone currently identified. 19  See methodological articles (Bessac 1986; 1993b), the publication of the Bois des Lens quarries (Bessac 1996), the folder on ancient quarries of Gaul (Bessac and Sablayrolles 2002b), as well as the works by Jacques Gaillard in the Charente basin (Gaillard 2011).

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Daniel Morleghem Sedimentary rocks sometimes show significant lateral and vertical variability, which is not, however, a hindrance to the extraction of very large modulus blocks26. Thus, the stone in which a tank or a lid is made can be sandier and coarser on one side and more shelly and finer on the other; in rare cases blocks have been extracted at the interface of two very distinct petrographic facies. It is thus necessary to remain aware that the sample taken will only account for part of the petrographic reality of the block, which will of course have consequences on the search for its origin.

systematic sampling is nevertheless essential to properly characterise the stone exploited and allow the closest possible association with the finished products. This operation was carried out in Barbauderie 2 quarry in Panzoult. Forty samples were taken over the entire quarry using a grid as regular as possible but dependent on the topography of the site. Their study highlighted ‘from the bottom up a relatively thin facies, a slightly coarser facies, a relatively fine facies again and a much coarser aspect than the others’, and ‘we note moreover that the facies R1 is present on a greater thickness in room 4 than in room 1 and more important at the entrance than at the bottom of the first two rooms’ (Morleghem et al. 2018, 43). The operation has not yet been carried out in Pied Griffé, but the samples already taken from abandoned extracted and shaped blocks testify to the plurality of petrographic facies.

Macroscopic observation of the samples (with the naked eye or at 20x magnification) is sufficient in most cases to describe the rock and suggest a date and localisation. A first macroscopic sorting makes it possible to establish a limited number of rock types (mainly different sandstone and limestone) which can be subdivided in several petrographic facies27. These reference samples are the subject of a detailed macroscopic description and, eventually, of a thin-slide microscopic analysis. This last method makes it possible to refine the determination of the rock and sometimes to specify its deposit, but on a scale which remains very wide, which is a reason for its limited use.

4.1.2. Quarry surveying and recognition First step: minimize the search area Once the rock type and an outcrop area have been identified, the smallest possible area of origin of the sarcophagi should be circumscribed, which can be the subject of more traditional archaeological survey. This operation can be based on the following data:

Petrographic facies of the quarries Variability of sedimentary rocks is evidently observed within quarries and at the scale of production centres, some of which extend over several kilometres. The degree of characterisation of the rocks is important, for example:

• the geological maps and trusted archaeological/ geological literature; • the early medieval settlements, from known burial sites and settlements; • the area of distribution of the sarcophagi cut in each rock type; • the known ancient, medieval, and modern quarries and quarrying area, considering a certain functional continuity exists over time: this is the case for example in Saint-Boil (Monthel and Lambert 2002), La Roche Vineuse (Cognot 2002) or Vinon, where the production of sarcophagi continues within ancient quarries.

• Turonian age ‘Tuffeau’ correspond in Touraine to: ○ the ‘millarge’28 of Chinon which presents, in the quarries of Panzoult, a dozen of very different sandyshelly facies; ○ spathic limestone of the Manse and Courtineau valleys, mainly sandy and much finer, organised in many deposits 40 to 60 cm thick; ○ several kinds of ‘white Tuffeau’ mainly located in the Loire valley; • Jurassic limestone can present facies such as: ○ oolitic limestone from the Chauvigny region (Vienne), which show significant colorimetric (from white to yellow) and granulometric (very well sorted to very coarse and detritic) variations; ○ reef limestone of the lower Anglin valley (Indre and Vienne), which also show colorimetric variations, as highlighted by the alternation of yellow and white layers of extraction in Pied Griffé quarry.

In the current state of knowledge, it is difficult to establish a reliable model for locating production sites in relation to the number and distribution of sarcophagi produced. The few sites currently known also bear witness to a diversity of locations in relation to the distribution areas (inside or outside, in the centre or at the periphery) and the topography of the sites (coherent set of quarries, contiguous or small groups spread over several kilometres, etc.). Second step: the field survey

The taking of at least one sample in each quarry studied appears to be a minimum to have a complete idea of the geological context of each production centre. A more

Field surveys can be envisaged around sarcophagi quarries already known29 or as soon as a restricted area (a few valleys for example) has been defined30. The main objective of the prospect is to make an inventory of all

26  This is particularly the case for the Turonian limestone in Touraine and the Jurassic limestone in Poitou, Berry and Nivernais. 27  This is the case for several oolitic limestone tanks from Chauvigny region (Vienne) or spathic limestone from Saint-Maure-de-Touraine (Indre-et-Loire). 28  A particular and very local kind of Turonian age limestone.

29  For example: Vilseau quarry in Panzoult (Indre-et-Loire) discovered in 1961; quarries in the Anglin and Gartempe valleys (Indre and Vienne) already explored by Claude Lorenz in the late 1950s. 30  Courtineau and Manse valleys (Indre-et-Loire).

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Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France) evidence linked to stone exploitation. After a cartographic study, it is a matter of reconnoitring the area by a group of four or five people according to a methodology similar to that of foot prospection in fields.

• ‘extraction unit’ sheet: brief description of the floors, ceilings and walls preserved, way of extraction, operating plan, quantification of extracted blocks (certified and estimated); • ‘block’ sheet: nature and dimensions of the block studied, traces of tools, state of extraction or cut, etc.

Elements sought and located by GPS are: • direct traces of extraction: exposed quarry faces, underground entrances; • topographical indications of exploitation: ground anomalies testifying to its anthropogenic origin, a cone of collapse of an underground cavity, waste discharge areas; • structures linked to operations (site organisation and transport of blocks): low walls, terraces, ramps or paths; • blocks that make it possible to identify with certainty the nature of the production.

Finally, all the data is entered in a database allowing us to establish statistics and comparative analysis of the observed elements. 4.2.2. Study of blocks founds in the quarry Each block found on the ground in the different sites or unearthed during excavations, whether it is a fragment of a few centimetres or a more substantial element (some measure more than 1 m wide and weigh several hundred kilos), is the subject of an analysis as follows:

However, backfilling and plant cover make it difficult to identify quarrying traces. Furthermore, chances of finding early Middle Ages remains in areas intensively exploited until the nineteenth century are extremely limited. Accessibility is also a problem, because of closed grounds, absence of agreement of the owners, etc. For example, in Touraine, where rock-cut structures are abundant, the quarries of the Manse valley have been transformed into rock-hewn habitations and cellars still occupied today.

• during the discovery, selection of the blocks to be analysed according to their informative potential; • morphological, metrological and technological description; • drawing and/or photography; • determining of the kind of block (tank or lid), the progress of extraction or cut, the disposition of extraction (horizontally or vertically), etc.; • taking a rock sample for a petrographic analysis. 

4.2. Observation, analysis and recording of data

All the data is recorded in a dedicated record sheet as indicated above.

4.2.1. Observation and recording of the remains The observation and the record of a quarry must allow identification of its main characteristics at each scale (from the tool to the entire quarry). Initially, a schematic survey of the floors, ceilings and walls indicating the main limits, areas of tool marks and possible arrangements (rings, embedding holes, etc.) can be sketched in a field notebook. The process of understanding the remains and the mental reconstruction of the exploitation begins with these initial observations.

4.2.3. Geology of the quarries Exploitation of raw materials is obviously influenced by its environment. In a quarry, the quality and hardness of the rock, the presence of siliceous or fossiliferous masses, fissures, or joints, have an important impact on the success of the extraction in the quarry and sometimes the general organisation of the site. These elements can be obstacles or, on the contrary, facilitate extraction; to give just a few examples:

The actual drawing takes place in a second step, and data recording can be carried out in parallel. During our doctoral studies three main record sheets have been adapted from previous works31 or developed specifically for sarcophagi quarries of Central France:

• a rock that is too hard or has too many flints can make it difficult to extract blocks 2 m long and 60 cm wide33: if the flints are on the surface of the block, the quarryman will be able to make a sarcophagus with a coarse aspect; but if the flints are in the heart of the rock mass, this may cause the detachment of the block to fail or may not allow the tank to be hollowed out; • a fissure, depending on its orientation and regularity, can have an impact: ○ negative: modification of the dimensions of the blocks that can be extracted, but also of the orientation of a gallery; ○ positive: avoid digging a trench by having one side of the block already freed up.

• ‘block scars’ sheet: morphology of the trenches, detachment system, extraction direction, layout, dimensions32, nature and order of removal of the blocks, progress and level of success of the extraction; physical and chronological relation with the surrounding scars; 31  For example, the description of block scars in Bois des Lens quarries (Bessac 1996, 92). 32  Dimensions noted correspond to the plan on the floor, ceiling and walls of the block’s extraction trenches; they can vary depending on the shape of the trenches, the success of the extraction and the preservation of the block scars. Its shape and dimensions give an indication on the dimensions of the extracted block but can therefore be quite different from the block wished and the one finally obtained, shaped and used.

33 

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Average dimensions of a tank; lids are generally half as thick.

Daniel Morleghem Highlighting these geological hazards is therefore essential to fully understand the development of the exploitation and the decisions made by quarrymen faced with a given problem.

its exploitation. Several general plans may be necessary if there is more than one level of exploitation. Quarry face irregularity implies for readability, in addition to the general plan of the excavations, to make a specific plan of the ground and another of the ceiling (in an underground context). In the same way the walls should not always be projected from the general longitudinal or transverse sections but benefit from a separate drawing if necessary.

4.3. Documenting quarries 4.3.1. Photographic coverage Each site is the subject of photographic coverage at different scales: general views of the quarry and its surroundings, faces, block scars and blocks abandoned on the site; detailed views of particularly characteristic elements (tool marks, trenches, and wedge holes). It can be made difficult by light and darkness, saltpetre, mosses, erosion, vegetation, difficult access to remains or lack of perspective.

As for recording, it is important to review the necessary adequacy between the means deployed for the survey, the informative potential of the remains and the representation supports. For example, there is no point in surveying with a 3D scanner a small open quarry without interesting walls; a quick topographical drawing and few photographs are often sufficient in this case.

Photogrammetry can sometimes overcome some of these constraints and make it possible to produce unprecedented ortho-images of quarry faces. It also makes it possible to virtually ‘clean’ quarries from the waste and to highlight details by modulating the light (Morleghem 2018).

For several years, our general plans and sections have been produced to a 1/50 scale on A4 or A3 pages; this scale is sufficient to clearly show on the field drawing36 the block boundaries, trenches, sets of tool marks (more or less schematically) and geological data. This is also the most common printing scale for archaeological reports, with the publication scale for articles typically being 1/100 or 1/200. Specific characteristic walls or details of the extraction can be drawn to a 1/25 scale (or 1/20 more commonly), while sets of tool marks can be at 1/10. One-to-one scale drawing can only, in our opinion, be considered from time to time for small surfaces to document very specific techniques and elements.

4.3.2. Archaeological drawings Each quarry is subject to a variable number of plans, sections and surveys of floors, ceilings, and walls, depending on its size, complexity, and informative potential. Several techniques can be implemented: • manual archaeological survey usually carried out on stratigraphic and built sites, from levelled axis or by triangulation; • manual speleological survey through angular measurements (slopes and azimuths) from stations forming a path in the whole quarry; • 3D surveys by photogrammetry (more difficult to implement in underground quarries because of the lack of light) and lasergrammetry34.

De facto, all the archaeological documentation produced is in 2D. The 3D models produced by laser scanning and photogrammetry provide quantitative (making as many plans, sections and views as desired) and qualitative (highlighting elements and details previously inaccessible or unusable) information but are mainly exploited in 2D media. For the moment, only virtual visits of the sites in their current state can be carried out with specific software or online platforms. We are still far, for scientific rather than technical reasons, from being able to model sarcophagi quarries in 4D (in three dimensions and in time).

Sarcophagi quarries have irregular walls with numerous vertical and horizontal steps and inflections of different sizes (from a few millimetres to several decimetres), which more or less clearly indicate the direction of extraction, the number of blocks, the nature of each one, etc. Quarry preservation as much as their backfilling (some galleries can be filled up to the ceiling) often prevent the creation of a plan at a single height. In fact, in most cases it is necessary to make choices about the informative elements to draw35 and because of this choice the drawing is already an interpretation. Thus, the plan of a quarry – in an underground environment – is very often composed of portions of walls at different heights which give as clear as possible a comprehensive picture of its topography and

4.4. Graphical representation of the exploitation 4.4.1. The exploitation diagram The hierarchical recording system put in place (see section 3) makes it possible, like the stratigraphic system, to draw up an exploitation diagram on the scale of the block, the extraction unit and the quarry, on which appear the limits of the spaces, rooms, galleries and main geological features (Figure 10.4).

34  On the uses, advantages, and limits of 3D survey methods for the study of sarcophagi quarries, see Morleghem 2018. 35  The same observation can be made for the longitudinal and crosswise sections of the whole exploitation.

Or the ortho-image produced from a photogrammetric or lasergrammetric survey.

36 

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Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France)

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Figure 10.4. Exploitation diagram of Barbauderie 2 quarry in Panzoult (Morleghem, 2015).

Daniel Morleghem 5.1. Interests of the excavation

This modality of representation is very useful for the analysis and phasing of the exploitation but turns out to be particularly difficult to establish, and sometimes to read, because of the multidirectional development of the quarry and the inherent uncertainty due to the low number of contacts or overlaps between block scars.

5.1.1. Clear floors and walls Accessible quarry faces represent only the tip of the iceberg and give a general idea of the extraction techniques and exploitation strategies implemented.

4.4.2. Operating plans and topo-chronologies

Excavation of Pied Griffé quarry has shown, campaign after campaign, that the hypotheses formulated (topography, phasing, and operational framework) from the first visible remains can be questioned by following the emergence of new structures and understanding the back-fill.

The exploitation of a quarry can also be represented in the form of general interpretive drawings or phased plans. The first group gathers the main plans and sections of the quarry, on which the limits of the extraction units are indicated as well as an arrow and possibly a numbering system. This complete representation mainly highlights the organisation of the quarry (and more generally the operating framework) and its spatial development, with the chronological dimension remaining marginal.

Conversely, in Panzoult, some underground quarries were completely emptied in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to serve as subterranean houses; the occupation layers are covered by a natural deposit up to 2 m thick. Surveys carried out in the middle and in the depths of these quarries have yielded little new information concerning the extractive practices and the exploitation scheme. This may be explained by the fact that the galleries are never very large and that almost all the extracted blocks can be documented. In this specific context, excavations at the entrances and the surroundings of these quarries should be prioritised and would certainly bring more new data. 

The second group corresponds to phased and annotated plans and sections, most often presented in the form of boards called topo-chronologies (Figure 10.5). From a spatial point of view, this mode of representation clearly shows the limits of the quarry during each phase and so the spatial problems to which the quarrymen are subject: quarry faces available, path to access them but also to evacuate finished products, space available to reject quarry waste, light constraints, etc. From a chronological point of view, it shows the relative importance of each phase, the stoppages of worksites, etc.

5.1.2. Nature of quarry waste Quarry waste consists of fragments of varying sizes and shapes resulting from the impact of a tool on a rocky surface, which can be the substrate (in the case of trenches for example) or a block already extracted and being shaped (squaring, hollowing out, finishing).

5. Quarry excavation: problematic, means and methods

Obviously, stone working is not without risk and generally up to 10 % of the blocks may be broken during the extraction, the cutting or their transport. The study of the broken blocks found in archaeological investigations make it possible to identify the nature of the blocks produced, but also to reconstruct and characterise the different stages of the operational chain.

Quarry excavation understanding is today more developed for Antiquity than for medieval and modern periods. Sarcophagi extraction has been studied from time to time in ancient quarries briefly reused for this type of production37. Only five sites, dated to the early Middle Ages, have been or are still the subject of planned excavations: Doué-laFontaine (Maine-et-Loire)38, Panzoult (Indre-et-Loire)39, Courtineau and Manse valleys (Indre-et-Loire)40, Pied Griffé in the Anglin valley (Vienne)41 and Cliersou in the Chaîne des Puys (Puy-de-Dôme)42. The nature and volume of the backfill (extraction waste, scree, vegetal soil) as well as the rarity of artefacts or dating elements (such as charcoal) explain the reluctance of archaeologists to engage in this kind of excavation (Figure 10.6).

5.1.3. Depositional process Quarry waste is not, contrary to what one might think at first glance, a random accumulation of rubble and broken blocks; on the contrary it testifies to a controlled rejection throughout the exploitation. Two main patterns are observed. In an underground context, the extraction is done from the surface of the hill by sinking into the rock mass: we have in front of us the main wall and behind the associated waste; in a very general way the accumulation of waste is done according to a horizontal dynamic. In the open-pit context, the dynamic is still horizontal as long as the quarry is large or at the top of the slope (thus allowing rejection below). In the case of pit quarries, the waste accumulates according to a completely different dynamic, which is vertical and multidirectional,

37  La Lie quarries at la Roche-Vineuse (Saône-et-Loire), Saint-Boil (Saône-et-Loire) or Bois des Lens (Gard) for example. 38  Excavations from 1991 to 1996. 39  Prospection in 2009, excavations in 2009, 2010 and 2018. 40  Prospection in 2010, excavations from 2010 to 2012. 41  Prospection and excavations under the direction of Claude Lorenz from 1958 to 1964; since 2016 new excavations in Pied Griffé under the direction of Daniel Morleghem. 42  Research in the framework of the PCR on the ‘trachyte’ of the Chaîne des Puys; excavations in 2016 and 2017 (Martin et al. 2017).

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Figure 10.5. Topo-chronology of Barbauderie 2 quarry in Panzoult (Morleghem, 2015).

as it has been observed in Pied Griffé quarry; consequently, the link between the layers and the quarry faces is more uncertain or at least difficult to understand.

structure: the accumulation in one point will thus create a mound of waste where sorting is driven by gravity, leaving the blocks and gravel at the bottom and dust at the top.

The topography of the quarry and the level of filling have a strong impact on the waste rejection strategy as much as its

The structure of the depot informs us about the organisation and the topography of the quarry at a precise 127

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Figure 10.6. General view of Pied Griffé quarry at the end of the excavation campaign in 2019 (Morleghem, 2019).

5.2. Quarry excavation methodology

moment. Thus, alternation of extraction and cut flakes stratified horizontally or with a slight dip suggests a direct deposition at the foot of the quarry face, while a heterogeneous assemblage will testify to a secondary rejection set back from the exploited area, or movement of materials in the context of the opening of a new quarry face or the construction of a ramp for example. Several phenomena can alter the initial deposit:

At the beginning of our research on sarcophagi quarries of the South of the Paris Basin, we have benefited from the methodological experience of digging of Jean-Claude Bessac and Jacques Gaillard in the Antique open-pit quarries of Bois des Lens (Gard) and those of the Charente basin; as well as that of Claude Lorenz and Michel Cousin in the early Middle Age sarcophagi quarries of Saint-Pierre-de-Maillé (Vienne) and of Doué-la-Fontaine (Maine-et-Loire). We tested these different methodologies first in the underground quarries of Touraine and then in that of the lower Anglin valley. We quickly adapted and supplemented them according to the sites studied but also to the evolution of research, new archaeological practices, and the emergence of new tools (digital photography, GIS and 3D surveys in particular). The methodology presented here accounts for excavations carried out since 2008 in the quarries of Panzoult, the Manse and Courtineau valleys, and the Anglin valley43.

• the rejection of huge blocks which will compact the layers and cause landslides; • the movement of men whose walk will cause landslides of material (as when we walk on a sand dune); • earthworks to make a working face accessible or make possible the creation of ramps; • rain and water runoff (see section 5.2.3.). In addition, quarries as highly constrained spaces imply a management of all the waste in order not to get blockedin at the bottom of a gallery or to cover the base of a working face. Research carried out in recent years in Panzoult and Saint-Pierre-de-Maillé (Anglin valley) has revealed several strategies adapted to the topography and organisation of each site. We can observe specific spaces for each activity (extraction and shaping, circulation, waste disposal) whose surface and location change during the exploitation. Some rejection areas can also be materialised by dry-stone retaining walls, built reusing failed blocks.

5.2.1. Spot survey and extensive excavations First, it should be remembered that all quarries do not have the same informative potential and that archaeological All these operations were carried out in a programmed framework, with the collaboration of geologists, geo-morphologists, ceramologists, anthracologists and specialists in other types of artefacts; the excavation teams consisted exclusively of students in Archaeology, History and Art history.

43 

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Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France) excavation is not a goal in itself. Initiating an excavation presupposes a preliminary study of each site from visible elements (topography of the quarries and quarry faces) to determine the informative potential, the representativeness, as well as the preservation and the main characteristics of extraction waste. This last point can eventually be supported by carrying out ad hoc small trenches44, the results of which make it possible to schedule further larger investigations.

(wall or pit for example). The stratigraphic analysis was carried out almost exclusively from the sections which were all drawn. This method had the advantage of speed but would have been problematic in the event of a complex stratification or in the presence of structures. The size of the grid was found to be too wide because it was roughly equal to the length of a block scar. The Pied Griffé excavation started in 2016 and ended in 2020, following those carried out between 1959 and 1964 by Claude Lorenz48, included from the start a methodological development phase (techniques and strategies of excavation, characterisation and recording of quarry waste, study of walls, etc.; Morleghem et al. 2016, 23–30). This excavation was also unique due to the mixed typology of the quarry (semi-underground and pit extraction). One of the main objectives was to document the filling of the quarry as finely as possible, using an observation grid adapted to the nature of the deposit (heterogeneity, strong dip, presence of very large blocks, etc.), which provides a recording method accessible to diggers not specialised in quarry archaeology and is not too time-consuming. The methodology applied to Pied Griffé is thus based on our past experiences and those of other researchers, but with the addition of methods borrowed from prehistoric archaeology in terms of gridded excavation. A one metre grid, oriented according to the identified exploitation pattern (orthogonal and regular), was implemented throughout the quarry. In theory, each square could be excavated up to the quarry floor or any level of interest – which the reduced excavation surface makes difficult to identify. Each face of the grid-square can then be drawn, thus completing the general survey of each axis of the grid. In fact, it is obviously very complicated, and we must constantly adapt to the heterogeneity of the deposit, the presence of heaps of blocks (some of which may be larger than the excavation square), walls or consistent levels (ramps for example) that need to be cleared as widely as possible to be fully understood.

Limited surveys (more or less simple clear-up) can also be carried out at the foot of terminal quarry faces, in particular in underground quarries, in order to uncover one or more block scars45. The objective is then rather to complete the data relating to extractive practices than to provide data concerning the nature and management of waste. The decision to initiate a full excavation must be made after careful consideration taking into account, among other things, the technical complexity and the longterm commitment of this investigation. 5.2.2. Excavation strategies Quarry excavation requires, before all, on the one hand understanding the depositional process of waste, on the other having a minimum of information on the development of the exploitation. The nature of the waste, characterised by a high variability of granulometry within the layer and often significant dips, makes their excavation in plan very difficult. Layers’ boundaries are more visible in section; it is therefore this point of view that should be opted for as a priority. Almost all quarries have a more or less orthogonal framework46, which can serve as the basis for the establishment of the excavation areas from which the sections will be structured. The simplest strategy consists of making a trench along the main axis of development of the quarry47, from the entry to the last worked wall. The drawing of one side of the trench therefore makes it possible to complete the profile of the quarry (i.e. the rock limits) and to show its filling. The operation can be repeated for each room, each gallery or even each extraction unit.

This grid has certain advantages, but also some disadvantages:

Les Roches 1 quarry in the Manse valley was the subject of somewhat different strategy (Morleghem 2012, 21–25). We chose to test Wheeler’s method using a 2 m square grid, keeping berms of 50 cm. The excavation of each square was carried out in a single spit (50 to 70 cm of waste) which made it possible to quickly reach the quarry floor, however making sure to stop at any stratigraphic particularity (hard surface, change in the nature of the dip of the layers, fragments of tanks or lids) or structural element

• each block scar is crossed by two crosswise sections (on average 50 cm from the head and the foot) and a longitudinal one (more or less complete mainly depending on the shape of the scar); this allows a more complete vision of the topography of the ground and, at the block level, to highlight the quality of its extraction (regularity of the detachment plan), as well as any secondary treatments carried out on the floors or walls (such as regularisation after extraction); • the one metre unit appears to be a good compromise: ○ we saw above the problems posed by a unit of 2 m between sections;

44  Mainly a square of 2 m side and a depth according to the safety rules; see for example Les Roches 2 quarry in the Manse valley (Morleghem 2012, 25–26) 45  Barbauderie 1 quarry in Panzoult (Morleghem 2009). 46  That is to say that the extraction units and the galleries are generally arranged parallel or perpendicular to each other. 47  Which generally corresponds to the longitudinal section carried out during the preliminary study.

48  Part of the southeast quarter of the quarry was already excavated when we started our work. The excavation having been carried out in steps, only a small surface of the quarry floor had been cleared by Cl. Lorenz; elsewhere the quarrying waste had been hardly or not explored.

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Daniel Morleghem Pied Griffé quarry has several interesting features. Despite its widely open character, no layer was found that suggested an interruption of the work (leaching of the waste or organic deposit); we can then deduce a continuity of operation or stoppages of work too short to have left traces. The quarry is also partially protected by an overhang of the rock which, as we saw during a strong storm in 2018, leads to a differential erosion of the extraction layers according to the sectors of the quarry: we observe in particular a packing of the unprotected layers and a significant infiltration of limestone dust mixed with dirt, which leaves particles which darken the previous deposits; ceramics and charcoal can also be washed away, posing obvious problems of interpretation and dating. Also, in 2019, near the entrance of the quarry, a thick layer of clay dirt from the outside was discovered, voluntarily spread by the quarrymen after the piercing of the rock wall, to serve as foundations for the installation of a ramp with a slight slope.

○

a unit of 50 cm raised several problems: ▪ the multiplication of drawings, particularly timeconsuming; ▪ the risk of over interpretation by engaging in a micro-stratigraphic search; ▪ the risk, for lack of an overview, of not being able to identify smallest structures such as low walls of two or three blocks for example; ▪ the multiplication of stratigraphic units and the difficulty in associating deposits of different granulometry, which is yet a fundamental point of the depositional process; ▪ blocking the excavation in the presence of a large block; ○ it allows you to quickly have a visibility of the deposit on the scale of the extraction phase, allowing a certain reactivity in the conduct of the excavation (change of technique in particular, see section 5.2.3); ○ it permits the close connection of traces of extraction with the stratification;

It follows from these observations a certain difficulty in applying traditional stratigraphic techniques, but also issues in the very definition of the stratigraphic unit (mainly due to gravity sorting). We can thus start to excavate horizontally the thin part of a layer and either stop when we meet a heap of gravel resulting from gravity sorting, or over-dig until perhaps a change of layer or extraction phase, because several fine sandy layers are superimposed over a large area. Stratigraphic excavation is generally only possible for large heaps of blocks or ramps whose surface, formed by the passage of men and blocks, is relatively easy to follow.

also, excavation by square: ○

allows, if the deposit is well ordered and legible, to have one to three sections around you at all times, the reading of which avoids over digging and ensures the association of artefacts to a specific layer, properly record; ○ allows a certain flexibility and modularity which permits, when a particular level is reached (a ramp for example) to extend the excavation in plan in order to clear it as widely as possible; ○ but involves a significant fragmentation of the drawings, by portions of 1 m wide, which can be a source of errors.

Several techniques must be implemented, depending on the context and complementary to each other: • the stratigraphic excavation, with the limits mentioned above; • ‘mechanical digging’ when the deposit is certainly thick or too illegible, then using the section to stop at a new relevant surface; • deep excavation (up to 1 or 2 m) when the two previous approaches are no longer sufficient; the goal here is to arrive either to a clearly identifiable level or to reach the floor of the quarry in order to benefit from a large complete section; the reading of which permits the resumption of the research.

The main surfaces of waste discharges, heaps of blocks, circulation surfaces or even walls can be subject to plan surveys with indication of altimetry. Despite the numerous sections, plans and diagrams produced during the excavation – all in two-dimensional representations – it remains difficult to clearly account for the volume and the evolution of the exploitation (progression of the quarry faces and the filling). 3D-modeling from excavation data would be valuable for both archaeological analysis and the publication and valorisation of the results.

A simplified version of the stratigraphic extraction unit sheet has been developed bringing together the main characteristics49. This need for simplicity is justified by the redundancy of the descriptions and the difficulties in statistically processing these data; in this respect, the modelling of the stratification from the sections appears to be more efficient. The recording of the stratigraphic units is rarely done during the excavation itself, but more from the sections and therefore in smaller or larger units depending on the grid set up and the conduct of the excavation. This

5.2.3. Excavation and recording techniques In an underground context, the quarry entrances are often heavily backfilled or collapsed; the waste associated with their opening (topsoil, fractured and deteriorated rock, exploitable rock) is therefore not accessible. The excavation of underground quarries therefore concerns mainly undisturbed extraction and size waste which is only rarely confused or interspersed with deposits of another kind, except perhaps in the case of stripping of a crack, a karst or a clay pocket.

49  Dimensions, grain size, colour, dip, induration, brief description, and presence of artefacts, ecofacts or lapidary elements.

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Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France) requires multiplying the layer numbers and establishing a lot of equivalences but ensures a detailed and robust recording.

fact that many pictures were taken from a close position, including general views, and have different resolutions, we tried to apply photogrammetric processing with Photoscan Agisoft software (Figure 10.7). Some pictures could not be processed, and the resulting digital model has holes; the scaling of the model was possible thanks to the presence of the archaeologist’s car used as a scale reference. The result, which must of course be considered with a certain reserve, appears satisfactory and without important angular or distance distortion. Its manipulation on a 3D viewer allows us to navigate from one space to another, to change our point of view and to make plans and sections, certainly partial, but which is already better than not having them at all.

5.2.4. Dating and findings issues All the quarries we have studied apparently present a spatial segregation of activities: extraction in the quarry, various outdoor work and life areas only presumed. Only the first was studied yet; unfortunately, it is the other two which are most able to deliver archaeological objects or charcoal that would allow dating. During the excavation of Les Roches 1 quarry in the Manse valley, only one sherd of ceramic dated to the seventh-eighth centuries and an animal bone were found in the area closest to the entrance.

6.1.2. Quarry ceilings finally accessible: example of Barbauderie 2 (Panzoult, Indre-et-Loire)

In Panzoult, surface collections (Barbauderie 5–6 in particular) and excavations (redeposited ceramic in Barbauderie 2) have only given around twenty sherds of pottery whose dates are all different and cover the whole early Middle Ages era. However, in this subterranean context one would have expected to find fragments of lamps or heaps of coal at the bottom of some galleries. Their absence can be explained by the location of the quarries on the better-lit side of the valley on the one hand, and the shape and length of the galleries on the other hand, so as to benefit from maximum natural light.

Drawing of ceilings from below but documented as seen from above, has long been problematic50 and required the installation of parallel axes or the complete triangulation of all the traces and limits of extraction. Faced with the difficulties of the thing, only the schematic limits of the block negatives were noted on the main plan of the quarry. The application of laser scanning in the early 2010s made quarry ceilings much more accessible, and easy to study; they could then be scanned not only on the scale of the block negative but on that of the tool mark! This not only made it possible to draw the ceilings very accurately but also exhaustively.

Once again Pied Griffé quarry is exceptional, delivering the equivalent of two crates of ceramics, a few ferrous fragments and more than a hundred pieces of charcoal. The topography of the site (beside a river less than 20 m from the exploited hillside) and the very shape of the quarry (a sort of rock shelter and a large pit) suggest a place of life and activities in the immediate vicinity of the entrance. Ceramics and charcoal were mainly found, in the quarry, in the layers closest to the entrance that correspond to the last stages of the exploitation; they arrived here perhaps transported by the water flow of external soil along the slope of the ramps, then by deliberate rejection from the craftsmen. The fragmentation is important in the main circulation area and the spread thins out as one move away from the entry. In the areas corresponding to the opening of the sector exploited in a pit, we can suppose that during this phase of the exploitation the living areas of the craftsmen were more distant from the entrance of the quarry and therefore less subject to external inputs.

For example, the ceiling of the second room of Barbauderie 2 quarry in Panzoult (Figure 10.8) shows that the upper faces of top trenches of the extracted blocks are not perfectly horizontal; always one of the two sides of the block scar is higher or lower by a few centimetres. This detail is absolutely not visible when you are inside the quarry and observe the ceiling from the ground with the naked eye. However, this tells us about the way quarrymen worked, from which side they began to dig the trenches, and also if they were left-handed or right-handed. The diversity of cases makes it possible to identify several craftsmen, and also provides elements to restore the topochronology of the quarry. 6.2. Operational planning 6.2.1. Example of the wall 5 of Barbauderie 1 (Panzoult, Indre-et-Loire)

6. Case studies

6.1.1. Reconstitution of Vinon quarry (Cher) from old photographs

One of the many quarry faces of Barbauderie 1 quarry in Panzoult has a particular shape (Figure 10.9). The associated extraction unit measures 2.10 m wide51 by 2.70 m deep and corresponds to the equivalent of five columns of blocks. This is the right wall of the extraction unit

Vinon quarry, completely backfilled today, has never been surveyed and is only documented by a few photographs (see section 2.2), which did not allow us to fully appreciate the size and spatial organisation of the quarry. Despite the

50  For example, a too high ceiling difficult to access or on the contrary too close to the filling surface of a gallery, significant irregularity of their surface, lack of visibility and loss of landmark. 51  The average width of the extraction trenches being 10 cm, we can assume that the extracted blocks measure approximately 1.90 m in length.

6.1. Contributions of digital 3D to the study of quarries

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Figure 10.7. Selection of black and white photographs of Vinon quarry taken by Jean-François Baratin in the 1970s (a, b, c), and result of the photogrammetric modelling (d) ( Morleghem, 2020).

no. 14. The projections and limits of each negative make it possible to restore their nature and order of removal: we note that at the middle of the exploitation the number of lids is higher than that of the tanks; it is necessary to wait for the extraction of the last block to obtain thirteen tanks and thirteen lids, that is to say thirteen complete sarcophagi.

quarrymen usually working on another site, such as that of the Manse valley where this method is attested and more common. 6.2.2. Topographic evolution of Pied Griffé (Saint-Pierre-de-Maillé, Vienne) Pied Griffé quarry measures 10 m wide by 10 m deep and about 11 m high. A first extraction phase quickly failed due to the presence of numerous flints from 5 cm to 20 cm in diameter. The exploitation was then shifted to the east and was able to develop on two levels: the first, above the circulation level, corresponds to a semiunderground quarry in stages; the second, below ground level, corresponds to a pit quarry 3 m to 4 m deep. It is

At first, we thought this organisation resulted from a specific order of thirteen sarcophagi. It seems more likely now that this is a method specific to a group of quarrymen who, in a context where the production of each campaign of work was determined in advance, found this way of working more effectively. The uniqueness of this example in Panzoult could also indicate the intervention of 132

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Figure 10.8. Colour ramp applied to the point cloud of the ceiling of the second room of Barbauderie 2 in Panzoult (D. Morleghem, 2016).

this last level that poses the most questions in terms of movement of men and removal of blocks. The exploitation of the lower part was dated to the seventh century thanks to an abundance of ceramics and charcoal52.

of the site and one of the few that still retains its extraction waste: the state of stability of some galleries and ceilings makes it dangerous to work inside, and obviously does not allow us to envisage any excavation. The backfilling of the galleries is very uneven: some are filled up to the ceiling, a residual space of only a few centimetres having been left; others, at their ends, are barely filled and maintain heights under the ceiling of 2 m to 3 m.

When the extraction took place above ground, the constraints to the development of the quarry were limited to the size and quality of the rocky outcrop, as well as to the presence of geological hazards or flints. Quarry faces were very accessible, the waste discharged at the bottom of the slope and the blocks lowered with sufficient ease, by gravity, towards the river. Exploitation in the pit presents a huge constraint: because of the local extractive practices it cannot develop beyond the area of the higher level. We observe that the quarrymen followed a reverse orthogonal extraction pattern compared to the first level (Figure 10.10a-d). Some adaptations were necessary, at least initially: extraction of the blocks from the ground and no longer facing a wall; vertical removal of the blocks requiring a lifting device. It was only in the final phases of operation that gently sloping ramps could be constructed to remove the blocks from the quarry.

Mapping the waste, coupled with the analysis of quarry faces and ceilings, makes it possible to specify the chronology of the exploitation but also to understand the circulation within the quarry. Thus, three galleries located to the north of the quarry, linked together by several passages, have terminal walls accessible over their entire height (Figure 10.11). Only the southern gallery has not been completely backfilled, extraction and shaping waste materials there were thrown to both sides to leave in the middle clearance under the ceiling between 1.80 m and 2.40 m, allowing walking at standing height and to pull the blocks to the outside of the quarry. This gallery is completely straight from the entrance to the final face, unlike the others, which can explain why quarrymen chose it as main circulation axis.

6.3. Space and waste management 6.3.1. Movement of men and materials from the last exploited quarry faces of the underground quarry Barbauderie 5–6 (Panzoult, Indre-et-Loire)

6.3.2. Waste management in the pit quarry of Pied Griffé (Saint-Pierre-de-Maillé, Vienne) In Pied Griffé quarry, the fact that the quarry floor is much lower than the outside ground level forced the quarrymen to leave all the extraction waste inside (Figure 10.10), with a double constraint: first, the limits of the quarry, in constant evolution; secondly, the accessibility of the active quarry face during each phase of the exploitation.

Barbauderie 5–6 quarry in Panzoult is made up of a dozen galleries 2.5 m to 6 m wide (total of 80 m), 40 m deep in the rock and around 3 m to 4 m high. It is the largest quarry 52 

Fifteen radiocarbon dates were carried out between 2013 and 2019.

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134 Figure 10.9. Phasing of the extraction unit 14 from the drawing of wall 5 of Barbauderie 1 quarry in Panzoult (D. Morleghem, 2009).

Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France)

135 Figure 10.10a. Exploitation progress (solid line arrow) and waste disposal (dashed arrow) in the lower level of Pied Griffé quarry (D. Morleghem, 2019).

Daniel Morleghem

136 Figure 10.10b. Exploitation progress (solid line arrow) and waste disposal (dashed arrow) in the lower level of Pied Griffé quarry (D. Morleghem, 2019).

Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France)

137 Figure 10.10c. Exploitation progress (solid line arrow) and waste disposal (dashed arrow) in the lower level of Pied Griffé quarry (D. Morleghem, 2019).

Daniel Morleghem

138 Figure 10.10d. Exploitation progress (solid line arrow) and waste disposal (dashed arrow) in the lower level of Pied Griffé quarry (D. Morleghem, 2019).

Archaeology of Early Middle Ages Sarcophagi Quarries in the Southern Paris Basin (France)

139 Figure 10.11. Filling and circulation in the three last galleries operated in Barbauderie 5-6 quarry in Panzoult (D. Morleghem, 2016).

Daniel Morleghem The most common and simplest practice is to leave extraction and shaping waste at the very bottom of the quarry face, making sure to keep its base accessible. In addition to the fact that this does not require any handling, this in situ discharge allows the development of a loose layer which will ensure the smooth reception of the blocks extracted in the upper parts of the front. Because of the topography of the quarry, the accumulation of this waste is quickly problematic if the slope becomes too steep or if the base of the wall is covered. When the excavated area was large enough, the quarrymen were able to throw the waste aside and cover older sectors of the quarry. The stratigraphic reading of the deposit then makes it possible to reveal the chronology of the operation in detail: it sometimes makes it possible to distinguish several extraction phases while the analysis of the wall alone would have made it possible to define only one.

of extraction techniques and methods, this research is polymorphic, multi-disciplinary and multi-scalar. The methodology presented in this paper is not entirely new but based on the work of our predecessors and colleagues, archaeologists and geologists, and adapted to the specific issues of early Middle Age stone sarcophagi production. Unfortunately, for many reasons and in most of the cases research can only be limited to a topographic study and the observation of accessible quarry faces, which certainly provide data on the tools and technical gestures of quarrymen, the main operating strategies (at the scale of the quarry and the whole site), but only shed light on the problems of spatial and temporal organisation of the exploitation. Excavations, whose rarity can be regretted while understanding the reluctance to engage them, nevertheless provide much more than the continuation of the already visible quarry faces: they include the ‘chaîne opératoire’ from the extraction to the shaping; characterisation of work and life spaces; circulation paths or storage areas; space and waste management; dating elements, etc.

Most of the waste corresponds to small blocks and limestone dust linked to the digging of the trenches and to the cut of the blocks; it is sometimes possible to distinguish the different stages of the work (digging trenches, squaring, hollowing out of the tanks, finishing). Piles of large blocks, corresponding to blocks broken during a step or another of the operational chain, could be an indication in favour of a cleaning of the working area before a new phase of extraction.

After ten years of research on the quarries of the Southern Paris Basin, considerable progress has been made in the knowledge of the sites, but a large part of the subject remains to be discovered, as regards the future of the blocks after their exit from the quarry, activities in the space between the quarry and the loading area of the finished products.

Several alignments of two, three or four blocks, but also small walls, have been cleared at different levels of the backfill, the function of which is to retain a tiny volume of waste on the side of the main path of men and products. This practice can be likened to the ‘hague et bourrage’ method quite common in medieval and modern era quarries. A dry-stone wall over 2.50 m in height was also discovered in the southwest corner of the quarry, behind which relatively fine horizontally layered waste were discarded. This arrangement was to allow, in the early days of pit exploitation, a work surface at the foot of the main working wall to be retained, to shape the blocks and take them out of the quarry.

Bibliography Baratin, Jean-François. 1974. “Inventaire du matériel archéologique du Haut Moyen Âge dans le Loiret”. Maîtrise diss., EPHE Paris, VIth section. Baratin, Jean-François. 1975. “Les sarcophages ornés ou non du Loiret. Origine des matériaux”. In Archéologie minière. Forez et Massif Central. Actes du 98e Congrés national des Sociétés savantes, Saint-Etienne, 181– 190. Paris: CTHS. Benoît, Paul, Annie Blanc, Jean-Pierre-Gély, Ania GuiniSkliar, Daniel Obert, and Marc Viré. 2000. “De l’Antiquité à l’époque Moderne: la pierre de Paris”. In La pierre dans la ville antique et mediévale, dir. Jacqueline Lorenz, Dominique Tardy, and Gérard Coulon, 121–158. Tours: FERACF.

7. Conclusions The development of research on sarcophagi in the early 2000s made it possible to identify many sources of rocks, without however creating a particular interest for the study of the places of manufacture themselves53. The difficulty in identifying sites, the ‘thankless nature of the research and the specificity of the technical approach’ (Bessac and Sablayrolles 2002a, 3) certainly explain the delay of sarcophagi quarries studies compared to that of other periods, particularly of Antiquity. 

Bessac, Jean-Claude. 1986. “La prospection archéologique des carrières de pierre de taille: approche méthodologique”. Aquitania 4: 151–171. Bessac, Jean-Claude. 1993a. L’outillage traditionnel du tailleur de pierre de l’Antiquité à nos jours. Paris: CNRS.

From the identification of the bedrock in which the sarcophagi were cut to the establishment of topochronologies of the exploitation, including the definition

Bessac, Jean-Claude. 1993b. “Traces d’outils sur la pierre: méthodes d’étude et interprétation”. In Archeologia delle attività estrattive e metallurgiche. V ciclo di lezioni sulla ricerca applicata in archeologia. Certosa di Pontignano (SI) – Campiglia Marittima (LI), 9–21

53  We only consider here the quarries with exclusive production of sarcophagi having operated between the end of the 5th and the 8th century.

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Lorenz, Claude, and Jacqueline Lorenz. 1993. “De la roche à la construction: la localisation et la reconnaissance des carrières”. In Carrières et construction en France et dans les pays limitrophes 2, dir. Jacqueline Lorenz, 9–29. Paris: CTHS.

Bessac, Jean-Claude, and Robert Sablayrolles. 2002a. “Problématique archeologique des carrières antiques en Gaule”. In Carrières antiques de la Gaule. Une recherche polymorphe, dir. Jean-Claude Bessac and Robert Sablayrolles, 3–9. Paris: CNRS.

Martin, Guillaume, Sébastien Gaime, and Daniel Parent. 2017. “Sondages archéologiques dans les carrières du Cliersou”. Rapport, Bron: Inrap.

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Morleghem, Daniel. 2009. “Etude archéologique d’une carrière de sarcophages du haut Moyen Âge à Panzoult (Indre-et-Loire)”. Master diss., University of Tours.

Blondeau, Céline. 2010. “Une approche nouvelle des modes d’extraction et des traces d’outil”. Archéologie médiévale 40: 1–14.

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Morleghem, Daniel. 2018. “Apports de la 3D numérique à l’étude des carrières de sarcophages du haut Moyen Âge”. In Méthodes de relevés numériques en archéologie et en architecture: applications, eds. Christophe Colliou and Nicolas Morelle, 125–128. Rouen: CRAHN.

Cousin, Michel. 2002. Archéologie des carrières souterraines de Doué-la-Fontaine. Angers: Association régionale pour la diffusion de l’archéologie en Pays-deLoire.

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Morleghem, Daniel, Philippe Husi, and Jacqueline Lorenz. 2016. “Le centre carrier de l’Anglin (Indre et Vienne) et la carrière de sarcophages du haut Moyen Âge de Pied Griffé (Saint-Pierre-de-Maillé, Vienne), Campagne 2016”. Rapport, Tours: UMR 7324 Citeres-LAT.

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Finoulst, Laure-Anne. 2012. “Les sarcophages du haut Moyen Âge en Gaule du Nord: production, diffusion, typo-chronologie et interpretations”. PhD diss., Université Libre de Bruxelles. Gaillard, Jacques. 2011. L’exploitation antique de la pierre de taille dans le bassin de la Charente. Chauvigny: Association des publications chauvinoises. Liégard, Sophie. 2018. Les sarcophages médiévaux du département de l’Allier. Tronget: GRAHCA.

Morleghem, Daniel, Claire Gerbaud, and Alexandre Polinski. 2018. “Les carrières de sarcophages du haut Moyen Âge de Panzoult (37) – Carrière Barbauderie 2 – Campagne 2018”. Rapport, Tours: UMR 7324 Citeres-LAT.

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Daniel Morleghem Monthel, Gérard, and Pierre-Yves Lambert. 2002. “La carrière gallo-romaine de Saint-Boil (Saône-et-Loire)”. In Carrières antiques de la Gaule. Une recherche polymorphe, dir. Jean-Claude Bessac and Robert Sablayrolles, 89–120. Paris: CNRS. Picard, Gilbert Charles. 1972. “Vinon”. Gallia 30 (2): 320–21. Polinski, Alexandre. 2015. “Sarcophages et coffrages en pierre des nécropoles de la Loire-Atlantique: une approche des stratégies d’approvisionnement en matériaux (IVe–VIIIe siècle)”. Archéologie médiévale 45: 11–38. Roger, Jacques, Richard Delhoume, and Jean-Pierre Floc’h. 2015. Les sarcophages du département de la Creuse. Guéret: SSNAHC. Rougé, Guillaume. 2014. “Les sarcophages entre Loire et Pyrénées: observations et études par des critères techniques et morphologiques”. PhD diss., Université Bordeaux III.

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11 Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum Plaster Over Time in Construction in Ile-de-France Ivan Lafarge Archéologue Département de la Seine-Saint-Denis DCPSL/SPC, bureau du patrimoine archéologique, IHMC-UMR 8066 CNRS, Université Paris I Panthéon-Sorbonne, France Abstract: Gypsum plaster is a plentiful natural resource in Ile-de-France (region of Paris), its exploitation and uses as a construction material began as far back as the Roman period and went on until industrialisation, including technical evolutions. From the thirteenth to the beginning of the twentieth century, gypsum plaster was the most abundantly used construction material on a regional scale. However, it is still little-known and often denigrated. The loss of know how that has arisen since the middle of the twentieth century is a direct consequence of the massive industrialisation of construction. Keywords: gypsum plaster, resources, evolution of production, long duration uses, building forms, industrialisation.  Introduction 

Lafarge 2008a; Lafarge 2008b; Lafarge 2008c; Farion 2008; Farion and Hantraye 2007; Farion and Hantraye 2008).

The uses of gypsum have been excluded from archaeological research for a long time because archaeologists have rarely considered such a current material. It remained unnoticed despite its recurrence in all kinds of remains and has rarely been a subject for specific studies. Nevertheless, it was occasionally mentioned in some studies (Viollet-le-Duc 1868, for example). The frequency of its uses began to diminish from the postwar Reconstruction in the late 1940s. From the nineteenth century to the 1960s, this current material did not arouse interest from archaeologists. This situation changed with the massive industrialisation of the second half of the twentieth century which modified the use of construction materials. Around the 1970s-1980s, gypsum gained some interest because of the excavations of several Merovingian cemeteries and the developement of urban and medieval archaeology.

The creation of a group for research about plaster in art (GRPA: Groupe de recherche sur le plâtre dans l’art) at the end of the 1990s lead to the assembling of two important conferences at Pontoise and Digne (Barthe 2001; Da Conceçao 2005). From 2005 onwards the author has personally contributed to this renewal of studies with the implementation of archaeological experiments of gypsum plaster kilns (Lafarge et al. 2006; Lafarge 2008b; Lafarge 2009), academic works (Lafarge 2008c), then a thesis on plaster from the perspective of archaeology and the history of techniques (Lafarge 2013). That was followed by the works of Tiffanie Le Dantec (Le Dantec 2015; Le Dantec 2019), the work of Jean Ducasse-Lapeyrusse at the Laboratoire de recherches des monuments historiques (LRMH) and the series of conferences concerning Le Plâtre et la Couleur (gypsum plaster and colour) organised by the GRPA (first session in Cormeilles-en-Parisis in 2016, about mass coloured plaster (Barthe 2017), second session at the Médiathèque du Patrimoine in 2018 about painted plaster (Barthe 2019), the third session was to have been held in April 2020, about patina and imitation upon plaster, but has been delayed) as well as the conference Le gypse d’hier et d’aujourd’hui, valeur d’échange de demain organised at Serres by the association Gyp art et matière and the Parc naturel des baronnies provençales (13–15 September 2018) and Le plâtre en construction, international conference organised by the Groupement REMPART Île-de-France and the LRMH (26 February – 1 March 2019 at the Bergerie Nationale in Rambouillet).

In the 1980s a first phase of plaster studying began but it stopped rapidly after a few academic works and publications (Viré 1979; Benhamou 1980; AFAM 1981; Archéologie à Chelles 1988; Bardin 1982; Streith 1989). The Musée du plâtre was created in Cormeilles-en-Parisis in 1982, at first it was an association for the memory of the Lambert quarry and factory which comprised ancient workers of the enterprise. Today it has become an important centre of resources about gypsum plaster. Nethertheless, from the end of the 1980s to the 2000s, plaster has been of little archaeological interest. After this decade in which the works are so limited, a new interest rose from 2000s with several conferences, publications and academic works (Barthe 2001; Da Conceiçao 2005; Lafarge et al. 2006, 143

Ivan Lafarge 1. Geological and chemical overview

geological usage, are noted from the top to the bottom. The upper one, so called first mass, or high mass, is over 20 m thick, the second between 4 m and 8 m and the third mass is around 2 m thick. The fourth mass, chronologically the oldest one, is the deepest and the thinnest one, around 1 m, but it is also the most damaged one, discontinuous and most often not exploitable. Into the marls, we can regularly find big gypsum spearhead crystals up to 1 m long (Pomerol and Feugueur 1986; see also 1/50000 geological maps around Paris and notices on https://infoterre.brgm. fr/viewer/MainTileForward.do select cartes géologiques 1/1000000 to 1/50000 and accéder à la légende imprimée).

Gypsum is an important natural resource in the Parisian basin with a role in construction materials during antiquity, so it can potentially be found in every constructed remains from the Roman period to modern times, including the Middle Ages. Then its presence is also recurrent in buildings, and as a consequence making an inventory of the archaeological sites where gypsum can be found would be similar to making an inventory of lived-in places. Since 2008 we have studied to varying degrees gypsum plaster evidence from about 67 archaeological sites in some 30 cities of the region.

These deposits of the upper Bartonian correspond to the Ludian geological stage, also named nowadays as Priabonian, and comprise a large lens between the Marne, Oise and Seine valleys as far as the Reims region. There is a further deposit at Ludes, the eponymous site of Ile-deFrance’s gypsum (Figure 11.1). This gypsum lens overlays the Lutetian coarse limestone base. These materials are usually conjointly used in construction (Flavien 1887; Viré 1979; Pomerol and Feugueur 1986). On the historical map drawn by the priest Delagrive, around 1740, in the

Geologically, Ile-de-France gypsum comes probably from a secondary dissolution of Triassic gypsum (Secondary era, Mesozoic ~225 Myr) of Lorraine, in the east of France, re-deposited in lagoon contexts during the marine regression of the upper Bartonian (Tertiary era, Eocene ~30 to 38 Myr). This deposition phase is supposed to have lasted around 10 million years, permitting an important sedimentation of four masses of gypsum interspersed with marls (calcareous clay). These masses, contrary to normal

Figure 11.1. Gypsum masses extension in the Paris basin. Figure created by the author after Daligand 1988.

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Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum Plaster Over Time in Construction in Ile-de-France north-east of Paris in an approximately twenty kilometres radius, we can count about fifty gypsum quarries associated with plaster kilns (Figure 11.2).

a quite good plaster (Lafarge 2013). Plaster recycling has been used at least from the Middle Ages (Lafarge and Huygen 2010).

Gypsum chemical composition is CaSO4 2H2O, calcium sulfate dihydrate, which loses its crystallisation water up to 120°C, giving place to bassanite (CaSO4 ½H2O), commonly called plaster. So, a 75% dehydration is enough to create a plaster which will set when dampened. Nevertheless, the different degrees of heating can produce anhydrous calcium sulfate, poorly soluble in water: ‘overcooked’ plaster. The mix of these different temperatures during preparation gives the preindustrial plaster its special qualities. Once it is reduced to powder, when plaster (bassanite) is dampened it becomes hard, that is called ‘setting’ (which is different to drying) (Figure 11.3). Chemically, plaster and gypsum are the same thing, the only difference is in the crystallisation, meaning that set plaster can be reheated to return to bassanite and be used once more. Our experimental work has shown that set plaster is more resistant to heating and needs a more sustained exposure to heat to be dehydrated, but it makes

2. Historical overviews As early as in Antiquity, plaster was frequently used in building: gypsum rock was used for masonry and plaster as mortar, but it was also used to make bricks, slabs, tiles etc. Beyond its masonry uses, gypsum plaster was also used in covering roofs: tegulae and imbrices. Lots of these tegulae show erosion marks due to water movement when exposed. Contrary to what has been written sometimes (Robin and Marquis 2001, 94), Roman craftsmen had a good mastery of this material and its techniques. The high grain size noted on Roman plaster pieces can be explained with both a good control of the material itself and a precise technical choice in making coarse plaster. In building, the secondary fabric is usually characterised by decorative elements. Even if Romans did not use much gypsum plaster for render, they liked stucco decorations. We can notice that since the 1990s numerous Roman sites

Figure 11.2. Gypsum exploitation around Paris in the 18th century: 45 plaster quarrries, 6 sand quarries, 6 stone quarries, many small quarries are not drawn. Figure created by the author, bottom map, Carte de l’abbé Delagrive, 1740, doc. Bureau du patrimoine de Seine-Saint-Denis.

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Figure 11.3. Chemical cycle of gypsum plaster. Figure created by the author.

standard at the same time as sarcophagi, even if their social functions were different. The use of stone-built graves grows until the Carolingian period, and their use continues until the modern period, so that their re-examination allows us today to establish a chrono-typology of these structures (Lafarge 2017a).

have produced stucco pieces, which have begun to be systematically studied. In Ile-de-France, even if examples are still few, gypsum plaster seems to be the most used material for antique stuccoes (Richebourg -Department 78–, Paris, Saint-Denis) except from Paris, much of them are still unpublished, (see Lafarge 2013; Robin and Marquis 2001). Nevertheless, this observation still must be confirmed by a systematic study.

From the early Middle Ages and in spite of the reduction in masonry construction shown by archaeological evidence, many high-quality buildings remain. Most of them are churches, like Saint-Germain-des-Prés in Paris, built with stone, bound with mortar. As far as we know however, plaster is hardly represented in these buildings in which construction traditions came down from Antiquity. We know two plaster uses during the early Middle Ages. On the one hand, in ecclesiastical buildings, stucco decorations in which gypsum plaster is the basic material, or secondary building work, like window marks in the Saint-Denis Carolingian church (information from Michaël Wyss, archaeologist of the city of Saint-Denis); on the other hand, buildings with timber supporting structures could be roughcast with plaster on wattle. These buildings were few in number from the sixth to the eleventh centuries and we can suppose that this use is reserved for buildings of a certain quality, or for specific uses, like chimneys. As we said, Ile-de-France’s stuccoes distinguish themselves by the use of gypsum plaster. We must admit that Paris (Lutecia) is one antique and Merovingian city where

During the early Middle Ages building practices changed and masonry buildings became rare and poorer quality. Some buildings could still be mentioned, even considered that the use of gypsum plaster seems to be scarce in their original structure. On the other hand, gypsum plaster proved to be a good material in funerary uses, where it was regularly used to make moulded and decorated sarcophagi between the sixth and eighth centuries. These containers, much studied in the 1980s, are currently being re-examined today. As a result of these studies, we can now point out that several production groups can be determined by the decoration and correspond to different ways of diffusion. These recent evidence allows us to get out of a vision too focused on Paris and show the eminent role of river valleys (Seine, Oise, Marne) in their diffusion (Lafarge and Langlois 2016) (Figure 11.4). Funerary uses were not limited to Merovingian sarcophagi and from the fourth century on, stone-built graves became 146

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147 Figure 11.4. Simplified map of plaster sarcophagi distribution in and around the Paris region by production groups. Figure created by the author and Pierre Langlois, doc. Bureau du patrimoine de Seine-Saint-Denis.

Ivan Lafarge the regulation of Parisian professions in the thirteenth century refers largely to the plâtriers, plastermen, who belong to the same corporation as masons, morteliers (those who prepare mortars) and quarrymen; masons are plastermen and vice-versa, they also are quarrymen because they extract their own stone for their works (Lespinasse and Bonardot 1879).

stuccoes are most lacking, almost certainly by lack of observation. Such stuccoes are known at Richebourg villa in Roman times, as in Saint-Denis (Wyss 1997) and Chelles (Archéologie à Chelles 1988) for the early Middle Ages (sixth to ninth centuries). We notice that the unique plaster stucco fragment found in the actual Parisian area was found in the church of Saint-Germain-de-Charonne which was in the suburbs until 1860, and the context of discovery is an embankment of which the dating cannot be improved than between the early Middle Ages and the twelfth century (Figure 11.5).

This construction mode occurs at the same time as Gothic architecture developed and building professions became autonomous, particularly in rural society, in a fairly firm relationship between material and the shape of buildings. Thus, the recurrence of walls with a light inclination, systematically rendered, animated with drip moulding and covered with cornices. Cornices have the function of supporting a wooden piece named coyau (the lower section of the rafters projecting over the eaves) at the bottom of the pitched roof to break the slope and increase the range of the water run-off and avoid the flow of rainwater onto the bare face of the walls. They are the opportunity, as well as drip moulding, to support decorative shapes which reference from antiquity to medieval times. These elements are moulded, and a particular technique of shaping is developed: the pulling, or dragging, of a model. Plaster is also the preferred material for the execution of heating engineering and plaster chimney flues are very frequently

From the thirteenth century, a real phenomenon of building petrifaction can be observed: wooden construction was replaced by stone. This phenomenon, difficult to see in Paris, is widely observed on sites near the city: Aubervilliers, Saint-Denis, Gagny, Tremblay, Villiers-le-Bel, Louvres, Gonesse etc (Lafarge 2013). In this new way of building, gypsum plaster takes an important role: it is largely found in masonry, from foundations to the roof, in the secondary fabric, in the partitioning, very often made with plaster on wooden structures, and covering fixings are also made of plaster. To take a single example, the church of Bouqueval (Val d’Oise), built in the thirteenth century, has its entire masonry bound with plaster (Figure 11.6). Furthermore,

Figure 11.5. Stucco fragments: a: Chelles church Saint-Georges 9th century, on the left (ph. José Ajot); b: Saint-Martin de Charonne, 12th century at the latest. Figure created by the author.

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Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum Plaster Over Time in Construction in Ile-de-France attested as well by archaeological finds as by iconography (Figure 11.7). Internal or external wall coats are made of plaster. Interior ones generally carry painted decoration and graffiti. Plaster is a good support for painting and fragments of painted plaster from interior coats are frequently found (Ville Evrard castle, Lafarge 2017b; Saint-Martin du Tertre castle, Lafarge 2019; Noisy-le-Grand church, Lafarge 2014, for example); exterior coats rarely show painting, but erosion consequences are often difficult to quantify (Heitzmann and Le Dantec 2019). To the end of the Middle Ages, we can notice that on some internal coat fragments, oil painting had developed. Graffiti is frequently observed, but rarely completely legible. Drawings are observed more often than signatures or inscriptions, which can represent the environment of the site, in which case, graffiti are direct historical sources (Figure 11.8). The use of plaster as an interior coat is often completed with plastic decoration, not necessarily stucco. Most commonly these decorations are mouldings, but not necessarily associated with openings, when they are often referred to as gypserie, which can from the Middle Ages mark panelling limits. Plaster is also used to constitute interior floors (Inizan 2017) (Figure 11.9a), and in masonry, to make window tracery (Figure 11.9b and c), pipe supports or fixings for pipes (descent of latrines or water supplies made of ceramic pipes) (Figure 11.9d), breeze blocks to repair stone masonries (Figure 11.9e). 

Figure 11.6. Bouqueval, Val d’Oise, this church fully restored in 2019 was entirely built with stone bound with plaster, general view, and detail of one buttress. Figure created by the author.

In the later Middle Ages, particular uses of plaster were developed in construction to lighten masonry masses,

Figure 11.7. a- Orville castle, Louvres, Val d’Oise, excavation of zone 6 in 2006: démolition layer made of chimney flues (ph. Inrap, Isabelle Caillot). b- Grandes chroniques de France, 15th century: Paris palais de la Cité, illumination, Tours around 1455 – 1460 (Paris, BNF, département des manuscrits, Fr.6465, fol.25); c- the chimney stacks are made of double pipe flues. Figure created by the author.

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Ivan Lafarge Renaissance maps are not helpful, but the simple use of plaster is eloquent in its own right. A regressive study of ancient maps from the seventeenth to twentieth centuries has been initiated in collaboration with Jean-Pierre Gély for the north-east of Paris but is yet to be published. Plaster production is evidenced from the eighteenth century mostly by extraction. The plate of the Encyclopédie Architecture, Maçonnerie, carrier-platrier (Figure 11.11) explicates the extraction site where every step of the production chain is represented (extraction, firing, beating and bagging). This organisation has certainly existed since the Middle Ages even if it is not systematic and plaster can of course be fired directly on the construction sites (Nadaud 1895; Lafarge 2008b; Warmé 2012).

in vaults or high parts of walls (vaults of the Bernardins college in Paris, oral information by Marc Viré-, high parts of the walls in the Montreuil’s church near Paris). Many cases of plaster vaults are observed with wooden or plaster ribs (Montreuil, Paris St Médard, Chelles Saint-Georges from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century, Lafarge 2008c and Lafarge 2013).

Most ancient known quarries and plâtrières are mentioned in the thirteenth century, for example Cormeilles-enParisis (Val-d’Oise) in 1233, Aulnay-sous-Bois (SeineSaint-Denis) in 1239, Drancy (Seine-Saint-Denis) in 1268 or Pierrefitte (Seine-Saint-Denis) in 1229–1230 (Lafarge 2013). It is to be believed that this chronology is not accidental, because even if gypsum plaster was being used before, archaeology shows at that moment the development of masonry building, where plaster is the most abundant building material used. This petrifaction of building in the thirteenth century has been particularly observed on the sites of Aubervilliers (Seine-SaintDenis), Tremblay (Seine-Saint-Denis), Gagny (SeineSaint-Denis), Saint-Denis (Seine-Saint-Denis), Sarcelles (Val-d’Oise), Villiers-le-Bel (Val-d’Oise) and a few other places.

Mass coloured plaster is not known from the Middle Ages, it seems to have developed during the Renaissance and flourished from the seventeenth century with the renewal of architecture; the facades of the Place des Vosges, or the Place Dauphine, in Paris, where it replaces bricks on some wall coats in the early seventeenth century are significant examples (Figure 11.10). These construction structures give a significant role to plaster, a technical choice largely commented about in construction treatises of the period (Babelon 1965; Lafarge and Le Dantec 2017). This construction mode illustrates more clearly the benefits of plaster than its use in the medieval period. Actually, plaster building is cheaper than stone building, its use as mortar allows a faster execution by its rapid setting, so building is expedited.

We don’t know much about ancient extraction methods. But quarries were certainly opened and exploited by stages in the sides of hills during Antiquity, as is well known for limestone. However, in the country where rich zones of gypsum are known, some carrières en cornet were open from the end of the Middle Ages into modern times (Farion 2008, 4) (Figure 11.12). These peasant quarries aren’t extended, they just are pits for occasional gypsum extraction, in the plains or hillsides. They appeared frequently in the landscape until the end of the nineteenth century, but such structures have not been excavated yet. It seems that these extractions were associated with kilns located in perennial places like urban kilns of Paris or Saint-Denis, but certainly also kilns built directly on construction sites (Lafarge 2013, 430–444).

3. Extraction

The most ancient gypsum quarry we know in Ile-deFrance through archaeology is located in the city of Chelles, rue du Château Gaillard. It was discovered in 1988, digging for a new building (Figure 11.13) and it is dated by ceramics of the tenth to eleventh century for its main use, and thirteenth to fourteenth century for its abandonment (Godiveau 1988; Lafarge 2010a). This surface quarry was located in the second gypsum mass, making use of natural fissuring to produce blocks of around 40 cm to 50 cm (1.3 to 1.6 feet). It was worked by successive workshops. This mode of extracting is also

Figure 11.8. Orville castle, Louvres, Val d’Oise, window pedestal fragment with graffito. Figure created by Emmanuelle Jacquot.

Plaster production needs gypsum, also called ‘plaster stone’. This extraction is indirectly attested, because plaster has been used since antiquity. Ancient quarries are extremely rare, certainly because of a high continuity of use. Only two are archaeologically known. In fact, examination of ancient maps shows the continuous exploitation of many quarries since the seventeenth century, and also shows the transition from open quarries to underground exploitation. Unfortunately, medieval and 150

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Figure 11.9. a: floor covering with joists, 13th-14th centuries (couvent des Bernardins, Paris). b : Plaster tracery fragment, 13th-14th centuries (couvent des Bernardins, Paris). c: joint of stone tracery (Carreau du Temple, Paris). d: pipe joint 13th century (Saint-Martin-du-Tertre, Vald’oise). c: plaster breeze block, 13th century (Saint-Martin-du-Tertre, Val d’Oise). Figure created by the author.

known at Villiers-Adam (Brûlé and Toupet 1988; Lafarge 2013). As at the Chelles quarry, the quarry of VilliersAdam, discovered in 1984, is located in the second gypsum mass. It also was organised in successive surface workshops, every new workshop opening produced the materials to backfill the previous one (Figure 11.14).

It is dated by ceramics to the early fourteenth century (Brûlé and Toupet 1988). This quarry also has evidence of a firing structure, probably a kiln to produce plaster (figure 11.14, number 6). Even if this structure was small, it provides the proof of a rational production of gypsum plaster as soon as the Middle Ages. 151

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152 Figure 11.10. Marly, around 1680, Royal pavilion, structural plan of masonries and reconstitution of the front structure. Figure created by the author.

Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum Plaster Over Time in Construction in Ile-de-France

Figure 11.11. ‘Plaster stone’ quarry and quarrymen’s tools in Denis Diderot and Jean le Rond d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences des arts et des métiers... Architecture, Maçonnerie (1751–1756). 1 to 4 wedges, 5 and 6 bags, 7 and 9 sledgehammers, 8 shovel, 10 and 11 picks, 12 mining needle, 13 borer, 14 mining charge hole, 15 mining bar. Plate of the Encyclopédie.

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Figure 11.12. Extract from the nineteenth century cadaster of the city of Stains (Seine-Saint-Denis), 1808 to 1812, section A, sheet n°3. See the toponym ‘Les Platrières’ and a parcellar anomaly due to an ancient ‘cornet’. Figure created by the author, doc. Département de la Seine-Saint-Denis.

Figure 11.13. Geological fold in the second gypsum mass and medieval quarrying workshop. From Godiveau 1988, 10, Courtesy of José Ajot.

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Figure 11.14. Beginning of the 14th century Villiers-Adam gypsum quarry and plaster production site, evolution steps, (Christophe Toupet, 1985).

4. Kilns

4.2. Dampmart early Middle Ages kiln

Firing is an essential operation in plaster production, the quality of the produced material depends on it. Parisian masons used to say ‘if plaster is not cooked enough, it is arid and doesn’t make any solidity; if it is overcooked it loses its “love’’, when it’s well cooked, it gets sweet and keeps on the fingers’ (Benhamou 1981, 26). After firing, the plasterman can use plaster for building or whatever he can do. Implementation techniques and specific tools haven’t changed much until today. If prefabrication and mechanical projection have introduced new aspects to the profession, plastermen still make the same gestures as in the past (Lafarge et al. 2006, 6; Lafarge 2008b).

The reconstruction of the church of this village from the 1960s, in the same location as the medieval church, gave place to several archaeological campaigns. Nonextensive excavation was conducted on an important Merovingian cemetery with numerous plaster sarcophagi (Eberhart 1961; Eberhart and Douhot 1965; Eberhart and Drouhot 1967). José Ajot mentions ‘the important discovery of a place for gypsum firing’ in this cemetery (Ajot 1988, 55 note 9). The observation was made in 1973 but had never been published (Lafarge 2009). We thank José Ajot for having given us his original documentation and permission for publishing it (Lafarge, in press and Figure 11.15).

4.1. Medieval kilns

The archaeological survey of 1973 discovered seven plaster sarcophagi and an area which can be interpreted as a plaster kiln (Figure 11.15). Between the sarcophagi S1, S3 and S4, upon S3 and cutting its excavation, and partially covered by S1 and S4, the kiln structure is 1.25 m to 1.90 m long and around 0.70 m wide. The excavation base, the edges of which are burned, was filled with gypsum and plaster fragments mixed with carbonaceous sediment. This mix could be the result of hammering plaster directly on the firing area.

Plaster kilns of Antiquity are still unknown. Medieval kilns are not frequent, they are rarely recognized by archaeologists, neither are they mentioned in written sources, moreover they are difficult to identify. Without counting the fugitive firing traces of Villiers-Adam, only three plaster kilns are known in Ile-de-France through archaeology; they allow some reflection, but not a general knowledge of medieval kilns. As yet we do not understand their formal evolution. 

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Figure 11.15. Dampmart (Seine et Marne), the kiln excavated by José Ajot in 1973. Drawing Ivan Lafarge after José Ajot’s papers. Figure created by the author.

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Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum Plaster Over Time in Construction in Ile-de-France Following the dimensions of the structure, the prepared volume can be estimated to around 0.7 m3 to 1.5 m3, that is to say the possibility to make three to six sarcophagi, both tank and cover, for each firing in the structure (the volume of a sarcophagus is estimated to around 0.25 m3). With these data, it is impossible to say if this kiln has been used one or several times, furthermore the complete extent of this cemetery is still unknown. Nevertheless, the date of this kiln may be sixth to seventh century due to its stratigraphical position between sarcophagi.

low wall of gypsum. All the south side of the structure is missing: it probably was the more highly heated part of the structure. There is no working pit associated with the kiln, however the kiln structure is filled with degraded cob. This cob is difficult to interpret: its use in the kiln construction is not necessary. The successive layers of plaster and wood charcoal mixed with ashes forming the bottom of the structure indicate three successive firings and it is important to note that no trace of cob has been seen between the three levels, indicating three firings in a continuous sequence. The structure dimensions allow the calculation of a charge of 1 m3 to 3 m3, then the kiln could have produced between 3 m3 and 9 m3 of plaster. The ceramics found in the fill are dated to the fourteenth century.

4.3. The kiln of the castle of Saint-Martin-du-Tertre In 2004, François Gentili made archaeological surveys in the castle of Saint-Martin-du-Tertre (Val d’Oise) and discovered, with other structures, a little medieval plaster kiln (Gentili 2004; Lafarge 2008b; Lafarge 2009; Gentili et al. 2010, 38–40). A pit excavated on the border of a terrace took place in a great excavation which is the enclosure ditch of the castle, near the entrance. The structure could not be fully excavated (around a half was). The kiln is formed from a pit excavated in the clayey lime, its bottom is covered with cooked and indurated gypsum associated with wood charcoal. The kiln was covered by a demolition fill dated by ceramics to the beginning of fourteenth century. 

This structure shows a parallel with a lime kiln studied by Madeleine Chatelet in 2004 in Sessenheim ‘Hecklen’ in Alsace (Châtelet 2005): half buried with a heating chamber topped with a vault made with the charge of the kiln itself. Contrary to the Sessenheim lime kiln, the Sarcelles plaster kiln probably did not use a cob covering, because there is no need for such a heating concentration to cook plaster compared with lime (150 to 200°C vs 800 to 1000°C). But these two structures allow us to consider a formal affiliation with the lime kiln described by Cato (Goujard 2002, 42–43). 5. Experimental archaeology approach

The small size of this structure (less than 1 m diameter) allows us to think that the firing charge was small, probably around 1 m3, maybe less. This kiln is obviously in relation with the rearrangement of the tower in the end of the thirteenth-beginning of the fourteenth century (Lafarge 2010b; Lafarge 2019).

Several works of experimental archaeology made between 2005 and 2010 (plaster kilns, sarcophagi, tests of use in both ‘live’ and laboratory conditions) have been presented in our thesis work (Lafarge 2013). These works allowed us to discuss with plaster professionals (masons, engineers etc), permitting a detailed approach to traditional plasterers’ tools. The information collected this way and through bibliography (notably Benet 1977; Benhamou 1981) seems to be coherent with field observations. These data have enabled the reconstruction of the traditional plasterer tool set. This work has largely been completed by Tiffanie Le Dantec, concerning bibliography and more particularly by her examination of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century books (Le Dantec 2015). Nevertheless, this work is still to be increased by the making of a frame of reference of tool marks, which is still poorly served.

This kiln has a working pit, to conduct the firing, its presence can be explained by the kiln’s perennial use, as well as the prolific combustion waste, probably indicating numerous utilizations. No beating place for plaster has been found.  4.4. The kiln of Sarcelles The excavation conducted in the centre of the village of Sarcelles in 2007 by Nicolas Warmé (INRAP) discovered living places from Merovingian to medieval and modern times. From the low Middle Ages onwards, constructions were made of stone and plaster (Warmé 2012). The excavation also discovered a medieval plaster kiln. This direct draft furnace belongs to the ‘long flame firing’ family, following the lime-cooking vocabulary (Adam 1989, 71–74; Châtelet 2005, 352). The structure was oriented from west to east, with the opening on the west side, its maximum dimensions were 2.50 m × 1.20 m. The structure is placed in a way to have a continuous draft when firing: oriented perpendicularly to the prevailing wind, and located in a pit 0.45 m deep. The low part of the northeast side is made with three big limestone pieces, maybe to balance the absence of big gypsum pieces in the building of the kiln, or more surely to limit the air entering by the side exposed to the prevailing wind. The east part shows a

6. Conclusions The late industrialisation of plaster production was more influenced by the evolution of transport and mechanisation than technical evolution, as well as building modes having been characterised for a long time by technical permanence (Lafarge 2008c; Lafarge 2013). In any case, although industrialisation began in the second half of the nineteenth century, the most important change came with post-war Reconstruction in the late 1940s and 1950s, when the American plaster industry model had a great influence. The first patents for plasterboards are American at the end of the nineteenth century, but in France this innovation 157

Ivan Lafarge was not used until 1946 and the Reconstruction. The Reconstruction after the Second World War produced new uses of plaster in a context where the bulk use of concrete and cement breezeblock became predominant. Then plaster was reserved for the secondary fabric and interior fitting. As a consequence of this change, we can observe during the last sixty years an important loss of know-how regarding building with plaster. Nevertheless, a heritage approach, favouring conservation, has permitted certain conservation of buildings and for several years there has been a new interest in traditional plaster work.

Finally, taking into consideration the entire technical complex of plaster production through time, enables us to consider the production and economic activities to which it has given rise: objects produced in plaster (medieval mortars, non-monumental statuary); production of objects associated with the manufacture of others, like moulds, basins and so on; but also brickyards (Figure 11.16), quarry and stone markets, agricultural uses (mushroom cultivation, animal rearing, improvement of the soil which are all significant consumers of ‘dead’ plaster). By their social and chronological variety, these examples

Figure 11.16. Extract of the Atlas des communes du département de la Seine, 1854, sheet of Montreuil, 42a. We can see in the periphery of Montreuil and Bagnolet the gypsum quarries ‘des Beaumonts’ associated with brickyards. Figure created by the author, doc. Département de la Seine-Saint-Denis.

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Uses and Exploitation of Gypsum Plaster Over Time in Construction in Ile-de-France show how much archaeological approaches to plaster can vary and are complementary. Building archaeology and archaeological studies have to be conducted jointly and cross-referenced with other available sources. Moreover, sites and archaeological assemblages in constant increase have to be cross-referenced to make a better valuation of building morphology, cutting across the final form of buildings in relation to the use of construction materials.

Barthe, Georges L., ed. 2018. Le plâtre et la couleur. 2 – Le plâtre peint, Journée d’étude du GRPA, 23 Mars 2017. Cormeilles-en-Parisis: Musée du plâtre. Benet, Roger. 1977. “Les maçons de Montfermeil et Coubron”. Le vieux Montfermeil et sa région 78 1977/4: 4–8. Benhamou, Guy. 1981. Le plâtre. Paris: J.B. Baillière. Brûlé, Jean-Luc, and Christophe Toupet. 1988. “Une exploitation de gypse du XIVe siècle à VilliersAdam (Val d’Oise)”. In Le plâtre en Ile-de-France, 1ere journée d’études, Chelles – 12 Décembre 1987, Archéologie à Chelles, 33–41. Chelles: Association Archéologie à Chelles.

In conclusion we must notice that the study of plaster in archaeological remains is complicated by their status. Except when architectural remains are in place, material most often comes from demolition. This gives rise to several problems. First, how we choose to conduct the excavation of demolition layers; secondly, the capacity to understand the architectonic role of plaster (or other material) fragments; and thirdly, the difficulty in specifying precisely the dating of demolished elements, which can be from several building phases. The question of making choices and managing conservation constraints is always to be taken into consideration.

Goujard, Raoul, trad. 2002. Caton. De l’agriculture – De agricultura. Paris: les Belles Lettres. Châtelet, Madeleine. 2005. “Un deuxième four à chaux mérovingien découverte en Alsace: le four de Sessenheim ‘Hecklen’ (Bas-Rhin)”. Revue archéologique de l’Est 2005/54: 349–364. Da Conceiçao, Sabrina, ed. 2005. Gypseries. Gipiers des villes, gipiers des champs. Actes du colloque organisé par l’Association pour la valorisation du gypse et du plâtre dans les Alpes du sud (GYP Art et Matière) et le Groupe de Recherches sur le Plâtre dans l’Art à Digne-les-Bains en octobre 2003. Paris: éditions Créaphis.

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Eberhart, Pierre. 1961. “Le cimetière mérovingien de Dampmart (Seine-et-Marne)”. Rapport. Np.

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Eberhart, Pierre, and Claude Drouhot. 1965. “Sépultures mérovingiennes à l’église de Dampmart (S. et M.), (Décembre 1964-Janvier 1965)”. Rapport, Lagny: Cercle d’études archéologiques et historiques du pays de Lagny.

Ajot, José. 1988. “Le plâtre à Chelles (Seine-et-Marne)”. In Le plâtre en Ile-de-France, 1ere journée d’études, Chelles – 12 Décembre 1987, Archéologie à Chelles, 51–61. Chelles: Association Archéologie à Chelles.

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Farion, Vincent. 2008. Si la carrière m’était contée, la plâtrière et les usines Lambert, le quartier et ses habitants à Cormeilles-en-Parisis 1832– 2008. Cormeilles-en-Parisis: Musée du plâtre.

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Lafarge, Ivan. (In Press). “Le plâtre, un matériau d’Ilede-France dans la longue durée, approche des modes de production en Val d’Oise et en Vexin”. Revue archéologique du Vexin français et du Val d’Oise 45: nc.

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Lafarge, Ivan, Joël Confalonieri, Céline Richard, Claude Collot, in collab. Jacques Lemaire, and Pascal Mage. 2006. Une expérience de cuisson du gypse sur les parcelles des murs à pêches (Montreuil, 93) les 16 et 17 Juin 2005. Epinay-sur-Seine: Département de la SeineSaint-Denis.

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Lafarge, Ivan. 2008c. “Le plâtre dans la construction en Ile-de-France: technologie, morphologie, économie, XIIe – XIXe siècle”. Master diss., Université Paris I. Lafarge, Ivan. 2009. “Expérimentations de cuisson du plâtre et réflexion sur les fours à plâtre du haut MoyenAge”. Revue archéologique de Picardie 2009/1–2: 101–114.

Lafarge, Ivan, and Tiffanie Le Dantec. 2017. “L’usage du plâtre dans le château de Marly, de la construction au décor”. Bulletin du Centre de recherche du château de Versailles

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Le Dantec, Tiffanie. 2015. “Les enduits au plâtre à Paris et en Ile-de-France”. PhD diss., Ecole de Chaillot, LRMH, collaboration to the research programme “Les enduits au plâtre en Ile-de-France, materiaux, pathologies, conservation, Paris.

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12 Building Stone Through the Centuries: The ‘Paris Stone’ Versus the ‘Oise Stone’ (France) Jean-Pierre Gély University of Paris I Panthéon-Sorbonne, UMR 8589, Laboratoire de Médiévistique occidentale de Paris, France Abstract: The comparative study, spanning over a long period of time, focusing on quarry districts and large metropolises, such as Paris, shows the technical and economic interactions between stone extraction and construction sites. In this respect, the history of the stone from Paris and Oise, considered in relation to the expansion of ‘Lutetia’ and then Paris, is remarkable. Criteria that can be considered as general for the development of stone markets are thus highlighted. The development of a quarry district naturally depends on the presence of a good geological resource and favourable outcrops’ morphology, according to the topography of the area. The development of the quarry district is also favoured by the proximity to a major transport route and, even better, the crossroads of a river and a road. This particular situation allowed the diffusion of the Oise stone over greater or lesser distances, depending on the period. The quarry district develops more easily if it is located in the hinterland of a large metropolis or better, in a suburban context supplying stone for large building sites, such was the case for the quarries of Paris. However, the peri-urban quarry districts are threatened, in the long term, by urban expansion and by the exhaustion of stone resources, as in the case of Paris at the beginning of the twentieth century. The combined observation of the evolution of quarry districts and towns over time is crucial in order to understand the history of building stone over the centuries. Keywords: Building stone, Paris stone, Oise stone, Lutetian limestones, quarry district, Ancient Period, Middle Age, Modern History, Contemporary history. Introduction

Marne to the east and the Oise to the north. In addition, the city benefits from a local geological environment rich in building stone, extracted from the geological formation known as coarse limestone (‘Calcaire grossier’). This limestone is dated to the Lutetian, an international geological stage (between 47.8 and 41.2 million years ago) whose name comes from ‘Lutetia’, the Latin name of Paris (Merle 2008). Nevertheless, the urban development of Paris over the centuries required resources located more or less distant from the town itself. The quarry districts, part of the economic hinterland of the city, experienced a great development. This is particularly the case of the quarry districts of Saint-Leu-d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin, located along the river Oise, 120 kilometres by boat from Paris. Exploring this specific case study, it is possible to trace the complex interdependence between a town and a quarry district through 2,000 years.

In France, over the last thirty years or so, the geological identification of building stones in monuments has become frequent, both on free standing monuments, on structures uncovered during archaeological excavations and on architectural blocks in lapidary deposits. At the same time, the recognition of the rock facies that provided the building stones is carried out in the ancient quarries. The inventory of ancient quarry sites requires a great deal of geological and historical knowledge, while rare archaeological excavations in quarries provide valuable archaeological data. This scientific approach makes it possible to identify the sources of supply for construction sites and to understand the organisation of the stone market over time (Blary and Gély 2020). How does the demand for materials, coming from builders, stimulate the production of supplies by quarrymen? How does this diversified production enable builders to choose the most suitable materials for their work?

1. Paris and its geological resources The city of Paris is located in the Seine valley, surrounded by hills forming a large natural amphitheatre: to the north the hill of Montmartre, to the south the Montagne

Paris is located in the centre of a sedimentary basin, drained by the Seine and its tributaries, the Yonne to the south, the

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Figure 12.1. Map of the quarry districts in Paris. Figure created by the author.

role since the very beginning of building stone extraction (Gély and Blary 2012). In these quarries the limestone layers are few metres thick, split into two distinct bodies: the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ and the ‘Vergelé’. At the top of the ‘Vergelé’, a hard limestone layer formerly called ‘Roche de Vergelé’ and today ‘Liais de Saint-Maximin’ is known for its mechanical strength (Figure 12.2).

Sainte-Geneviève, to the east the plateau of Belleville, to the west the hill of Chaillot. On the slopes of these reliefs, numerous geological formations provide an abundance of sand for making mortars, clay for tiles and bricks, gypsum for plaster. Discontinuous coarse limestone outcrops can be found along the slopes of the Seine, Marne and Bièvre valleys. Thus, many quarry centres developed around Paris (Figure 12.1). The limestone layer supplies an abundance of building stone of various qualities, from soft to hard rock (Benoit et al. 2000), generally known as ‘pierre de Paris’, Paris stone. The facies of hard limestone are called ‘cliquart’. The limestone banks are few decimetres thick, divided into two bodies: the ‘Lambourdes’ and the ‘Bancs francs’. Among these limestone banks of the ‘Bancs francs’, the ‘Liais franc’ bank has remarkable mechanical properties, being a resistant and isotropic material (Figure 12.2).

On the right bank of the Oise, the slope between SaintLeu-d’Esserent and Thiverny is steep, slightly indented by dry ravines called ‘Goulette’. The exploitable limestone banks of the Lutetian are covered by overburden 20 m to 25 m thick (geological formation of Marls and limestones). It is therefore necessary to quickly reach the underground. Since the Middle Ages, only two parishes, Thiverny and Saint-Leu-d’Esserent, have shared the property of this large plateau being located at the northern and southern extremities of the hillside overlooking the Oise.

2. The extraction centres of Saint-Leu-d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin

On the left bank of the Oise, the hillside between Creil and Saint-Maximin is less steep. Dry valleys, called ‘Goulées’ or ‘Goulevés’, provide easy access to the exploitable layers of limestone. The overburden does not exceed ten metres in thickness. The varied morphology of this territory favoured, during the medieval period, the development of four parishes: Laversine, Les Haies, Trossy and SaintMaximin. Nowadays, the territory of the commune of Saint-Maximin encompasses the entire area of the three medieval parishes that have now disappeared.

The coarse Lutetian limestone outcrops are extensively located on the slopes of the Oise valley and its tributaries. Around the city of Creil, there are numerous open-cast and underground quarries. This considerable group of abandoned or still active quarries forms one of the largest quarry districts in the Paris Basin (Figure 12.3). The building stone of this quarry basin is commonly known as ‘pierre de l’Oise’, Oise stone. The quarry districts of SaintLeu-d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin have played a crucial 164

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Figure 12.2. Geological sections of the Lutetian limestone in Saint-Maximin and Paris quarries. Figure created by the author.

3. The Ancient period (first to fourth centuries AD)

in the surroundings of Pontoise (Figure 12.3), considering that the quarries of Paris, for the geological characteristics of the deposit, were not able to provide large blocks. For this reason, the Parisian boatmen had a major role in the diffusion of building stone used for the first monumental constructions of Lutetia.

3.1. Ancient Paris (Lutetia) and its quarries  The first stone constructions in the city of Lutetia were cellars or underground rooms of houses coming from the Gallic tradition (Robin et al. 2007, 16–9). The limestone rubble came from the nearby quarries in the area of the modern ‘Jardin des Plantes’, ‘Lourcines’ or ‘Saint-Marcel’ located in the Bièvre valley (Robin et al. 2007, 32–41) (Figure 12.1). 

The forum is one of the largest public monuments of Lutetia built in the second half of the first century (Busson 1998, 92–112; Busson and Robin 2009, 32–35). It required a large volume of stones supplied from the surroundings of Creil. 

The first monument built with stone was the votive pillar of the Nautes (boatmen) from the civitas of Parisii (‘Nautae Parisiaci’), dedicated to the Emperor Tiberius (emperor from 14 to 37 AD) and discovered in 1710 under the choir of the cathedral of Notre-Dame (Busson 1998, 445–452). It is built from blocks of limestone from the ‘Banc de SaintLeu’ and the ‘Vergelé’ from the surroundings of Creil. The Parisian boatmen highlighted their economic power in the civitas, crossed by the Oise and the Seine, by carrying in the Oise stone from far away to build their religious monument. Around the same period, the large blocks of a monument dedicated to the arms of Mars, discovered on the Île de la Cité, were made of limestone extracted

At the end of the first century, the amphitheatre known as ‘Arènes’, was located close to the quarries of the ‘Jardin des Plantes’ and ‘Saint-Marcel’ (Busson 1998, 119–133). These open-air quarries produced the blocks for the opus vittatum surfaces as well as the large benches of the terraces, made of hard limestone (cliquart). On the other hand, the stone bases of the velum and the large, sculpted elements of the stage wall came from the quarry district of Pontoise (Busson and Robin 2009, 74–75).  Still at the end of the first century, one of the rare capitals of the Eastern thermal baths, known as ‘Collège de France’, was made of Tonnerre limestone from northern Burgundy 165

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Figure 12.3. Map of the quarry districts of Paris, Vexin and Oise. Figure created by the author.

and the socio-economic crisis (Busson 2019, 130–148). Like the rampart, the civil basilica known as the ‘Quai aux fleurs’, situated on the Île de la Cité and dating to the fourth century, had a base built of reused blocks, with numerous funerary stelae from the Early Empire and coming from abandoned necropolises (Busson 1998, 403– 417). The small stonework of these monuments included spolia as well as new materials coming exclusively from the quarries of the Bièvre valley. On the left bank of the Seine, in the abandoned part of town, a lime kiln recycled limestone and marble taken from the decoration of ruined buildings (Robin et al. 2007, 45–47).

and transported by boat on the Yonne and the Seine over a distance of 220 kilometres (Busson and Robin 2009, 53).  At the end of the second and beginning of the third century, the massive walls of the thermal baths of Cluny were coated in opus mixtum (Busson 1998, 141–162; Busson and Robin 2009, 48–49). The small blocks came from the open-air quarries located closest to the construction site, those of the ‘Jardin des Plantes’ or ‘Lourcines’. The infill of the barrel vaults was a mixture of rubble-stone and limestones from the overburden of the open-air quarries. The Oise stone can be found in part of the large ship’s bow-shaped brackets of the frigidarium, mostly built with limestone from the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’, as well as in the chiselled-faced keystones of the lower rooms.

3.2. Genesis of the quarry district of Saint-Leu d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin Stone extraction in the region of Creil began at the end of the Celtic period (Durvin 1958; 1960a; 1960b) but it developed widely only at the beginning of the first century AD (Durvin 1971). On the right bank of the Oise, a quarry, four stonemasons’ workshops, domestic and funeral facilities were located downstream of the ford crossing the Oise by the ancient ‘Caesaromagus’ [Beauvais]-‘Augustomagus’ [Senlis] road, at the place

Everything changed at the end of the third century. As in the private dwellings, the new public buildings were mostly built with reused stone blocks. Lutetia was folded back in the castrum situated on the Île de la Cité. The castrum was surrounded by a rampart dated between 308 and 360 AD. The base was built using spolia from the large public buildings previously situated on the left bank of the Seine, abandoned after the Germanic incursions 166

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Figure 12.4. Map of the quarry districts of Saint-Leu d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin from the first to the fourth century A.D. Figure created by the author.

and even beyond, to England (Figure 12.5) (Revenu 2009). Indeed, at the end of the first century, the limestone of the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ was used in Kent, in the form of large blocks used for the construction of the monumental façade of a triumphal arch in Richborough (Worssam and TattonBrown 1990). This limestone has also been identified in the spolia used in medieval buildings in Reculver and surroundings, in Canterbury (Abbey, St Pancras Church; St Martin’s Church) (Worssam and Tatton-Brown 1990) and Sandwich (Tweddle 1983). Re-used Lutetian limestone can also be found in some medieval buildings in West Sussex, notably at Pagham (Tweddle 1980) and Fishbourne near Chichester (Cunliffe 1971).

called ‘Passe à Cheval’ (Figure 12.4). On the left bank, at the foot of the Canneville spur, stonemasons’ installations, housing and large warehouses for storing worked or semifinished stones were found in the immediate vicinity of a loading dock on the Oise, upstream of the ford (Rigault 1977). The ancient quarry has not been excavated but its position has been located along the hillside, situated in the proximity of the place called ‘Laversine’, which generally marks an ancient area of stone exploitation (Roblin 1978, 149). Boulders in opus quadratum with chiselled-faces ready to be shipped to the port are identical in size and type of rock to those found in the excavations of Lutetia. Thus, from the Augustan period, the quarry districts of Saint-Leu-d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin, exported their production of blocks, ready for installation in Lutetia. The organization on the same site of various activities such as the extraction of the stone, the mass production of blocks for standardized architectures and their shipment from the port on the river Oise, allowed the export of the Oise stone well beyond ‘Lutetia’. Manufactured elements made of Oise stone were thus transported over long distances to the north of France, within a large part of the Seine River basin

After partial repairs and refurbishment during the second century, the docking facilities of Saint-Maximin were definitively abandoned in the second half of the third century (Collective 1983), corresponding to the complete disappearance of the freshly quarried Oise stone in Lutetia. Also abandoned in the third century, the quarries on the right bank of the Oise were partially reopened in the fourth century to produce sarcophagi (Durvin 1971). 167

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Figure 12.5. Map of the diffusion of stone from Oise from the first to the fourth century A.D. Figure created by the author (according to M. Revenu, 2009, modified).

4. The Merovingian (fifth to eighth centuries) and Carolingian periods (ninth to tenth centuries)

limestone formations, until the end of the seventh century. However, some large blocks of ‘Lambourdes’ were also extracted from the Parisian quarries for the manufacturing of Merovingian sarcophagi (Blanc and Lorenz 1985).

4.1. Lutetia becomes Paris

4.2. The Oise quarry district between continuity and rupture

Few monuments from those times are preserved nowadays. The first church of the abbey of Sainte-Geneviève, the abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the priory of SaintMartin-des-Champs and the early cathedral of SaintEtienne, are all built with a small-sized stonework of ancient tradition, which makes it impossible to distinguish between spolia and new materials from the quarries of the valley of the Bièvre (Viré 2014). The Parisian sanctuaries were surrounded by necropolises with numerous sarcophagi made of stone from the Oise and Burgundy

On the left bank of the Oise, the vicus of ‘Litanobriga’, situated along the road, and the habitat of ‘Bas de Canneville’ (vicus of ‘Cana’) (Matherat 1942) were abandoned during the fourth and fifth centuries, in favour of Creil which hosted a royal residence, mentioned in a text at the beginning of the seventh century (Boursier 1883). In this context of transformation of settlement patterns in the 168

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Figure 12.6. Map of the quarry districts of Saint-Leu d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin from the eleventh to the fourteenth centuries. Figure created by the author.

territory, the quarries of Saint-Maximin expanded in the area contiguous to the ancient extraction area, north from the castle and the village of Laversine (Figure 12.6).

Parisian quarries. Construction sites multiplied in the middle of the twelfth century with the choir of the abbeys of Saint-Denis (Gély and Wyss 2011), Saint-Germain-desPrés and Notre-Dame cathedral (Fonquernie et al. 2011). These prestigious building sites reveal the remarkable architectural potential of Parisian stone and especially of the ‘Liais franc’ (Blanc et al. 1991). The stone of Paris allowed the birth of the Gothic art in Ile-de-France (Crosby 1987), a new style that spread fast beyond the borders of the kingdom (Erlande-Brandenburg 2009). 

On the right bank of the Oise, the town of Saint-Leud’Esserent was born around a castle and a parish situated on a spur, probably during the Early Middle Ages (Racinet 1989). The foundation of the priory of Saint-Leud’Esserent in 1081 led to the dislocation of the quarries towards this new economic pole (Figure 12.6). 5. The Classical Middle Ages (eleventh to thirteenth centuries)

In the churches of Paris and the inner suburbs, a significant evolution in the use of the different types of Paris stone is frequently observed during the twelfth century. The walls dated to the beginning of the century often present a mixture of fine to coarse grained Parisian limestone, used without much concern about sorting the stones. The quality of the stone became increasingly important during the second half of the twelfth century, with a selection of finer grained elements and more standardized stone blocks (Gély 2008).

5.1. Paris, capital of the kingdom, the omnipresent Paris stone At the beginning of the year 1000, with Paris being the capital of the kingdom, the still preserved bell towers of the abbeys of Saint-Germain-des Prés and SainteGeneviève were built with some new materials from the 169

Jean-Pierre Gély Paris stone was exported in the form of sculpted elements ready to be used. The quality of the stone, ‘Liais franc’ or ‘cliquart’, and the volume of stone imported for the construction of the portals depended on the financial power of the client. The portals of rural churches may have had only a few statues-columns, capitals, small columns and bases made of beautiful Parisian stone, whereas the portals of cathedrals and abbey churches were often built entirely in ‘Liais franc’ and ‘cliquart’ (Gély 2008) (Figure 12.7).

it increased as well as the complexity of the architectural compositions. In churches that were located far from the quarry centres of Paris, the limestone was used both for portals and inside the buildings, as architectural and decorative elements. The triforium or the bevel siding were often built in Parisian stone. Pillars and capitals engaged pillars with or without open columns, double arches, formerets and pointed arches, window frames and terraced roofing on the aisle side of the nave were built in ‘cliquart’ or ‘Liais franc’ (Gély 2008). The prestigious construction site of the Sainte-Chapelle on the Ile de la Cité between 1242 and 1248, reveals the high architectural quality of Parisian stone.

In the thirteenth century, the area of diffusion of stone from Paris, most often transported through waterways, was at its maximum. The number of buildings constructed with

Figure 12.7. Map of the diffusion of Paris stone in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Figure created by the author (after J.P. Gély, 2008, modified).

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Building Stone Through the Centuries Civil and military constructions were also built, in addition to these great religious monuments: the Louvre castle (1190–1202; 1230–1240) and the 5,400-metre-long city walls (1190–1215).

6. The fourteenth and fifteenth centuries: a period of transition for the stone market

The demand for building stone became enormous. The open-air quarries on the left bank of the river Bièvre (‘Lourcine’) were very important. The first underground quarries then appeared as a stratagem to avoid digging through the increasingly thick overburden by sinking into the slopes of the Bièvre valley and to preserve the highly prized farmland at the gates of the town (Guini-Skliar et al. 2000). At that time, the Bièvre valley and the ‘SainteGeneviève mountain’ were amongst the best vineyards in Paris (Dion 1959, 222–225).

Both the religious and civil great Parisian building sites (Louvre of Charles V [1360–1371], Bastille [1370– 1383], fortifications of Charles V [1356–1383], castle of Vincennes and its Sainte-Chapelle [1360–1380]) follow one another all using considerable masses of Parisian stones. The accounts of the expenses from October 18, 1364, to May 1, 1367 made at the Louvre castle by Charles V mention the purchase of stones in the many quarries around Paris: Bicêtre, Notre-Dame des Champs (SaintJacques/Lourcine), Gentilly, Charenton, Vitry, Vaugirard (Berty 1885, 184). The accounts also mention the stone from ‘Saint-Leup de Serans’ (Saint-Leu-d’Esserent).

6.1. Evolution of the stone supply in Paris

The quarry districts around Paris such as Charenton-lePont, Ivry-sur-Seine, Bicêtre or Vaugirard, supplied the construction sites of the city and sometimes exported their stones far away (Figure 12.7). In 1341, Jean de Valrenfroy, master builder of the cathedral of Sens, made a trip to Paris in order to buy stone in Ivry-sur-Seine on behalf of the building sites of the cathedral of Sens (Porée 1908), situated at a distance of 150 kilometres and reachable by boat.

As early as 1320, in Saint-Denis, the ‘Vergelé’ stone from the Oise basin appeared in the construction site of the chapels, along the north side of the nave (Gély and Wyss 2011). Other building sites also use Oise stone. The construction accounts of the years 1339–1341 from the abbey church of Bernardins, now destroyed, mention a supply of wood for boats from Saint-Leu-d’Esserent (Blanc and Lorenz 1986). In the same period, the Hôtel d’Artois in Paris, called the Hôtel de Bourgogne since 1369 and enlarged in the 1410s, was built using only the best quality Paris stone (Viré and Lavoye 2008).

5.2. The quarry districts of the Oise limited to the local market. Throughout these centuries, the open-pit quarries had only supplied the construction sites in the immediate surroundings. The small quarries are mainly located north of Trossy: ‘les carrieres qui sont assiz entre Trocy et Laversine’ (the quarries that are located between Trocy and Laversine) according to a statement from 1389 (Noël 1960) (Figure 12.6).

From the middle of the fifteenth century onwards, the Oise stone gradually replaced Paris stone throughout the Ile-de-France region, including Paris. An order for the jurisdiction of the City Hall of Paris, in 1415, regulated the trade of stone unloaded at the harbours of Paris (Le Cler du Brillet 1738, 50): the port Saint-Nicolas for the stone coming on the Seine downstream from the city, the port Saint-Paul for those coming upstream. A third entrance for building stone was through the Porte SaintJacques for the materials coming by land from the quarries south of the city. A diversification of the capital’s stone supply was attempted in 1500 for the Notre-Dame Bridge construction project. Masons visited quarries located in the Loing valley, 120 kilometres south of Paris, extracting the limestone of Château-Landon (Bonnardot 1883, 24–25) (Figure 12.8). In the end, it was the Parisian quarry districts that supplied materials for the construction site.

On the right bank of the Oise, the construction of the priory of Saint-Leu d’Esserent, between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries (Hanquiez 2008; Prié et al. 2008), required a large volume of stones. The elements attributed to the eleventh century and the first half of the twelfth century present a mixture of fine and coarse-grained elements of the ‘Vergelé’ limestone, without any concern for sorting the blocks. On the other hand, the pillars of the choir, dated to the 1170s, and those of the nave, late twelfthearly thirteenth centuries, were carefully built with hard ‘Vergelé’ limestone (a type of ‘cliquart’ facies), used for the column drums or monolithic shafts and capitals. The bases of these pillars were made from the ‘Roche de Vergelé’ (a type of ‘Liais’ facies located on the top of the ‘Vergelé’ limestone; Figure 12.2). The mastery in the choice of stone quality is remarkable. In the thirteenth century, the walls were built with soft ‘Vergelé’, homogeneous and finegrained, extracted from carefully selected layers in openpit quarries. The finely chiselled architectural elements, such as the triforium, were systematically made of finegrained ‘Vergelé’. Such analysis of the building allows us to highlight the fact that at this time the extraction of ‘Vergelé’ seems to be preferred to other stone types.

Paris stone was then specifically used for its strength, in the foundation courses for the bases of walls and pillars and in the uncovered upper portion of buildings. The masonry is built with large courses of Oise stone, as in Saint-Germainl’Auxerrois Church, Saint-Étienne-du-Mont Church, Saint-Merri Church or Saint-Eustache Church, for the most remarkable buildings. In Saint-Séverin Church, the choir built between 1489 and 1495 had seven courses at the base made of Parisian hard ‘Lambourdes’ while the rest of the masonry is in thick courses of ‘Saint-Leu’ (Gély 2008). 171

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Figure 12.8. Map of the diffusion of Oise stone from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century. Figure created by the author (after J.P. Gély, 2008, modified).

6.2. Beginning of the export of the Oise stone During the fourteenth century, the use of the Oise stone became common in Paris and the same happened down the Seine, in Rouen. The reconstruction of the bridge of Rouen, partly made of ‘Laversine’ stones, started around 1380 and was completed around 1410 (Mirot 1920, 268–270). 

the transept of the cathedral of Sens and specifically used the ‘Liais franc’ from Paris in the framing of the openings and the roof slates (Porée 1908). In Rouen, in those same years at the end of the fifteenth century, the Vernon stone was only used for carving specific architectural elements; the rest of the load-bearing structure was made of ‘bonne pierre de Saint-Leu’ (good St-Leu stone) (Lardin 2008). 

The stone of the Oise did not spread upstream from Paris until the second half of the fifteenth century, with the economic recovery that followed the Hundred Years’ War. From 1490 and onwards, Martin Chambiges had stone from Saint-Leu-d’Esserent brought in for the structural work on

These numerous commissions clearly show that the stone extracted at Saint-Leu-d’Esserent and Trossy gained great notoriety during the fifteenth century among the master builders of the great aristocratic and ecclesiastical building sites. This stone was loaded onto ships from the ‘ports à

172

Building Stone Through the Centuries Saint-Germain suburb and the Chaussée-d’Antin district (first half of the eighteenth century). Large royal projects required a considerable amount of stone: the Luxembourg Palace (1615–1631), the church of Notre-Dame du Val-deGrâce (1645–1665), the Hôtel des Invalides (1671–1706), the military school (1751–1780). All these buildings were constructed according to the rules of the architectural treatises of Louis Savot (1664), André Félibien (1676), Etienne-Louis Bullet or Augustin-Charles Daviler (1691): the hard stone of Paris (‘Liais’ and ‘cliquart’) for the masonry bearing loads and weathering, the soft stone of Saint-Leu and Trossy for all the other stonework in the buildings. From the end of the Middle Ages and onwards, architects seem to prefer large stone blocks, whose usage was made easier by the improvement of transport and lifting techniques. Oise stone could be extracted in large blocks, whereas that is rarely the case for the Paris stone.

pierre’ (stone ports), mentioned in a deed from 1489 (Macon 1919, 10), which were spread upstream from the Port Saint-Leu and along the left bank of the Oise towards Trossy, where the roads led to the quarries. According to a deed from 1487, another boarding port was located at the foot of the Laversine quarries, the ‘carrière à Porceaux’ (Porceaux quarry) (Macon 1919, 9).  The spread of the Oise stone was encouraged by the increasing capacity of boat loads and the consequent reduction of transport costs. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, ships were loaded with about 40 tons of SaintLeu stone to sail downstream the course of the Seine (Lardin 2008). At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the load could reach about 130 tons (Deville 1850, CLIII). In the eighteenth century, the largest stone loads reached 450 tons (Benoit et al. 2000) (Figure 12.8). 7. The market of stone, from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century

Since the beginning of underground extraction, the quarry ceiling was supported by pillars, called ‘piliers tournés’ (turned pillars), big columns of limestone left in place voluntarily by the quarrymen (Figure 12.9). In the sixteenth century, quarry lease contracts mentioned the obligation to keep enough pillars so that the underground quarry would remain stable after its abandonment (Coyecque 1905; 1923). The rate of exploitation (the amount of material that can be extracted over the total area

7.1. Paris and the specialisation of its quarry districts During the three centuries preceding the French Revolution, Paris expanded considerably by creating new districts and suburbs with sumptuous mansions: Place des Vosges (1607–1612) and the Marais (seventeenth century),

Figure 12.9. Plan of the underground quarry with pillars called ‘Perrin’ [Parain] at Trossy (Saint-Maximin), showing the extraction workshops and the circulation routes to the quarry’s exit. Figure created by the author (after Montagne and Gély, 1993).

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Figure 12.10. Cross-section of a quarry by stone-walling and back-filling showing the packing of the rubble under the load of the overburden. Figure created by the author.

of the quarry) was sometimes specified in the contracts. In some cases, this rate could exceed 50 per cent and reach 70 to 80 per cent. In such cases, it was necessary to build large complementary masonry pillars. The quarries remain high enough to fit a horse team through the entrances to the excavation. However, this expensive technical solution still left 20 percent of ‘Liais’ and ‘cliquart’ in place.

The material extracted was carried out from the quarry by a shaft (Figure 12.12). Meanwhile, the traditional pillar quarrying technique continued being applied in other nearby quarries (Viré 1983). The competition generated by the import of soft Oise stone, easy to exploit from thick layers (Figure 12.2), forced the Parisian quarrymen to specialize in the production of hard stones of great commercial value: ‘Liais’ and ‘cliquart’. The production was maximised by exploiting 100 per cent of the limestone layers, thanks to the new technique of extraction by stone-walling and back-filling. This remarkable specialization was an adaptation to an increasingly competitive stone market and to construction practices that followed the architectural norms given by architects.

In the first half of the sixteenth century, a new extraction technique known as ‘par hagues et bourrages’ (stonewalling and back-filling) allowed the extraction of the entire volume of ‘Liais’ and ‘cliquart’ banks (Figure 12.10) (Gérard 1908, 341), which usually have a height of about 1.10 m to 2 m. With this strategy, the quarry ceiling was supported by the rubble and small hand-built pillars, known as ‘piliers à bras’ (handmade pillars) (Figure 12.11).

Figure 12.11. View of a stone-walling and back-filling underground quarry. On the right, the quarry front, in the centre, four ‘piliers à bras’ (handmade pillars), on the left, the rubble filling and the buried walls (Paris, XII district). Figure created by the author.

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Figure 12.12. Plan of a stone-walling and back-filling underground quarry showing the extraction shaft, the circulation routes between the ‘hagues’ (dry stone walls) and the ‘bourrages’ (rubble filling). Figure created by the author.

7.2. The differentiated development of quarry districts in the Oise region

des 14 arpents’ quarry. On the other hand, the open-pit quarries of ‘Manimabure’ and ‘Sainte-Barbe’ exploited the ‘Vergelé’ above a former underground quarry in the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ (Figure 12.14).

A change in the organisation of quarry districts can be seen on both sides of the Oise following the enormous demand from the Paris market and the other cities bordering the Seine (Figure 12.13).

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, numerous stone loading docks were set up along the Oise, between Trossy and Bas-Canneville, upstream from Laversine (Macon 1919, 71–96). But the main ports of boarding for the stones, the ‘Port neuf’ and the ‘Port Saint-Leu’, were located downstream of a rocky barrier, the ‘Barre de Vergelé’, located in the bed of the river and hindering navigation.

On the left bank of the river, in the sixteenth century, the open-pit quarries ‘des Hayes’ and ‘Tête-Noire’ exploited the ‘Vergelé’ around the village of Laversine (Macon 1919, 19, 24) while other open-pit quarries developed around the village of Trossy. The ‘Vergelé’ could be exploited through pits if the overburden was not too thick. This was not the case of the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ which required an underground extraction by pillars, considering the morphology of the layers and their position in the geological sequence (Figure 12.9). The search for the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ led, during the sixteenth century, to the opening of new underground quarries under the Trossy mountain and under the plateau of ‘Champignolles’. In the seventeenth century, the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ was exploited underground in the ‘Petite carrière’ quarry. At the same time and above it, the ‘Vergelé’ was exploited in open-pits in the ‘Carrière

During the sixteenth century, underground quarries were opened in the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ (‘Saint-Christophe’) and ‘Vergelé’ (‘Notre-Dame’) layers, on the right bank of the Oise, in order to satisfy the growing demand for stone. These quarries developed considerably during the seventeenth century. In 1678, members of the academy of architecture carried out a major survey to evaluate the stone resources needed for the royal building sites (Louvres, Marly and the castle of Versailles). On August 5th, 1678, they visited the quarries of Saint-Leu d’Esserent and Trossy and expressed their preference for the quality of Trossy stone (Anonymous 1852). 175

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Figure 12.13. Map of the quarry district of Saint-Leu d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century. Figure created by the author.

Figure 12.14. Synthetic diagram showing the evolution of extraction in the quarry district of Saint-Maximin (without scale). Figure created by the author.

Ahead of supplying the construction site of the Royal Military School of Paris, a new survey was conducted on February 17th, 1751, in the quarry districts of SaintLeu-d’Esserent and Trossy (Montagne and Gély 1993;

Guini-Skliar and Massounie 2002). The investigators’ report mentions five entrances to underground quarries in Saint-Leu-d’Esserent: ‘Saint-Christophe’, ‘Notre-Dame’, ‘Les Danses’, ‘La Folie’ and ‘Le fond du Couvent’. 176

Building Stone Through the Centuries 8. Towards a great diversification of the stone market (nineteenth-twentieth century)

About thirty years later, a second report on the quarries of the Oise valley documented the difficulties encountered in the quarry districts of Saint-Leu-d’Esserent and SaintMaximin (Montagne and Gély 1993). The examiners recall the seniority and notoriety of the underground quarries of Saint-Leu which were now vast. The long transport of the stone from the underground extraction sites through the ports on the Oise increased the price of the products extracted in Saint-Leu d’Esserent at the expense of those extracted in Trossy. The presence of the rocky barrier (‘Barre de Vergelé’) across the riverbed (Figure 12.13) was another significant difficulty. In fact, upstream of this obstacle vessels could only be loaded to two thirds of their capacity, while the third part of the load had to be loaded after crossing this natural barrier. 

8.1. Paris metropolis and the end of its quarry districts The beginning of the nineteenth century was marked by the search for new resources of hard and massive stones. From 1806 onwards, the triumphal arch was built using the Château-Landon limestone, quarried in the Loing valley, 120 kilometres south of Paris (Figure 12.8). The same stone was used for the construction of the Basilica of the SacréCœur (1875–1923) on the top of the Montmartre hill. The construction of the railway lines completely modified the system of transport and diffusion of heavy stones, bringing a strong diversification of resources and suppliers. Stones from Lorraine, Burgundy, and Poitou, several hundred kilometres from Paris, arrived by rail and competed with the materials from the Oise River on the construction sites of Baron Hausmann’s Paris, from 1853 onwards (Lavedan 1993, 413–423) (Figure 12.15). At the end of the nineteenth century, the quarry districts of southern Paris were soon drained and threatened by the urban expansion of the Parisian urban area. These quarry districts eventually disappeared between the two World Wars.

During the second half of the eighteenth century the quarrymen of Saint-Maximin gradually replaced those of Saint-Leu d’Esserent. Since the end of the fifteenth century, dynasties of professionals, quarrymen, merchants, and ship carriers had control over the stone market. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, some quarrymen from Saint-Leu-d’Esserent (Hamon 2008) and Trossy (Lefèvre-Pontalis 1924) were bourgeois from the city of Paris and family bonds between the Oise quarrymen and the citizens of Paris persisted over several generations. Olivier Bance was a Parisian quarryman in the first half of the sixteenth century (Viré 2011), Martin Bance was a quarryman in Saint-Maximin in 1603 (Macon 1919, 52). These connections that were at the same time familiar and socio-professional were sometimes maintained until the Second World War (Launay and Blanc 2011).

8.2. Only the quarry district of Saint-Maximin remains On the Saint-Leu-d’Esserent side, the already considerable sinking of the quarry fronts under the plateau increased during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries creating a gap of more than one kilometre between the extraction workshops and the exit of the underground quarry

Figure 12.15. The sources of supply of building stones in Paris over the centuries. Figure created by the author.

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Figure 12.16. Map of the quarry district of Saint-Leu d’Esserent and Saint-Maximin from the nineteenth to the twentieth century. Figure created by the author.

(Figure 12.16). This further penalized the quarry district. The construction of the railway on the right bank of the Oise, in 1843, did not change the long underground path. In order to restart the exploitation on the side of Saint-Leud’Esserent, an open-pit quarry in the ‘Vergelé’ layer, called ‘Saint-Quentin’, was opened in 1873 on the site of the former underground quarry ‘Notre-Dame’ (Noël 1960). Until the Second World War, the underground quarries of the ‘Couvent’ and ‘Saint-Christophe’ as well as the openair quarry ‘Saint-Quentin’ were open. After the Second World War, only the ‘Couvent’ quarry was exploited, until 1985, 1.8 km from the entrance.

de Saint-Leu’ (Macon 1919, 84–85). Since the end of the eighteenth century, many quarries worked by stonewalling and back-filling, situated under less than 10 m of cover, were accessible by open wells in the middle of the Saint-Maximin plateau (Figure 12.14). These quarries (‘Les Chariots’, ‘Croix des Rompus’, ‘Carrière Neuve’, ‘Pièce Compiègne’, ‘Bosquet de l’Ange’ etc) (Figure 12.16) exploited the ‘Roche de Vergelé’ or ‘Liais de Saint-Maximin’ using the stone-walling and back-filling technique, directly borrowed from the Parisian quarrymen.  In 1855, the construction of the railway line from Paris to Creil via Chantilly caused the opening of trenches on the Saint-Maximin plateau, discovering the exploitable limestone mass. Open-pit quarries were opened on both sides of the railway line to extract the ‘Vergelé’ and ‘Liais’. Stone loading stations multiplied as the quarrymen acquired more and more land. The demand for stone for the construction of Paris during the Second Empire (1852– 1870) became enormous and, during a century, the area covered by the quarry district doubled (Figure 12.16).

On the Saint-Maximin side, the morphology of the plateau remained favourable to the extension of the quarry centre. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, open-pit quarries were still located near the Oise hillside (Graves 1828, 331–338) (Figure 12.16). In 1834, an underground quarry was opened on the upper level of the ‘Vergelé’ (Noël 1960), above the ‘Chapotel’ underground quarry (‘Chapotelle’) mentioned in 1729 and located in the ‘Banc 178

Building Stone Through the Centuries The last underground quarrying stopped in 1975, on the borders between the ‘Chapotel’ Quarry and the ‘Carrière Neuve’. Today, the ‘Chapotel’ quarry, structured on two levels, has been taken over as an open-pit quarry. These open-pit takeovers of former underground quarries now supply mostly sands. The ‘Liais’ de Saint-Maximin, certain banks of ‘Vergelé’ and occasionally the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ are also quarried in new open-pit quarries.

Benoit, Paul, Annie Blanc, Jean-Pierre Gély, Ania GuiniSkliar, Daniel Obert, and Marc Viré. 2000. “La pierre de Paris. Méthode d’étude de la pierre à bâtir depuis son extraction jusqu’à sa mise en œuvre”. In La pierre dans la ville antique et médiévale, ed. Jacqueline Lorenz, Dominique Tardy, and Gérard Coulon, 121– 158. Argenton-sur-Creuse: musée d’Argentomagus. Berty, Adolphe. 1885. Topographie historique du Vieux Paris. Région du Louvre et des Tuileries, collection Histoire générale de Paris 1. Paris: Imprimerie nationale. 2nd edition.

9. Conclusion The comparative study, spanning over a long period of time, focusing on quarry districts and large metropolises, such as Paris, shows the technical and economic interactions between stone extraction and construction sites. In this respect, the history of the stone from Paris and Oise, considered in relation to the expansion of Lutetia and then Paris, is remarkable (Figure 12.15). Criteria that can be considered as general for the development of stone markets are thus highlighted.

Blanc, Annie, and Claude Lorenz. 1985. “Essai de détermination des roches et des provenances des sarcophages mérovingiens de pierre du musée Carnavalet”. In Collections mérovingiennes, ed. Patrick Périn, 699–706. Paris: Musée Carnavalet. Blanc, Annie, and Claude Lorenz. 1986. “Identification d’une pierre”. Lithique 4: 13–30. Blanc, Annie, Claude Lorenz, and Marc Viré. 1991. “Le Liais de Paris et son utilisation dans les monuments”. In Carrières et constructions en France et dans les pays limitrophes, eds. Jacqueline Lorenz and Paul Benoit, 247–259. Paris: CTHS.

The development of a quarry district naturally depends on the presence of a good geological resource and favourable outcrop morphology, according to the topography of the area. The development of the quarry district is also favoured by the proximity to a major transport route and, even better, the crossroads of a river and a road. This particular situation allowed the diffusion of the Oise stone over greater or lesser distances, depending on the period. The quarry district develops more easily if it is located in the hinterland of a large metropolis or better, in a suburban context supplying stone for large building sites, such was the case for the quarries of Paris. However, the peri-urban quarry districts are threatened, in the long term, by urban expansion and by the exhaustion of stone resources, as in the case of Paris at the beginning of the twentieth century.

Blary, François, and Jean-Pierre Gély. 2020. Pierres de construction. De la carrière au bâtiment. Paris: CTHS. Bonnardot, François, éd. 1883. Registres des délibérations du bureau de la ville de Paris publiés par les soins du service historique, tome premier, 1499–1520. Paris: Imprimerie nationale. Boursier, Auguste. 1883. Histoire de la ville et châtellenie de Creil (Oise). Paris: A. Picard; Creil: Lib. Darcaigne. Busson, Didier. 1998. Carte archéologique de la Gaule, Paris 75. Paris: Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres. Busson, Didier. 2019. Atlas du Paris antique. Lutèce, naissance d’une ville. Paris: Parigramme.

The quarry districts usually adapt to the demand of materials from the master builders, e.g. the differentiated exploitation of the ‘Banc de Saint-Leu’ and the ‘Vergelé’. The most remarkable innovation in quarrying is the emergence of the technique by stone walling and backfilling that made it possible to exploit entire layers of highquality stone (‘Liais’ and ‘cliquart’), starting from the sixteenth century in Paris and expanding at the end of the eighteenth century in Oise.

Busson, Didier, and Sylvie Robin. 2009. Les grands monuments du Lutèce, premier projet urbain de Paris. Paris: Paris musées. Collective. 1983. “Saint-Maximin. Informations archéologiques”. Gallia 41 (2): 248–250. Coyecque, Ernest. 1905. Recueil d’actes notariés relatifs à l’histoire de Paris et de ses environs au XVIe siècle I, 1498–1545, articles I–XXVI.- nos 1–3608, Histoire générale de Paris, collection de documents. Paris: Imprimerie nationale.

The combined observation of the evolution of quarry districts and towns over time is crucial in order to understand the history of building stone over the centuries.

Coyecque, Ernest. 1923. Recueil d’actes notariés relatifs à l’histoire de Paris et de ses environs au XVIe siècle II, 1532–1555, articles XXVII–XL. – nos 3609–6610, Histoire générale de Paris, collection de documents. Paris: Imprimerie nationale.

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BAR INT ERNAT IONA L SE R IE S 3054 ‘This volume contains numerous interesting contributions that undoubtedly enrich the panorama and our knowledge of rock architecture. Contributors to this volume are international scholars, all bringing their personal input to the general debate on the matter.’ Dr Roberto Dan, Research Fellow at Tuscia University / ISMEO

The study of marks left by humans on stone outcrops is an interdisciplinary endeavour that entails geology, history of techniques, ethnography as well as experimental archaeology. Moreover, the investigation of carved landscapes contributes to the understanding of the complex relationship between human groups and their environments. This volume represents an overview of different case studies of rock-cut sites and quarries, approached as knots in the network of people-stone interactions. The book is the result of a long exchange developed during European Association of Archaeologists conference sessions aimed at turning the attention of the international scientific community towards the relevance of the archaeological study of rock-cut sites and quarries, and to promote the creation of a European network of researchers working on the subject. Claudia Sciuto is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Pisa, Italy, working on stone supply strategies, the archaeology of quarries as well as archaeological theory. She holds a PhD in Environmental Archaeology from the University of Umeå, Sweden. Anaïs Lamesa is a postdoctoral researcher at the CNRS, France, working on medieval rock-cut churches in Ethiopia. She holds a PhD in Ancient History from the University of Paris-Sorbonne, France. Katy Whitaker is an archaeologist with Historic England, the UK government advice agency on the historic environment, and a doctoral research student at the University of Reading. She researches quarrying and stone-working in southern England, focussing on the long-term uses of sarsen stone. Ali Yamaç is a speleologist. In addition to his natural cave explorations, he led several artificial cave study projects for over ten years. At the time being, he is working on four different underground structure inventory projects around different regions of Turkey. Contributors: Ron Adams, Maxence Bailly, Hiluf Berhe, Jean-Claude Bessac, Constantin Canavas, Paolo Fallavollita, Jean-Pierre Gély, Ivan Lafarge, Anaïs Lamesa, Christina Marangou, Xavier Margarit, Maria Grazia Melis, Martin Miňo, Daniel Morleghem, Marie-Elise Porqueddu, Guillaume Robin, Claudia Sciuto, Luc Stevens, Katy Whitaker, Ali Yamaç

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